News from the outer limits of Blah
It's one of THOSE Fridays at work where the bosslady has decided that we're sitting it out. Besides, she needs me to proof pages and I don't blame her. I've gone squint, as well.
Today, in a fit of boredom, I interviewed Ronnie Belcher and my husband for Cape Town's free Exhibit magazine. As if I don't have enough on my plate already. But I was at work. Things weren't happening and I needed to amuse myself. Issue one is still up on its site so if you feel like entertaining yourself with the local arts and culture, you're more than welcome to check it out: exhibitmag.co.za
No. I don't get paid. I do this for fun, write? Right.
So, I reckon I've got my groove now, especially with regards to LPI edits. Got a huge batch off for the biggest deadline this week thanks to taking time off from work so that I could, erm, do the work I prefer doing. Next up is the SF novella then it's back to cats. I like cats. They have an annoying habit of silhouetting themselves against the screen while I'm trying to write/edit. (Thank you Kali, my rumpikat.)
I'm pretty much halfway and making good progress with Camdeboo Nights now. Already I can see how I'd not structure a novel quite like that again. I've become quite OCD when it comes to outlining and thanks to my super secret writers' group I've some really nice nit-picky people to tease out the plot gremlins.
I've also noticed that my chapters are getting longer than my first attempts. Or maybe I'm just getting better at linking together scenes.
So, ja . . . Ironclad Dreams is steaming along nicely. I'm really enjoying the characters' interplay, especially when Vendra annoys the living hell out of Nessa and Antonin. Vendra is another one I've dreamt up. I woke one morning with his name on my lips and the sense of someone who's a bit of a trickster, a coyote-type fiend who always makes it his business to know everyone's business.
I wonder what people must think when they see me bent over my exam pad on the train, scribbling away furiously. I estimate that I go through about two Bic pens a month. That's two hours a day, folks, and about 3 000 new words a day, five days a week.
In a perfect world sans interruptions that equates to about nine novels a year. Yikes.
Let's be conservative and say that it works out to four novels, realistically, because there's also all the outlining that tends to take me up to two weeks at a pop. Problem is now I've got the James Edward Guillaume series, the Camdeboo series and now the Ironclad series. Double yikes.