"All Work And No Play . . ."

I've come to the end my week as a quasi full time writer. Seven days of wall-to-wall 2nd draft shenanigans (with one day off in between to experience what it's like to step outdoors and feel the sun, wind and rain on my face).

All in all, it was a very successful experience. At times it was sublime, other times frustrating, but overall it was something I enjoyed. Yes, my dreams of being a full time writer have not been shattered by endless hours of sitting in front of a computer, not speaking with another living soul, and living off packets of Cheese Doritos.

However, there were a few items noted for improvement for my next foray into full time writing:

- A bigger and better computer. Not to hurt the feelings of my Dell laptop bought back in the heady days of 2004, but staring at a petty 17inch screen for too long ain't good for the old noggin. The Nurofen had to be cracked open a couple of times to erradicate severe mind cramp.

- A reduction in hours worked each day. Some may say 7.5 hours a day is a bit pissweak, but I found I had no time to do other things, like leaving the computer to experience that funny thing they call LIFE. There was a two day stretch there where I hadn't left the house; I found myself talking to bees outside my window and wearing tissue boxes on my feet.

- A comfy chair. Not necessarily a deluxe leather super comfy chair but something that doesn't have a wooden back or a seat that contours to the ass of someone who sat in it in 1979.

Other than that, it all went very well. Thirty nine hours of rewriting and reviewing, 20% of the way through the 2nd draft and, as can be seen from the Noise Reduction meter, nearly 20,000 words culled from the manuscript.

A long way to go but a very, very successful week - both in output and experience.

As celebration, on my last day, I ate a large Pizza Express American Hot pizza and garlic bread right before bed. I read an interview with Jack Nicholson about the making of The Shining from an issue of Empire and then hit the sack. That night, the pepperoni taking its toll on my digestive system, I dreamt that I had looked back on my week's worth of writing and found the manuscript consisted of only one sentence, repeated over and over:

"All work and no play, makes Jack a dull boy."

Reality was, I hadn't written anything that good.

The Full Time Writer

The Full Time Writer: a long way off for me, but from tomorrow for six days, I will get a sense of what it feels like. In order to make significant inroads into my second draft, I've decided to take four days off work and hit it full time. My plan is to work seven and a half hours a day, the minimum amount of hours to do my day job. Yes, as the great writers say, you've got to treat it like a job, and that's what I plan to do.

Besides using the time off to catch up on getting this second draft done, the next six days will give me an opportunity to see what it's like to be doing this gig full time. I'll get a chance to find out whether I can sit in front of my computer and write for complete days, instead of the one or two hours I catch here and there. Good opportunity to experience the daily grind of the full time writer firsthand - definitely worth giving it a test run given it's a major goal in my life.

Of course, there will be established authors out there saying that being a full time writer isn't just about writing. And I agree - there's book tours, festivals, signings, radio and TV, blogs to update, fan emails to answer, editors, agents and publishers to meet, and all the other commitments a writer has these days. I recognise that I can't really experience those things yet - all that will be a separate challenge when the time comes, but at least I will get a chance to see if I enjoy or loathe the writing process on a full time basis. 'Cause if I don't like that part of it, the rest of it won't mean a thing.

This little exercise raises a few intriguing questions - what if after these next six days, I absolutely hate the full time writer malarkey? What if I yearn for my day job, sitting in the front of the computer, playing with spreadsheets and numbers? What if I can't take the pain? Will I give up?

Nah, probably not. But hey, it's a good excuse to post a series of blogs about the experience - and it's worth it just for the possibility that I'll stand up from my desk on Monday night and scream - I WANT TO DO MORE OF THIS!!!

The Reduction of the Steaming Pile of Words

In a flurry of activity, the second draft began: powering through thepages; words culled left, right and centre; word count dropping fast.

Or not.

Since I completed the first draft to my novel, not a lot has happened. I managed to detail all my chapters on index cards, allowing me to see the whole picture and easily make changes here and there. I'm finding it very useful, but unfortunately, it's not a lot to show for almost a month's work.

Why the slow down in productivity, especially with late July fast approaching? Work. The full time paid variety. Yes, that old chestnut. Yesterday was the first day in a fortnight I've actually sat down at my computer. My day job has become my night job as well. Not ideal, but not the end of the world either. Things have quietened down now, so I will be taking a week off in mid-May to play catch up - a game I've mastered over the years.

The first task for Draft Numero Deux is to reduce that big steaming pile of words you see there on your right under "Noise Reduction." Two hundred and seventy words is just too much (you think?!). So a culling we shall go. Watch with intense concentration and wild glee as that figure reduces over the next month - bottoming out, hopefully, at 160,000 words.

If I can't get the word count down, I will instead release two books - Steaming Pile of Words - Part One and Steaming Pile of Words - Part Two. If it worked for Steven Soderbergh, it can work for . . . oh wait.

I Feel A Draft

I announced it a few weeks ago on Facebook: I've finished the first draft of my book.

It was a great feeling, typing "The End" into my manuscript; a feeling of achievement and satisfaction. Two and a half years ago I began writing this behemoth of a novel; two and a half years of intermittent writing, frustration with mediocre volumes of output, and moments of brilliance and clarity. From a germ of an idea formed in the early morning hours to typing those two words: it has been a long journey.

It's never just been about proving to myself that I can do it though, my ambitions extend beyond that, but completing the first draft has always been a major goal, appearing insurmountable at times, but, deep down, always achievable.

And I've done it. And I'm happy with the result.

My goal is still to have a finished product (fit for submission to agencies) by the Harrogate Festival in late July; a deadline fast approaching. The achievement of completing the first draft is already a distant memory, but as I wade through the second draft, it's still a memory that energises me each day I sit down at my computer.

I'm not naive enough, though, to not know that completing the first draft is only the half of it: draft after draft, alteration after alteration, the dreaded first read by someone other than yourself, and the mountain to climb towards publication, constitutes the hard work ahead of me. Hard work ahead and the continuing rollercoaster ride of emotion that every writer goes through.

Ultimately, there will be a great feeling of satisfaction and jubilation when the final draft is done and sent off to my chosen agents, but it will never match the pure joy and feeling of accomplishment, devoid of the anxiety of failure or critique, that is felt when those two words are written for the first time.

Something to savour for a long time.

Sins Of The Novelist

I can't remember where I have read this or who may have told me, but there are two sins that I've always believed should not be committed when writing the final chapters of a novel:

1. Introduce new characters.
   
2. Change narrative perspective.

The first one I believe is so as not to cheat the reader - for example: "I've been leading you along about Francis being the murderer; it was actually Johnny from down the road, a character who I haven't mentioned once before in my entire novel, but hell, he's as good as anyone to pin this confusing convoluted plot of a murder on and it fills those nasty plot holes I've managed to dig for myself."

It's a cop out and it's not fair. It's lazy, it's mean and it makes for a wholly unsatisfactory ending for the reader.

The second sin is less of a deal breaker, although it isn't necessarily good form and it stinks of poor writing and it is still kind of a cop out. You've written four fifths of the novel from Gary's perspective (third person, first person, whatever) and then you switch to Rodney's perspective in the last three chapters. Not only is it confusing for the reader, but it's also a bit disorientating and it messes with the flow. The readers have invested time with Gary, read about his thoughts and feelings, been there with him through the good and bad times, taken a journey with him. Now Rodney turns up, talking in your head, giving you his opinion. Who does this Rodney joker think he is, hijacking the narrative?

Grumpiness, followed by disconnection, followed by book in bin.

Hmmm, very sinful . . . .

Well, forgive me Father, for I have sinned. But hell, I think it works! I've committed the sins above but nowhere near the two-fingers-up-to-the-reader atrocities of the examples above. I definitely haven't cheated the reader. I still think the novel flows. But hey, time will tell.

And that time is fast approaching. As I type this, I only have four more scenes to write in the first draft of my novel. Exciting times and about time too. Saturday will be dedicated to those four scenes; Saturday night will be dedicated to celebrating.

I might just pop open some bubbly to celebrate or at least have one or two beers at the pub. I might let the hair down, go a bit wild. That's the exciting thing about sins, you never know which one you'll commit next. And there's loads of fun in the committing.