Wonders Will Never Cease,

Today has been pretty extraordinary. Well, yesterday by now. 

Since the tragic loss of the novel, I have been really awful at convincing myself to sit down and write for a decent period of time. I have been terrible at the blogging thing for a while as well so to get a blog (two now) and some novel done within the same day is kind of incredible. I keep drinking gin though and I should really switch to coffee because I am starting to get a headache from being tired. I can also feel my eyelids dropping which is never conducive to getting words on the screen (which I genuinely called hypothetical paper in my head before I could find the word screen).

Part of me knows it's because I love the characters. They're incredible and I love them and they are really easy to write about, but I think it's also because this is the part of the year where I start waking up a bit. Winter is not my time of year. I like snow, I tolerate Christmas, but I was a Spring baby. I can do spring, summer, and autumn but as soon as winter hits I just get cold, grumpy and I feel like the only things in my wardrobe are jet black or navy. 

Anyway, I felt the need to celebrate the achievement. I will now continue to celebrate by rewarding myself with some sleep. 

Catch you later.

I Mean, This is Crazy, But Whatever,

If you have ever heard of Heath Ledger, you have most likely heard of something called 'Method Acting'. For those of you who haven't, the basic principles of it are that you get into character by living out parts of that character's personality, or their life story, to get a feel for who they are and be able to be a more authentic version of that character. 

The practice has received criticism, as everything does, because of the situations which actors who practice this method can place themselves into. Considering that people are thinking that eating washing pods is a thing to do, I now find this criticism even more questionable than I used to, but then again I realise that there are people in this world that I will never understand, and whilst that sometimes worries me because I would rather avoid churning out different versions of the same character constantly, I think that writing a novel where the main character died from eating a clothes washing tablet or something similar is not something really high on my bucket list. 

If you're wondering where I'm going with this, don't worry, I'm getting there... 

There have been times where I have wanted to sit and write, but have felt like there is such a disconnect between the character I'm writing about and myself that I'm almost certain that the character is just wrong. Everything about them. Suddenly, I cannot but an apostrophe right (I was going to say comma there, but I litter commas everywhere and I'm never quite sure that they are right,). 

I can't successfully write about someone being adventurous and strong when I haven't even bothered to change out of my PJs, but in a way, it goes deeper than that. Clothing and make up or whatever might seem like a superficial way to get "into character" so to speak, but I honestly find it helpful sometimes. I have sat around in my heels before now (which is strange because I rarely wear shoes in the house) because it suits the character I'm writing about. Before you think it (or, in case you were thinking it) no, I do not have a full costume change between different characters in order to make sure that I'm really "in character" for each person that's speaking. 

Anyway, yes, that's a strange little look into the way my head works when I'm writing. I think I possibly was using writing this as a way not to work on the novel though. Great. 

Catch you later.

See You in Paris,

Today is one of those days where I'm staring at the blank screen where a blog should be and I had no idea what to write. Part of me wasn't sure I really wanted to write anything, but if I keep giving into that feeling of not wanting to do anything, if I keep allowing that to be the winning feeling, I spend all my weekend, every weekend, doing absolute diddly squat, and anyone who knows me knows that feeds into this horrible vicious cycle. 

At the moment, I am trying really hard to get myself to the point where I want to be. I'm "happy" with the journey of it, and I am somewhat content with my life, but there are a few things I want to do that I think will make me more easily content. The problem is that one of my main flaws is I am impatient; I want everything to happen immediately and it doesn't. 

I booked myself a trip to Paris for my birthday. It's been a long time since my last holiday, a very long time since I last left the country and I was still sucking my thumb the last time I visited Paris, so I don't remember it for the life of me. There are things I want to do there, and things that I want to see, and so I decided to just do it. 

Unfortunately, there are other things that it is more complicated to just do. 

Part of me really wants to buy a place in London. Mostly that's because I know it would make me feel more secure, and partly it is so that people (not even mostly family surprisingly enough) can stop asking me that really annoying question of 'when are you moving back up north?'. Seriously, it's more irritating to me than the 'when are you going to get married/have babies' questions, though that might be more because they have slowed down the longer I have been single. Thankfully the 'when are you going to find someone nice' has also slowed down, though I think it's more because people think being single is a sensitive topic of conversation. 

The big problem with buying a place in London is, of course, who the hell can afford that? Especially going back to the single thing. Never mind sham marriages to get a visa, I'm surprised we're not seeing them to get a mortgage! God forbid you should be happy living alone. 

The other thing is wanting to re-write a novel - not the one I lost. It's harder to focus on than I anticipated, and despite knocking out a 20k day during NaNo, I'm managing about 1k a day with this. 

I know that I just need to buck up, get stuck in and accept that things are happening, however slowly, but sometimes that's just a little tricky to do. 

Time Worth Wasting,

I would love to say that in the time since I last posted a blog, or the time since I wrote about losing the novel even, I have been a perfect version of myself and I have spent the time needed to re-write the novel. I have sat there and stared at the screen and mechanically typed - whilst this is not a verbatim copy of what was previously there, it is enough. It is better. The crap has been sheered away and it is better. I would love to say that, but it's just not true...

This festive season I have spent quite a bit of time knitting. I have been knitting as opposed to typing, which is productive - I have produced quite a lot of blanket patches - but no pieces of a novel. There is a reason, but I'm not sure that I am even being honest with myself about it. 

Part of me wants to tell myself that I needed to give myself some time off and some time to heal. I would love to believe that one, but I also know that it is more likely to be I'm scared to try and write it again. Part of me is scared that I will write it again, not back it up and I will lose all of my words again, but part of me is scared because even though I have plot points, even though I can walk my way through the plot points and I will have a lot of it back, it's always a fear that I will struggle to write it. It's scary to stare at the blank screen and not be sure as to whether or not I can fill it with words again. 

The festive season is over now, so I want to move forward with getting back to writing, though I'm not certain I will start off with that novel. Here we go. 

Bring it on 2018.