Writing a novel can take several years. It may never be published, so when to celebrate?

It took over 12 years for me to complete A Time for Peace and I don’t remember celebrating its progress. Probably its acceptance by Jan Fortune at Cinnamon Press, and definitely its launch at Leamington Waterstones on 18th October 2016. I’ve learned a trick or two since then.

Walk from the back of West Haddon church on an unsettled afternoon

Writing is a process. Each day I sit down to write is a step nearer to the novel being finished. Sometimes I make a note in my diary of how many pages I’ve written or edited. I don’t write down each idea I have though each is part of the process. When I start I may jot down stories about a character’s past which may or may not appear in the novel. I tend to dream up characters who have problems which they need to resolve.

I’m weak on plotting so my initial story drifts around a bit until I become more confident  about where it’s going. I experiment – try this approach, try another. Probably not a good idea. I’m part of two writing groups, Novelink which I’ve been part of for years, and Tindall Street Fiction Group, for not nearly as long. Their input helps me work out at the very least how the novel needs to be structured.

Because I’m a poet as well as a novelist, I stand a chance of finishing a poem. Cannon Poets in Birmingham has supported my poetry writing. I’ve been part of several on-line courses which have helped, including Jonathan Davidson’s short poetry courses and Wendy Pratt’s Substack prompts and Facebook page. It is satisfying to have a poem published whether in print or on-line and that is definitely a cause for celebration.

This is leading to the fact that I have now written the 3rd draft of Kaleidoscope, set in 1920s Hull. I’m celebrating by letting it rest for at least a month. Sure, I’m editing another novel I’m sending out to agents and publishers.   I continue to write poetry.

But I have more time to read, to drink coffee in cafés and go for walks.

Footpath towards Winwick

For me, therefore, the time to celebrate is now. During August when there’s light, when there’s no deadline looming and when a major draft has been successfully finished.

Winwick is supposedly identified by 2 goats.  There were no goats. Had we arrived?

Reading: I’ve finished Maggie O’Farrell’s, after you’ve gone. One of my friends has raved about Maggie O’Farrell for years, but I just couldn’t get into her work. However, I heard her being interviewed by John Wilson on This Cultural Life. I decided to give her another go. It took me a while to become hooked. She’s well worth sticking with. Birmingham’s Abigail Johnson’s The Secret Collector is very different. Told from the point of view of two characters it’s a page turner and a satisfying read.

This month Obsessed with Pipework and Reach Poetry arrived. In the former I particularly enjoyed Graham Mort’s, County Primary, 1963 an Paul Stephenson’s, Port of Piraeus.  I read a short story, Brokeback Mountain by Annie Proulx –i n preparation for Helen Cross’s Long-Short story course in September. I prefer paper books to Kindle, but I’ve started George Simenon’s – Maigret’s 1st Case and Sophie Hannah’s Little Face. I’ve just started Tove Jansson’s, The Summer Book.  Another novel to savour.