The time has come to work on the second draft for the editor, taking into account all of the suggested changes, and there are quite a few. So much for thinking I could put in an almost flawless manuscript.

…

It’s halfway, but it doesn’t feel like it in terms of getting the story done. It’s certainly more than halfway in terms of getting words on paper.

The problem is, at this point, I should be reasonably happy with not only the progress but the quality of the story.

The thing is, I’m going to bed completely dissatisfied with the direction it’s going, and the characters. Of course, this is usual, I always have misgivings about everything while deep in the throes of getting the initial story down.

I know I/m not going to have a masterpiece in the first draft, but that still doesn’t mean I can’t have high expectations.

Maybe I need to take a step back.

Maybe I need to go back over some of the writing and see what it is that’s making me doubt myself.

Any other time, I would put it to one side and work on something else, let the story go round and round in my head until it works itself out. That sometimes takes months, and there’s a reason why some books take a year, or more, to write.

Unfortunately, I don’t have the time.

It’s going to be an uneasy sleep, if I get any.

The time has come to work on the second draft for the editor, taking into account all of the suggested changes, and there are quite a few. So much for thinking I could put in an almost flawless manuscript.

…

It’s halfway, but it doesn’t feel like it in terms of getting the story done. It’s certainly more than halfway in terms of getting words on paper.

The problem is, at this point, I should be reasonably happy with not only the progress but the quality of the story.

The thing is, I’m going to bed completely dissatisfied with the direction it’s going, and the characters. Of course, this is usual, I always have misgivings about everything while deep in the throes of getting the initial story down.

I know I/m not going to have a masterpiece in the first draft, but that still doesn’t mean I can’t have high expectations.

Maybe I need to take a step back.

Maybe I need to go back over some of the writing and see what it is that’s making me doubt myself.

Any other time, I would put it to one side and work on something else, let the story go round and round in my head until it works itself out. That sometimes takes months, and there’s a reason why some books take a year, or more, to write.

Unfortunately, I don’t have the time.

It’s going to be an uneasy sleep, if I get any.

The time has come to work on the second draft for the editor, taking into account all of the suggested changes, and there are quite a few. So much for thinking I could put in an almost flawless manuscript.

…

It’s halfway, but it doesn’t feel like it in terms of getting the story done. It’s certainly more than halfway in terms of getting words on paper.

The problem is, at this point, I should be reasonably happy with not only the progress but the quality of the story.

The thing is, I’m going to bed completely dissatisfied with the direction it’s going, and the characters. Of course, this is usual, I always have misgivings about everything while deep in the throes of getting the initial story down.

I know I/m not going to have a masterpiece in the first draft, but that still doesn’t mean I can’t have high expectations.

Maybe I need to take a step back.

Maybe I need to go back over some of the writing and see what it is that’s making me doubt myself.

Any other time, I would put it to one side and work on something else, let the story go round and round in my head until it works itself out. That sometimes takes months, and there’s a reason why some books take a year, or more, to write.

Unfortunately, I don’t have the time.

It’s going to be an uneasy sleep, if I get any.

The time has come to work on the second draft for the editor, taking into account all of the suggested changes, and there are quite a few. So much for thinking I could put in an almost flawless manuscript.

…

24 hours is a long time in writing.

The course of a story could go in almost any direction, other than the one you planned, and despair could easily set in.

Sunday, of course, is the day for lunch or dinner, and the family get together, and we try to do this every week. Covid put a dent in it, but now we are purportedly out of the woods, it’s back on.

And, like weddings and funerals, discussions can get heated. It’s not the distraction I was looking for, just a leisurely lunch, several glasses of wine, and congenial conversation.

It was anything but congenial, and a stark reminder of how divided a nation we have become. Covid has a lot to answer for, along with those who are peddling misinformation.

But, there’s writing to be done, and I have to get off my soapbox now.

Things are going to liven up from now on, and the various parties, good bad or indifferent are going to be pulled into the fray, willingly or not.

I’ve decided the main character will run into the anonymous girl in white, just before he discovers who she is.

And, this is the point where the lead into the revolution begins.

The time has come to work on the second draft for the editor, taking into account all of the suggested changes, and there are quite a few. So much for thinking I could put in an almost flawless manuscript.

…

It’s 13 days in, and unlike many in the workforce, there is no chance of taking a break. Writing, for most of us, is not a nine-to-five job where at the end of the day you throw everything in the top drawer of your desk and go home.

Chances are, you’re already home, with papers, research, and a whole lot more scattered around you. You look at the clock and think any normal sensible person would be anywhere but where you are.

My say is nowhere bring done. After 8 hours of distractions, and trying to focus on what is important, for the umpteenth time, I’ve failed.

I haven’t written the required word count.

13 days in, I’m starting to feel the effects of working continuously on the job at hand. It’s not the physical part of the job, it’s the mental effect.

5 pm, and you can see that the day is not going to end well, or worse, that it’s never going to end. Perhaps having a proper plan which all but allows the story to write itself.

Even then, quite often things don’t go according to plan. Stories have a habit of going in directions that never seemed possible at the beginning.

Of course, that’s your fault because you gave the character life, and it chose to go its own way.

Damn characters.

So, I’m calling the characters into a meeting and telling them they need to rein in this free will I keep hearing about, and follow the path assigned to them.

I’ll let you know how it went tomorrow.

The time has come to work on the second draft for the editor, taking into account all of the suggested changes, and there are quite a few. So much for thinking I could put in an almost flawless manuscript.

…

24 hours is a long time in writing.

The course of a story could go in almost any direction, other than the one you planned, and despair could easily set in.

Sunday, of course, is the day for lunch or dinner, and the family get together, and we try to do this every week. Covid put a dent in it, but now we are purportedly out of the woods, it’s back on.

And, like weddings and funerals, discussions can get heated. It’s not the distraction I was looking for, just a leisurely lunch, several glasses of wine, and congenial conversation.

It was anything but congenial, and a stark reminder of how divided a nation we have become. Covid has a lot to answer for, along with those who are peddling misinformation.

But, there’s writing to be done, and I have to get off my soapbox now.

Things are going to liven up from now on, and the various parties, good bad or indifferent are going to be pulled into the fray, willingly or not.

I’ve decided the main character will run into the anonymous girl in white, just before he discovers who she is.

And, this is the point where the lead into the revolution begins.

The time has come to work on the second draft for the editor, taking into account all of the suggested changes, and there are quite a few. So much for thinking I could put in an almost flawless manuscript.

…

24 hours is a long time in writing.

The course of a story could go in almost any direction, other than the one you planned, and despair could easily set in.

Sunday, of course, is the day for lunch or dinner, and the family get together, and we try to do this every week. Covid put a dent in it, but now we are purportedly out of the woods, it’s back on.

And, like weddings and funerals, discussions can get heated. It’s not the distraction I was looking for, just a leisurely lunch, several glasses of wine, and congenial conversation.

It was anything but congenial, and a stark reminder of how divided a nation we have become. Covid has a lot to answer for, along with those who are peddling misinformation.

But, there’s writing to be done, and I have to get off my soapbox now.

Things are going to liven up from now on, and the various parties, good bad or indifferent are going to be pulled into the fray, willingly or not.

I’ve decided the main character will run into the anonymous girl in white, just before he discovers who she is.

And, this is the point where the lead into the revolution begins.

The time has come to work on the second draft for the editor, taking into account all of the suggested changes, and there are quite a few. So much for thinking I could put in an almost flawless manuscript.

…

It’s 13 days in, and unlike many in the workforce, there is no chance of taking a break. Writing, for most of us, is not a nine-to-five job where at the end of the day you throw everything in the top drawer of your desk and go home.

Chances are, you’re already home, with papers, research, and a whole lot more scattered around you. You look at the clock and think any normal sensible person would be anywhere but where you are.

My say is nowhere bring done. After 8 hours of distractions, and trying to focus on what is important, for the umpteenth time, I’ve failed.

I haven’t written the required word count.

13 days in, I’m starting to feel the effects of working continuously on the job at hand. It’s not the physical part of the job, it’s the mental effect.

5 pm, and you can see that the day is not going to end well, or worse, that it’s never going to end. Perhaps having a proper plan which all but allows the story to write itself.

Even then, quite often things don’t go according to plan. Stories have a habit of going in directions that never seemed possible at the beginning.

Of course, that’s your fault because you gave the character life, and it chose to go its own way.

Damn characters.

So, I’m calling the characters into a meeting and telling them they need to rein in this free will I keep hearing about, and follow the path assigned to them.

I’ll let you know how it went tomorrow.

The time has come to work on the second draft for the editor, taking into account all of the suggested changes, and there are quite a few. So much for thinking I could put in an almost flawless manuscript.

…

It’s 13 days in, and unlike many in the workforce, there is no chance of taking a break. Writing, for most of us, is not a nine-to-five job where at the end of the day you throw everything in the top drawer of your desk and go home.

Chances are, you’re already home, with papers, research, and a whole lot more scattered around you. You look at the clock and think any normal sensible person would be anywhere but where you are.

My say is nowhere bring done. After 8 hours of distractions, and trying to focus on what is important, for the umpteenth time, I’ve failed.

I haven’t written the required word count.

13 days in, I’m starting to feel the effects of working continuously on the job at hand. It’s not the physical part of the job, it’s the mental effect.

5 pm, and you can see that the day is not going to end well, or worse, that it’s never going to end. Perhaps having a proper plan which all but allows the story to write itself.

Even then, quite often things don’t go according to plan. Stories have a habit of going in directions that never seemed possible at the beginning.

Of course, that’s your fault because you gave the character life, and it chose to go its own way.

Damn characters.

So, I’m calling the characters into a meeting and telling them they need to rein in this free will I keep hearing about, and follow the path assigned to them.

I’ll let you know how it went tomorrow.

The time has come to work on the second draft for the editor, taking into account all of the suggested changes, and there are quite a few. So much for thinking I could put in an almost flawless manuscript.

…

That sleepless night left me staring at a blank computer screen, drifting off into another world.

This is the problem of writing more than one story at a time. My other story, at the moment, is the treasure hunt, and it’s getting to the good part, actually finding where the treasure might be buried, and the thought of looking at unspeakable riches.

But, it hasn’t been plain saying, for the pirate, or the treasure hunters, and like all quests for treasure, it’s hard work and a lot of disappointment, working through the clues, the red herrings, and endless lies and deception.

If anything, money truely is the root of all evil.

Buy I digress…

Back in that nightmare of odd noises and misgivings about titles, I usually come up with a title, and if there’s a better one in the offing, it’d the one my editor comes up with.

She’s good, after the first reading, at picking a suitable title

In the meantime, we have a working title.

As for the noises in the night, I’m awake now and the noises have now identified themselves as normal, cats on the prowl. Possums jumping from trees to roofs, cars racing around the streets by drivers with nothing better to do, and the odd voice traveling on the wind.

Not everyone sleeps at night, not everyone behaves in a manner we expect.

Perhaps that’s a subject I can address in a story after I finish what’s on my plate now…

…

Something I will say about these early hours of the morning, it’s probably the best time to write, simply because there are no real interruptions, especially the phone and the myriad of scammers plying their new trade, stealing identities, and emptying bank accounts.

Tomorrow, I’m having the landline cut off, and wait and see how long it takes for those scammers to find my mobile number.