Life has a way of intruding upon one’s best intentions.
Sometimes, like birthdays and babysitting, those occasions are craved and enjoyed. Or farm and garden times, when the seasons demand one’s presence.
But then there are other times.
At some point, maybe in the first chapter even, a writer will wonder if he or she has a story.
For me, I write to roughly the half way mark or even just the first 50,000 words and then I send it to my trusted editor for an opinion.
These last couple of weeks, I have held back from continuing with the manuscript of Reliquary until I had a definitive answer on whether the story had legs.
I’m a bit sick of myself at the moment – I’m having a bit of an injury-prone Covid-isolation! But then all who know me would say that’s because I go at most things like a bull at a gate.
C’est la vie! It just means I can’t walk as far and as fast and that I’m more of a couch potato (which I have to say I hate!) which means a chance to continue on writing Reliquary and that’s fine because the story is ratcheting up.
I’m currently reading a very direct treatise on anachronism in historical fiction writing called, aptly, Medieval Underpants and Other Blunders, by Susanne Alleyn.
Hopefully most hist.fict writers are aware of anachronism and the shock it gives readers, and also the loss of trust in the writer’s research and editing.
As a reader, I’m reasonably forgiving but when I’m enjoying Roman, Dark Age or Medieval fiction, goosebumps jump over my arms and I shudder when I come up against ‘Okay’ or modern swear words and aphorisms that when checked, date from a far later timeframe.
Reading back over early posts written sometime between 2010 and 2014, I was struck by the way I used to be able to write about writing, about writers AND also write books. All at the same time.
These days, I can barely keep one ball in the air, let alone three and I wondered what the difference might be. What has happened since 2014 that makes me so much less of an acrobat?
Writing this latest historical fiction (A Small Thread of Silk – working title only) is filled with serendipitous and exciting discoveries which is making the writing something special. Those of you who know me from Facebook will know about the strange revelations that have occurred, odd discoveries which mean that this book has just been waiting quietly in the wings to be written.
I have no idea where I’ve been the last few weeks.
Somewhere enjoyable? Yes, or else I wouldn’t have had a complete memory lapse about the approach of business and the real world.
Was it somewhere doing everything and nothing? Yes. Lots of everything, actually.
But wherever it was, and whatever I’ve been doing, (researching, writing, family – mostly family, masterclasses, birthdays, nannying and more), it made me completely forget that over this next week, there was a plan to offer all my historical fiction e-books at a SALE PRICE.
It began some time ago.
I located a map of my most desired area and opened it on the screen with a cup of tea and a cookie at my side. I slipped on my reading glasses and bent over the map.
I knew the treasure would be located somewhere between 12th century Lyon and the Forez. It had to be. After all, my last trilogy had played into those areas. Particularly the novel ‘Guillaume.’
The biggest hurdle though, was distance.
The distance between me and those areas. Me in Australia is a long and so very expensive way from France.
But then this is not insurmountable.