Or:Work Backwards: A rough plan for getting my novel ready in time for Eastercon 2012
EASTERCON 2012: April 6 2012
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PRINTED BOOK RETURNED FROM BIDDLES BY THE WEEK BEFORE EASTERCON, AT THE VERY LATEST.
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COMPLETED NOVEL FILE UPLOADED TO BIDDLES - 2ND WEEK IN MARCH
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BOOK DESIGNED AND LAID OUT
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ILLUSTRATIONS COMPLETED, SCANNED AND RETOUCHED
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FINAL DRAFT COMPLETED.
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(NOW 2012/8/29)FIRST DRAFT NEARING COMPLETION(95%)
SIX MONTHS IN TOTAL.
A FUCK LOAD OF WORK.
DOABLE?
Monday, 29 August 2011
Tuesday, 23 August 2011
What is it like to finish?
No seriously. What is it like?
What is it like to hold in your hand something for which you have labored on and sacrificed time and energy for?
What is it like to hold in your hand something that would not exist if not for you?
What is it like to hold a physical representation of hours/days/months/years worth of work?
My thoughts have been dwelling on these questions of late. As i approach the end of creating the most demanding thing i have ever attempted, I find myself wondering what it will feel like to finish.
I have an invested interest in doing this right. Never before have I been so committed to delivering something which is genuinely that best that I can do.
Never.
This is an entirely new experience for me. Part of me wondered why I've never done it before, then another part of me remember full well how much hard work it has taken for me to reach this point. Part of me remembers how much time i have sacrificed for this..novel.
Let me share another revelation with you. It is only now, after writing nearly 124,000 words, 272 pages, reading voraciously in a manner that I've not done since i was a child, and actually buying books for research purposes that i actually feel that conformable with calling myself a writer. Previously, i felt like a fraud. As if at any moment, someone would tap me on the shoulder and inform me that i was a fake and charlatan. That I would be escorted off the premises forthwith and not be allow back in. I've been informed by several writers that this feeling is quite common when your just starting out.
The end, the REAL end is still some way off. But AN end is within sight. And for some reason i feel a great sense of....apprehension. That the feeling of euphoria I'll experience will be tainted by the knowledge that i should and could have done this sooner if not my my own laziness and fear. A fear of failure or fear of looking stupid.
So i ask: What is like to finish?
Tell me
What is it like to hold in your hand something for which you have labored on and sacrificed time and energy for?
What is it like to hold in your hand something that would not exist if not for you?
What is it like to hold a physical representation of hours/days/months/years worth of work?
My thoughts have been dwelling on these questions of late. As i approach the end of creating the most demanding thing i have ever attempted, I find myself wondering what it will feel like to finish.
I have an invested interest in doing this right. Never before have I been so committed to delivering something which is genuinely that best that I can do.
Never.
This is an entirely new experience for me. Part of me wondered why I've never done it before, then another part of me remember full well how much hard work it has taken for me to reach this point. Part of me remembers how much time i have sacrificed for this..novel.
Let me share another revelation with you. It is only now, after writing nearly 124,000 words, 272 pages, reading voraciously in a manner that I've not done since i was a child, and actually buying books for research purposes that i actually feel that conformable with calling myself a writer. Previously, i felt like a fraud. As if at any moment, someone would tap me on the shoulder and inform me that i was a fake and charlatan. That I would be escorted off the premises forthwith and not be allow back in. I've been informed by several writers that this feeling is quite common when your just starting out.
The end, the REAL end is still some way off. But AN end is within sight. And for some reason i feel a great sense of....apprehension. That the feeling of euphoria I'll experience will be tainted by the knowledge that i should and could have done this sooner if not my my own laziness and fear. A fear of failure or fear of looking stupid.
So i ask: What is like to finish?
Tell me
Tuesday, 16 August 2011
30 pages till the end
Thats it. 30 pages of A4 and my manuscript will be completed.
30 pages.
Wow!
I scrolled through the manuscript yesterday afternoon, and it began to sink in what an achievement I've had been able to accomplish.
I vividly remember writing the very first page. The very first line of text. I can remember reading the first chapter back to myself and being astounded that I had been able to write something that was readable.
I remember every library, every festival hall, every bedroom and hotel room I wrote the novel in. The novel has become an indelible part of my life. I cannot imagine my life without my netbook open and the voices of Marlyn, Phillip, Michael, Ayami (The mighty Ayami!!)Georgina, Miriam and the mother superior speaking to me in low whispers, bidding me to tell their tale. I am their narrator and I sing their song.
It is only now, that i near the end that I can actually say I am a writer and not feel like a fraud. I think of stories all the time now. I hear voices and they ask me to tell their tales. They ask me to bare witness. I am a conduit.
I cannot imagine what it will feel like when i press the full stop button for the last time and save the manuscript to the mutiple locations i save it to and declare that the first draft it completed. I have no idea what it will feel like to have the finished novel, illustrated, formatted, printed and in my hands. No idea what so ever.
But what I do know as a matter of certainty is that the day of this happening is fast approaching. This time next year the finished novel will be in my hands. This time next year all the doubters and nay sayer will be proven categorically wrong. I will have a physical object that represents-at this point-two years of hard work and sacrifice.
I just don't know what its going to feel like.
I only wish I had done this three years ago, instead of two. I wish I had listened more to the right advice. I wish I had done the work instead of trying to take short cuts. I wish read all the books I have surrounded myself with.
Shit.....
30 pages.
Wow!
I scrolled through the manuscript yesterday afternoon, and it began to sink in what an achievement I've had been able to accomplish.
I vividly remember writing the very first page. The very first line of text. I can remember reading the first chapter back to myself and being astounded that I had been able to write something that was readable.
I remember every library, every festival hall, every bedroom and hotel room I wrote the novel in. The novel has become an indelible part of my life. I cannot imagine my life without my netbook open and the voices of Marlyn, Phillip, Michael, Ayami (The mighty Ayami!!)Georgina, Miriam and the mother superior speaking to me in low whispers, bidding me to tell their tale. I am their narrator and I sing their song.
It is only now, that i near the end that I can actually say I am a writer and not feel like a fraud. I think of stories all the time now. I hear voices and they ask me to tell their tales. They ask me to bare witness. I am a conduit.
I cannot imagine what it will feel like when i press the full stop button for the last time and save the manuscript to the mutiple locations i save it to and declare that the first draft it completed. I have no idea what it will feel like to have the finished novel, illustrated, formatted, printed and in my hands. No idea what so ever.
But what I do know as a matter of certainty is that the day of this happening is fast approaching. This time next year the finished novel will be in my hands. This time next year all the doubters and nay sayer will be proven categorically wrong. I will have a physical object that represents-at this point-two years of hard work and sacrifice.
I just don't know what its going to feel like.
I only wish I had done this three years ago, instead of two. I wish I had listened more to the right advice. I wish I had done the work instead of trying to take short cuts. I wish read all the books I have surrounded myself with.
Shit.....
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