The importance of being critiqued

No matter how experienced you are, how much you appreciate criticism and really want to be shown all your errors, there is a part of you who wants to hear nothing but that you’ve written a good book.

My critique group are excellent. They may pull their punches in the face of your trembling lip, but that doesn’t stop them from dropping you to the canvas in a heartbeat. It’s a reciprocal arrangement so I’ve no complaints: I’m harsh too. This honesty is vital as you’ll never become a better writer unless you know where you’re going wrong. Still it leaves a mark.

On Monday I had New Gods in the ring and it got savaged. Despite the fact that I knew they were right in almost every way, it still hurts. Now I know I have to go back to the very beginning, take it apart and rebuild from scratch. Much as I enjoy writing, the last thing I ever want is more work. Because I’m lazy. And because it’s about time I got out of Antarctica and gave my tired brain a change of scenery.

More positively, this critique also proves how much I’ve learnt over the last year. I’ve not looked at New Gods for about 15 months, and it showed. In the intervening time I’ve learnt so much, have really reconsidered how I go about something as complex as a novel. Much of the criticism I got last night revolved about depth of character, the need for backstory and for better dialogue. I’ve already thought about that and am not too worried – I can do it.

I’m more concerned with problems of plot – and missed opportunities – that were pointed out to me. But I suppose all it means is that I have to think harder: sometimes you can’t just sit back and let ideas come to you; sometimes you have to put on your pith helmet, take down the old elephant gun and stalk those treacherous wee bastards.

So thank you to my group, some of whom are probably reading this. You gave me exactly what I needed. I’ll come back with a much better story as a result. Right now, though? Well, it’s a short step from criticism of one unfinished project to worry about all your output and whether you’ve got what it takes at all. Self-doubt is never that far away.

But I do this because I love it and I’ve trained myself to sit down and my desk and work. So I will get up, get back to it and produce something better than I could before. And though the self-doubt may never leave me, if I can fool others into believing I can write then maybe I can trick myself too.

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An offering to the New Gods

An author very rarely reads their own work. I don’t mean working through it, but actually sitting back and letting the words float through their subconscious, with no attempt to ‘improve’ the text in any way, shape or form. We’re tinkerers by nature. It’s an alien concept to just let the words wash over us. We’re also wincers, in the ‘Oh my God, I can’t believe I wrote something so facile’ sense.

I finished my rough draft of New Gods getting on for a year and a half ago now. Since then it’s been set back in the metaphorical closet whilst I wrestled with Night Shift and Australis. But now two things have caused me to take up my Kindle (other e-readers are available, as are books) and read over my own work.

The first thing is that I’m approaching a brief lacunae in Night Shift. Draft 9a should be finished by the time you read this, and then I have a pause whilst it goes out to beta-readers. The second factor is my Fiction (Adult) Group is currently going over New Gods and will haul me over the metaphoricals next week and I need to be prepared. And by ‘being prepared’ I mean I need to know what the hell happens. I can barely remember anything but the beginning and the end.

So what have I learnt so far? Well, my writing, by and large, hangs together in a not-too-bad fashion. It’s all correct and (I think) tells a decent story. So I’m not beating myself up too much about the errors, of which there are plenty. But the one thing I’ve learnt over the last year is to really take my time with my characters. Too many of my conversations are simply there to get a job done – to move the novel from one scene to another with a minimum of fuss. But that fuss matters. That’s what I’ve learnt. The whole novel needs patience; I need to allow my characters to breath, to express themselves.

When I were but a lad I read things like ‘every line has to have a purpose’ and ‘the story needs to be constantly moving forwards’, and I think I absorbed these mantras in a particularly shallow way. Yes, everything needs to keep moving and every word needs to justify its place in the novel, but that’s left conversations terse and oddly unrealistic. It doesn’t matter how well you know a character’s personality, past and inner life if they never have a chance to express these subtleties. My world is empty. I need to really make it come alive.

That’s writing. You start with a blank canvas and then you fill it with shape and colour and direction. Then you go over and pick out the outlines, add light and shadow, make the nebulous solid and (sometimes) the solid nebulous.

I’m not too worried about the actual quality of the prose. I’m no genius; the words aren’t great at present, but they’ll improve draft-on-draft until it achieves something approaching respectability. What I need second opinions on is the basic plot – what convinces and what doesn’t, who comes alive and who remains a cipher throughout. That’s why I’m offering myself up to creative evisceration and it’s why I’m going through NG myself. It’s been a long time, and I hope I’ve managed to divest myself of the personal link with the work which can blind the best of us to its flaws.

I shall keep you posted.

Gadgets and NaNoWriMo

I got a new phone in August. I hate it. And I hate it because I like it so much.

What did we do before mobiles, tablets and their ilk? When we were on our buses and trains, when we were waiting for friends or our families, how did we pass the time? Were we perpetually bored?

I hate my phone because instead of spending quality time in my head I play chess or read Twitter. I don’t use my eyes as much – spend less time playing with architecture or admiring nature, or people-watching or dreaming. Several scientific papers – no, I can’t quote them – have suggested that we overstimulate our children and that being bored is an important part of growing up to be a human being. Now I worry we’re losing that as adults.

Because being in our own heads allows us to dream. It allows us to create stories, to make connections – a form of meditation where we can enter a state almost like sleep. Quiet time, where we do nothing, is a precious resource. It’s where we get to know our characters both real and fictional, where we plan and sketch theories and refine and abandon them. I’m a landscape historian by education, and my eternal pleasure is to spot old hedgerows and trackways and try to trace them back through time: to see where a t-junction used to be a crossroads; to spot old manor-houses and lodges and…

And so on. The point is that we’re willingly giving it up. And this time we sacrifice is also the best time for thinking of new stories. Writing-time isn’t just that spent on your computer or with your note-pads: it’s also the time we spend seeing and drifting through time, into wild fantasies and lurid, sweat-drenched nightmares.

Modern technology is fantastic. It’s given us so much, freed us up for more and more time to do what we actually like to do. But don’t let it steal your ability to dream.

*          *          *

It’s been a quiet time here at Writerly Towers. After the highs and lows of September, getting baited by publishers only to see them withdraw the hook, and the new first drafts, and all this… activity, I seem to have been swept into the Doldrums. Becalmed upon an ocean lacuna, awaiting fair wind to gently blow me into harbour, I’m slowly picking my way into the second draft of New Gods and sending off the occasional submission.

As I’ve said on many occasions, it’s a strange life being a writer. You’re constantly sculling from one manic phase to another, trying to cram as much real life as you can around the edges. I’m not a believer in some benevolent muse who’s pulling your strings like a puppet; writing is much more of a habit, even a struggle, than a gift. Still, there are days when the words just won’t come and, despite your best intentions, you feel like it’s just been wasted time.

I’m old now, and resigned enough to be philosophical. Take your time out, take a walk, visit the most excellent Norwich Beer Festival (who can fail to enjoy a brass band rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody with an ale in ‘and?). I’m not a big one for holidays, but I’m treating this time kinda like a brain-off-the-hook session. It’s nice to coast, for once, and not be hammering my muscles against the mighty ocean. And speaking of, you might like to check out this article (http://storyfix.com/help-wanted-hiring-fiction-writers-now) which demonstrates that it’s a mighty ocean indeed.

So for now I’m coasting, doing just a little every day; a sort of busman’s holiday. How long will it go on for? I’ve got no idea. Next week I might be back in the midst of creativity, as abustle as a Dickensian Matron. Who knows, maybe I’ll have had another nibble of interest and I’ll be bouncing around puppy-like, unable to keep from yapping at you all. Or I might have had hopes dashed, thrust into maudlin bitterness and lashing out at the whole industry.

A writer’s life. Weird, unpredictable, where the dull moments are to be treasured and schizophrenia is a constant.

Who will you be today?

*          *          *

It’s NaNoWriMo! That’s National Novel Writing Month (although it should really be InNoWriMo, as it’s gone exceedingly international) for those not in the know. The aim is to write a 50,000-word book in thirty days; a real challenge and a real achievement for those who get it done. Anybody out there giving it a try? I’d love to hear your stories of success or failure, elation or frustration.

I came across the idea a few years ago when I read the official NaNoWriMo guide – memorably described by my Dad as ‘a good book telling you how to write a bad book quickly’. I’ve never taken part; it’s not for me as I’ve got my ways of working and I reckon I’m doing okay on my own. Still, anything that encourages writing – or reading – is a good thing in my eyes.

Just remember that writing is supposed to be fun – or, if not exactly fun, then at least satisfying. For amateurs like me who don’t get paid for their work (not yet, at least) it’s important that we don’t burn out by setting unrealistic targets for ourselves. If you want to write know that I’m here cheering you on; there’s a great writing community out there and we’re all on your side.

And remember that, if it all goes wrong and you abandon your project half way through, that’s okay too. It’s how one responds to setbacks that really defines us as people. Treat those two imposters, triumph and disaster, etc…

Happy writing!

Feeling the draft

Well, it’s been a rollercoaster. Hopes raised and dashed; nice words concealing harsh truths. And where has it left me? Exactly where I started.

But that’s life. That’s what people say. Riding high in September, shot down by slightly later in September. That’s how the song goes, right? So I’m back scouring the Writers’ and Artists’ for agents and publishers, and in the meantime trying to get on with some proper writing.

Except I’m kinda not, at the moment. I finished the first draft of New Gods last week and I’ve rewarded myself with a few days off. Not like me – I hate not writing. But it’s important to take a little time out, to taste something of the real world and remind yourself that there’s more to life. A couple of beer festivals and a first-aid course (not concurrent) have helped the time pass.

Shortly I’m going to fire up Australis and give it the going-over it badly needs, but in truth I’m putting it off a little. I’ve said before that the story’s not working; it’s hard to face up to one’s own failure and wrestle with demons of your own making. Much easier to push on with something new. And it was suggested that, as I’m not happy with Australis, it might be best to leave it on hiatus indefinitely. Unfortunately, New Gods is built on its back. Like The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo series, the second and third books are much closer linked than the first and second. To scrap Australis would be almost like scrapping New Gods, and that I ain’t gonna do.

So that’s where I am at the moment. Hopefully I’ll find Australis much more welcoming than I currently fear. It happens sometimes: the mind creates problems where there are none. And a little time will provide solutions to problems you never knew you had. It’s odd that authors can be the last people who know if what they’ve done is good or not, but it’s true.

In the meantime, I wondered if you, dear reader, might be interested to here a few reflections from the world of first-drafting. When I was coming up to the end of New Gods my partner asked if I was happy with what I’d done. I wasn’t quite sure how to answer; and that got me wondering…

A few points, in no particular order:

  • A bad opening is better than no opening. Getting started is perhaps the hardest part of writing a novel, and it’s much better to have something you can change than to sit wondering why everything you’re doing is crap
  • In fact, bad writing as a whole is better than no writing
  • Accept that you’re going to have to change things. Okay, you’re not human if you don’t re-read the occasional paragraph and decide the proverbial red pen is needed – but no-one (except possibly Mozart, and he’s in no position to give advice) plucks perfection from the air. Write words, move on, change later
  • Plots are difficult beasties. Make whatever notes you need to help you keep it all together. In terms of plot, New Gods is probably the most ambitious work I’ve attempted – I have about eight different threads to weave together. My technique? List the threads on a post-it note and wherever I get to a crux, glance down at it – remind myself what every character has been doing whilst I’ve been focusing on this one aspect.
  • That last point isn’t advice, by the way: find your own way of working. Make as many notes as you need. At this stage, no-one’s judging you except yourself
  • Balance isn’t going to come obviously and evenly. I‘m sure I’ve neglected Weng Fu, for example. I’m not sure if Lewinskiy has enough depth. All these characters need time to breath, but the first draft isn’t the time to worry about all this. Assure yourself that you know what you’re trying to do. When you’re done you can get feedback and revisit and rebalance
  • Ditto for pacing and rhythm
  • Words don’t matter at this stage (see previous blog entry the word myth)
  • I’m an embittered old fool who’s done this too many times to get overly excited about finishing a single stage in the process. You’re not. Finishing a draft, even if it needs massive work to make it readable, is a major achievement. Celebrate it. Tell people – go on Twitter and Facebook and indulge in a little boasting. Have a drink. But don’t show it to anyone. ‘Cause bucks to bullion it ain’t ready yet.
  • Characters grow and change over the course of writing a novel. You’ll have a much better idea of who you’re dealing with after you’ve finished than you did when you began. You’ll have inconsistencies, you’ll be able to sharpen the early depictions with your new knowledge and insight
  • Have fun. Be wild and ambitious. Be mad. Later drafts are serious hard work, but first drafts are your chance to go nuts, to put in wild sex parties and inappropriate off-colour humour. Fly kites, see where they drag you. Even if you have to excise wild digressions like tumours, the very process of writing helps sharpen your skills. Be free – you’ve nothing to lose save a little time

So am I happy with New Gods? Yes, yes I am. Not because I think it works as a story, but because the bones are there. I’ve got the elements pinned in place; and whilst a lot of surgery will be needed, whilst there’s a lot of writing which is simply bad, it’s there ready to be improved. Cuts will be made – whole sections might be scrapped as I send my wrecking-ball into the skyscraper of supposition. And all the ideas I didn’t consider will pop up in their place. It’s remarkable how easily a writer can overlook the obvious: ‘But why doesn’t Mr X just do this?’ ‘Erm…’

And that’s why getting feedback on your work is so important. But not after the first draft – please, not after the first draft. No point showing the world what a fool you are just yet.

Plenty of time for that later.

The first rule

The first rule of write club is that you do not talk about write club.

The second rule of write club is –

 

Hang on a moment. That’s not the first rule. The first rule for writers is that you must write.

 

You’re a writer because you write, right? It’s what makes you what you are. Of course I understand that many people want to write but haven’t got round to it yet, haven’t found the time – but if they’re not doing it they’re not writers. In the same way that I’m not a rock star or an international cricketer or a lesbian.

 

I sometimes wonder if writing shouldn’t be seen in the same way as a mental illness, or as an addiction like smoking. Antisocial? Check. Habit forming? Most definitely. Somewhat smelly? Well, I don’t want to get too close to you.

 

Writing isn’t something you just do. It’s a compulsion, a dark, dirty secret done furtively on one’s own – often (if I’m to believe what I read) done at night, or in the early hours of the morning when the rest of the family’s asleep. The first time you come to it you might choke over the words, sit despondent and disillusioned in front of a blank screen. But if you get just fifty words down – or one line of poetry, or a spider-diagram of where you’re going – then that’s something you didn’t have beforehand. And the second day is always, always easier.

 

See, that’s the thing. The further you get, the more you do, the more you want to do. The first few sessions are the hardest. Of course, later on you’ll find plot problems and you have days when it’s just not flowing. But in essence, once you’ve started, once you’ve got the scent of a story in your nostrils, stopping becomes much harder than starting.

 

I’m not the most disciplined writer. The average hour-and-a-half session is usually eroded by an unfeasibly large number of coffee-breaks, of washing-up intermissions and the like. You wouldn’t believe how much time I can waste just by deciding what music I’m going to have on. I excuse this idleness by saying that my subconscious needs time to chew things over, which I think is true and is rarely mentioned in ‘how-to’ books.

 

But with the odd exception I write five days a week every week, either before or after work depending on my shift. Every week is pretty much the same: Monday’s a – well, struggle is perhaps too strong a word, but Monday is always my least productive day. Just two days off (I do like to spend some quality time with my partner) and I’ve lost the thread. Takes time to reconnect, to draw back the reins, consult the map and compass. It’s a slow limp forwards. One of the horses has lost a shoe, have to back up slightly realign the traces.

 

But Friday – Friday, on the other hand, can be a great day. Not just because I have the weekend ahead of me but because I’m straight in the zone and know exactly where I’m heading.

 

In theory, at least. It’s never quite that simple, but you get the idea.

 

All of which is why I hate taking time off. I hate finishing a project because I’m floundering for something to give my energies to. All the advice is to rest, or to ‘prove’, a completed project for six months before going over it again, so you can see what’s worked and what hasn’t. You need that time to get out of the flush of elation and have lost the blinkers you need to wear whilst you’re drafting. I’m not so good at that. I’m too eager. I have to force myself to play games and eat chocolate instead of writing. It don’t feel right not to be tapping away. Even a week is too long.

 

Which is why I always have about three projects on the go at once.

 

At the moment I’m busy on the first draft of my new novel, New Gods. That’s all I’m working on right now, chucking out something like 5,000 words a week. In the background I also have Australis to butcher. That’s my next mission. Another run-through of Night Shift is needed, and of course there’s Chivalry. The latter two are so nearly finished it almost hurts. Sometimes it feels like I’m schizophrenic, trying to keep three or four worlds in my head at the same time, each with a different set of characters with different needs and temperaments. And at any moment my priorities can change: a request for a manuscript will send me scampering back to Night Shift. A new idea could rear in my head, as ignorable as Mothra. Very little stability in this writing world of ours.

 

I bloody love it.

 

Because I’m a writer. I write. And the real world never stood a chance.

Insert witty title here

This social media thing: it’s a pain, ain’t it?

 

Who’d have thought that something designed to be fun could lay so much pressure on us? To be out there, on display, our words measured and evaluated and pored-over, each one allowing a (false?) insight into our personalities.

 

Once we’re past the arrogance of the teenage years there’s no certainty anymore. Everything is perspective, point-of-view. Almost everything we think could potentially cause offence to someone. Or could just be weak: the jokes, the witticisms that sound so strong in our heads can be as nothing on the page. No-one can see the crooked smile of irony on your lips. Subtlety needs space to express itself. Understatement needs to breathe. It’s a whole lot easier to be angry than balanced in 140 characters.

 

Every time I go to post on Twitter (@RobinTriggs, by the way) I get a sort of mental block. Is what I’m about to say witty? Does it give people any new information? Am I just coming across as a dick? But I have to post something; I’m trying to promote myself, for heaven’s sake. I’m only hurting myself if I let my account lapse.

 

As an aside, one of my favourite authors has recently started following me. Unfortunately, whilst I love his work, he’s not coming across as someone… shall we say ‘politically compatible’? Another problem with social media. There’s the risk of alienating as many people as you impress. And that shouldn’t really matter – you (by which I really mean me) should have the courage of your convictions. If only this wasn’t a PR-driven world.

 

Anyhoo, whilst I can happily slip into the world of my novel and get a thousand or two words down without breaking metaphorical sweat, I struggle immensely with Twitter – and, to a lesser extent, this blog. It’s my own fault for being disorganised. I should be carrying a notebook around with me at all times, ready to record any of my many ‘ooh, I should write about that’ moments. Indeed, that’s one of the most commonly repeated pieces of advice you read about writing: always have notebook and pen wherever you go.  Maybe that’s why I’m still unpublished.

 

I don’t know if there are any statistics to tell us the number of lapsed Twitter accounts vs active ones. I don’t know how many blogs have been abandoned after a lively start. I’m guessing it’s a hell of a lot. It’s kind of ironic that authors should be amongst the most guilty of this. Neil Gaiman is, of course, the exception. But a quick look around the web will show you that the pressure of deadlines, of being so caught up in the professional life of words, causes professional authors more than others to give up on their blogging ambitions.

 

Which means the best place to keep up with the world of words is Twitter. And that’s a very mixed blessing.

 

*          *          *

 

I’ve said before that I don’t make extensive notes before starting on a project: I like to have a start and an end-point, and then work ‘twixt the two, feeling the way with my toes as I inch forwards. I prefer to roll things around in my subconscious rather than scribbling extensive lists and maps and diagrams.

 

These things can be very handy, though. I will, before I start, sit down in a coffee shop and jot down a few important facts about the world I’m creating; and by world I mean the environment in which the story’s set, not necessarily about an actual world. I’m talking names, jobs, relationships; that sort of thing. A very brief (and certain to be altered) cast list. For example, my first(ish) task with Night Shift was to make a list of what jobs would be needed – what roles there were to be filled – in a mining base in Antarctica. Only once that information was down on paper could I try to ‘hire’ people to fill them.

 

But once I’d actually started the story I barely even glanced at these notes. Once the characters were introduced I found I didn’t need them. My characters can tell their own stories a lot better than I can.

 

Things change, of course. After about four drafts of NS I realised that the story was sagging a little about two-thirds through. The solution? Graft in another character. Completely unplanned – a failure, you could say, in my original technique. It did the job, though. After all, nothing is ever perfect first time around. Persistence, a mind open to suggestion and criticism and the strength – the resilience, the stubbornness – to keep moving when you know that rejections will be flying around you: those are the key skills needed by the author these days.

 

*          *          *

 

SITREP: just easing up to 50,000 words of my first draft of New Gods. I reckon that means I’m about 3/5 of the way through. Happy days! I bloody love writing, I do.

 

Hope whatever gives you joy is an active part of your life.

Work what I done

It occurs to me that I’ve never actually gone through and explained what I’ve written over the years. This is something I shall now attempt. Please bear in mind that some names may be changed to protect the innocent… should anyone ever be interested in publishing any of them.

The Ballad of Lady Grace

My first ‘modern era’ work (which means not including my childish attempts at writing pre-degree, my film script or dissertations etc), this is really two novellas stuck together. The story revolves around the idea of what to do when everyone abandons you; when you have nobody to turn to but the person who already hates you. Paul becomes a social pariah after being accused of viewing child pornography, and in his desperation goes to Valerie for help. The story revolves around their relationship, twinned with the police investigation into them and their young associate Twinkle. The investigation, led by DI Vaas with DS Cook, has led to the novel being labelled as crime. I don’t agree with that. In my mind it’s a hymn to music. Paul and Valerie are musicians in the story, and it draws heavily from my life as a drummer/vocalist in various pub bands. Lady Grace was the first work I submitted for publication and it was, for some time, under consideration by Legend Press. Eventually the commissioning editor I’d been in contact with left, and the new incumbent was quick to jettison the piece.

Tell No Lies

This is a bit of an oddity. Not only was the story based on a dream (featuring comedian Jeremy Hardy, I seem to remember) but it was a piece of fan fiction. It was about Baldi, a crime-solving Fransciscan priest and lecturer in semiotics in a Dublin university. Originally a BBC Radio 4 show, I listened to it repeatedly on BBC Radio 7, as was. I loved (and still do) the gentleness of the main character, the way he’s torn between his religious calling and the wider world, especially in his feelings towards his link to the Garda, Inspector Mahon. Anyway, I wrote a first draft based around these characters, then gave up on it. This was partly in despair about it ever being used in any way (it would have to be either officially licensed, rewritten completely or converting into a radio script) and partly because of more general despair. It’s unlikely I’ll ever go back to it as is, but in my mind there are various nice bits of writing therein, so it may yet return – albeit in a cannibalised, bastardised form.

Chivalry

We’re getting more serious here. Chivalry is the work I always though of as my masterpiece – not in an arrogant sense but it the original, mediaeval sense: the piece a craftsman would present to his guild to demonstrate that he deserved the honour of being called a professional. Chivalry is a big, heavy thing, currently weighing in at 144,000 words. I worked on it solidly for about four years before moving on to something new. And I think, for the most part, it still stands up. It needs another good run-through – I reckon I can cut it down by around 5,000 words without losing anything. And the dialogue needs a thorough clean and polish. Or perhaps a grubby and a sandpaper. The story is about a game that starts a war. Set partly in a computer simulation of the 12th century Crusader kingdoms and partly in modern-day Bradford, it follows a group of gamers who inadvertently cause global chaos by hacking a power grid to force their rivals offline. Told through the eyes of mentally fragile Michael, diffident lost girl Madelaine and Yassir, a potential Islamic insurgent, Chivalry is not science-fiction. Promise.

Night Shift

The first in my ‘Company’ series (I remind you that names might change), this is, even if I do say so myself, a damn good book. It’s set in Antarctica in the near future and this one I can’t deny is science-fiction. It’s also murder mystery and psychological thriller. Anders Nordvelt is the new security chief at Australis, a mining base deep in the wilderness of Antarctica. He’s already struggling to find his place in a closed community when a saboteur strikes, isolating the crew. As the new man, Anders immediately becomes suspect – and when the saboteur turns to murder it becomes imperative that Anders finds the killer… This is the work I took to Winchester Writers’ Conference for professional evaluation, and is the story I’m currently pushing.

Australis

Sequel to Night Shift, this novel follows the development of the Australis mining base as it becomes a city. I don’t want to say too much about this – in part for fear of giving Night Shift secrets away and in part because it’s still a work in progress. The story’s complete and the editing is well and truly underway, but there are still issues that need fixing. There’s a spark missing: something that the previous novel has that this is, at the moment, not there. I am actively mulling. The title of this will almost certainly change. One of the comments I got at Winchester suggested that Australis isn’t a particularly good/original name for a base, so obviously if I change that then the title of this won’t make any sense.

New Gods

The third in the ‘Company’ series, I’m only a few pages through this and the plot isn’t shining fully-formed ahead of me. I’ll talk more about it, I’m sure, as we develop.

And that’s my writing CV. At the moment I’m working on New Gods, plus trying to fix Australis. In the meantime I’m sending out submissions to publishers and agents, trying to get a deal for Night Shift. Fingers crossed, and more writerly ramblings next week.

TTFN, boys and girls.