It’s nearly November again (how did that happen?) so I am preparing for NaNoWriMo. There’s more about this on my Cecilia Peartree blog so I won’t go on about it, except to say that I am not expecting this to be a great disruption to my everyday life this time, since I seem to have adapted what I consider normal to mean working on my writing and publishing empire every spare moment while housework piles up around me and I neglect friends and other interests.
I’m in the last stages of editing ‘Murder in the Midi’, the romantic suspense novel I wrote in the summer. As often happens with my own novels, I can hardly bear to look at it any more, so I have no idea if it’s actually finished or not. But I’ve recruited a friend’s mother as a beta reader and I’m relying on her to point out to me that the whole thing is unreadable, either because the plot, which I’ve hammered into submission like a blacksmith making wrought iron gates from a lump of metal, doesn’t make sense, or because the romantic aspects are unbelievably ridiculous.
I am determined to get the romantic suspense plot out of my head before the beginning of November. In the past couple of weeks I’ve also been writing a new short story in my mystery series, which I hope to finish by 31st October, though at the moment it is very much in the ‘lump of raw metal’ stage. This came about partly because I had decided I should publish my 2 previous short stories in the series as a book, but when I put them together I found the book was too short for a Lulu print run, so the only way forward was to write a third one to go with them. Of course this is really stupid timing on my part, since I should be planning, outlining etc for my NaNo novel, but on the other hand I am sort of hoping it will get me in the mood to write something new.
The only other worry is that the NaNo magic won’t work and I won’t be able to get to 50,000 words. But this is a kind of made-up worry – I suspect myself of thinking it only because if I find myself over-confident at this stage I will be heading for a fall, so I’m trying to appear nervous to avoid tempting fate. This is what happens when you spend too much time in your little writer’s den, rubbing your hands and cackling over the spells you weave. Must get out more!