I’m five thousand words into the next book. Well, two thousand from the beginning, two thousand from the end, and an odd thousand somewhere in the middle.
I’m very secretive about my first drafts. Nobody gets to see them. Nobody apart from my online writing group (and whoever happens to be sitting next to me on the 0745 to King’s Cross, but they’re usually asleep, and probably can’t read my handwriting anyway). Last time round I pretended to all my friends that I wasn’t writing a book. Since it wouldn’t have occurred to any of them that I was writing a book (why should it?), this was fairly easy. I’m not sure how this is going to work, second time round, but we’ll find out. Don’t expect extensive previews, that’s all I’m saying.
Having said that, the following (completely accidental) Tom Swifty was far too good not to share, so here you go:
‘I think I’d probably wake up before I drowned in my bed,’ she said drily.
As to whether it’ll actually make it into the next book – who knows? Maybe I’ll make it a bit more subtle and change the adverb to ‘wryly’. Maybe I’ll leave it out altogether. I’m very good at murdering my darlings, but I’m also very good at disinterring the bodies, stitching them to other parts and sending a bolt of lightning through them, or, if all else fails, displaying the corpses for the edification of the public. I haven’t yet run out of deleted scenes from Speak Its Name.