So, I’ve finally started to pick up the pieces of my life again after Mum died. But only just. Last week, my editor and I discussed the fact that I really need to get this next book written and out to the masses. It doesn’t have far to go, but you can imagine my dread when she told me I had to print it out, and that I wasn’t allowed to take to it with a red pen!
Instead, my instructions were to do a full and complete read through of the 50,000 words I had written on it, and to get my head back into the book. I printed the book out, and dreaded the very thought of even reading it. You see, my head has not been in the writing game at all since last year, as Mum was really sick, and then all of that shit happening. The last thing I want to do is actually start writing again, when my head is still a mess, I’m still exhausted from all of the emotions… and I’m still effectively a broken daughter.
But I did. Last Saturday, both my daughter and I stayed in our pyjamas and she read books and pottered about, and I read through my draft of Wildest Dreams. And you know what surprised me the most? I didn’t hate every word. I didn’t even find too many holes in the plot. Yeah, there were issues, but it kept me (the damn writer of it) transfixed with the characters and plot, so much that I was actually disappointed when I finished reading…. Because I hadn’t written the ending.
So…. I started writing again. I don’t know how long this is going to take me to finish, but I’m estimating that I probably need another 20k of words on it before it’s finished, given the amount of the story I still need to wrap up and write.
But I’m getting there…. And it’s not so bad.