July 27th, 2009


Monday, Monday...

The short story is done and dusted and sent off. Now I have only to hope it's good enough. I forget, serially and habitually, how good it feels to finish something. I seem to have been writing (and not finishing) Grass King forever. I've been writing it through two non-fiction books (The Four Musketeers and Princess Nest), four shorts (I think), and a couple of articles. It feels like a one of those moving rope drags you find on flat sections of piste in some ski resorts, always there, always moving, but never coming to a close.
Realistically, I'm probably no more than three-five chapters from the end. I can feel the shape of it up ahead of me (although I am also itchily aware that there is still an issue with the last-but-one twins' chapter, which needs to be fixed first). It becomes possible that I may emerge before the end of this year without Grass King hanging on.
And then, and then... The sekrit projekt calls with its siren. There's a story beginning that I want to explore. There's that persistent image of red rock pillars and forges and sieges and heat... I may be going to have to start believing in writer-self seriously.