Hi Carol, sorry to bother you with this, but quick question: I just filled out a priority form for pop-up submissions, but didn't get any kind of notification. Is there any way I can check that it has been received? Thanks in advance x
Barbara
From Cambridgeshire
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Note to Self for the next Huddle: either lock Self into a closed room, or set Self up outdoors in the rain, or better: feed cat first. If not, cat will pester and try to jump up onto the keyboard at most inconvenient moments or worse, cat will try to chew comp cables while Self desperately attempts to figure out how to use a mic. Just as well mic didn't work. Miaou miaou miaou ...
Well, the universe is either telling me to clean up my writing act, or else it's hinting I should launder money. I took the washing from the machine and found a 50p coin with a book image minted onto it at the bottom the of the drum. The British Library 50p.
So, I have a title for a new novel but no idea whatsoever what the novel could be about.
Me: Very busy putting final touches to MS.
Himself: Where's the paint for the utility walls?
Me: No idea. Somewhere, God knows, among the mess of kitchen boxes.
Me: Very busy putting final touches to MS.
Himself: Where are the paint brushes and masking tape?
Me: Somewhere among the kitchen boxes.
Me: Very busy putting final touches to MS.
Himself: Where are the dust sheets? I need to protect the worktops.
Me: Sigh.
If any member had a warning from me, appologies. My tablet is doing something beyond my control. Will try sort it ASAP
Me: 'Well, there goes the summary.'
Himself, from somewhere in the next room: 'Yep, it's windy and rainy. We had no summer at all.'
The joys of living with a musician who has been battered by loud music.
Argh! The summary! Eek!
Yesterday eve in bed. Himself, reading some book or another. Me, nearly asleep. Himself huffs, and puts the book down.
'This story needs more catflap.'
Now I'm wide awake, thanks. 'Catflap?!?!'
'Yeah, more good stuff, coming and going in the story.'
'What?'
'You know, that agent and his friends always talk about books needing more catflap.'
'Oh, you mean more "cowbell".'
After the first wave of edits, I've been letting my MS rest for the past week. And what do you know, I actually miss my protagonist. Interesting. That's a new one.
I've just discovered the joys of a chalk board to make notes for my novel. Much more eco-friendly than paper, I hope.
My computer: 'No.'
Me: 'Please.'
My computer: 'No.'
Me: 'Please, please, please.'
My computer: 'No.'
Me: 'PLEEEEEEASE'
My computer: 'No.'
Me, at the computer, cursing: 'Now, where's that stupid draft?'
Himself: 'Calm down. Just go upstairs and close the window.'
Edit, sneeze, cough, edit, spatter, wipes keyboard, edit, edit, splatter, edit, hatchoo, wipes computer screen, edit, cough, edit.
'The End', I just typed 'The End'.
Two more paragraphs. Only two more paragraphs before I write 'The End'. ARGH!!
Final scene, and: One paragraph a day for the last three days. I'm coughing up one paragraph a day. In an entire day! For three days! All I manage is one paragraph a day. Argh! *Manic laughter*
On to the last chapter, and the fear of finishing a novel has kicked in.
My keyboard is covered in dust. I'm either writing too slowly, or not enough.
Monday: Brainstormed a plot plan for last quarter of WIP.
Found plot hole in showdown. Uh-oh
Yesterday: Spent afternoon weaving new thread into WIP to sort plot hole.
Finished said thread.
Sat back
Smiled
Totally forgot what the BLEEPING plot hole was in the BLEEPING first place.
*BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP*
Oh, well, the additions add nice touch.
Today: Woke up and remembered the plot hole.
Ah! NOW I see!
Shopping List (the Sequel):
Himself: 'Can you write ice cream on that shopping list of yours.'
Me: 'No. Do it yourself.'
Himself: 'Why? You're the author.'
Me: 'Stupid day job. I haven't written a single word today.'
Himself: 'Write a shopping list. We need milk.'
A certain four-legged, fluffy someone of the whiskered kind has just shredded half of my writing notes. Hmmm. Surely there are suptler ways to let me know what he thinks of my plot.
Found myself with an unexpected day off, and it's snowing (kinda). Guess what I'll be doing ...
To make a big plot change, or not to make a big plot change? That would be today's question.
We're supposed to kill our darlings, right? I'm about to kill 30 thousand of them.
My two cents may be late. I'm thinking what would GEORGE SMILEY do? Act totally conquered. Ask if the dog needs water/food. Offer tea. Send out for lunch. Get them to make a mistake. Maybe slip a message out via the delivery boy.
And now the Russian Mafia is sitting in my protagonist’s living room, and he doesn’t know why, and to be frank nor do I, he doesn't know how to get rid of them, and nor do I, now it seems the Mafia is writing my story, and I’ve bitten off way more than I can chew with this puppy, and I’m about to throw the keyboard in the air, I'll be bold by the end of the month, Happy Friday everyone. Rant over. Back to writing.
That moment in your novel, when your protagonist decides he has other plans than you. Who's writing this thing? Erm, not me, apparently. -
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