I've been reading and....

I've noticed a couple of things:
1) just cos they are so called modern-must-read-classics and just because they are written by best-selling writers don't make 'em perfect reads and
2) makes me itching to get back to my own writing.

Let me elaborate:
I picked up a book which came very highly recommended. An historical tome. Set at the time I'm writing. The narrative style is driving me NUTS. It reminds me of the narrative voice over from the Disney Movie Sleeping Beauty. It is distracting. I want to yell at the story-teller to shut up; stop telling me what the character is thinking and feeling and believing and just SHOW ME! Sigh. That book is now weighing down a stack of papers on my desk.

The second book I picked up is a lot easier to read and there is no narrative intrusion but the author is doing a weird thing by switching into the mind/POV of non-main character characters. But, the story is interesting as are the characters so I'm persevering with this one.

I bend over backwards to avoid doing the above and I'm glad I do. I don't want to hold my readers at arm's length by my intrusions and I do want my readers to stay with one character at a time. My skill as a writer has a long long way to go but I'm determined to keep learning and keep improving.

killing off characters

One of the advantages (and there are only a few let me tell you) of procrastinating over this final book is that the characters and their situations become more interesting without my meddling and then I can see further use for them - especially the ones which are destined to shuffle off their mortal coils.

I had been feeling somewhat aggrieved that one of my characters was going to kick the bucket so to speak but am pleased to announce that this particular one lives for a good many more chapters than was first intended. In fact, the action before and at his/her demise is butt-kicking, nail-biting edge-of-your-seat kind of stuff.

seven weeks to dealing and counting.....

A change and a rest.

I have found it incredibly difficult to pick up my skirts and run the last distance to the end of the task. I've been sick; there's been snow; there have been other things crowding in. My usual writing place is in a lovely old shed at the back of the garden. With the earthquakes in Christchurch, the walls and door have shifted and now a howling wind blows through. That and the cold and wet and soggy garden made my writing space very undesirable. Here is the nice tidy WARM inside of that place.

I was bemoaning my lack of 'my space' within our house to a teaching collegue and she suggested I carve out one for myself right this minute (well, as soon as I got home from school). I don't know why I hadn't thought of it before. So, here I am, writing this to you from the corner of my bedroom


Now, the loo is across the hall; the kitchen (for my snacks and cuppas) is accessed by five strides and, if I'm in serious need of distraction, the living room with fire, telly and family are two doors away.

So, off to make a cup of tea, flex my fingers and begin to begin again.

snow - it's the same no matter what century

It's been snowing in Dunedin for a couple of days. Yesterday, after six days of being house bound due to poor health, I donned snow gear, put on special grips for my shoes, grabbed a ski pole and headed down into the valley to the supermarket. It was fun. Damn cold, but fun. As I made my way back up the hill with supplies and treats for a night in front of the fire, my mind went back to my story. I imagined Fleance, on his own, his horse following, making his way south to England in the snow. I began to ask questions: how would he do it without being discovered? Who would know where he was heading? Why would he be going to England? Of course, I know the reasons behind these questions but I can't tell you yet - you'll have to wait until April 2012. This is what I did discover as I tramped through the sludge and turned my head away from the blizzard: a dead baby will be pulled from the water; a rumour will say the king has gone to Ireland; the bishop will be involved; there will be crossing, double crossings and then more twists.

Oh, and you'll love Flea's new horse. - Don't worry ! Willow is still alive and kicking but just too old now to be a king's battle mount.

PS: I took this picture this morning. From the road looking toward the front of our 100 year old house