Done

Yes, you’ve read that correctly. The book is finished. Completed. Written. Polished off. Spellchecked and formatted. Crossed and dotted.
Like I said, it’s “done”.
And this morning I sent it to my editor at Macmillan New Writing.

It’s difficult to describe my feelings right now. On the one hand I’m glad to have finished it – sometimes you can spend too much time writing one book until it outstays its welcome.
Over the last two weeks I’ve been suffering “Tetris Syndrome” and instead of regularly dreaming brightly coloured blocks falling, I’ve been regularly dreaming my characters and scenes from the book, causing many sleepless nights. The story has dominated my life in a way I didn’t think possible, and I’ve thanked myself lucky many times that I have understanding friends, family and a wife who believes in what I do.

But on the other hand, I will miss writing the adventures of the monks of Saint Sallian. These characters have been “companions” of mine for over 18 months now (longer if you include the later drafts of The Secret War), and those kind of goodbyes are never easy. If there’s any comfort, it’s the knowledge that this “goodbye” is not a final one: there’s always book 3…

So what’s next?

In the immediate future, I’m going to lie down in a darkened room, and embark on a course of writing-detox, to stop my characters invading my dreams…

(…Any suggestions on how to do this will be welcome, but I’ve decided on a two month fiction-writing-hiatus before I embark on The Isles of Sheffield.)

Before all that I’ll be taking a holiday or two, reading plenty, watching DVDs and trying to relax as much as possible - though I’m nervous as hell about MNW’s decision to publish or not (remember, the publication of the 2nd book was never guaranteed).

The (anxious) wait starts here...

View from the ridge

Well, I promised a photo from our new house, and here it is:


Perhaps compared to a mountain vista or luxurious beach view, it doesn't seem much, but hey, this is Sheffield! And whenever I sit down to write, this is what I see – inspiring even on a wet and cold day, quite beautiful on a sunny day (which is pretty bloody rare at the moment).

The view certainly makes up for the torrid week I’ve just had. The move from our flat was not exactly traumatic, but chaotic and time-consuming. It means I’ve had to delay sending the new book to Macmillan New Writing until the following week. I am midway through the read-through, but one of my readers has come up with several valid points about the ending that will need addressing. It's an exhausting process, and I'm at the end of my physical and mental tether at the moment.

Still, a holiday after this malarky looms and hopefully a few days of relaxation.

Unfortunately, the delay means that the new blog for Macmillan New Writers will not be ready for a while.
So this blog will be staying a little longer.

And finally the shortage of available time means blog entries here will be surprisingly short for the next couple of weeks. Hell, it’s even possible that the ravages of time will cause blog entries to finish rather abru

The End is Nigh

So we come down to it at last, the final two weeks of the sequel to The Secret War. The book has yet to have a confirmed title, but for the meantime, I’m going with “The Burning Sands of Time” again, as it seems to fit the mood of the story which is growing darker and darker. Much like the skies over Sheffield today (will it ever stop raining??!).

So where am I? Well, geographically, I’m in the study, a cavernous room which is filling with boxes in anticipation for our move in two days time. Picture the closing scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark with all those crates piled high and you get the idea. I swear at the weekend I heard someone wheeling a trolley down one aisle of boxes whistling the Raiders march.
I’m excited about moving. Despite the chaos, the stress and the expense, moving house is a chance to look at things anew, and discover lost treasures previously buried in draws or on shelves. It also means new surroundings, literally for us, as we’ll have our own garden for the first time in five years (we are very much garden-people!).

So where am I metaphorically? Well, I’m near the end of the sequel. The fifth draft is all but done, and I’ll be doing a once-over to make sure it reads like it should and there are fewer typos. I’ve started this process already on the bus, so if you’re travelling the rush-hour through Broomhill, and you see a bespectacled thirty-something sat with a red-pen in his mouth, immersed in a clutch of loose papers, that will be me.
And if you see someone sobbing in despair with the same clutch of papers, that will also be me realising I’ve majorly fucked up the story (though hopefully that won’t happen).

The 24th deadline I’ve set myself is still realistic (move permitting) and after that I’ll be winding down this blog. It had to happen sooner or later, the number of visitors have been dropping off anyway. Once the Macmillan New Writers blog is up and running, I’ll phase this blog out and keep the website going instead. I might even use another comms tool like Myspazz or Livejournal, or just stick with the new Macmillan New Writers blog. Who knows?

To be honest, I’m just looking forward to spending two months of not blogging, not writing, just reading, watching films, sitting in the garden (if the Sheffield weather behaves itself) and growing a beard.

See you all on the 24th…

Chapter lips

With the fifth draft now half complete and hurtling towards a due date of the 24th August (aw congratulations, Mr Curran, it’s… a book!) I find it comforting to strike out certain important events between now and then.
Last night it was the turn of my last scheduled publicity event, at the Bakewell Arts Festival – a small, cosy event with a small, cosy audience. It was great fun and the first time I’ve been interviewed in front of an audience I could see and interact with. Annaliese Connolly (lecturer at Sheffield Hallam University and close friend) did a sterling job of interviewing me, throwing in a few surprises, and there was a fantastic Q&A session to wrap up the whole thing.

In the end, I sold just a few books (most of the audience having already bought copies), but really I went into it with the view to having fun regardless of how many books were sold. The warm summer evening in Bakewell and a great unplugged-blues session that followed my talk was a big bonus. And I did a bit for the Sheffield Flood victims fundraising-event at Haddon Hall, by donating a free signed, lined and dated copy of The Secret War for their charity auction/raffle (which I suppose is ironic bearing in mind the title and subject matter of my next book, The Isles of Sheffield).

So, a great big thanks to Keith and Sue at Bakewell Bookshop for organising the whole thing, and BAF Director Janette Hockley-Webster for running the Bakewell Arts Festival too.

And if you’re looking for signed copies of The Secret War in the north of England, head to Bakewell Bookshop (I signed their stock for them at the event).

Right then, I must really get back to this writing malarkey; the 24th isn’t that far away you know…