The new genreclectic novel I'm writing called "The Custodians", aka you the people, was going well (if slowly) for the last three years, but now I've really started to get into making sure this book is finished some time this century. Ten thousands words or so in the last few weeks and it's all starting to come together.Let me rephrase that: IT'S ALL COME APART.
Imagine this: for the last three years a person has been weaving a big rug by hand. The process has involved pain-stakingly selecting, colour-matching and tying thousands of separate threads together, line by line. Over the course of the last couple weeks he's somehow managed to unravel the lot of it (in a series of self-defeating sabotages of his own handiwork) and is now looking at a massive pile of fibres that he SOMEHOW has to weave back together into some sort of recogniseable item.
Yup, three years of laboriously building up some semblance of narrative drive, chapter structure and character arc with relevant research and lines of investigation into all sorts of arcane subjects associated with THE END OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT, all blown out of the water at this half way stage. 45,000 words in and, with about 45,000 words of real typing trauma to go, this is always the stage where the writing of a book gets real interesting for me. I'm basically 'up shit creek without a paddle' and relishing the challenge of what's to come. This is what real writing's all about - the creative escape, the Houdini moment. It's happened on every book I've ever written.
Wish me luck - lol.
