Book two is finally beginning to show its true colours. After months of letting the stuff fall out of my head, it’s now entering the last 20%, which means that all that stuff I wrote and didn’t understand is finally starting to make some sense to me. ‘Ahhhh…’ I say to myself, or the cat if she looks like she’s listening, ‘so THAT’s why I made up that person / place / armadillo way back in September.’
It’s an odd thing this writing malarkey. I have come to the conclusion that it’s the old subconscious that does all the work and I’m really just tagging along for the ride. But this means the last chunk of writing is always the most difficult for me, as the subconscious chunk of my brain wants to keep on having fun, making stuff up. Going, ‘Hey, I know what’d be cool…’ and generally running amuck like an politician in a brothel. But the old non-subconscious is shouting at the top of its lungs, ‘Stop it! Behave!’ Otherwise I’d never finish the damn thing. It’d end up three and a half miles long: whole forests would have to die to print it. HarperCollins would kill me… OK, they’ve been nice to me so far, but you never know what kind of evil lurks within the hearts of women. Men usually – I suppose.
So, this all means that the book is either within spitting distance of the finish line, or it isn’t. And I’m not going to be able to tell until I get there.What fun!
Labels: Dying Light