Thursday, May 21, 2015

Surfing The Funk and having a Whinge

You might remember I told you all about my Plan? Get 85,000 words written by the end of June? Yeah. The first week went really well, with the tally running at 12,000 or so words (some of those needing serious deleting) and then everything ground to a halt. As in complete stop. Not so much writer's block as writer's fortress wall. 

I couldn't even open the word document where my words lay in wait. I couldn't even blog. 

If I say the last couple of weeks have been trying, this is an understatement. 

Yes, I could have done things: writing exercises, physically exercised more, done art, done some poetry. Instead, I just had a bit of a funk. It's not like I've been depressed or unhappy. I just couldn't be creative. 

The last couple of days haven't been a barrel of laughs. Not especially helped by Rummy being a bit of an asshole during the night, leading to me not getting much sleep and being very shouty and sweary with him. 

It's partly not his fault. Since his last few encounters with the bastard lynx (may the fleas of a thousand camels infest him and give him heart worm), his confidence has been severely knocked to the point where he hasn't wanted to go outside, not even for a comfort break. Not helped that the bastard Lynx (may he ever get hangnails and meet hungry foxes at night) has been spraying our front door, making clear that our territory is his. I swear if I get my mitts on that bastard cat I will rub his ass down with chilli oil or worse. Given that he high-tails it every time he sees me, my chances are slim at best. More's the pity.

At 3 am, the hint of dawn in the air, Rummy decides that it's time to get up, make lots of noise and play. I eventually resolved the situation by hunting him down, catching him and tossing him into the morning. By then I was so wound up, sleep eluded me for hours after. 

Last night, he decided he'd behave, but that didn't stop me waking up for a couple of hours in expectation of him being a dick. 

Today, I've crawled out of my Pit of Doom to potter around the house. I've also had a bit of a chemistry experiment. Now I'm no longer required to appear normal, I thought I'd have a bit of an experiment with my hair colour. Last time, I went to my hair dresser and asked for a bright red. It was not a success. Given my hair is so incredibly dark and she decided to err on the side of caution, it came out more mahogany than red. This time, I figured I'd give it a shot myself. It's brighter than the professional job and way cheaper, but still highly unsatisfactory. It was a lot of effort and mess - the bathroom looked like I'd murdered a clown - and it's come out more like Bad Tranny Red, than bright red.


I'm now wondering whether I should abandon reds completely and explore other, wilder colours. Perhaps bright blue? 

On a happier note, Boy finishes his second year today after his last exam and will be home tomorrow until September and the start of his final year.

I've missed his awesome self. 

Sunday, May 03, 2015

The Calm Before...

As planned, I had a couple of days off with my Boy in Lincoln. It was exactly what I needed. That, and the three hours driving time there and back. The trip up gave me another writing project, the trip back sorted out some of the issues I was still struggling with. I'm not sure Boy will welcome me rocking up unannounced on his doorstep every time I need to sort my writing issues out. I think I should start looking into hostels or cheap B & Bs. 

Tomorrow, I start writing proper. I've planned as much as I can and now I can't put it off any longer. Tomorrow, I start. Needless to say, I was awake for two hours last night, wide awake and thinking about things that did not immediately need my attention. I did however, remember that I need to pay a bill, so it wasn't all wasted time. I am not convinced of the urgency of the thinking that my house would benefit from a quick flick of a duster in the morning or that there was laundry to do. I disturbed Rummy enough that he flounced out of bed and house at 4 am. He woke me up just before 9 am, a very hungry and soggy sight. I was unimpressed with his enthusiastic affection. It was moist. And not in a good way either.

I am not great with stated goals. I set them, write them down and then go and do something completely different. You may therefore understand my reluctance to say I've got a structure that I must work to, if I am to complete the book by the 26th of June. 

My brother and his family are doing a European vacation arriving on the 26th, hence my deadline. While they aren't going to be with me for the whole month, we do have plans to spend a week in France together at the beginning of July. It will be great  to have finished the first draft by then, it can then cook on my desk until my return. I can then edit it and send it to the eejits dear friends who have agreed to read it through for me. If everything goes to plan, I should be able to get the manuscript off to the publisher by September August latest. I can then expect my first rejection letter anywhere from Christmas to February next year. In the meantime, I will have my second writing project well on the go. Hopefully, that one will flow more efficiently.

I confess I am a bit terrified nervous. Funds are running low and time is running out. As my dad used to say "it's time to shit, or get off the pot."

Over the next eight weeks, I will not be logging on to social media through my laptop during the day in an effort to keep my focus. Of course, I have my phone next to me, so you will still see me about lunchtimes and sneaky breaks. Blogging is part of my writing process and I have no intention of losing track of you lot. I will still be exercising like a mad thing, either first or last thing I haven't figured out which will be better for me; I do know the movement will do me good. 

So here it is: 

The Plan: 85,000 words written in 8 weeks. That's 11,000 words per week. 2,500 words* per day assuming two days off.

*yes, smarty-pants I know my maths doesn't add up. I'm correcting for sick days, injury days or days that just won't go to plan.

Waiting for Paint to Dry

Yesterday evening, I thought I'd finished the triptych. I kicked back, drank a glass of raspberry beer and contemplated my work. As I co...