Second novel progress update
The unglamorous graft
I’m halfway through revising/editing/writing the 5th draft of my novel, ‘Stone and Water.’ It took a while to get back into the swing of things: a change of genre and writing style from my first (published) and third (1st draft) novels.
I’m amazed at how many basic mistakes slipped through the 2nd-4th drafts: grammatical, typing, and repetitions. What on earth was I doing?
Dawn over Devon yesterday: the view from my back garden.
It shows I was super sloppy in my earlier writing and I’ve improved and can spot the errors now. It also shows (as I said in my last post about writing talent) how important the process of writing is.
Many people (non-writers but happy to have an opinion about it) think all you have to do is sit down and write and watch perfect sentences, paragraphs, and maybe a novel, pour from your soul into the keyboard.
It may be the case for other writers, but it ain’t for me. I have to work: get up, write, struggle, and repeat for day after unglamorous day. I should call this the 5th Graft of my novel because that’s a more accurate description.
Still, progress is progress and I can see the improvements. I’m uncertain where it would fit into a bookstore but I’m enjoying telling the tale so I don’t care! Rest assured, it will be my best effort at the time.
After I’ve finished this draft, I will need two Beta readers to read it. I can then use their feedback to adjust/revise in Draft Graft 6. If you are interested in reading a historical fantasy novel set in the South West of England around the Roman invasion, please let me know (extract below).
A breeze caused a break in the cloud revealing eight standing stones, each taller than a man and broader than outstretched arms, silent and brooding. Four druids stood in the middle of the circle, three of them had long beards, their white sheepskin cloaks adding to their shaggy appearance. The fourth was a tall woman with unkempt, black hair that hung around her face. She seemed to be leading the chants, her hands making gestures towards the stones.
Druistan clutched his staff in front of him, wary of his mother’s warning about Cornovii magic. Where’s Toutorix? The cloud rolled forwards and Druistan saw the Cornovii drummers sat on three-legged stools at the eastern end of the circle, two fire pits to the south and the animal enclosures to the north. Cattle and sheep and goats were hemmed into three pens, a fourth stood empty. Tribesmen intermingled outside the circle, some shuffling along to the rhythm of the drums, others sitting on the wooden benches that surrounded the fire pits.
Druistan’s mouth fell open at the sight of these strange, large men. The Cornovii had their horn emblem on tin brooches or woven into their cloaks, the Dumnonii were sporting long moustaches as well as braided beards.
Druistan spotted Toutorix and his fellow Durotriges at the Northwest of the circle.
‘Come on,’ Druistan tapped the lead sow’s flank with his stick, steering her towards the empty pig pen, keeping her between him and the stone circle.
Toutorix nodded at Druistan, ‘Well done, lad. Once they’re locked in, grab some food and enjoy yourself.’
Druistan wiped his hands on the wet grass to remove the pig stench and walked around the circle towards the fire pits. The smell of mutton overcame his wariness of the big, hairy tribesmen but it soon went when the cloud smothered him again and the damp air clogged his nostrils. He prodded the ground with his staff as he tried to find the food pits, only the three stones nearest to him were visible.
Two ethereal shapes emerged from the gloom and solidified into men running past him. The second man had a girl on his shoulder, her hands bound and a cloth tied over her mouth. The girl's eyes widened when she saw Druistan.
I took advantage of a break in the incessant rain (how can there be any left in the sky?) on Saturday and walked along ‘The Goat’s Walk’ beside the Exe Estuary in Devon with my wife and son.
Apart from seeing a multitude of birds, and nearly as many ‘Twitchers’, I spent some time in The Topsham Bookshop.
It’s always nice to visit a well-run and organised second-hand bookshop. I left with a copy of ‘Martin Chuzzlewit,’ a free bookmark and a nice bag. Who says I’m easily pleased?
Hang in there, James! I used to always tell my students how hard it is to write, and truth be told, no great writer became great without an editor. It may have been someone informal in the past rather than the hired position it is now, but it is called a "craft" for a reason.
Ooo I love a good second hand book shop.