one thousand words a day

Right, so I've started the new novel, and I've been working on doing a thousand words a day six days a week, with the idea that I'll finish it before the beginning of the new term in September. So far so good, I'm on day three and I've done 3,000 words which is Chapter 1. Whew! The bloke had a look at it over the weekend and I've made some notes based on his comments, but the idea is that while this isn't 'Novel in a Month' I do want to put a pretty tight deadline on it. I think of it as a thoughtful Nanowrimo - less writing by the seat of my pants, but still getting the words down. I firmly believe the story is in all of us. Aristotle didn't make up stuff for Poetics, he observed and recorded - we are wired up to create narrative, it really is a matter of getting the brain out of the way and allowing the story through.
Met with supervisor yesterday and after lots of gossip and catch up chat, we have a sort of plan, I think. Basically, I get on with it and send him what ever I want feedback on. I'll send him the first 10,000 words before the holiday and see how that goes. I think I just need to get into better habits. We talked a bit about using this blog for the PhD - there may be some question about the validity of using it as an academic document. My feeling is that it is more of a Journal, a record of the process of writing, that, hopefully will work as a bridge between the novel and the critical analysis work.  This is my theory and I'm sticking to it.  Have run out of words today, brain feels as soggy as the weather, which is rank.
Meanwhile - off to see 'Tormented' tonight, with the bloke and youngest daughter.

Sentence by Sentence

I'm a bit low at the moment, some sad family news, nothing majorly drastic or dramatic, but distracting. I've been trying to write the opening of the new book and it is HARD. The trouble is that I read a lot of stuff - some good, some bad and I'm always looking for what works and what doesn't - which means when I come to write I cannot turn the internal editor off. Today I have managed 237 words and I'm about to reduce that down to about 150 because the last four lines are all telling not showing.
It is a sentence by sentence day, where all you can do is try to move forward sentence by sentence, one tiny baby step at a time. The plan is pretty much there and I like the working title enough not to mess around with it any more, I may just go for broke and try to bash out a replacement 150 words before I go off to teach, or I may just stare at the screen a bit more.
I ought to go for a walk or a run, but it is raining - again.
Not a good day.
Let's hope tomorrow is better and I'm not feeling sad anymore.

Things that go bump

There are various things that stop me from writing - lack of sleep, worry (leading to the former), paperwork, planning, teaching, cooking, shopping, buying new shoes -OK, the last couple are really just huge procrastinations. But I've been wondering lately if this is right or - Are writers expert self saboteurs?
I've had a stressful week, although teaching in Southampton has stopped, I still have the paperwork, the follow ups and the meetings to schedule in and attend. I got double booked teaching at Richmond and had to get the bloke in to help out (and why is it men don't listen, then tell you it is your fault they didn't?). Then to cap it all my computers all went doolaly at the same time. I rang the ex to ask for help - OK screech would be closer - not realizing that he was at new girlfriends house. He was calmly telling me where to look for the helpdesk number and I'm telling him I don't read manuals (as he well knows) and why can't he just tell me how to fix it. There is silence at the end of the phone. An uneasy feeling creeps across the back of my neck. 'Er, am I disturbing you?' 'It's fine', comes the terse reply. Oh great, the first time she hears my voice and it is down a phone making like a fishwife - NOT the impression I wanted ex's new girlfriend to have of me. Hey ho.
'OK, sorry, bye, I'll check the manual.'
I find the number, a nice guy answers the phone and guides me politely and calmly through the procedure. Computer flickers into life and all is well in the world.
Why can't all men be like Apple helpdesk guys? They listen, they don't judge, they wait while you scrabble through the fluff on the floor to find the cable and they don't give anyone else their attention while you are with them. Perfect. All men should spend a week on an Apple helpdesk - they'd learn alot and not about technology.
So, the computer works, I am calm -ish, I've slept well, there is no excuse, now where did I put my notebook?

New Knickers

Is it just me, or does anyone else have 'Rainy day pants'? Yesterday was a particularly awful day - the job I had hoped would give me some financial security simply evaporated in front of my eyes, one minute there, the next poof! gone. It wasn't even as if anyone else got it instead, or that I failed the interview - it simply disappeared amongst a load of government cuts in education.
So I was a tad upset last night and not feeling much better this morning, staying in bed for an entire day seemed like a really good idea, better still it was raining and looking pretty grim outside. But then friends left messages on Facebook and called, and I spoke to my daughter who is having her own awful time with exams and staying in bed seemed stupid and indulgent. I'd get dressed and retire to the sofa with tv or a trashy book - much better. Which is where the knickers come in. While scrabbling around in the drawers I found a pair of bright satin turquoise panties given to me by my lovely daughters last christmas and so far unworn. They were given as 'cheer you up on a rainy day' pants, and never has a woman needed rainy day pants more than me today.
Feel slightly trashy - there are bows and lace involved - I am now at my computer ready to work, Queen are on the stereo singing uplifting songs, a big mug of tea by my side and hope in my heart.
Thanks for the pants girls - everyone should have a pair.

Blackberry bushes

Augusta Webber (Tennyson's favourite poet for those of you who like to know these things), said that a woman's life is like a Blackberry bush (no not the electronic devise beeping in your pocket). People come along and strip her of her fruit (time) and then expect her to be replenished the next day - an endless supply of giving.
I'm feeling particularly Blackberry bushish this weekend, and for a change, I'm not blaming anyone but myself and my conditioning. Because the reason dear Augusta said this was because this is the way woman are conditioned and it doesn't seem to matter how feminist we are or how evolved, we still drop everything to tend to others.
I was in fact writing a different blog yesterday evening when the bloke turned up and I stopped, just stopped dead mid sentence and went to see what he wanted to eat, drink, watch. Part of me just stood there with her metaphoric mouth open going 'Hey what??' while the other part grated cheese and opened a bottle of wine. I felt angry and resentful for the rest of the evening and the poor bloke couldn't work it out, he had no idea that there was this huge row going on in my psyche.
'What did you do that for? He'd never stop work for you?'
'I want to be thoughtful and nice'
'Do you want a pinny too? And a 1950's frock to go with that?'
'Look, it wasn't going anywhere anyway.'
'It might have, you were just warming up.'
'And then I'd have been at the computer for hours and he'd have felt neglected and gone home, or started texting friends.'
'So?'
'Well....'
'Get a grip woman.'
One goes off in tears other self sulks...oh joy!
And you know what? I don't even like Blackberries.