Another Snippet: My Life
In Wellington, New Zealand, it’s Sunday morning and dawn is not far off. Autumn rain is falling on the tin roof of my home, its natural sound muted by the ceiling and insulation. I yearn for those few times when (on an uninsulated tin roof) I’ve heard the full effect of that beautiful sound and thrilled to the vigour of Nature.
I’m six thousand words into writing my twelfth novel and must return to it this morning for the few hours I make for myself before going to a service at the local Catholic church. No rest for the wicked, they say.
The early stages of writing a book are difficult, I find.
I’m dealing with a creation that is totally new and developing. Opening scene ideas are popping into my head at a satisfying rate but, beyond the basic story line, I can’t see very far ahead.
I’m a seat of the pants writer. My biggest fear, as always, is that I’ll put a lot of work in then discover it’s not enough to fill all the pages that a book will require.
Well, back to it.
I’m six thousand words into writing my twelfth novel and must return to it this morning for the few hours I make for myself before going to a service at the local Catholic church. No rest for the wicked, they say.
The early stages of writing a book are difficult, I find.
I’m dealing with a creation that is totally new and developing. Opening scene ideas are popping into my head at a satisfying rate but, beyond the basic story line, I can’t see very far ahead.
I’m a seat of the pants writer. My biggest fear, as always, is that I’ll put a lot of work in then discover it’s not enough to fill all the pages that a book will require.
Well, back to it.
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