The Editor's Desk

This is where it's all happening. Or where it's supposed to already have been happening.

I'm editing the book. Well actually I've only been playing at editing the book - making an odd change here and there, tweaking a paragraph here and there. Nothing like I know needs doing.

So today, I've decided to go to editorial confession. Bless me novel, for I have sinned. I have ignored you in the hope that you may miraculously cure yourself of all plot holes, in-consistencies, scenes that don't move the story forward etc etc. But today, I have kicked my own arse as hard as it needed kicking and have done something I haven't done in a while. I have now planned this edit. The way I have it planned, I will finish it this day fortnight.

On my desk are my tools. The printer to print off a complete manuscript. Pen to make notes in margins. Spiral bound notebook for lengthier notes. Alignment sheet for er, the recycling bin. Specs so I can see what I'm doing. Pile of receipts on window to remind me that some day I might get paid for all this. And laptop to make all the changes.

I'm scared. So scared that I've avoided doing this properly until now. Scared because I'm not sure I know what I'm doing. I must have slept during the 'editing a novel' class in school. Hopeful too because I know if I can get this next stage right, I have a good book on my hands. Maybe even a publishable book on my hands?

Booze, Balls, The Boss and The Book

Today, I am feeling rather wretched. I do not expect sympathy however, having had a wonderful day yesterday at Wimbledon watching Federer, Maurismo and Murray. Yes! I was there the day they closed the roof for the first time! The tennis was exceptional as was the Pimms. The devil's own juice that stuff, tastes like lemonade with cucumber in it but with a seventeen per cent alcohol content, it's lethal!

But it's what you do, isn't it? If you get an invite to see the tennis. You go! You ignore the fact that you've a book to edit and you should have started it last week. The book can wait. Federer and those little yellow balls won't. So here's some things I thought I'd share about Wimbledon.

Federer - A very splendid looking speciman in real life.

Balls - really do bounce very high.

Male players - also grunt when playing although nothing like the women. They tend to be gentle grunts.

Pimms - Devil's juice.

New Roof - allows for late play as it's floodlit. Great idea unless you're working there since seven a.m. like my daughters.

Strawberries - very tight portions. About ten strawberries for £2.75!!

Which brings me to the highlight of my week/year. For those who read my blog of old, you may remember my love/obsession of the Boss aka Bruce Springsteen. (Yes, I know I'm jammy and have a great life!) Sunday night, Hyde Park London, I was there along with thousands of others and what a treat! Classic Springsteen rock , insightful ballads too. Lots of fantasy fodder for me and him in Bruceville. *sigh*

In realityville, Iwas meant to be there. I was meant to be there to hear him sing 'Working On A Dream' live. To hear this lyric

"I'm working on a dream,

though sometimes it feels so far away

I'm working on a dream

and I know it will be mine some day"

Which of course means I have to edit the book. And start the submission process. And put myself out there. Put myself at risk. (Is there a register somewhere for writers at risk of rejection?)

So I will. I'll start it tomorrow. Promise.

Four Jasons and an Anniversary

Jason Mraz makes me happy! I love the whole tone and feeling of this song 'I'm Yours'. That lyric...., the one that says 'It's your godforsaken right to be loved'. Fab! Have a listen and a look at this video. It always makes me smile.

And Jason Donovan is now 41. I'm still digesting that fact as to me he's still that guy in neighbours with the dodgy mullet that I fancied. I was a little surprised today when I found a current photo of him sporting a slightly balding crew cut, looking like......my husband! So, that worked out quite well methinks? Don't you?

Jason and The Argonauts! Anyone else remember that film? Usually accompanied the Wizard of Oz around Christmastime. The legendary Greek hero and his mates seeking the Golden fleece, regularly attacked by pre CGI unscarymonsters of suspicious origin.

Jason number four is Jason Stratham. As my children would have said when they were eight and five, 'Yum yum, pigs bum,' which sorta says it all. Note the hairline again. I feel there's a common theme here.

So to the anniversary. It's looming despite my state of denial. But silver wedding anniversarys are for 'old' people aren't they? Twenty five years married to the same man and most of them happy. He, like Jason two and four, has lost his hair over the years. He too is still gorgeous, well to me anyway.

So to the man who's my biggest fan, who never reads my blog but really means to...just in case you do some day? Jason number one's song is for you. I still fancy Jason number two a little. The argonaut guy was only ever here to give me a clever title. And Jason Stratham...is a close second to you.

Ascot, Aspirin and Aspirations

I've been a bit quiet on the blogging front. A few reasons really. One, I blogged this week for the team over at Strictly Writing and I made one of what I have now nicknamed 'Lane's films' in order to illustrate a point. Darned addictive those pesky little film thingys! Anyway, it took ages to do which led me away from here.

Okay, I've also been to Ascot this week. Twice. Yes, I hear you. I am a lucky wotsit. Tuesday was fun on the heath with a big bunch of friends and our girls (who I should add, have become friends at 20 and 23!) Then yesterday, I tried to convince people that I am a LAYDEE at Ladie's day. My eldest who's a fashion stylist sent me off in my new outfit- no hat, don't do hats but I did concede and put a flower in my hair. My youngest also helped and spent an hour straightening my decidedly crooked hair. And I wore neon shoes. Pink neon shoes. Apparently one has to make a statement if one is not wearing a hat. A statement I made. Several expletive ones in fact. They hurt like hell those neons.

Here is picture of said neon sitting astride one quarter of my printed manuscript - which also means I still have to print off the other three quarters.

Aspirin was required this week. That is all I have to say about that.

And I sold a flash this week. No you lot, I wasn't selling glimpses of my body while under the influence at Ascot - I mean a flash fiction piece. I always revert to flash while a manuscript is resting before the big edit. It gets the editing muscles in training. Which brings me to the manuscript. I start the edit next week. Eeek. When I think about it, I feel slighly nauseous, quite excited and hopeful too. Nuff said.

Dumbed Down Television and Two Half Wits

I swore I wouldn't watch. But last night it was the footie, the news or Big Brother. I watched the news and got annoyed at the MP's metaphorically murdering each other. Truth is I'd rather eat cockroaches than watch the footie. So I sneaked onto channel four for all of three minutes. During the time it can take to boil an egg, I cringed so often I had face-ache. There's even a guy called 'Half Wit'. I fear I may be the other missing half, for I too am a half wit for tuning in at all.

Being Weird and The Happy Pea

Hello, hello, hello!

I'm back!

And not in weird movie form either. Although I have to confess that making movies like the post below IS my new addiction, I need to remind myself often not to be too weird if I can avoid it.

Day to day, I'm trying really hard not to go near the novel and attack it with a red pen because I need to leave it another week or two. Two. I mean two weeks. Yes, it should be left for two more weeks.

In the meantime, I'm dabbling in flashing, of the fiction kind (I need to lose another stone before I attempt the other kind) I've also written two short stories. I have no idea how to write effective short stories- I just sort of thought of an idea and made it shorter, a lot shorter, than a novel.

I've also noticed from various virtual writer buddies that there seems to be something in the air at the moment. A wee trace of negativity seeping through the cosmos? The published authors I know are worried about sales, the unpublished and unagented amongst us are worried about...being unpublished and unagented. The writers who are on a roll are worried that it's a blip and the writers with writers block are hoping it is. So this.

This is for all of you. And me.

This is absolutely Lane's fault. I blame her 100% for my new found addiction. Now I've got the draft of the novel languishing before I edit it....I found myself drumming my fingertips and she pointed me in a more worthy key tapping direction. Stephen Spielberg, eat your heart out!