I am currently holed up in my woman cave editing the final chapters of my current WIP, Defining Moments. Honing, polishing and pruning. At least that is what I am supposed to be doing and not playing around with the video synopsis.
It does bother me that I spend everyday writing, but never allow myself time to sit and read a book these days. But, I have decided to stop beating myself up about it because I do read. I read a lot, but not always in the good old-fashioned way. These days, thanks to the Internet, it is so easy to tap into a plethora of resources for literature, art and just about everything else... 24/7. So I quench my constant thirst for knowledge browsing the Net.
I'm biased when it comes to The Algarve. It is my personal, European haven, the place I would like to spend more time. It's not just a passing phase, I've been in love with the place for twenty-six years... and who can blame me? I have waxed lyrical about it since I was blown away on my first visit.
I don't think my mother read any of my literary contributions since I had poetry published at eleven when she had high hopes that I would become Gloucestershire's answer to William Wordsworth. Oh, and helping my step-father piece together his aeronautical autobiography, of course.
I haven't submitted to a publisher since 1998. This week was a first for me because I have never approached a scary agent before and some of them weren't even born in 1998. Now, barely out of University, with dynamic wish lists, eager to discover the next J. K. Rowling and an enduring character, such as Harry Potter... who they've grown up with. As a much-older-than-I-would-like debut novelist, my bittersweet story is about the life of a forty-year-old woman born in 1959, who grew up with the non-PC tales of Noddy and Big Ears. So, many baby-faced agents might consider that my first foray into Women's Fiction would be better suited under the heading Historical Fiction.
Capturing the essence of a 90,000 words (±) novel is a bloody nightmare. We spend weeks, months and years, scripting stories, creating characters, in 500; is a bloody nightmare. Or is it because and I'm trying too hard too hard in my attempts to wow a potential agent?
I returned home with my head buzzing and lost all track of time, as I embarked on a wine-fuelled creative writing binge.
Now, I wake up a dawn. I no longer need one alarm... let alone three. Watching the sun come up each morning is my inspiration. Each dawn is different and triggers new vibes for me to pour into my writing for that day.