This week I am
going to give trees a miss because there is something else I want to
talk about. The headline is misleading: since this is from my own
observations it must be specific to Marcia's year and it is wrong to
suggest that all novelists work the same way and, indeed, I am sure
that they don't.
The year starts
with a vague idea, a shadow usually of a character but sometimes of a
place. Obviously there is nothing for me to do regarding the
characters. Marcia, and Marcia alone, will be the one talking to them
and listening to their replies – sometimes to the puzzlement and
amusement of passers who, at that time, Marcia will not even see. No,
it is finding the places that is my part of the deal.
I get helpful hints
such as, “I think there is a biggish house with a small one
alongside, probably a converted stable or something. There's a stream
and behind the hill climbs up and is wooded.” From that I am
supposed to be able to take Marcia to a location so that she can say,
“Yes, that's it”. Those who have read my (I fear at times
somewhat pithy) comments on this procedure will know that “marital
bliss” can be under considerable strain.
Anyway, we have
that idea, that comment breathed into the receptive ear and Marcia
begins to become more alive. Then other bits get added and this is
one of the most exciting times in the year as the shape of the next
story reveals itself.
The excitement
continues for the first few chapters of the book until she hits the
twenty thousand word count or thereabouts. Then the panics start and
she finds the next few week a real problem. By now she is convinced
that (a) the book is rubbish, (b) even if the book isn't rubbish it
will be far too short, (c) even if the book isn't absolute rubbish
and it has the required number of words her agent won't like it and
(d) even if the book isn't absolute rubbish and it has the required
number of words and her agent likes it her editor won't like it.
Probably my most important role during this period is keeping her
spirits up and that is where all of you come in too. You can have
absolutely no idea of how incredibly important your emails, comments
on this blog and letters are both to Marcia and to me.
Then, suddenly,
that middle bit of the book is written – that desert has been
crossed – and there ahead in clear sight is the finishing post.
Suddenly Marcia starts to work for far too many hours in the day: one
is reminded of greyhounds coming out of the trap as the hare races
by. This creates other problems – RSI in wrist and shoulder and
headaches.
It is no good my
trying to slow her down as she just isn't listening. Anyway, I was
delighted when yesterday she announced that there were a few things
we needed to check up on Dartmoor as that meant she would spend the
day away from the computer which would do her the world of good. As we came down off the moor these two were perched on top of adjacent telegraph poles: an alert looking crow and a buzzard seeking a late luncheon.
Then
the book will be finished and the year will begin all over again. I
understand that she already has the opening sentence of the next book
but who will be in it or where it will be set is a complete mystery.
This
is the Large White Butterfly Pieris brassicae.
As its name suggests, it is famous for laying its eggs on brassica so
that its caterpillars can destroy the gardeners crops. Here he (or,
of course, she) is having a quick snack on the buddleia.
The Blog Dog of the
week is called Jasper.
