It’s interesting that no matter how much you outline and plan a chapter, when it comes to actually putting words on paper it doesn’t quite run the way it should.
Last night I toiled over the chapter that has the first of the plot twists.
It’s been writing itself in my head, and I’ve been making notes to supplement the plan and take those notes into consideration.
When I wrote it, the first time around, it didn’t seem right. You know what that’s like. It’s not the second guessing thing, it’s not the being over critical thing, you write it, walk away, get a coffee, or in my case a large Scotch and soda water, and go back.
You either tell yourself it’s utterly brilliant, or at the other end of the scale, complete rubbish.
I was somewhere in between, and the cat, who was skulking nearby suddenly found himself a captive critic.
I read it out loud, he made weird faces, and, yes, I could see what was bothering me.
Three hours later, past two in the morning, it was in better shape than I was.