I sent the second draft of the second novel off last Friday and now there's the wait until I hear back from my editor at Hodder. Hopefully, most of it's working but I find it very hard to tell as I know so much more about the characters and their motivations than I can put across in 100,000 words. Have I given enough of the right information at the right times? ... I don't know. Is the plot engaging enough? ... I hope so. Am I prepared to work harder on it? ... Definitely! I don't want to send the second book 'out there' unless I'm completely happy with it. I can honestly say that, on the odd occasion, when I pick up Tell Me No Secrets, I don't feel like anything needs to be changed. I'm pleased with the finished version and I want to feel the same way about this second novel. So there will be more work to do but in the meantime...
I'm trying to have a week off. Today, so far, I've been to the dentist, hairdressers and optician. And then I decided to treat myself and start the third novel. The beginning of a story is wonderful - a blank page and endless possibilities. There's no right or wrong. It won't be shown to anyone; it wouldn't stand up to criticism. To all intents and purposes, it reads like a jumble of conflicting ideas - It starts in Brighton, suddenly it's in Edinburgh. It's in the past tense, then the present, then the past again. The main character has two children and then she has three and one moment she's at work then she's in a boat. Now I have 2,235 words of free writing and the germ of an idea that's pulling this way and then that way. I remember seeing an interview with Meryl Streep where she said the fun part of acting was before filming begins when everyone has the script and sits around the table discussing the characters, the plot and he process of realising the whole story on film. And for me this is the fun part of writing - finding my way into a story, setting the parameters - the tone, the landscape, character motivation and all the stuff that's going to 'happen'.
And now I have time to read again, something I find almost impossible to do when I'm in the throes of telling a story myself. Beside my bed there are fifty-six novels ranging from John Connolly The Lovers to Anne Tyler Noah's Compass but Margaret Atwood's latest The Year of the Flood is going straight to the top of the pile. I love the way she writes.
The email to my website took a bashing recently when my computer conked out and I had to buy another. I know I lost several email requests but I don't remember names and addresses, so if you wrote to me and I didn't answer - I'm not being rude! - please write again. I will answer every email.