I’ve hit it. Thirty thousand words into book three and I’ve suddenly realised that everything I’ve written so far is absolute rubbish. I hate this novel. I hate the story. I hate the characters. I don’t know where I’m going. I can’t “feel” it. It’s no use. I’m giving up. Blah, blah, blah.
Gosh, I hate that damn brick wall. It’s easy to feel that I might as well just give up and not bother. It’s such hard work! Anyone who says writing is easy is either a flipping liar or an utter genius. Either way they’re not somebody I’d want to be friends with.
The irony is, this is the book that was supposed to start the whole Kearton Bay series off. It was the first idea I came up with. The main characters were the first two I dreamed up – the ones who popped into my head on that fateful journey to Somerset three years ago and started this whole thing off. They were the hero and heroine I thought were going to feature in Book One. Except, I decided to push them back and make their story a slower-growing one that lurked in the background of books one and two. Book Three is it – their moment. They’ve waited for it all this time and now the moment’s here they’re playing silly beggars.
I’m tempted to tell them to shove it. If they’re so ungrateful that they won’t take the opportunity I’m giving them they can easily be replaced. Or maybe they’ve told me to shove it? Maybe they’re sulking because I made them wait so long? Maybe they’ve simmered for such a long time they’ve now gone off the boil? Maybe I’ve completely lost the plot given that I’m talking about them as if they’re real people?
I don’t know why it’s proving so difficult this time round. It was never this hard with the first two. Actually, that’s an outrageous lie. Now that I think about it, I’ve lost count of how many drafts I did of There Must Be An Angel. The one that’s currently being read by a couple more willing volunteers before I polish it yet again and send it to an editor is definitely NOT the one I wrote back in 2011. I sweated blood over that flaming book and nearly gave up on it many, many times. I think maybe I’ve been spoilt by Book Two which was easy. It just wrote itself. Actually, that’s another outrageous lie. When I look back at the old blog posts written when I was writing that first draft it becomes pretty clear that I struggled then, too. Apparently I couldn’t feel the love for my hero. What? Was I mad? He’s gorgeous and absolutely lovely in every way! But no, back then I didn’t get him, didn’t see a way to understand him or care about him. I can hardly believe that now…
So I suppose the moral of the story is, it’s always blooming hard work and I always think it’s never going to come right and I always want to give up. But somehow, I always get through it. And I will again. I think the key to the whole thing is to do what I did for A Kiss From A Rose and sit down and chat to my two main characters. Especially my hero. I have to fall in love with my hero. Funnily enough, after that happens, writing suddenly becomes delightful all over again…;-)
Have a great week xx