9th June – 20th June
The manuscript lives! Thanks to those little whizz kids at PC World, who only took three weeks to do the necessary. So now I have the full, latest version – including everything I’ve written in the last month and a bit – in one place.
It’s not a numbers game but, psychologically, it’s gratifying to see the word count going up. Before I picked it up again recently, it stood at under 20,000 words. Now, I’m up to 26,500. Stephen King reckons on about 200,000 words per novel, but I reckon mine’s going to be around the 75,000 mark. But, hey, look at A Clockwork Orange. You could read it in a day but it’s one of the best books ever written.
This weekend, we’ve been away with friends in a caravan park (oh, the glamour). When you’re catching up with mates, one of the first questions is always about your job. I’ve told everyone I’m writing a novel. Apart from making me sound terribly interesting, it’s another way of making it real, of spurring myself on to make it happen.
Perhaps by next year’s caravan jaunt, which we’ve already booked for the first weekend in July 2012, I’ll have that book deal as a 40th birthday present.
Monday, 20 June 2011
Wednesday, 8 June 2011
23rd May – 8th June
A daily diary, eh? Not happening, is it?
Another thing that’s not happening is the fifteen hours of writing per week. Let’s run through a few of those pesky excuses, shall we? Having a full-time job. Yep, I’d have to say that’s right up there. Coming home, picking up my boy from nursery, spending time with my wife, making and eating dinner, playing Scrabble online (that last one’s a real killer in the not-writing-novel stakes): all barriers to writing.
If I’m honest – and I’ve committed to be that, have I not? – I find it hard not to have time to myself to think, lie down, do nothing. “Proper fuck all”, as comedian Micky Flanagan puts it. So, when I set foot in the house, it’s not good for my psychological well-being to crack open the laptop and get straight into it.
That’s not to say I’ve done “proper fuck all” on the novel of late. No. I’m still writing chapters independently of the mother ship (i.e. the manuscript that’s still stuck in the PC that in turn is still stuck in PC World’s knackers yard). It’s just that I’ve been dedicating less than my target time each week. Mea culpa. I shall flagellate myself with broccoli.
Once I’ve taken my much-deserved punishment, I’m going to cut myself a bit of slack. Because (let’s repeat it) I’m still writing. And that wasn’t the case a month ago.
Two pieces of news. Firstly, my wonderful wife has bought me a Mac Book Pro. What a woman. Materialistic? Moi? Apparently, I can now edit movies and make my own mash-ups. But, of course, its primary function is as word processor. Secondly, I’m going to be coached by my careers consultant. Every four weeks we’ll meet, review what I’ve achieved (and what I haven’t) in the previous weeks and make a plan for the next month.
It’s going to be a team effort, this.
A daily diary, eh? Not happening, is it?
Another thing that’s not happening is the fifteen hours of writing per week. Let’s run through a few of those pesky excuses, shall we? Having a full-time job. Yep, I’d have to say that’s right up there. Coming home, picking up my boy from nursery, spending time with my wife, making and eating dinner, playing Scrabble online (that last one’s a real killer in the not-writing-novel stakes): all barriers to writing.
If I’m honest – and I’ve committed to be that, have I not? – I find it hard not to have time to myself to think, lie down, do nothing. “Proper fuck all”, as comedian Micky Flanagan puts it. So, when I set foot in the house, it’s not good for my psychological well-being to crack open the laptop and get straight into it.
That’s not to say I’ve done “proper fuck all” on the novel of late. No. I’m still writing chapters independently of the mother ship (i.e. the manuscript that’s still stuck in the PC that in turn is still stuck in PC World’s knackers yard). It’s just that I’ve been dedicating less than my target time each week. Mea culpa. I shall flagellate myself with broccoli.
Once I’ve taken my much-deserved punishment, I’m going to cut myself a bit of slack. Because (let’s repeat it) I’m still writing. And that wasn’t the case a month ago.
Two pieces of news. Firstly, my wonderful wife has bought me a Mac Book Pro. What a woman. Materialistic? Moi? Apparently, I can now edit movies and make my own mash-ups. But, of course, its primary function is as word processor. Secondly, I’m going to be coached by my careers consultant. Every four weeks we’ll meet, review what I’ve achieved (and what I haven’t) in the previous weeks and make a plan for the next month.
It’s going to be a team effort, this.
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