So the Voices have already started.
It's still a few weeks until I start my next novel.
I'm still tinkering with the last. I'll wait for July 1st and the beginning of Camp Nano to begin writing, but...
But... in the dark before I sleep at night, and in the dark before I rise in the morning, the Voices are beginning to squabble and chatter.
I can feel the heady rush of those first few thousand words of desperate tapping, completely caught in story, before the New Novel becomes the Old Novel, and I begin hankering for the Next Novel.
I can feel the momentum gathering.
I've finally decided which novel to work on next. And it's a beast of a story. I've had it in mind... probably ten years now. It spans fourteen full on years, and that's excluding the time spent in Myth-time Ireland.
Fosterling begins with a teenage girl waking from a nap on the westward side of an isle in the Outer Hebrides, to find the sea god, Mananan, riding his chariot across the waves towards her. He entrusts her with a newborn babe, and tells her to keep the child safe from his murderous grandfather, One-Eyed Balor.
I can hear my characters, Cat, Kev, Niall and Stan debating and discussing, arguing, and deep in grief.
And of course I can hear Jack. The Newborn, the Fosterling. It amuses me a little that my tinkerings will mean that the great god of Light and Craft, Lugh, known from one end of Europe to another, will have a Glaswegian accent.
And the accent? Och, away wi' it all. That's a problem for another day.
It's still a few weeks until I start my next novel.
I'm still tinkering with the last. I'll wait for July 1st and the beginning of Camp Nano to begin writing, but...
But... in the dark before I sleep at night, and in the dark before I rise in the morning, the Voices are beginning to squabble and chatter.
I can feel the heady rush of those first few thousand words of desperate tapping, completely caught in story, before the New Novel becomes the Old Novel, and I begin hankering for the Next Novel.
I can feel the momentum gathering.
I've finally decided which novel to work on next. And it's a beast of a story. I've had it in mind... probably ten years now. It spans fourteen full on years, and that's excluding the time spent in Myth-time Ireland.
Fosterling begins with a teenage girl waking from a nap on the westward side of an isle in the Outer Hebrides, to find the sea god, Mananan, riding his chariot across the waves towards her. He entrusts her with a newborn babe, and tells her to keep the child safe from his murderous grandfather, One-Eyed Balor.
I can hear my characters, Cat, Kev, Niall and Stan debating and discussing, arguing, and deep in grief.
And of course I can hear Jack. The Newborn, the Fosterling. It amuses me a little that my tinkerings will mean that the great god of Light and Craft, Lugh, known from one end of Europe to another, will have a Glaswegian accent.
And the accent? Och, away wi' it all. That's a problem for another day.
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