I’m disappearing into the writing cave for a while, so you might hear less from me. I’m attempting to lose myself in my latest book, which is my fourth. It’s an odd feeling to be writing book four without my third endeavour being published first. As a self-published author, this would be pretty much unheard of, but of course now I’m getting used to doing things a different way (it still feels very surreal to think I have a publishing deal. I keep thinking it will feel more real when…I receive the contract, when the announcement is made public, when…well, let’s just say that so far it still hasn’t sunk in, so maybe it will when the first book with Bookouture goes on sale!)
Right now, I am busy letting a story play out, rather messily, in front of me. I’ve reached the stage where I feel I am fighting an octopus, each tentacle a different strand of the tale that is wriggling, trying to break free and live a life of its own. It occasionally picks me up and throws me across the room. Somehow, I must wrestle with it and get it tamed until it sits with all tenacles together, neat as a debutante with her back straight and her ankles crossed. Right now, that doesn’t seem even remotely possible, but I’ve been here before, and know this is just a phase. Eventually, the octopus is always tamed – well, becomes less wild, anyway.
Until then, it’s time to get my whip out and head back into the writing cave…