Wet flowers. Wet lawn. Bad weather in France this week has been a bonus. No lounging about for me, working on my tan. I've been hard at work, as usual, writing.
On the back burner - my short story collection. Waiting for bits of feedback and then I'll get back to them. Problem is, there are always some that I feel more happy with than others. Resist the temptation to publish too soon, Ms Spicer. And how many short stories make a satisfying collection? Don't want to short change my readers. I have nine. I like the idea of an odd number. There are three others ready to go, but these are more murder mysteries and I'm reluctant to put them with 'Strings, and other disturbing tales', which tends towards the bizarre and the chilling, in terms of genre.
In the meantime - fully involved and struggling (in a wonderful way) with my new characters in my new book. No proper title yet. Just about at the stage where all my balls are in the air, so to speak, and I'm plotting and re-plotting where they might fall. Always happens at around 30,000 words. Jack is key. He's got to be balanced perfectly to intrigue and infuriate. Maurice is elaborate and ambiguous, a real mind-bender. Vera, a story teller, and one of my favourites, takes the reins, travelling into a past so beautiful and full of promise. Jess. Now, Jess is the one who will deliver a bit of a twist, I suspect, although at this stage I couldn't say for sure what she might decide to do.
Exciting stuff.
If you liked 'My Grandfather's Eyes' or 'A Good Day for Jumping' I think you will love this latest offering when, eventually, it is ready for your scrutiny.
And to finish, I remain, as always, infinitely grateful for your comments and reviews, whether in depth commentaries or simple assessments.
So, another 500 words before lunch and then, if it stops raining, some plotting and planting in the garden.
Happy days.
