Now that my novel is in the hands of my agent, there’s been a strange hiatus (I think this happened last time too). A sense of energy fizzing around with nowhere to go. A lack of purpose. And, all the time there’s something telling me to ‘Get on with it!’ So that’s what I’m doing. After a decent month of submitting a few poems and short stories, and generally sorting out my house, I’ve started researching the next novel…
Of course (if you’re a writer) you’ll know that’s not strictly true. Ideas have been surfacing for nearly a year. But research is now what I’m doing: making notes, googling, taking books out of the library and mostly following my nose. A messy amorphous stage which is so much like playing it feels self indulgent, on a critical day. Or, on a good day, like being a student again. That sense of both opening up, of being what the French writer Gide (tell me if I’m wrong) called ‘disponible’, but at the same time intensely focused.
Reading :‘A night to remember’, about the Titanic.
Googling: the height of St Paul’s Cathedral.
Making notes on: possible main characters.
This will all change!