here hair here

My hair has suffered its share of abuses over the years. There's been a lot of bleaching, dying, DIY styling, and ill-advised home haircuts. It's a wonder the whole lot hasn't fallen out in disgust years ago. It also means, once my hair reaches any real length, it's lousy with split ends.

To call them the bane of my life is a bit melodramatic. They're irksome is all. And I've gotten into a habit, in procrastinating moments, of taking the scissors and sorting through the strands of hair until I find one that's frayed, and clipping it off.

This is a slow and pointless process that makes no tangible difference to the state of my hair. Eventually I'll conceed that the proper fix is to lop an inch off everywhere. Or pay a hairdresser to do it. Or shave off the whole damn mess and start over.

And, coincidentally, this is how my current writing is progressing as well.

office space

For a long while, I never had a designated workspace at home, particularly after our desktop computer exploded and we all gravitated to laptops instead. My preferred workspace became the sofa, under a blanket, with wine and movies readily to hand. Which is all well and good, but there's something to be said for having a place that's set aside exclusively for work.

With that in mind, about a year ago I bought a desk. It's an old writing desk, with sticky drawers and baize on the fold-down top that's so covered with ring marks it could double as a crop-circle blueprint. I've become very fond of it.

Because I'm a hoarder at heart, it's also covered in crap:

Just about everything there has some daft significance to me. Our engagement photo, two dolls my grandma left me, a plaster bust of Vlad Tepes given to me in Romania, several dinosaurs, a piece of glass I found in a glass-blowing factory when I was six, a bear made of blue-tack. I could tell you a boring story about every random item, if you stood still long enough.

This is a pretty tidy version of my desk, btw. There've been times when I can't get near it because it's covered in bills or books or socks. Look, there's even room for my coffee today.

In comparison, this is my husband's work desk:

He's in his second year of his nursing degree, and this is fairly indicative of how he thinks it's going, the poor lamb. His desk is pretty functional - it's covered in work, or work-related items (and also the baby monitor). His is an area for working; mine is to distract me from working.

And this is Jacob's desk:

Which is cute and teenage. The bonsai tree is called Odin.

These desks are all in the same room, btw, one in each corner, so we have the illusion of working together even though we're facing in different directions.

They also suit us as individuals. I couldn't work at Jacob's desk. For one thing, he wouldn't let me; for another I can't get out of the broken saggy office chair he insists on using. John's desk has too few distractions for my limited attention span. And I don't think anyone could work at my desk, because there's a system to be learned as to which piles can be moved and which are load-bearing to the upper layers of crap (also everyone hates my ergonomic chair).

Anyway, it's very comforting that we've got our own personal spaces. And if the work gets done, that's what matters, doesn't it?

It's 2015, Where's My Hoverboard?

Starting 2015 on an obvious and already well-worn question there, but never mind...

Anyways, how was your 2014? Did it feel kinda short? Like if you blinked too much you would've missed the whole damn year? Certainly did to me. Time is definitely speeding up, isn't it? I'm sure science has proved that.

Now here we are in 2015 and I still haven't found a cohesive and consistent format for this blog, so for the moment it will continue to be sporadically updated about nothing in particular. And for now, here's a run-down of what I think I achieved in 2014:

My main resolution was to write every day. Previously, I've set myself the target of one thousand words per day... which sometimes I hit and sometimes I didn't. The problem was, on days when I wasn't hitting my target then I'd feel bad, and there were conspicuous weeks when I didn't write anything at all.

So I set a new goal: write every day. Doesn't matter if it's a thousand words, two thousand, fifty, or just a few scrawled words in my notebook. On one day I wrote two hundred illegible scribbles (I may have been drinking). On another, the only thing I wrote down was, "he'd been dead so long that when they picked him up his face stayed on the carpet (true story)", which I found written in biro on my leg when I came home from a hard day at the pub.

I also kept a spreadsheet of my daily-weekly-monthly totals, because I'm sad like that. In 2014, I wrote a total of 295,670 words (not all new stuff - some was editing or rewriting, which got an approximate word-count assigned to it). My most productive month was November, unsurprisingly, when I clocked 54,562 words for NaNoWriMo. Least productive was February with 10,177. Most words in one day was 3,039. On average I wrote 24,639 words per month, 5,685 words per week, 810 words per day.

That last stat was a pleasant surprise. Apparently, once I gave up my determination to set down 1,000 words every day and instead concentrated on writing however much I felt like, I actually became more productive, and in the end didn't fall too far short of that arbitrary 1,000 wpd target.

I finished one novel in 2014 (a crime story I didn't really intend to write until I started), completed two-thirds of another (women's fiction, another genre I'm currently blundering into), I blogged and posted crits for my writer's group, I wrote synopses and outlines and a few poems, and scripted half a graphic novel about gangster-flowers. I also read 42 books (not as many as I'd hoped).

So there we go, a bit of bragging and a small ego-boost, and now at least I know where all those moments in 2014 went.

This year... well, this year I intend to keep trying to write every day, since it seems to be working for me. My new resolution is that drawing counts as writing, and any time I spend drawing can be given a word-count-equivalency, because I need to get back to drawing.

Happy 2015 to you all. :)

10 Reasons Why You Shouldn't Do NaNoWriMo

Because, let's face it, there are plenty of reasons why you should. The Official Website has approximately one bajillion pep talks covering every possible reason why you should sacrifice your November for the sake of a first draft. So here, as a counterpoint, are ten reasons why you* shouldn't do NaNoWriMo this year.

(* of course, as The Vandals say, when I say "you", I mean "me")

1. You don't have the time
I've made this point before. No one has the time to write 50k words in thirty days. We all have day-jobs and demanding families and housework and social lives and three kids and Alien Isolation. Carving out writing time from this schedule is crushing.
Writing takes time. I have a certificate that says I can type an average of 34 words per minute (apparently), so even if I type at flat-out, no-time-to-think-or-plot speed, the daily total of 1667 words will take me about fifty minutes. If I had fifty minutes to spare each day, I'd have a nap.

2. You don't know what to write about
Ideas are difficult. Putting ideas into a coherent and entertaining form is seventeen times as difficult. And even if you have the best idea in the world:

3. You haven't done enough prep
Preparing a full character sheet can eat up hours of your life. World-building has stolen more of my time than Fallout 3. Even if you're a pantser like me, you need at least an outline, right? Or a chapter-by-chapter breakdown. So, not only do you not have time to write, you don't have time to properly plan the extravagant plot, characters, theme etc. that your story deserves.

4. No one wants to read what you've written
This one can be deceptive, because if you say to someone, hey, I'm writing a book, there's about a ninety percent chance they'll ask to read it. DO NOT BE FOOLED BY THIS. Paranoia is your friend--if you never write it, you never need risk someone guffawing at your prose.

5. The first draft will suck
I refuse to believe that any writer, no matter how successful, loses the desperate hope that somehow, against all odds, this first draft will turn out perfect and you won't have to change so much as a misplaced comma. And then you read back what you've written, and you cry.

6. It's difficult
Writing is difficult, Princess. Anyone who tells you different is selling something. You will put in long hours, you will fight with your laptop, you will shout STUPID STORY BE MORE FINISHED, and you will probably get RSI, especially if you're having to balance your laptop at a silly angle because there's a cat on your knee, like what I'm doing.

7. Your inner critic won't like it
As much as I love NaNo, it's a bit harsh on the "inner editor" - the sensible voice in your head that corrects your syntax and tells you when your main character is being an unnecessary doofus. NaNo's point is that for November you should put the editing part of your brain aside and concentrate on words on paper, but I think this is a bit mean, since the best work should be a collaboration between all the voices in your head. So I tend to use "inner critic" instead.
Regardless, whatever you call him/her, your inner bumgardner won't like being ignored, and will undermine your confidence at every opportunity, like in that episode of Red Dwarf. Can you put up with internal nagging for a whole month?

8. Your idea sucks
Sure, it seems great now, but is it good enough to maintain your interest for 30 days? Bear in mind all the other things you could be doing. Is it seriously worth sacrificing your time for? Be honest now.

9. You can't find your muse
S/he's probably gone off drinking with your inner editor. I told you it was a bad idea to start excluding people.

10. Reason 10, because there's always a tenth reason
Even if it's not specifically mentioned on a list like this, you can always find a reason not to write. A novel is a big investment of time and effort, and if you don't really REALLY want to do it, you'll find a reason not to. It's easy to let a day slip past, and you tell yourself you'll catch up at the weekend, but then it's midweek again and you're so far behind there's really no point even trying to reach your goal, and hey have you guys been watching Intruders on BBC? It's great.

So there you go, ten reasons not to NaNo, go ahead and pick the one(s) you like best. Or, ignore me, and ignore all the other niggling doubts your inner scuzzbucket throws at you, and go write. Oh, and friend me. Ta.

The Work-In-Progress Blog Tour

Late to the party as usual, but I've been invited to participate in a blog tour by the lovely and talented Elizabeth Brooks... I just hope all the other participants haven't gotten bored and gone home. :)

The rules of the WIP blog tour are as follows: provide the link back to the post by the person who nominated you, write a little about and give the first sentences of the first three chapters of your current WIP, then nominate four other writers to do the same. Piece o cake, right?

I hit a snag straight away, in that I'm not at all happy with any of the first lines of my initial chapters. In point of fact, I'm currently at that wondrous stage of the writing process where I'm unhappy with pretty much every damn line, and am two glasses of wine away from binning the whole thing.

But, since temper tantrums are only advisable and/or tolerated when you're a proper artist, here's some bumf about my current Work In Progress.

Okay, so, I love crime novels. Apart from Horror, Crime is my favourite genre to read in. I have a long and illustrious history of stalking crime authors and fan-girling at them until they sign something so I'll go away (in fact I did it just today with the fabulous Alan Bradley, who was launching his new book, The Dead In Their Vaulted Arches... but I digress).

So I figured I'd have a go at writing a crime novel. In typing that last sentence, btw, I can feel a thousand crime writers wince, because it must be infuriating for someone to blithely announce they're "having a go" at the thing you do for a living. ("Oh yes, I'm taking a swing at being a nurse, how hard can it really be?")

And I've also discovered, crime novels are flipping difficult. I'm not cut out for suspense. For a start, I have a lousy memory, so there's no real point in peppering chapters with carefully laid clues, because by halfway through I will have forgotten their existence, or at least their purpose. The second problem is, I get overexcited when I write (enthusiastic is the term I like) and am terrible at keeping secrets, so I keep trying to tell people who the murderer is every ten pages or so.

Then there's the issue that the first draft of my carefully plotted novel came in at 45,000 words, which even for me is a bit skimpy. So I had to go back and add a whole second strand, resulting in the story now being told partially in the present day, and partially in a (very extended) flashback.

The plot (tch, it says something about my writing that I've only got to the plot after four paragraphs, doesn't it?) concerns Daniel, who returns to his home village after a seven year absence. Naturally, when he left he did so under a cloud, and no one is happy to see him back, least of all his family. His timing is lousy as well - he arrives in the middle of the spring floods, when a major river has burst its banks and the whole village is washed out, so the only people remaining are the very determined or those with a substantial collection of sandbags.

Things get worse for Daniel because, on returning to the family home, he finds his brother murdered. Dun dun DUN. Concealed around the house, he also uncovers an unexplainably large amount of cash. He's anxious to find out what the hell happened, but finds himself implicated in the murder.

With the village cut off by the floods, there's no way for Daniel to escape from either his wrathful family or the true murderer... and no way for the police to come save him.

Okay, it sounds fairly passable when it's set out like that. :) The novel is called Fourth To The Devil, and these are the first lines of the first chapters:

CHAPTER ONE:
To return to Stonecrop, Daniel was forced to sprint across the closed road bridge while the police officer wasn't watching. In another few hours the bridge would be impassable even on foot. The river was still rising.

CHAPTER TWO:
The Crossed Swords public house benefited from its location at the junction between the high street and the road out to Westbridge Farm.  The land there was slightly higher than the rest of the town, and the pub now sat on a tiny island some fifty feet wide.

CHAPTER THREE:
Samual eyed the cup of coffee on the table.  His need for a warming drink was apparently less pressing than his wish to stay out of obligation to his younger brother, and he pushed the cup away untouched.

As I say, I am unhappy with these lines, and they will hopefully be prettified to some significant degree at some point. :) They do, however, hit on several important parts of the novel - floodwater, pubs, coffee, and the two main characters. So I guess it could be worse. :)

Ok, that's enough from me. I nominate:

Sonja Perrin
Matthew Baugh
Charles Phipps

Manx Litfest 2014

This year's Manx Litfest took place last weekend and was a huge honking success. We had so many wonderful events and visiting authors, and everyone was so delightful, it's difficult to even pick a top three moments from the festival.

Having said that: Driving around with the Mobile Library and Neil Spring (when I grow up, I want to drive a bus full of books). Heckling the Poetry Slam so hard I lost my voice for a week (it's only just come back now). Shoe-envy with the gorgeous Sarah McIntyre. Berating Mark Grist for using the word "rat" in a poem, resulting in him changing the line for the following performance, even though "longtail" didn't scan properly. Hot chocolate and ghost stories in Castle Rushen. Persuading Mark Billingham to hug-tackle my shy friend. Samantha Shannon and my sister fangirling about Harry Potter. Coming home with a car full of signed books, empty Monster cans, and a CD of rap-poetry.

So, yeah, it was amazing fun. I am so happy there's something like this on the Island, and that it's continuing to be a success, and that I got to be a part of it this year. Hugs!

(And check out the brilliant photos at Steve Babb's website.)

HOME GROUND ebook edition

Good news everybody!

My third novel, HOME GROUND, is getting an ebook release! I'll post the link as soon as I get the thumbs-up from the publishers, but for now, if you would like a sneak preview the first three chapters are available to view here.