Would you believe I'm still muddling with the start of this book?
I've written and re-written the first six pages countless times, have spent days at it and I'm still not happy. Unfortunately, I'm one of those painful writers who have to get it right before I can move on. It would be so nice to just fly ahead with a rough draft and come back to these pages later. But I can't.
I've wondered whether I'm starting in the wrong place, have tried other possibilities, but no this is where I need to be.
It's getting better -- like a lump of clay, slowly taking shape. One big thing that's helped is a change of name for my hero. Amazing how that tiny element can have so much resonance and impact.
The interesting thing for me, that I've noted many times now, is that writing a book is like labour -- the giving birth kind. I've had four children and each labour was different -- different speed, different rhythms, different levels of intervention, but fortunately each time there was a wonderful result.
The books are the same. Each one presents unique problems and develops in its own sweet way. I know that. I don't know why I'm so impatient this time.
We're off to Tarzali tomorrow...
It will be interesting to see if that makes a difference.