21st June – (time lapse, cross fade) 6th August
Just the six weeks, then. I’m no Samuel Pepys, I grant you, but don’t mistake my slovenly diary keeping for inactivity on the writing front. Here’s a brief run-down of what’s been happening.
I ‘fessed up to my coach that fifteen hours per week was becoming something of a heavy burden, more likely to make me feel awful for any spare moment not spent writing than to spur me on. Instead, we’ve agreed to a set task each month and commit to completing that task by the next time we meet. Then I can spread the load over the four-week period. Or leave it all to the last minute and knock it out at the eleventh hour like a Pro Plus-guzzling student at essay deadline.
My June-July objective was to produce a further 5,000 words of the novel. This I did, almost on time and only a couple of hundred words short (qual over quant, I always think). An enjoyable passage where the main character is taken to an awards do, meets a ton of people who appear to know him, and gets utterly rat-faced on whiskey, gin and wine. Write what you know, they say.
When I set out on my quest to become a writer, another thing I wanted to do was enter some competitions. June 30th marked the closing date for the Bridport, a prestigious award in literary circles and with a first prize of £5,000 and the chance to be read by publishers. While my novel has to be the priority, and I shouldn’t get side-lined with tons of smaller projects, I did at least want to enter this one. What I decided to do, therefore, was to revisit the short stories I’d written over the last few years to find one I could adapt. My favourite has always been Adored, a piece about a 14-year-old boy who saves a girl’s life and ends up being stalked by her. Only problem with this: the competition demanded no more than 5,000 words. Adored was 12,000. So it became an interesting exercise in editing. Quite a cathartic process but, in this case, it does make it a very different story. Still, it’s in.
In other news, my lovely missus is currently reading the latest version of the novel. Much of it she read years ago but there’s plenty of new stuff for her to get her teeth into and, I hope, a clearer structure of the whole. She’ll be honest and, she tells me, harsh in places. Leave your sensibilities at the door, Paul.
Off to Barcelona for another relaxing work trip tonight. That’ll be another week not writing, then.
