Rain. Actual, real, wet droplets of rain, falling from the sky. It rained today in quite a serious fashion, thus meaning that, at least for the next couple of days, I don’t need to immediately panic about watering the garden.
I have a series of annoying habits when it comes to writing, and one of the worst is the “find something more interesting to do” habit. Sometimes, I’ll do it almost unconsciously, and if I’m not doing the equivalent of placing a gun at my own temple and shouting “WRITE!!! GODDAMMN YOU!!!”, I’ll very often end up randomly frittering sections of the day away for no good reason. And, very often, it boils down to fear. Fear, and lack of confidence. These are, I think, the problems that meant that I’ve taken so long to get around to doing what I should have been doing since I left University. Sometimes, it takes a long time to find your path, and there’s so much that wouldn’t have happenned to me if I hadn’t taken such an eccentric one for the past ten years, but I still find myself wishing that I could have had a little more faith in myself. But, unlike the last time when I found myself with a gigantic project to finish, I’m not alone. I’ve got someone who’s prepared to shoulder the load with me, and that makes all the difference. So, instead of moaning and complaining, I’m going to go back to the coal face, as Charles Stross has described it in his blog, and keep hacking chunks out until I’ve at least got something that resembles a fully complete first draft, and then I’m not stopping until this baby is in the best state that it possibly can be. And then, somehow, I’ve got to find a way to do it again, as I know that whatever happens with The Hypernova Gambit (for that is its name), I’ll be able to do even better with the next one.
(I have to admit- I am terrified at the prospect of finishing this, sending it out, and then watching it get turned down by everyone in range. I know that it’s very likely to happen (simply just via the law of averages), and at least 30% of me is secretly, fatally optimistic that something good will happen because of this, but on the aforementioned Charles Stross, I also read that Singularity Sky- his rather impressive (if, for me at least, slightly flawed) first novel- was actually written from 1995-1998, and took five years to get published. I know that these are realities that I have to confront- I’m just not looking forward to it actually happening…)
Feeding the fish every night is strangely relaxing. A quiet life in the country is really starting to appeal.
Tomorrow is a work day. Things need to be done.