"I Don't Think I'd Know How to Dabble"

pinterestI have two Word documents open on my computer at present, and one of them is Gingerune. 

"What were you typing on?""Gingerune.""Ah, good.""...Why, do I get a cookie if I work on the right story?""Essentially, yes."

If I am not completely stagnant, I am bombarded by everything at once.   I shot forward into Gingerune rather splendidly for a few days, and have hit a few more snags and so my pace has once more dropped back to the elbow-crawl.  Looking over what I managed to write this morning is almost depressing: all that labour, and so little return!  (Of course, it is also Monday, and I have had to do laundry, but I still have the notion that I must be 100% productive 100% of the time.)  I also spent a little time yesterday evening kicking my heels and playing with my next novel; this morning saw me tying a couple of strands together and putting them into a Word document - which is the other document I have open.  I began to play with the openings of a few more novels, all of which I rather like at present.  I have at least four more novels straining at the gate: as I told Rachel in my last letter to her, I don't think I will be lacking for material for many years to come.  They all have pretty sound beginnings, I think: I hope that will comfort me in my attempts to keep my hands off them. 

I'm sure you are all happy to hear about four more novels.  Four.  You read that correctly.  Four.  And they are all rather surprising creatures: I was taken aback by the forms they chose to take.  I'm keeping a notebook for them, and I wasn't planning on taking the notebook with me to Scotland (space, as I have made abundantly clear, is limited), but it is looking as if I'm going to have to drag that beast along too - or else go mad. 

Not that anyone will be able to tell the difference.

One other piece of book news on my end is that Adamantine's manuscript has been sent to a publishing house for perusal.  Nothing has been decided, and I won't hear back from the publishing house until probably after Christmas, but it's something!  One tends to grow giddy over the smallest of progressions in the writing world.  In case any of you were despairing in true diva fashion over Adamantine ever making it out of the gate, well, it's pacing in the paddock.  That's for certain.