clhollandwriter: (poppy)
Things have been a little quiet around here for the last couple of months. Part of that was a change of role at the day job - new hours, new processes, new colleagues, all of which took some getting used to. Most of my writing energy in October went into admin tasks: finishing some edits, getting my submissions up to date, and submitting my tax return.

November is, of course, National Novel Writing Month. I wasn't sure at first if I was going to take part, and in the end decided that 50,000 words was too much to take on on top of everything else. Fortunately my online writers' group runs a novella contest for six weeks starting on November 1st, so I'm taking part in that. The wordcount is 17.5k to 40k, and I'm aiming for the lower end. I'm two thirds of the way through the time, and a bit behind on the words, but I'm happy with the story so far.

Which is to say, if I go silent for another two weeks, this is why!
clhollandwriter: (Default)

And three pages not typed up yet.

It's coming slowly, but at least it's coming.
clhollandwriter: (Default)

Plus a couple of pages not typed up yet. I'm behind where I want to be, but I'm hoping the pace will pick up once I get into the swing of things a bit more.

700 words a day is hard. Not in terms of volume, but in terms of finding the time to sit down and write them - I've already got half an hour in a coffee shop and three quarters of an hour of lunch to write in, every day, but it's not enough since it's all by hand and I then have to find the time to type it up. How do other people manage to keep it going without their loved-ones feeling abandoned?

In other news, tomorrow I begin training in the Customer Services department at work. I'm still temping. Apparently I'm skilled enough to need to be spread across three different job roles - I've been highly praised for the other two, and have been given the third to stop me getting bored - but not valuable enough to bother giving a full-time contract to. These grapes, they are sour.
clhollandwriter: (Default)
Remember that thing a while back, about George R.R. Martin being told off by "fans" for having a life outside his books? Well someone (obviously not a writer) decided to ask Neil Gaiman his opinion on it. His response can probably be best summed up in the first line: "George R.R. Martin is not your bitch."

The sunshine has disappeared today, and we're left with grey skies and rain. There is no logic to the British weather.

Ideas are coming together for the story. I'm off work tomorrow, there's someone coming to retile the shower, so the plan is to make use of the time starting this new project. My inventory's looking a little thin, so I need to fill it with new things. Besides, one of my resolutions this year was to write six short stories (flashes counting for half) and so far I've done a pitiful one and a half.
clhollandwriter: (Default)
I now have an ending for my frog-like new idea. So far I'm mostly absent of middle though. The speculative content is also notably absent, although I'm fairly sure there's some in there somewhere. At the  moment it's a bit like doing a jigsaw without looking at the picture on the box.

I've just done the flash challenge over at LH, although getting into it was a struggle as it took ages to get anything from the trigger. I'm too stubborn to give up though, because I just know that if I walk away I'll have a brilliant idea too late to do anything about it. 

In a fit of displacemt activity, today I made pikelets for breakfast and then cleaned the grill and the oven. Then I finished rereading The Light Fantastic. There are several things I should be working on, but they've ganged up on me a bit. At the very least I should be working on something for submission. This time last month I'd made a start on my quota!

In other news: the mystery of the disappearing chocolate has been solved. My office has nocturnal visitors of the rodent kind.
clhollandwriter: (Default)
It's funny how ideas for stories can happen.

Yesterday I had a fairly substantial chunk of idea plop into my head like a frog into a pond. I had two-and-a-half characters, a piece of plot (a what, missing a how and a why), a partial location, an important scene, and a first line.

Today, the overbearing grandmother turned into an overbearing grandfather, the location narrowed down to give me the interior of the house central to the story, a couple of potential scenes introduced themselves, as well as a potential dog. Plus, most importantly, so did the MC's reason for being there in the first place.

I want to write this. I want to be working on it now. But if NaNoWriMo (or more specifically, continuing my novels after it finished) has taught me anything, is that I shouldn't expect my newborns to run before they can walk. It'll get there, if I give it time.

March 2019

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