Deadlines and assorted complications

Deadlines. Gotta love ‘em.

I myself am not so good at them. Not that I miss the buggers – rather the opposite, in fact. I’m no good at pacing myself sensibly. Whenever a job comes through I throw myself at it, body and soul, and work all hours until it’s done, even if I the timeframe is generous and the target wide. I am simply too afraid of failure, of letting people down. As character flaws go, it’s not the very worst, but it is annoying.

At the moment I have a great six-week chunk of work on my desk. I should be able to meet it fairly comfortably. So do I throw myself at it and let it absorb me in its cocoon? Or do I try and pace myself and mix in other jobs – and maybe a little actual writing – in with the Big Task?

I’m trying the latter, which means that I’ll be able to progress with Breathing Fire – albeit at a slower pace (if possible) than before. This is good because it means – at least theoretically – that I’ll be able to keep up some momentum and won’t entirely forget where I’ve got to, what I’m trying to mull. And I have, indeed, made a little progress. The big break-in and the subsequent climax rapidly approach, bringing with it the need for thought and intelligence which is, of course, where I fall down. It also may mean that I have things to write about in this blog, though I promise nothing interesting.

The downside of this multi-strand approach is, of course, anxiety. I’ll always be worrying that I’m not leaving enough time for Task A, that I’m wasting time when I should be focussing, laser-like, on my target.

It also relies on me having time – actual available time in which to do more than one task. I have a part-time day-job – I am lucky – and a small (though heavy) child to wrangle. So there’s only maybe two days a week when I can look at more than one job.

Did I mention I also have a beta-reading to undertake? That’s on a six-ish week deadline too.

But the main mission comes first. It may be that I have to abandon side-quests and this many-headed attempt will fall apart within a week. Or it may be that the main job is remarkably straightforward and I have time to broaden out my focus. At the moment I can’t really say.

As a non-professional author, life is going to throw times like this your way. You’re going to have to find some way to cope, whether it’s going hell-for-leather to clear the non-creative jobs aside, or multi-tasking, or even taking a whole chunk of time away from real-life in order to focus solely on what really matters. I am, as I said, very lucky in that I can afford to work two part-time irregular jobs – library assistant by day, editor by later-in-the-day – rather than having to scrape time around full employment.

But editing time is also writing time. And life is shortly going to become very much more complicated.

So it’s on me to make the most of what time I have. And, for now, that means forging ahead with both editing and creative work. Because anxiety is just another name for love.

Anxiety lifting

Confidence is the trickiest of tricky buggers. Mine has been oscillating wildly this last few months; I’ve been switching from bold optimism to doom and gloom, turning on a sixpence and making myself – and the people around me – sick in the process.

I can write this now because I had a fillip last night that’s put me on more of an even keel. No, nothing too exciting or remarkable – the Publisher of my Dreams has yet to pass judgement on my magnus opus – but a self-inflicted weight has been lifted from me.

I wrote recently about being too afraid to read at my new writing group because everyone there is simply too good at what they do and I am afraid of appearing silly. Well I sucked it up and I presented an extract from Our Kind of Bastard. And I’m glad I did because, though it was far from plain sailing, I now have a much better idea of what I’m doing and where I’m going and where I’m going wrong.

More importantly, I feel less paralysed, less frozen. I worry far too much about what other people think and about how I’ll react to it. The anxiety I was feeling before reading was making me sick. It’s such a relief to have the weight off my chest.

And the funny thing is that the criticism I received was not light, nor simple. There is learning to be done and improvements to make. I guess it’s just now I think I can see a little clearer, have a greater understanding of where I’m going.

More significant is the personal thing, though. I’m not saying I was especially brave or anything for facing my fears, just that I was caught in a negative loop – I hadn’t realised how negative – and this helped get me out of it.

I guess, what I’m trying to say is that I have anxiety. *shrug*

Time makes fools

‘Time makes fools of us all…’; photograph by Thordi

Time makes fools of us all. And time is very much on my mind at the moment, as mine has suddenly become a premium commodity.

Yes, I have just started a new phase in my life of paid employment. Or, to put it another way, I’ve got a new job. This is for reasons which are sound and very much justified and, indeed, employment will hopefully be pleasurable. I’ll be working with books and with readers, and that can never be a bad combination.

But it means I’ll have less time for writing, for editing, and for managing life beyond the paying of the bills. This causes me a certain amount of anxiety. I have commitments, the ones to myself not the least amongst them. I want to write and to edit and spend time on Twitter; I want to communicate, in one medium or another and my new life status threatens that.

So what will I do? Well, I’ll take around a fortnight to stress and then I’ll settle and work out new working arrangements. Because that’s what we do when life changes; for a while the shift seems all-consuming and we don’t quite know where the time is going. Then we settle down and what’s important to us will reassert itself.

So at the moment I am all of a quiver: I have a new editorial job upcoming and I fear for when it’ll get done. I have a short story to tinker with and a whole damn novel to edit. When will I find the time for these things?

The answer will come. Things will settle and new working patterns will develop – hell, with a different type of stimulation I’ll almost certainly write better for it. I will work out all the answers because I have to.

But for now I am all of an anxiety; and it’s not just the new job fears.

Next up

Manuscript

Next on my to-do list, whilst I wait for my next piece of commercial editing, is to dig up a manuscript I last worked on over a year ago. That’s not too long in the grand scheme of things, but it’s long enough for me to forget just about every single detail. Long enough, one hopes, to gain a little perspective and to be able to judge the book on its true merits.

Yes, it’s back to the word-mines for me. After complaining, last week, about the need for emotional space after the completion of a big project, I am going straight back to the well. It’s really too soon; I’m not strong enough yet. But I have a bit of time and I need to be doing something to justify my existence. So it’s on with editing.

This particular piece is the third book in the Antarctic trilogy – the finale, at least as it stands. It’s a novel I have fond feelings for. I enjoyed writing it, as far as I can remember, and it gives Anders Nordvelt, my protagonist, a measure of closure after the ordeals he’s been through throughout the three books.

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My heart says that this is the best of the trilogy. And right there is something to be fearful of: one can never trust one’s own emotions on such a subject. I’ve been wrong before. When I first wrote what became Human Resources I thought it was the best thing I’d ever written. That took a hell of a lot of work to beat into a reputable shape (I think I succeeded, by the way. You’ll be able to judge for yourself come November).

So I am being exceptionally cautious. In my last pass, all those months ago, I excised a large (10kish) section because it interrupted the flow; now I worry that the novel is too short. And while I feel like I have the nucleus of a strong story, it’s just the execution that matters. Ideas are two a penny, but the way the tale is told is what makes it unique.

I am doing my best to not be a fool to myself. Sadly, being a fool is what I do best. And I am terrified: this novel is next up to be sent to my editor; the next with a chance of being rejected, in other words, and one that I really care about being published. I want to get it right. I want to do it justice. Maybe I’m speaking more of anxiety than I am about writing here, but I’m terrified of the publisher turning round and saying no.

So yes, this matters. Time I got down to it, I guess.

Actually, forget all that: my next commercial job just came in so I guess all this is put on the back-burner, for a little while at least.

Onwards!

Onwards

There are a surprising number of sloth/unicorn artists out there. I believe this copyright is owned by Jez Kemp

The difficult second album

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I have done what I promised. I have submitted Human Resources and now I have that vague feel of remorse that often follows big actions.

But it’s not a big thing is it, not really. I’ve been rejected hundreds of times. A rejection here wouldn’t be so different – would it?

Well, yes and no. A rejection here won’t make me poorer. It won’t knock me off what low-level perch I’ve managed to claw myself to. I won’t be back to starting from scratch.

But this is my difficult second album. It’s where the sales from my last release are compared with the quality evident in my work to determine if I have a future with this publisher. A rejection means they don’t believe I can sell enough to make their investment worthwhile. This isn’t necessarily down to me, or things I can control, but obviously I control the quality of my work.

Or do I?

As soon as you commit a story to paper, you are starting the process of fixing it into a set form. It’s fine and flexible for the first draft or two – it’s easy to change your mind at this stage – but the more time you spend on a work the more ossified it becomes. Soon it is a colossal wrench to make the smallest changes.

At some point you will come to a decision: continue wrestling with an intractable beast, start a new work from scratch, or declare it finished and move on.

I’ve had real difficulty in getting Human Resources into a shape I’m happy with. The wrestling has left its scars. Now I have declared it finished but I am still unsure if that’s because it truly is as good as it could possibly be or if I’m simply too beat up.

Time, too, is a factor here. Without an agent to tell me what is ‘normal’ for the delivery of a sequel, I imagine missed opportunities, publishing dates passing, other authors and novels by the same publisher dominating my news-feed. Have I been forgotten? Am I already written off as a flop? Why haven’t we got his next work yet?

Second-album syndrome. It shouldn’t exist. You’re always trying to do your best work; why should this one be so different?

It is, though. And now I’m nervously waiting the answer that could go a long way to determine my career as a writer.

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