I have printed out my first draft of novel #2, and it comes to nearly 500 pages, and used up a whole black inkjet. This environmental abomination is going to be my constant companion for the next six weeks or so. I’m going to read it, scribble on it, cross out great chunks, add bits and make lists from it and fill in a pile of index cards. It’ll not be quite so pristine then.
I see it as my adversary at the moment, a wild thing waiting to be tamed. That’s very negative, though, I know. I should be viewing it as a sea of possibilities, a seed-bed ready-sown, an acquaintance I am going to turn into a lover.
But every time I think of it, the image I come up with is me grappling with it, Lara Croft-like.
Yesterday, to try to quell myself into a state where it would be possible to start the read-through, I made a list of my narrative concerns about what I had in front of me. Two hours later, I was still adding to it, but I was also working through the concerns as I wrote and, in at least half, I came to the provisional conclusion that I was going to go with what I already had (but obviously ‘make it better’). I’m not sure if this is a good thing, though. Smacks of complacency to me.
Anyway, I’m being a grown-up parent today, off to Bristol to see Student Daughter in a play at her Drama Department. I’m taking The Draft along with me, to taunt me in any idle moments, so expect muscled biceps on my return.
Oh yes, the NaNoWriMo interview is live, and I’m really pleased at how it turned out. Please take a look.