I’m back in Rosebud, and one of the reasons I’m here is to write. Few distractions in this joint, and pretty simple lifestyle.
The writing has gone real well, but not entirely as I suspected. I’m meant to be working on this book that’s been in my head for years. Went great guns at it last week. I went into the weekend with it full in me. Speaking to people in and around the wedding I told a number of people about it. Every one of them was fascinated and encouraging. I was glad to tell them – it put pressure on me to get it done.
I’ve hardly worked on it this week though. I woke up Monday with another book in me. As I do, I thought to make a few notes for later on. What happened instead is that I started and I didn’t stop. The words just flowed, and one thing led to another.
I don’t know what to make of it. Basically what I’ve written is a vaguely fictionalised version of my last 18 months. There’s plenty of material there, and a story worth telling. It feels as I write as if this has been bursting to get out, and can’t get out quick enough. And out it comes.
I plan to finish it one day, and if it’s worth publishing will do so under a different name. In the meantime I want to get back to the first book when I can get my head around it again.
For the record I’ve got yet another novel idea in the wings. No shortage of ideas.