Restoring Houses and Novels

So we're standing in the rubble of what used to be my house, with every internal wall gone, and the builder says to me, 'It has to get worse before it can get better.'

And I stare back and think - there are kitchen cupboards to choose, and worktops that have to go with the flooring, which I haven't yet chosen either, and the fireplace to be decided on, and the electrician wants to know where he should put the new sockets which means I have to think about where I might want to plug in a lamp or a computer and then there's the question of keeping the picture rail and what to do about the stairs and the bannister rail and - Argggh! Will I have the energy (and cash) to ever make it better again?

Bit like a novel, really. You've slaved away over it to finish the first draft, you've put it away, then you've come back to it, and realised that everything is in the wrong place, the characters don't work, the central character is whingey, in fact the whole thing should be ripped out and that will mean more questions and...well, sometimes it seems easier to put the manuscript back in a drawer and start something else.

I've done major overhauls of three novels before they reached their final form, and by major I mean major - 90% going on Adultery for Beginners, not sure for the other two, but they both felt as much effort as turning round an oil tanker that was going the wrong way up the English Channel. I don't think it's entirely coincidental that they were my first three and that I've got, well, cannier, as I've written more.

But that's not much help if you're still on your first novel. For me, first drafts are such hard work I simply can't leave them, I have to persevere until they're better. Somehow I have to find the energy. Like the house, they have to get worse before they can get better.

Off to CHESTERFIELD tonight, at the library at 7.30 as part of the Derbyshire Lit Fest. (Details on p 49 of the brochure). Come and meet me and Lucy Diamond, Milly Johnson and Veronica Henry - and if not then, we'll all be at Birmingham on the 23rd.

Guilty Secrets

From my bed I can see the sun is shining on honey Bath stone and the sky is blue. Outside, the street is bright after the rain, scattered leaves in gold and scarlet across the pavement. Sunday morning, a time for lie-ins and breakfast in bed, luxuriating at the weeks end. Except for me. I am in bed with guilt.

Guilt, my constant companion. I should be writing. I shouldn't be enjoying the beauty of the morning, I should be writing. And if I'm not writing I should be doing something to promote my writing career - Twittering, blogging, arranging readings, writing articles and short stories, developing new ideas, building the brand...The list seems endless at times. I read about other authors, the ones with organised lives, the ones who have work routines, weekly, daily, even hourly word targets, the ones who seem to know what they are doing, the ones who never feel guilty.

I should be writing. I should be busily clocking up my 1000 words a day - 2000 if I was Stephen King - and then a fully formed novel would slip off my laptop in a couple of months, followed by another, and another. I should be a little novel factory, buzzing merrily along, fingers tapping on the keyboard, clickety click. Instead, I am lying in bed feeling guilty. I should be writing, even though it is Sunday morning and the first glimpse of sunshine we've had for days.

Guilt, my enemy, my friend. Guilt makes me hit my deadlines, guilt makes me write a novel a year. I should be writing. But I'm not a factory and it's a sunny morning. I think I'll take the dog for a long country walk.

The Lure of NaNoWriMo

November approaches, and I need to start on the next novel. I know who the main characters are, where it's going, the overall theme and things like that, but I haven't started on the writing. I'm toying with the idea of joining NaNoWriMo as the idea of having written 50,000 words by the end of November is wonderful. Of course, it means I will have to actually do the writing which is a less wonderful prospect given November is shaping up to be a busy month, culminating in the launch of A Single to Rome on the 26th. Will it just mean yet another layer of guilt to add to the stress of writing a novel a year? But on the other hand, I do like a deadline...Decisions, decisions.