1886: the year my grandmother was born, and coincidentally the number of words I added to my total yesterday. (Running total now 29,367, so I hope to break the 30k barrier today.)
In a way I was surprised; this whole exercise has been a surprise. But mostly I was chilled.
It’s been a busy week, my dears, as many of you know, and I took things easy. I was working at home, and several hours up on my official total, so I felt it might not be too awful to have a long break for lunch to do a bit of writing. I took a couple of hours and wrote. I also used the time to research some more detail for the background of the novel – names, places, dates, inside leg measurements, you know the kind of thing.
By the time Sigoth came home I had made sufficient progress to stop writing, indulge in conversation, drink some wine and generally just be human. Ah, Friday evenings! Is there a moment more divine in the working week?
The other change yesterday was that I was writing more of the descriptive pieces. I kept well away from my surprisingly assertive mouse of a character, who insists on first person and has a whole lot of opinions which are frankly a little unnerving at times. I managed to lure the other character out of hiding for a bit and get her to describe the early childhood trauma which has had such an effect on this story. There were tantrums and tears but we did it; the poor dear has now gone to lie own in a dark room and recover.
Right now I am at a fork in the road. I could do some more description, but I also am keen to have the later conversations to start pulling the final pieces together as the structure clarifies in my brain. What a conundrum. It’s my own fault for not writing from start to finish, like they tell you at school: start at the beginning, fill in the middle, finish at the end. They never had to deal with my characters, I can assure you!
Anyway, Sigoth is out this morning tidying up around the village war memorial for Remembrance Day tomorrow, so I have high hopes of a morning spent in narrative endeavour. Unless an offspring or demented parent intervenes, of course. But I am optimistic. It’s a fairly bright start to the morning, there are birds singing and enjoying the fat balls on the feeder. I’ll ask Sigoth to light a fire before he goes so I have a comforting crackle of organic compounds reducing to ash before my eyes.
I am intrigued to know, though, how others write. Do you write in order, or in bits, like me? Do you write first person or third? And do your characters play you up like mine? (Note the sub-test: am I a freak for writing this way? My current hypothesis is: no. Feel free to prove me wrong.)
It’s the weekend. Be lovely. Go create!