, , , , , , , , , ,

Must… blog… more…

June already for pity’s sake. Yellow flowers dripping from the laburnum tree. Slugs holding the house under siege. Words, glorious words pouring onto the page (well… glowing screen, but it’s nice to remember my old Olivetti typewriter…).

My novella about ghostly possession, murder and chess is ticking along at a reasonable pace. Up to 12,500 words last night. Which puts me square on half way (I hope. Must reign in the extravagance.) Writing so much about chess, you would think that my game might improve, but since I started this novella, I’ve won a single game and lost about ten. Ominous. At least the momentum is with the writing, and I’m enjoying it. It may turn out to be a pile of pulpy nonsense, but it was screaming to be written. I’d had the first page and a half down for two years, chipping away at a plot that wouldn’t reveal itself. I still have some stuff to figure out with it – some pot-boiling sub-plots  that I only have a vague clue about where I’m taking.

Like a good game of chess, it starts out with set-in-stone grand plans, goes a bit wobbly in the middle as the plan self-evolves into a messy march toward the end where the opponent kindly drops a piece by accident and you win by force. Or something.

I need to make more time for reading. It’s taken me close to two months to read ‘Slights’ by Kaaron Warren. Not because it’s bad (it’s a disturbing and fascinating read that gets better and better as it builds in layers toward the end). Because I only read for about thirty minutes a day at the moment. And I want to read more novels. I read a lot of short stories.

But it is June. The month of never-ending days; street still bathed in cold sunshine at 10.30pm. Sometimes feels like if you could squeeze the day at the right points (like a flat toothpaste tube) then a pea-sized amount of time could be found and put to use.