It's been a while. A gap in blog posts was always likely given my history, but there we go. I didn't do it deliberately. At least, the rational part of me didn't do it deliberately. It was the part of me that's not making progress with the book.
Blogging is a strange thing. I was thinking about who I was writing this for, and I realised that I was in many ways writing it to myself. Not like a diary, though. The side of me that knows what I ought to do has been talking to the side of me that's supposed to be doing it.
And that side of me hasn't been making progress.
Why? Because writer-me isn't ready.
Here's an example. I have a completely new opening chapter in mind. It's much better, I think. I know what it's going to set up, what it will give in terms of character and psychological setting. I know 80% of what happens. But not 100%. So I can't start. Well, that over-sensitive, over-demanding, won't-get-on-and-do-it-anyway-until-it's-all-clear guy can't start.
Which is why I can't blame over-work for lack of progress. I have been up to my eyeballs in work, but that's never an obstacle when the pull of an unfolding story drags you back to the writing whenever there's a spare minute. There's a Problem, and writer-me is in a problem-solving holding pattern over the rewrite.
But blogger-me isn't happy about that. There are plenty of ways to get round The Problem: start on Chapter 2; draft Chapter 1 anyway and see what happens; go on hunger strike until The Problem is cracked. Easy really. So let's get on with it.
I can hear writer-whiner pleading for more prep time, but time's up. I have deadlines to meet and I can't hang around any longer. From tomorrow (Monday), previously unproductive early mornings will be writing time, painful as that might be. (Both of me hate early mornings, but if Jojo Moyes can do it, so can we.)
This will be a week of progress. But I may be grumpy.