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Island Life, Word Birds & Process #5

By nature I’m a lark. I go to bed early, get up early & I’m rarely out after dark without a note from my mother. I’m known for my early starts. After tea & a read – maybe some hand-written notes – I attend to the chores, write my daily Letter to America, see to anything urgent in my inbox, take a peek at Facebook & begin work around ten o’clock.

Over the past week, instead, I’ve been at my desk around seven o’clock. Still in my PJs & with only the tea drunk, the book read & the cat fed, I’ve ignored everything else and written my heart out. I have no idea why, only that I’ve been waking up excited & single-minded & the result is a huge number of words.

It’s a double-edged sword mind. I’ve reached the tricky third quarter of the tricky second book. I’m aware of sag & clutter, of wandering off on extraneous tangents. It’s highly likely the thing is rubbish & I’m deluding myself it’s going to work. I know a lot of writers give up at this point, abandon the story & begin a new one. It smacks too much of the revolving door to me. And I know the ending, even though it isn’t in sight. I’m in too deep to give up and start again.

At least I can sense it, which is an improvement on a week ago.

press-wyeth

 

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