Writing ‘The End’
[image error]Yesterday I wrote ‘The End’ on, er, the end of my sixth novel, and I found that the uplifting feeling of achievement doesn’t lessen with the number of novels written. When you write your first novel, you never know if you’re going to complete it, and when you do, you’re amazed. When you write your second novel, you spend a lot of time thinking that maybe the first was merely a fluke and wondering if you can do it again. But after that, every novel on which you embark becomes a very special kind of challenge, where you dare yourself to create something unique. For me, I regard every novel I can complete simply as one less novel that will die with me.
How it happened
I began this novel at the end of February, and as is my habit the beginning went slowly. I tend to over-think plot and character instead of just getting on and writing the story. This is because I abhor deleting anything apart from adverbs that inadvertently slip in (see what I did there? :)), and fret that I might not be setting off in the right direction. From February to the middle of April, I put down a little over 25,000 words, which really is part-time writing (in my defence, the World Snooker Championships were on throughout April). At the end of April, I faced a dilemma: if I were to get the novel written and published this year, I had to get the first draft completed by the beginning of July, before the annual family vacation. Alternatively, I could keep up the part-time production rate and then aim for completion in the autumn.
Every novel starts with one blank page, but, to turn a phrase, you can’t write a novel sitting down. Not once in the 13 years I’ve been writing fiction has a Big Idea come to me or knotty plot problem been resolved when I’ve been sitting in front of the screen. The link between the creative parts of our brains and the physical movement of our bodies is well established in scientific literature, so you need to keep active if you want those good ideas to keep flowing.
In the event, for the last 50 days I’ve averaged over 1,000 words a day. That wouldn’t be a bad production rate for a wordsmith who had nothing to do but write, whereas I have a full-time job of eye-watering boredom which causes Repetitive Strain Injury to the synapses in the English language centre of my brain, and a growing family who, not unreasonably, expect to have some quality time with their husband/father. So to have arrived at the destination right on time has left me feeling appallingly pleased with myself and generally quite smug 
