I am writing a novel. I have given myself til Christmas to finish it and I am procrastinating…again.
I love the way the characters merge, the imagery flows and the recognition of streets will make any fellow Edinburger and non-Edinburger for that matter, smile and want to read on. Well, that is what I hope will happen when I finish it.
Here’s the thing.
Chapters 1 and 2 are swilling around in my head (Chapters 3 and 4 are patiently waiting in the wings). Questions forming everywhere I go, as I make tea, read a book or watch the news. I have deleted so many sentences and to add to my new-found deleting fury, my procrastinating self wants to inflict further damage to my 4 millionth draft on an hourly basis. For example: What if I said this instead? What if the main character wore this? Is that really where I want him to go in this scene? Or thanks to my wee boys ingenious ideas, does he really need to stand in poo on the way to his car? No, he does not. There will be no poo-standing-on in this novel. The more research I do, the more I need to change but that’s a good thing, right? Sigh.
All keyboards are different and thanks to the lovely Mr B, I now have one that is fantastic. Lovely soft, squidgy buttons that press with easy instead of needing hammer like strength to operate. It’s kilo’s no longer make my legs go numb or require a dork-lift to carry it anywhere. I have also grown attached to my new squeaky space bar. Yes, it squeaks but it’s mine.It’s slim, majestic pad has a slightly methodical shrill to it that indicates that I have in fact pressed the right key. Joy.
So, I’m being assertive. I’m stepping away from the delete key.