Okay, I’m just gonna come right out and say it: I’m a CRAP BLOGGER. I used to be a good blogger, but then I discovered Twitter, and now I am a crap blogger. I’ve been meaning to blog for some time, but every time I brought up the old (and getting older) post, I felt so guilty for not having blogged for so long, and then I felt like, hey, get over yourself, it’s not like anyone actually cares or anything, just throw something up on WordPress and you’ll feel better about it.
Anyway. It’s nearly the end of November and I’m between books. I gave in the revised version of DEAR THING last week, and the week before that I gave in a (ahem) secret project, and now I’m waiting to hear back about both these things. I’m also waiting to hear back from solicitors, mortgage lenders, surveyors, estate agents and damp inspectors, because we are selling our house and buying another.
I am not good at waiting. I am not good at all.
Meanwhile, I’m not writing. I’ve written 130,000 words since March—130,000 words of fiction, that is, not counting the articles, tweets, blog posts, emails, letters, course materials, critiques, etc etc etc—and I am sort of tired and feel like I need a break. But I’m also not good at taking breaks. I get antsy without an imaginary world to think about. I wander around the house, failing to do anything useful, and end up spending all my time reading. Not that the reading is a problem, in itself, in fact it is very important, but it’s not getting things done, is it?
I’ve got three new book ideas zinging around in my brain and I’m not entirely certain which one to develop first. So I’m doing a bit of research here, a bit of brainstorming there, just faffing around, really. I’m also planning the creative writing courses I’m going to teach next year, and I’ve got some great ideas about those, which are all coming together, so that’s quite exciting. I’m wondering whether to revamp my website to go with my FANTASTICALLY BEAUTIFUL new cover for DEAR THING.
Mostly I am faffing. And waiting.