Days of grace

The major life event has occurred. I am in an odd period of calm, balanced with anxiety, as I try and finish up as many little outstanding jobs as possible before the anxiety becomes overwhelming I really get into the new task that lurks on the horizon.

Thus am I back, for a short period of time, in the Editorium, working on a structural edit and trying to squeeze in the odd half-hour on Breathing Fire. Yes, I still have ambitions – though, now, I feel like I’ll be lucky to get it done this side of 2023.

It’s nearly finished! It really is. I have written – or loosely drafted, at least – the pre-climax, the first bit of action that precedes the final conflict. Now I’m just at the little valley that runs between the two sections; a place for emotional regatherings, a catching of metaphorical breaths before I try and pick up the pace again before the end.

And then it’ll be time for the denouement which, in my mind, will involve still more death and destruction, because I’m just like that. Because that’s what the story is telling me it needs.

But I have a lot of other things on my plate right now. The major life event has major consequences and the family needs a presence beyond the merely physical. Then there’s paid employment – I’m so busy with this writing life that sometimes I manage to forget I have a day-job at all.

This is good. Things are positive (apart from the aforementioned anxiety). I just need to get on and do.

Which is why I am, as ever, trying to make hay in this grace period I find myself in. I don’t know how long it will last – not long enough – and then inevitably I’ll have to reprioritise and the writing will have to take a back seat again.

Such is life: the reward for hard work is, has always been, will always be, more work.

Anyway, I’m tired and I have a lot to do. So be off with you. I’ll catch you again next week when hopefully I have more to say.

Rewiring

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Baby Lyra is home. The sleepless nights have begun. And I find myself facing a new challenge: how to abandon all old patterns of production and learn to write afresh.

I’ve written before about the value of routine, and habit, to creativity. I’ve waxed at length about how I’ve trained myself to sit at my desk at this particular time and crack on, to get down to it; to shape my brain to operate with the parameters of work and wakefulness. The more you do it, the more you expect to focus at a certain time, the easier it is to pick up and run.

Now I have to retrain myself to take opportunities as they present themselves; in those blissful snatched moments when Lyra is asleep but I’m not. I have to forget the years of mental discipline and work out how to be ad hoc, to be ad lib, to take my splintered moments and make the most of them. Because every second spent thinking of a project is a second you move further forwards. I’ve been advocating a way of working for years. Now I have to forget all that and start again.

I hate not working. To put it another way, I enjoy idleness so much that I fear not working. I now have the perfect excuse to sleep in, to prevaricate, to put everything else first. I have to say to myself that will not do that – whilst at the same time not being so hard on myself as to not give myself the much-needed leisure and relaxation time that everyone needs.

I’m sorry if this post is seeming rambly and unfocused: if it does then at least it’s an accurate representation of my mental state. The important thing for me is to write something.

Maybe next time I’ll be able to write something good.

Lyra

By the time you read this my carefree childhood days will be a thing of the past. Adulthood will have taken a good, hard look at me, scowled and kicked sand in my face before leading me off into the great sunset that is Responsibility. Because of this:

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Lyra Sibella Keynton Triggs. Despite appearances, she is not The Pope. Yet.

You can’t say the hints weren’t there: all the talk of ‘taking six months off work’; of ‘becoming an adult’; of my life changing. Something’s been a-brewing but I’ve not wanted to talk about it directly – partly for fear of jinxation, partly because I’ve maybe possibly been in denial, but mostly because that’s not what this blog’s about.

They say that everyone’s allowed one parenthood post. They can have one opportunity to gush; one chance to say how their kid is the best – better, even, than all the other ‘best’ kids out there. Well this isn’t it. This blog’s to talk about writing. Thing is…

Thing is, how can you talk about writing when you don’t know what shape your life will take for the next year?

Lifestyle affects writing. It’s obvious and it’s true. You can’t sleepwalk your way through a novel: you can’t (yet) download your thoughts directly onto paper or video your dreams. You need time, you need a certain degree of consciousness, you need routine, focus and direction. A wee bub challenges all these things.

Of course, it’s perfectly possible to write a novel with a small child in proximity. I’ve read a good handful of interviews where the starting point for the novelist was the sleeptime of the child. I had a Twitter exchange with Aliette de Bodard where we jokingly mooted writing an article on the problem/opportunity of writing with a smallrus in tow.

I know nothing of this yet. That it will affect me and my writing is not in doubt: the question is whether it will prove boon or bust.

In the short-term all I ask is that you be gentle with me. I don’t know what’s going to change. Maybe this blog will become more erratic. Please understand that I’m not abandoning you, that I’m still out here, across the cyberverse, doing my damnedest to produce wonderful words and wilful witticisms.

But Lyra comes first. And the wife. And sleep. After that – well, after that we’ll have to see.