It’s been an odd few days, which is why I have not posted.
Mildly encouraging news from an agent, and one expression of disinterest. Epic bouts of sleeping through the cold spring afternoon, and finally, the build up of desire to write, which swings me through high and low moods, until the keyboard is actually under my fingers, and the words push through.
The first beginning has begun. For Kilea, there were eight beginnings that made it to 8,000 words, and too many malformed attempts previous to that.I have the vain hope that this novel will flow from my fingers like water, without the clumsy, torturous birthing of the first. This morning I wrote 422 bleary words, but now it is the afternoon, and when I return to them I shall see their failings.
For the moment, I will pretend to myself that the beginning is really the beginning, and not, as it really is, only a staking out of the ground, with match-sticks, in the heavy wind.