We are taught not to be selfish, but…

Today I decided to take some time out and read a few blogs, to see what the rest of the world is doing post-CampNaNoWriMo, and sometimes read some news that’s usually a few days old, not that I’m complaining.

And still working on the James Bondish piece that set my mind on fire.  Last I heard, he has almost completed a successful, almost suicide, mission.  There’s just a small matter of a rebel helicopter with air-to-air missiles trying to shoot down the escape plane.

I try to keep away from the news if it’s possible, but it comes at you from everywhere.  My browser somehow decided to allow notifications and every few minutes a little popout slides out from the bottom right corner and tells me what’s gone wrong.

Never any good news by the way.

And yes, I have Windows 10, but I can’t be bothered reading the manual to find out how to stop them.  Maybe, subconsciously, I don’t.

I never thought one man could generate so many headlines.  We had one, given the nickname, the human headline, but Trump, he is in a class of his own.

I used to like watching him on The Apprentice, believe it or not.

But again I digress…

I saw the word selfish popup in a number of posts, and it reminded me that, at times writers have to be.  There are only so many hours in a day, and after emails, blogs, reading, news, life, there’s very little time left to write.

So, we need to be selfish at those times.  I am because when I sit down to write, there shouldn’t be any distractions.  As a writer, I’m not seeking popularity, maybe one day that will come, but I’m in this writing thing because I have stories to tell and I want to get them down.  Nobody may ever read them, I may never rise above mediocrity, but I am doing something I love, and very few of us out there can say that unequivocally.

Most of us have a day job or something else that consumes a great deal of our time.

Oh to be a successful author like James Patterson?  But how does he do it?  I guess it comes down to hard work, and a little bit of luck.

And maybe, one day, if I work hard enough, some of it might come my way.

We are taught not to be selfish, but…

Today I decided to take some time out and read a few blogs, to see what the rest of the world is doing post-CampNaNoWriMo, and sometimes read some news that’s usually a few days old, not that I’m complaining.

And still working on the James Bondish piece that set my mind on fire.  Last I heard, he has almost completed a successful, almost suicide, mission.  There’s just a small matter of a rebel helicopter with air-to-air missiles trying to shoot down the escape plane.

I try to keep away from the news if it’s possible, but it comes at you from everywhere.  My browser somehow decided to allow notifications and every few minutes a little popout slides out from the bottom right corner and tells me what’s gone wrong.

Never any good news by the way.

And yes, I have Windows 10, but I can’t be bothered reading the manual to find out how to stop them.  Maybe, subconsciously, I don’t.

I never thought one man could generate so many headlines.  We had one, given the nickname, the human headline, but Trump, he is in a class of his own.

I used to like watching him on The Apprentice, believe it or not.

But again I digress…

I saw the word selfish popup in a number of posts, and it reminded me that, at times writers have to be.  There are only so many hours in a day, and after emails, blogs, reading, news, life, there’s very little time left to write.

So, we need to be selfish at those times.  I am because when I sit down to write, there shouldn’t be any distractions.  As a writer, I’m not seeking popularity, maybe one day that will come, but I’m in this writing thing because I have stories to tell and I want to get them down.  Nobody may ever read them, I may never rise above mediocrity, but I am doing something I love, and very few of us out there can say that unequivocally.

Most of us have a day job or something else that consumes a great deal of our time.

Oh to be a successful author like James Patterson?  But how does he do it?  I guess it comes down to hard work, and a little bit of luck.

And maybe, one day, if I work hard enough, some of it might come my way.

NaNoWriMo – 2022 – The day after

Am I glad it’s all over for another year?

Yes and no.

Yes, it was a lot of hard work, sustaining a word count moving forward, especially when the was nothing coming through from brain to fingers.

Writing to a deadline, with a required number of words to be done each day, every day, is daunting. Especially when you write a tract of words that you don’t like because they were written just to make up the numbers, then go to bed, sometimes four or five in the morning, with the thought that the next tract is going to be just as bad, or worse, you can’t think where the story is going to take you.

That method of writing that is known as being a ‘pantser’ can be a struggle or a boon.

But it’s not something I will give up on, even though the previous book last year was written to a plan, but like all plans, the course of the story veered off plan when the characters took over half way through.

The main thing is that it gave me a reason to get out of bed each morning.

Like has been, for some of us with immune system deficiencies, very isolated and at times difficult to deal with the lack of interaction with others. By nature, I am a loner who doesn’t like the idea of going out and mixing with others, and the life of writing suits me, but during the pandemic, I found myself having to live with others who were also forced into isolation.

I guess I made adjustments and got to like the idea of having people around.

Now, with the pandemic supposedly over, and back to being on my own, it doesn’t seem the same.

OK, enough about my problems.

The story can stew away in a corner somewhere, and I will revisit it, perhaps in another three months.

What to do next?

A few short stories, maybe, or continue with the projects I started before November.

Enough, at least, to keep my mind off everything else.

NaNoWriMo – 2022 – The day after

Am I glad it’s all over for another year?

Yes and no.

Yes, it was a lot of hard work, sustaining a word count moving forward, especially when the was nothing coming through from brain to fingers.

Writing to a deadline, with a required number of words to be done each day, every day, is daunting. Especially when you write a tract of words that you don’t like because they were written just to make up the numbers, then go to bed, sometimes four or five in the morning, with the thought that the next tract is going to be just as bad, or worse, you can’t think where the story is going to take you.

That method of writing that is known as being a ‘pantser’ can be a struggle or a boon.

But it’s not something I will give up on, even though the previous book last year was written to a plan, but like all plans, the course of the story veered off plan when the characters took over half way through.

The main thing is that it gave me a reason to get out of bed each morning.

Like has been, for some of us with immune system deficiencies, very isolated and at times difficult to deal with the lack of interaction with others. By nature, I am a loner who doesn’t like the idea of going out and mixing with others, and the life of writing suits me, but during the pandemic, I found myself having to live with others who were also forced into isolation.

I guess I made adjustments and got to like the idea of having people around.

Now, with the pandemic supposedly over, and back to being on my own, it doesn’t seem the same.

OK, enough about my problems.

The story can stew away in a corner somewhere, and I will revisit it, perhaps in another three months.

What to do next?

A few short stories, maybe, or continue with the projects I started before November.

Enough, at least, to keep my mind off everything else.

NaNoWriMo – 2022 – The day after

Am I glad it’s all over for another year?

Yes and no.

Yes, it was a lot of hard work, sustaining a word count moving forward, especially when the was nothing coming through from brain to fingers.

Writing to a deadline, with a required number of words to be done each day, every day, is daunting. Especially when you write a tract of words that you don’t like because they were written just to make up the numbers, then go to bed, sometimes four or five in the morning, with the thought that the next tract is going to be just as bad, or worse, you can’t think where the story is going to take you.

That method of writing that is known as being a ‘pantser’ can be a struggle or a boon.

But it’s not something I will give up on, even though the previous book last year was written to a plan, but like all plans, the course of the story veered off plan when the characters took over half way through.

The main thing is that it gave me a reason to get out of bed each morning.

Like has been, for some of us with immune system deficiencies, very isolated and at times difficult to deal with the lack of interaction with others. By nature, I am a loner who doesn’t like the idea of going out and mixing with others, and the life of writing suits me, but during the pandemic, I found myself having to live with others who were also forced into isolation.

I guess I made adjustments and got to like the idea of having people around.

Now, with the pandemic supposedly over, and back to being on my own, it doesn’t seem the same.

OK, enough about my problems.

The story can stew away in a corner somewhere, and I will revisit it, perhaps in another three months.

What to do next?

A few short stories, maybe, or continue with the projects I started before November.

Enough, at least, to keep my mind off everything else.

NaNoWriMo – 2022 – The day after

Am I glad it’s all over for another year?

Yes and no.

Yes, it was a lot of hard work, sustaining a word count moving forward, especially when the was nothing coming through from brain to fingers.

Writing to a deadline, with a required number of words to be done each day, every day, is daunting. Especially when you write a tract of words that you don’t like because they were written just to make up the numbers, then go to bed, sometimes four or five in the morning, with the thought that the next tract is going to be just as bad, or worse, you can’t think where the story is going to take you.

That method of writing that is known as being a ‘pantser’ can be a struggle or a boon.

But it’s not something I will give up on, even though the previous book last year was written to a plan, but like all plans, the course of the story veered off plan when the characters took over half way through.

The main thing is that it gave me a reason to get out of bed each morning.

Like has been, for some of us with immune system deficiencies, very isolated and at times difficult to deal with the lack of interaction with others. By nature, I am a loner who doesn’t like the idea of going out and mixing with others, and the life of writing suits me, but during the pandemic, I found myself having to live with others who were also forced into isolation.

I guess I made adjustments and got to like the idea of having people around.

Now, with the pandemic supposedly over, and back to being on my own, it doesn’t seem the same.

OK, enough about my problems.

The story can stew away in a corner somewhere, and I will revisit it, perhaps in another three months.

What to do next?

A few short stories, maybe, or continue with the projects I started before November.

Enough, at least, to keep my mind off everything else.

NaNoWriMo – 2022 – Day 30

All’s well …

After an uneventful trip back home with some friendly Russians, it’s back to business for David and Alisha.

There’s the compound in rural England, the one with the fence that would normally be impenetrable.  David and the team, forced into action because of a basic mistake, take the fortress by storm, and discover … nothing.

The birds have flown the coop.

Well, they think they have.

Then there’s the castle, and discreet movements at night means something’s afoot, and there’s yet another fortress to be stormed.

And, in the process, David is reunited with an old acquaintance.

But, a search of the new buildings finds something David never expected to find.

Back in London, David goes to visit Prendergast, not so well protected these days, at his private residence.  After a meaningful chat, the association between them is over, and Prendergast has played his last game with David.

Then it’s simply a matter of going to pick up Susan from the airport, and Boris getting the word she can come home.

They, too, have a meaningful chat in the car back to the London residence, and then the Castle, where Boris has accepted an invitation from David for a short stay.

Skeet shooting is only one of the things David has lined up.

Then, after a few months, life returns to normal in an unusual place, far, far away on the other side of the world.

Words written today, 3,699, for a total of 76,418.

There will probably be more because I feel there are parts that were written too hastily, but that will be rectified in the first edit.

After Christmas.

Do you ever feel like you’re teetering on the edge of a precipice?

I am teetering on the edge of a precipice.

Of course, literally, that might mean I’m standing at the top of a craggy cliff looking down at a bed of rocks.

One that would hurt a lot if I landed there.

But there are many ideas of what that precipice might be, metaphorically.

It might mean, in an argument, you’re about to say something you’ll regret or can’t take back.

It might mean you are one action away from turning your parent. or someone else, into a green-eyed monster, and do something you thought you’d never do.

Pushing them to the precipice.

It might mean you are one thought or idea away from solving a problem.

Like the title of your next book.

Or the formula to create a warp drive.

Or perhaps a simpler problem like where the money is coming from to pay next weeks bills.

My precipice?

The next plotline for my current NaNoWriMo project.

And, no, I’m not usually one of these writers who plan the whole novel before writing it.

But ideas like this, they just happen.

I usually write my stories in the same manner it would be for the reader, not knowing what will happen next, but it’s hard not to.

It’s cold and wet at the top of the cliff …

Damn!  Just had an idea.  Got to go.

NaNoWriMo – 2022 – Day 30

All’s well …

After an uneventful trip back home with some friendly Russians, it’s back to business for David and Alisha.

There’s the compound in rural England, the one with the fence that would normally be impenetrable.  David and the team, forced into action because of a basic mistake, take the fortress by storm, and discover … nothing.

The birds have flown the coop.

Well, they think they have.

Then there’s the castle, and discreet movements at night means something’s afoot, and there’s yet another fortress to be stormed.

And, in the process, David is reunited with an old acquaintance.

But, a search of the new buildings finds something David never expected to find.

Back in London, David goes to visit Prendergast, not so well protected these days, at his private residence.  After a meaningful chat, the association between them is over, and Prendergast has played his last game with David.

Then it’s simply a matter of going to pick up Susan from the airport, and Boris getting the word she can come home.

They, too, have a meaningful chat in the car back to the London residence, and then the Castle, where Boris has accepted an invitation from David for a short stay.

Skeet shooting is only one of the things David has lined up.

Then, after a few months, life returns to normal in an unusual place, far, far away on the other side of the world.

Words written today, 3,699, for a total of 76,418.

There will probably be more because I feel there are parts that were written too hastily, but that will be rectified in the first edit.

After Christmas.

NaNoWriMo – 2022 – Day 30

All’s well …

After an uneventful trip back home with some friendly Russians, it’s back to business for David and Alisha.

There’s the compound in rural England, the one with the fence that would normally be impenetrable.  David and the team, forced into action because of a basic mistake, take the fortress by storm, and discover … nothing.

The birds have flown the coop.

Well, they think they have.

Then there’s the castle, and discreet movements at night means something’s afoot, and there’s yet another fortress to be stormed.

And, in the process, David is reunited with an old acquaintance.

But, a search of the new buildings finds something David never expected to find.

Back in London, David goes to visit Prendergast, not so well protected these days, at his private residence.  After a meaningful chat, the association between them is over, and Prendergast has played his last game with David.

Then it’s simply a matter of going to pick up Susan from the airport, and Boris getting the word she can come home.

They, too, have a meaningful chat in the car back to the London residence, and then the Castle, where Boris has accepted an invitation from David for a short stay.

Skeet shooting is only one of the things David has lined up.

Then, after a few months, life returns to normal in an unusual place, far, far away on the other side of the world.

Words written today, 3,699, for a total of 76,418.

There will probably be more because I feel there are parts that were written too hastily, but that will be rectified in the first edit.

After Christmas.