No. of e-mails from agent: 0
No. of words: 25,735
It's Big Push Forward time. I don't believe in writer's block, it's not allowed. But have had several bad days now. Managed 1,700 words this morning, not good words, though. Little more than a frame, this happened, then that, then that. It's my Way Forward when writing isn't going well. Dump the critic for the moment and keep on going until things start to flow again.
All this waiting for the call isn't helping. I get distracted all the time, clicking on e-mail, clicking on blog stuff, the blog stuff a really bad distraction at the moment. It used to be a few games of cards, now it's a full-blown endless mine of other people's minds. Not sure it's too healthy. It's hard to disconnect from it all. For other, very serious, reasons, petiteanglaise, in a beautifully-written, thoughtful entry, is wondering about her blogging too.
What I have done, away from the computer, is an emotional map of the rest of the novel. From the detailed synopsis I have charted a chapter list right to the end of the book. At the top of each page I note the emotional state of all the characters involved. At the end of each page I note the emotional state of all the characters involved. At least one has to have changed. Reading Anne Tyler at the moment, studying her. Shapes. She's good at shapes. And her characters are very visual.
It's half-term this week, so writing-time is grabbed time. Get up early and Do It, before anyone else is up. Yesterday we were official photographers at a charity cricket match. It was fun to be a photographer again, I have great hopes for a pic of vicar with actress. I never want to see a cricket match again, though. We had to be there at the start for the kids' games, right through to the prize-giving in the evening.
Off to Folkestone in a while, to visit my mother. She's 94 and in a nursing home. Folkestone's a run-down place near the port of Dover with some very interesting corners & curiosities. Not least, The Grand, a cranky old apartment block for which the phrase 'faded elegance' could have been invented. We'll meet my sister there later for tea in the Palm Court. It oozes history, this place. Not least, because Agatha Christie wrote Murder on the Orient Express here.
Bye bye, thanks for visiting, come again soon.