May has been a bit of a blur what with the house being on the market, The Son’s GCSE exams, more paperwork for house purchases to work through, and trying to get more writing done. However…
- We’ve sold our house after only two weeks of hectic viewings and a nail-biting wait for the 11am closing date to see what, if any, offers came in. Fortunately, four offers arrived, two were a bit rubbish and two were excellent so that’s done and dusted. Everything is moving along nicely and, barring major crises, we’re moving on the 22nd July. I’ll tell more about the new house once the missives are concluded.
- The novel is chugging along and even though I’m not managing to establish the productive writing routine that I probably should, I’m feeling quite pleased with how it’s coming along at the moment. Editing is horrible though and I’m very lucky to have a wonderful beta reader who knows her stuff, likes the sort of thing I’m writing, and isn’t afraid to point out plot holes.
- Next week I’m off to XPo North – a two day event for that bills itself as “Scotland’s leading creative industries festival”. I was encouraged to submit a chunk of The Novel for an event that they were billing as a kind of networking/Dragons’ Den thing. Right up until they sent me the info last week I wasn’t entirely sure what I was going to be doing. It’s actually the sort of thing that I did at Bloody Scotland and that went well so I’m not too stressed. I was in two minds about going – on the one hand I wasn’t sure that it would be of more benefit than actually concentrating on getting the novel finished but on the other, One Never Knows. The part of me that believes in serendipity won and so I’ll be heading off up the A9 to Inverness for the next on the 8th June.
- I’m trying to get back in to the habit of going to the gym regularly. I’m really unfit at the moment and working from home, especially writing, isn’t going to improve that. My posture, hunched over a laptop, is dreadful. I did manage to give myself a minor concussion last week when I fell off a Stairmaster but otherwise it’s ok. I don’t think I’ll ever understand those people who claim to enjoy a workout though – don’t they understand that a coffee and a good book are far more enjoyable? To be frank, doing the VAT return is more enjoyable but I suppose I have to accept that both VAT and exercise are necessary evils.
- The latest Little Free Library – number 36444 – has been opened a few streets away under the guardianship of book artist Rachel Hazell. It’s lovely and people are gradually starting to use it to discover new writers and share the books they’ve enjoyed. That’s it in the picture at the top of the post – as you can see, it really is a little library.
Looking back, I seem to spend a lot of these monthly round-up posts justifying why I haven’t written as much as I should or would have liked to. There’s always something, whether that’s family dramas, crises of confidence, sheer bone-idleness or whatever…
This month has – predictably – been no exception to the life-getting-in-the-way problem. Almost on the spur of the moment, we decided to move house because we found somewhere that meets our needs better whilst enabling us to stay in the same neighbourhood. That meant we had to get a wriggle on in order to get our current house on the market. It was finished – the renovation was all done and it’s completely transformed from the scruffy fixer-upper we bought five years ago – but there was a lot to do in the way of making it look a bit more spacious and less as though we have a teenager and work from home. Plus, we’re fostering a dog at the moment until she goes to her new “forever home” (such a naff phrase) and you wouldn’t believe the amount of fur that she sheds. For all those reasons, writing has been shoved into odd corners rather than being the priority it needs to be in order to make serious progress.
Anyway, the house is now on the market and looking gorgeous if I do say so myself. Hopefully it will sell quickly and I can get back to concentrating on my writing. In the meantime, in between viewings and endless cleaning and all the seemingly unending admin that goes with moving house, I’ll carry on trying to sneak in some writing time.
Life lately has been so busy. We were idly thinking about moving house but couldn’t find anything that worked for us and at heart we were reluctant to leave the neighbourhood where we live. The Colonies are a lovely place; a community as well as some of Edinburgh’s most interesting buildings. The Son’s school commute literally takes three minutes from front door to locker; the area is so convenient for everywhere and although we could buy a bigger house in the suburbs we’re not really suburban people – I either want to live in the very centre of everything or in the middle of nowhere. And Stockbridge was recently named the best neighbourhood in Scotland in which to live and I can’t disagree with that.
But then we found a house, one we’d ignored for weeks, and so we’re on the move, albeit without moving too far. The new place has a layout that will work better for us and although it needs some work, it’s nothing like as bad as this house was when we bought it. Our lovely electrician told us that if we weren’t living here he’d have condemned the wiring! Instead we made that our priority!
So this poor blog has been sadly neglected while we frantically clean and tidy and declutter and fix the fence in the front garden that we’ve been meaning to get round to for a couple of years. We’re now on the market though, living in a house which has never been so tidy and we can breathe again. All we have to do now is sell it!
Writing has also fallen by the wayside a little and I’m desperately trying to carve out some time for that. There are two chapters that I want to finish second drafts of this week so keep your fingers crossed that I can manage that!
The worries I have about my novel are a random selection of middle-of-the-night mental rabbit-holes that my imagination plunges down. Oddly, unlike the myriad worries listed by Susannah Felts in this great post on Lithub, my night-time panics aren’t so much about the technical aspects of The Novel – I fret about those enough during the day – but rather about the terrifying leaps I will have to make when I’ve finished and finally have to send my novel out in to the world.
- I worry that The Novel will be as good as I can possibly make it but that no agent will want to represent me.
- I worry that I will find an agent who loves my work and wants to represent me but they will be unable to find a publisher to take the book on and I will be unceremoniously dumped.
- I worry that I will be lucky enough to secure both an agent and a publisher but there won’t be enough in the publicity budget to promote it properly or that the cover will be off-putting to booksellers who will be loathe to give it precious shelf space.
- I worry that readers will hate my book and leave bad reviews that will make me cry and kill my book stone dead.
- I worry that no-one will review my book and so it will sink without trace.
- I worry that because my book has been killed stone dead by the widespread opinion that it stinks I will walk through town and see huge piles of it languishing in the windows of every remainder bookshop.
- I worry that The Novel will be deemed to have no merit whatsoever and so I will not be invited to bookshops and libraries and festival – events that are important for building that precious word-of-mouth and introducing your work to potential readers.
- I worry that I will be asked to take part in festivals and the like but that no-one will turn up, leaving the interviewer and I to have a slightly awkward natter on our own over a cuppa.
- I worry that my first book will do OK and that the publisher will want a second but I will be unable to write it.
- I worry that I will write the second book and it will be rubbish and that the publishers won’t want it and so my carefully planned series of novels will turn out to consist of just one book.
- I worry that no-one else will ever want to publish me after word gets out about just how bad that second manuscript is and that my writing career will be over almost before it’s started.
- But mostly, I worry that this first novel will fail to be published and that I will have wasted so much time and energy vainly pursuing a dream.
And so I slog on, one word after another, page after page, each phrase and plot point carefully considered, each line of dialogue read out loud.
These worries are universal, the insecurities of every unpublished writer and many published ones. They are the insecurities that drive us on and make us strive to be better. But all the same, given these 3am circles of doubt, it’s amazing that anyone writes anything at all.