Well, here I am again after an absence
of two months. I’m feeling quite pleased with
myself. I’ve just finished the first complete(ish) draft of The Novel. In other
words, I’ve filled in all the gaps and have everything in roughly the right
order.
I stalled before Christmas at the climax.
I’d put my heroine in jeopardy, she’d reached her lowest point, but I just
couldn’t make the leap from there to the ending (which I'd already written). I didn’t think that what I had
in mind was exciting enough. I couldn’t fit all the strands together.
Then, a couple of weeks ago – after I’d
fiddled around compiling a new chapter breakdown, timeline and synopsis and written a couple of new scenes for the middle of the book – I suddenly thought,
oh bu**er it. Just do it. The waiting was worse than the possibility
of failure. And somehow it worked. Everything fell into
place.
Now, was that because the time was right –
because my life had caught up with the novel – or was it because I put myself
on the spot?
It’s a tricky business, this writing,
knowing when it’s right to pause and when it’s not.
