The novel I started on the 29th of February is now well under way, and as I write this I am taking a break at the 22,000 word mark. Because it’s the 11th novel in my mystery series I usually just sit back and let the characters run riot. However, in case anyone else is tempted to try and do it this way, I must admit I always have some sort of a theme and a plot of varying levels of complexity in my head as well as the full cast of characters before I start. When I write a non-series novel the preparation tends to take a little longer. We re now approaching the first Camp NaNoWriMo of 2016, and I have set a target for that of completing this current novel and starting on something quite new that wasn’t even in my so-called writing plan for the year. More on that much later.
Through the conservatory roof: It might as well be spring
Of course many of the other plans I had for my week off work came to nothing because of sheer inertia, although I did manage to get myself to the theatre to see ‘The Crucible’, an excellent production of a classic play, and I made a half-hearted start at de-cluttering some junk mail, although no sooner had I cleared one heap of it than more appeared from nowhere. It did have some rewards – I uncovered a shiny necklace I thought I had completely lost, and a couple of knitting projects, abandoned part-way through.
As predicted, one of the cats wanted to go in and out approximately 96 times a day while I was on holiday, while the other one had to ingest his food in five or six small meals. I have often had to remind the cats that tigers only eat once every few days as opposed to the once every couple of hours that they consider adequate. The older cat has also taken to spending two or three hours in the evenings stalking up and down making a lot of noise and sometimes batting at my feet and hands with his paws. Apart from the foot-batting, this is eerily reminiscent of the way one of my sons used to carry on in the evenings when he was a baby, and even more annoying, especially when I pull a muscle getting my foot out of range quickly, as happened the other night.
OK, this novel won’t really write itself, much though I imagine it’s doing so. I am going to get on with the next 1,00o words before lunch.