So you know how I got all into making my little index cards for events in my story and then putting them up in order on my plotting door?

Rubbish. Absolutely rubbish.

Yesterday I sat and stared at those little cards on my door for about two hours, realising with a sinking sensation that they just did not work. If I followed what I’d planned to do, the book was going to start getting predictable, repetitive. I’m just about exactly in the middle of my first draft, and it was in serious danger of getting saggy.

So I did what any sane person would do, and went for a latte and pain au raisin in a nice cafe. And then it hit me—I needed to RAISE THE STAKES.

And therefore, I needed to take an event I’d planned for near the end of the novel, and put it right smack dab in the middle of the novel. Where it would seriously shake things up.

Of course, all of this staring and debating and calorific pastry eating could have been avoided if I had only followed my own advice I’d put right on my first post about pacing a few weeks ago: If my instinct is to hold off on something, I should make it happen instead.

But sometimes only the fullness of time and coffee can help you realise that stuff.