So many of you have asked to see my schedule for the next month in a handy visual format* that I feel it only courteous to accede. Do you like how neat and orderly it is? How regular? So do I. That’s why I recorded it. As it swiftly falls apart (I try to update this every day as things inevitably move around) I want to be able to look back on this day and see what could have been…
Time really is of the essence with all of this. In fact, if I want to meet my various goals over the next five months then I have to do better than planned. While I’ve blocked out how long I think things will actually take, I really need to take less time and bring certain things forward.
You didn’t see it, obviously, but when I typed ‘take less time’ I started to cry. First it was with hysterical laughter, but then actual pain.
One thing that helps keep me on track under pressure is this blog. As I’ve previously discovered, blogging intermittently through my writing day keeps me very focussed indeed. It’s probably an accountability thing. Nobody wants to fall on their backside in public. The rest of this week, as you can see, is about short stories. I’ve two to write. The first is for The 52, and I’ll publish it here this evening. The other is a potential submission for an anthology called Qualia Nous. The way things are stacking up, I either get that done this week or not at all.
So up early (from dreams of dragons in tower blocks), took the diva to school, and remembered to eat breakfast. Wished my wife good fortune doing dayjobbery. All normal human activities present and correct. Sat down and replied to some of the emails I needed to, made some corrections to The Flesh Remembers and uploaded the amended version to Amazon, and made coffee. I’m now good to go.
Today’s story has a tiny skeleton in it, sent in to The 52 by the lovely Michele Mixell (also known as The Savage Mouse). It also links to one of my novels, so there’s that too. With that said, I’m off to visit an old friend.
Our housekeeper is worrying about finding a new job. This is turning out to be more distracting than you might think.
Still, I’ve gone back and reread my last encounters with the character I’m picking up for this story, and words are slowly appearing on paper.
Stopping again, as I some fella’s called to have a look at the car we’re selling. Slow going, as is ever the case with historical pieces. I keep having to Google historical details. I should probably write first and check later,. Research can be its own distraction.
The car has been duly paraded, and both sides made the appropriate noises of satisfaction. We’ll see whether he makes an offer in the next day or two.
Back to Victorian England then. I’ve about an hour before I have to pick the Diva up from school, so best make good use of it.
The story is coming along, slowly and surely. It’s a mannered affair with a rotten heart. I think i like it. It’s the school run now, so I’m off to dodge auto-rickshaws, elephant, and whatever else Delhi has in store for me today.
It’s 43 degrees outside. 43 fecking degrees. I’m knackered, just from standing in it.
On the plus side, returned home to learn that our daughter has a place in the school we were hoping to put her into, so that’s one more thing ticked off the list. Nice.
As for the story, I’ve just deleted a thousand or so words of it (about half of its length. It turns out that although this features a character I’ve written before, the story isn’t his at all. Back to square… well, not quite one. Square two.
Much rejoining about the new school, although Eva does not seem entirely clear on what there is to be so pleased about. It’s a school, after all. Life would be much better without them.
In story land, I now have 3000 words and I’m only halfway through. My next job when I finish is to cut, cut, cut. I prefer online stories be somewhere between 1500 and 2500 words where possible, so I have my work… um… cut out for me. This may be a long evening.
I’m not going to make it today. The story has changed again. William Hare needs to be surgically removed. It turns out this story isn’t connected to The Flesh Market at all. It’s about two cousins who… well, you’ll have to come back tomorrow to find out. It will be better for the changes. As painful as it is to do so much writing only to scrub half of it, the story I’m telling now wouldn’t have come to be without that work.
Reset. Moving on.
It does put me behind on my new schedule before I’ve even begun though. A very annoying way to end Thursday.
*Nobody. Not one person. It’s like you all have lives of your own to worry about or something.
Tagged the 52