Driven by instinct

The beauty of blogging – especially blogging on two blogs now – is that it shines a great beam of objectivity upon your writing, illuminating problems that you might not have been aware of in isolation.
While revising The Horde of Mhorrer, and reading the posts on writing approaches and writerly anxiety (kicked off by Brian McGilloway and Roger Morris on the Macmillan New Writers blog), it made me aware that my next project, The Isles of Sheffield, is not quite ready.
This might annoy some readers, or it might not; I hate announcing projects and then backtracking - makes me look quite impetuous or disorganised, when I’m nothing of the sort. But there is a good reason why I feel this way:

When I was a wee nipper my parents made their own wine and beer in the airing-cupboard of our house in Holmes Chapel during the 1980’s, when money was a bit scarce and making “moonshine” was perfectly legal (they sold these kits in Boots). The only problem with this home-made off-license was that both parents were far too impatient and kept drinking the produce before it was at its optimum taste. “Nice,” they would say, “but would have been better after a few more weeks.”

And that’s how I feel with The Isles of Sheffield. At the moment, the idea of starting Isles tastes, or rather feels “nice”. But it could do with fermenting a little longer. I have characters and scenes in my head, and the story is almost there, but not quite. In terms of confidence, I don’t feel that positive about starting a book in the new year that is still quite fractured. This is not about writing by the seat of my pants, but about giving one of my ideas “my best shot”. I’m not saying that Isles will never see the light of day. Like Smith, The Isles of Sheffield is a book I’m not yet comfortable with, and needs to bed into my imagination before I commit to it fully. And the inner-critic that Roger and David have spoken about has been too clamorous on the subject of The Isles of Sheffield for me not to listen. I think this time, my inner critic is right: I am not quite ready to write this book.

(…But unlike my parents – who never had a back-up while they waited for their “moonshine” to ferment – I have a contingency plan…)

Many months ago I mentioned a story called The Black Hours. Over the last couple of months or so, it’s been one of those insidious projects that have appeared in scribbled notes littered over my desk, or inserted between pages of reference books, and has even featured in my dreams. It has a main character – Silas Eldritch – and a cast of thousands, already. It has a ready-formed plot, some incredible set-pieces, and I’ve been looking to schedule the project somewhere over the next ten years – a schedule which is groaning under the weight of epics and shorter projects.
Because of this, The Black Hours is in a better position than Isles is, and has hopped the cue like an Olympic high-jumper. Between now and Christmas, I’ll post more about The Black Hours on this blog on the run-up to starting the project in the new year. It’s got me quite excited, and when I get excited about my writing, my blogs entries go into overdrive, so I apologise now if “A ‘Spot of Blood” becomes “Black Hours” heavy…