People change.

It’s a fact of life that over time people change.  Yes, they do keep some of their original characteristics, but a lot of people sometimes wake up, forty years later, and wonder who it is that they are in bed with.

It hasn’t happened to me yet, but the person I married has changed.

We all do.

External influences like workplaces, friends, enemies, attitudes, and even children, all have an influence on who we become.  I personally have no idea where the 18-year-old version of me has gone, not that I remember much of him.

So it goes for our hero, David.  He has an inkling of who Susan is or was, but so much has changed for her.  Her mother is dead, she had been held captive by a madman, drugged and tortured, it would have to affect anyone.

But, then, there are different nuances, so un Susan-like.  Little changes he knows she might not partake in, and it is these that start him wondering, what if…

Firstly, she cuts short a planned reunion away in Italy, time for them to reconnect.  Yes, she is now head of the family business, yes, she is hanging out with new men in her life, and no, it seems he does not fit into her corporate persona.

Then there is the first assassination attempt.

On him.

And so the rollercoaster ride begins…

…

Anyone can write a book.

It’s an extravagant statement and not necessarily true, but often used by relatives when one of their numbers says they’ve written a book.

My brother said that when I told him I’d written one

I didn’t tell him that I’d written a dozen and published five, it seemed irrelevant at the time.

But as easy or hard as it may be to write one, writing a second is so much harder.

One of those five was ‘What sets us apart’, a story about a retired ‘problem solver’ who meets a girl, marries her, then she disappears.

It’s not long before he’s dragged back down the rabbit hole of ‘problem-solving’, this time a problem of his own.

Needless to say, there are endless espionage undertones along the way, meeting up with old friends, new friends, and enemies alike.

And his wife was not who he expected her to be, but something else entirely.

Oh, and just for good measure, the girl is the daughter of an old friend of his ex-boss, Prendergast, the legendary spymaster.

It was fun writing the first, weaving the story through many unexpected twists and turns, and arriving at a point where he finally gets her back.

Or has he?

As I was writing that first book, it occurred to me there was scope for a second book, a sequel, that could explore the theme that she might not be the real Susan.  After all, in the first, our hero has to contend with several clones that are almost impossible to separate from the real Susan.

What if he hadn’t rescued his Susan?

Thus, a sequel was born, “Strangers we’ve become’, and over the next month, I’m going to share the process to take it from the final draft to being published.

…

Anyone can write a book.

It’s an extravagant statement and not necessarily true, but often used by relatives when one of their numbers says they’ve written a book.

My brother said that when I told him I’d written one

I didn’t tell him that I’d written a dozen and published five, it seemed irrelevant at the time.

But as easy or hard as it may be to write one, writing a second is so much harder.

One of those five was ‘What sets us apart’, a story about a retired ‘problem solver’ who meets a girl, marries her, then she disappears.

It’s not long before he’s dragged back down the rabbit hole of ‘problem-solving’, this time a problem of his own.

Needless to say, there are endless espionage undertones along the way, meeting up with old friends, new friends, and enemies alike.

And his wife was not who he expected her to be, but something else entirely.

Oh, and just for good measure, the girl is the daughter of an old friend of his ex-boss, Prendergast, the legendary spymaster.

It was fun writing the first, weaving the story through many unexpected twists and turns, and arriving at a point where he finally gets her back.

Or has he?

As I was writing that first book, it occurred to me there was scope for a second book, a sequel, that could explore the theme that she might not be the real Susan.  After all, in the first, our hero has to contend with several clones that are almost impossible to separate from the real Susan.

What if he hadn’t rescued his Susan?

Thus, a sequel was born, “Strangers we’ve become’, and over the next month, I’m going to share the process to take it from the final draft to being published.

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.

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.

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.