it's all in my head

so, I've written little for Bloodlines but I've dreamed and dreamed and imagined. OMG, how terrible for Rachel:a dungeon and not your Hollywood one but ewww, human waste (read poos and weeze), cold, very cold, little light. Then, her going 'what the....?' I see it all. I hear the conversations and can picture the senarios but, I do not have the time to record for I must mother, be wife, teach children. All good things. And, let me tell you, all of those enclosed in the previous sentence suck dry every part of me.

I am torn. I wish that it was not on my shoulders alone that I ferry my whanau through their day; I wish that it was not I who must ensure that said whanau is kept (financially) afloat. I did not get a Creative New Zealand Grant for Banquo's Son (you're kidding? Nup!) which means I, the sole organiser of our wonderful family unit needs to look elsewhere to keep us afloat.

Elmo speak: Me tired. Me cry. Me sleep.
Night night

update

It's been a while since I've posted because the fantastic news I want to share is not yet public knowledge (except my family and friends and the babes). Go here to have a closer look at the details of the published book. Meanwhile, Bloodlines is taking all my thoughts.

An answer to Jo's problem about Fleance's name (in italics)

‘Ah, there ye go, lad. Come and meet Rebecca and her daughter Rosie. They’ve not long moved to this part of England,’ Miri said. ‘Rebecca’s husband, Dougal, is a cooper and is looking to make a living in this part of the world.’

He had sat down on a stool. ‘This is Flea,’ Miri added.

‘Flea,’ Rosie had said, bowing her head slightly, her voice low and husky. Fleance noticed her long dark hair was tied into a thick braid that hung nearly to the middle of her back. Stray curls were escaping around her face and her green eyes seemed to hold a secret mischief. Then she smiled and he could not drag his eyes away from her mouth – it was perfect: full, red lips; small, straight teeth. And her skin was as clear and flawless as a young babe’s. It was all he could do to refrain from reaching out his hand to touch her face to see if she were real.

‘Cat got yer tongue?’ Miri had laughed. ‘Where are yer manners?’

Fleance shook himself. ‘Sorry, Miri. Greetings… Rosie. And to you, Rebecca.’

Rebecca twittered. ‘How did you get yer lad to speak so well, then Miri?’

‘Ah, truth is, he’s not my lad,’ Miri sighed. ‘Spoke like that when we found him. A right proper boy. Magness says he’s got royal blood in im.’

‘Weel,’ said Rebecca, ‘Whatever it is, tis a nice wee bit of something. But yer name, lad. Seems a strange one to christian a babe.’

Fleance felt his face redden but Miri came to his rescue. 'It suits him well: he's quick and strong and can disappear into the woods like a flea on a dog's back.'

He looked at the girl for her reaction and was relieved to see her smiling warmly at him.
The women chattered on and Fleance tuned out. The publican brought over his drink but, the whole time he had sat there, he barely touched it. Instead, he kept stealing glances at the beautiful creature who sat across from him.
Chapter One, Banquo's Son

I've sent the first 16 chapters back to the publisher because they are to be bound and set out by the marketing department or something. The crazy thing is, even as I write this blog I spot YET ANOTHER lapse - I've amended it on this post but the pages winging their way to Auckland won't have then - I'll have to send a follow up email.

Anyway, I best get ready for school. It's taking me ages to read the proofs because I'm loaded up with NCEA marking. Looking forward to the day when I can make a living with my writing and play at teaching, not the other way around as it is at the moment.

The devil is in the detail

Friday saw the arrival of the page proofs and it's looking almost like a real book. I love the font and the cool designs at the start of each chapter and break. But.

But, as I'm carefully making my way through, checking for typos and wee problems, I'm seeing some clunks in my writing.

That's not all. My dear friend Jo came for coffee (so we could plot and plan her daughter's surprise 17th - it was a fab night btw) and my Oxford grad buddy's keen eyes spied the open pages of the proofs. 'Why,' she begins, 'have you used the word sez?'

'To show the accent,' I reply.

'But the Scots don't say it like that. They say saes [and she mimics a Scottish accent perfectly]'

'Um,' I say quietly. I hunt out Diana Gabaldin's Cross Stitch. Nope. No sezes to be seen. I'm going to have to change this.

I get up to replenish out coffee cups and come back to find her engrossed in the story. She laughs. This is a good sign, I think. 'What?' I ask.

'The cross bow competition.' She goes back to reading while I butter a muffin. 'Why,' she begins again, 'don't Rebecca and Rosie make a comment about Flea's name? It's so unusal?'

In defence, I hasten to show her two other times comments are made but we both agree there should be some reaction to his name.

Jo loves Banquo's Son and she's soooo good when it comes to details. We discovered I'd made a few errors over ye you and yer I just hope the publisher doesn't despair with the red ink. I will have to be extra vigilant with these details. Probably Harry Public won't notice but I'm hoping everyone who loves Shakespeare will read this as well and I expect a higher level of literacy for these people.

Not wanting to make excuses, but the above is a result of writing the novel so quickly. Also, the beginning chapters are the place where I am learning about the characters and now that I know them so well, I see places I could tighten things up in the narrative.

I'm glad of two things for Blood Lines: I am more familiar with everything and everyone and I have time to craft it well.