Friday, 21 February 2014

Forget what I said earlier about staying put...I desperately want to move!

You know I can almost see the men amongst you raising your eyebrows at my about-turn but the truth is that the heart wants what it wants...and mine desperately needs to move.

I have seen a house that I have irrevocably fallen in love with. It is a house with soul and a beating heart and it calls my name every time I pass it. You can think me crazy if you wish but this house is calling to me, pulling me in and nurturing me with images of how my life could be if only I could call this particular place home...

And I am listening with heart as well as ears, with a breathless anticipation of what could be if fate and fortune really do favour the brave and the earnest.

The neighbours to this property are lovely and there is a good feeling to the place...its like coming home after a long absence when no-one berates you for how long you have been gone or how distant you have had to be.

It just feels right.

I am a great believer in gut instinct. But even more than that, I believe in listening to my heart.

And my heart is shouting out this house's address.

Wish me luck readers - I hope I am about to embark on a whole new chapter!


I am always itching to get back to writing after any holiday and this half term is no exception.

I have never been one of those writers who sit staring at a wall for long stretches of time. But sometimes I wonder if the sense of achievement they feel at the conclusion of a book is greater than mine. Is it all the more satisfying to metaphorically lay their pen down after a hard and ferocious struggle to compose their thoughts into words? Or do they feel exactly the same as I do?

The reason that this is on my mind is twofold. Firstly, the fourth Volume of The Owners will be released imminently. And secondly - when the kids do go back to school I have to write the ending to The Decision and then begin the long editing process [and this one requires an extensive edit] but it is the final home stretch.

The finessing of a work is not as difficult as visualising the concept in the first place or transposing those thoughts and ideas into words that other people can relate is merely the gloss put on afterwards.

And when it is finished? What will I feel?

There is a strange sadness that accompanies the ending of any book. The author has to say goodbye and good luck to the characters and like a mother, stand back and watch them rise to the surface or fall flat on their face.

And there is a heartbreak in there too.

But most of all, like a fickle lover, there is a desire to move on to the next book, the next concept, the next set of new characters...

I'll keep you informed of my progress.  :)