Writing and … not writing

So I did hand in what turned out to be my last round of edits to my agent. Relief and alcohol were the order of the day.

I was then immediately confronted with the looming deadline for Birmingham Writers Group’s summer short story competition. The theme was Alternative Birmingham, so I couldn’t just do my usual imagination overload until something decent drops out. I had a theme. Believe me, that narrowed down the options.

And then my husband, gods bless him, made a comment just before we went to bed about visiting his grandparents in the cemetery, and it all kicked off. So here’s to Grandparents Smith and Plant; this one’s for you. Sorry it got weird.

It was refreshing to stretch some very different writing muscles, staying far away from fantasy but bringing in some ‘alternative’. It wasn’t easy. I debated giving my main character a tail at one point, pulled myself back from the brink. Is it as good as it could have been? Probably not, but time constraints and a head full of Godblind did a number on my efforts. Still, I’m pleased with it and it was good to do something completely different. As I’m Birmingham Writers Group’s anthology editor, I was really pleased to see the number of entries at the session last night, as they’ll form the basis of the anthology I’m hoping to pull together over the rest of this year.

The judge’s decision will be revealed at the session on 15 June, and much lauding of the winner will follow in the pub. Even better, I’m not at work that week, meaning I can actually spend more than 40 minutes in said pub before having to get the train. I can, gloriously, get the 10pm train – oh, the luxury. Maybe even the 11pm – or is that just taking things too far? I’m not a member of the Sex Pistols, after all.

So, Godblind edits in. Summer competition entry in. *drums fingers* WHAT THE HELL DO I DO NOW?

This feels seriously weird. I have no deadlines. I have nothing to write. I feel adrift, like I’ve forgotten to do something really important. Oh yeah, that would be sleep, probably.

In other news, and as an aside that may make the lack of writing something easier to bear, I’ve signed up to walk/climb/participate in the National Three Peaks challenge in July – Ben Nevis, Scafell Pile and Snowdon in 24 hours. My training so far has consisted of a 4 mile walk on the flat to break in my boots; a 9 mile walk in the country (flat) to break in my boots; and 30 minutes of utter hell on the Stairmaster at the gym.

I suspect I need to up my mileage and my hillage (while listening to Steve Hillage? Ha) as soon as possible. I’ve got about 9 weeks left.

I’m doing the challenge through work and in aid of three fantastic charities – Help Harry Help Others, Bliss (the premature baby charity) and Beyond Food Foundation. We’re hoping to raise a stonking £20,000. If you sponsor me I’ll show you my blisters after. Or not, if that’s your preference.

training walk 2 Bluebells, not blisters

Currently reading: Clovenhoof, by Heide Goody and Iain Grant

Currently watchng: Game of Thrones season 6

Currently listening: Jimi Hendrix, First Rays of the New Rising Sun



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