When writing's exciting

For most of the time, writing can feel like an uphill slog. You simply have to keep your bum in the seat and your pen in your hand (or fingers on the keyboard, depending on how you work).

Yes, there are occasions when I can legitimately NOT write, because I'm giving a talk, attending a book fair, or perhaps a workshop fro my own benefit; that's all still part of being an author, but it's not writing.

But most of the time, you're actually writing. And ultimately, it's a grind to get the story down, to create something that a publisher's going to want to publish and readers are going to want to read.

During that process, any author will tell you that they recognise certain stages. Here are mine:

1. Enthusiasm.

Particularly relevant to the early stages of working out a story, when ideas seem ten-a-penny and you can't get the notes down quickly enough. Notebooks are strewn around the house, with weird jottings like 'Name change!' or 'find out about cheesemaking' which make you wonder if you were suffering from temporary insanity. But you don't stop - you trust they'll all make sense at some point and be vitally important to the story you're creating. (Beware - this stage can also develop into 'Researchitis', when you get so bogged down in finding out facts to use in your story, you forget about the actual story...)

2. Hard work.

Thrashing it out. 'Growing' the story. Asking yourself questions until you're absolutely certain of this character's motivation or the time of day in that scene. Seeing the story develop into something you've got a real hope with. This probably covers my notebook version, when I'm working the story out in a general sense, and the 'shitty first draft on computer' stage too. It'll also carry me along quite comfortably to a little over half way through the 'first proper write up' on computer, where I'm beginning to edit fairly closely to produce a decently presented and structured version of the novel. Then...

3. The stall. 

You reach a point where, whichever way you turn, you can't see how to make the darn story work. All those great ideas you had seem really stupid now, and you need to fix them. But every resolution you think of churns up a new issue somewhere else, and the story begins to morph into a massively complex beast and you can't tame it. So you stop. Or feel discouraged. Or wonder how on earth you ever thought writing this novel was going to be a good idea. (And also the point where I'm most likely to give up on a story, though it's not happened that often. If I do give up, I hate that the story has 'beaten' me.)

4. Excitement.

I have to force myself back to it, ignore the stall. I'll go over what I've already written, editing the obvious things, but essentially familiarising myself with the story again. When I reach the point where I'm writing new stuff, I've probably rewritten or tweaked a fair proportion of what was already down and causing me issues. I'll have spotted plot holes and stunted dialogue or inconsistencies, made notes on how to address them, and the excitement begins to build as I continue. It's all becoming clearer in my head, the writing's flowing, and I'm then at a point where - quite suddenly - the momentum of the story is carrying me along, and I can feel the pressure mounting and my character's are doing their best to make things right but things are going wrong and there seems no way out for them and then - POW!

5. The Finishing.

There's a resolution. Everything's not necessarily finished, but the story ties up in a logical place and it feels - finally - complete. Like a real story at long last.

6. The proper edit.

The simple (hah!) act of going over the whole story and polishing it until it's glowing.

At the moment, I'm working on Tilda 3, and I'm at the fourth stage. In fact, I'm only taking time off from it now to tell that I've reached it because I'm SO excited! It's getting very Jason and the Argonauts, and Tilda's right in the middle of the action, heading full tilt towards a climax of GIGANTIC proportions.

It might still be a few weeks before I reach the fifth stage, but it feels close. A lot closer than when I was stuck at stage 3, anyway.

For now, I'll keep writing...

No, that's not Tilda - that's Jason!

Socks

My home town has a historical link to hosiery. Sadly, the factories have closed now, and there's very little hosiery production - if any - left. We do have our 'Sockman' though, a quirky statue in the market place who sits admiring a single sock on his outstretched leg.

I'm doing my bit to keep the hosiery link alive though, as I've had a bit of a binge on the old sock-knitting front recently.

People often say they must be complicated to knit, and I'd have to say that yes, it takes a while to get to grips with creating a sock, but once you've got the knack, it's really quite easy. I have one pattern that I use over and over again - I know exactly how the end result fits my feet - and I've mastered the art of holding the four double ended pins so I don't get in a tangle.

They're an easy project. Portable, quick (I can knit a good half of a plain sock in an evening while watching TV), and rather addictive. There are so many beautiful colourways, they seem to grow really quickly when the wool keeps changing colour. I now have so many pairs of hand knitted socks, I can do a complete wool cycle wash, just for them! They are so much better for my feet - I have had chilblains perhaps twice since I began knitting socks about ten years ago. Previously, it was every single winter... Woollen socks (most are 75% wool) last a lot longer too - I've not thrown any out yet.

Also - complete bonus - they give me thinking time when I'm stuck on my writing.

So, if you're interested, here are a few I've made since the autumn...

The wool for these were all gifts. The centre and right pair are the most beautiful merino wool, so very silky to wear, and hand-dyed. The rainbow striped ones have a very thin silver lurex thread, which makes them sparkle. 

All of these have lurex thread in, too. The blue-purple I knitted for my mum for Christmas; had to undo the toes and take them back a little, as I'd guessed the size slightly wrong! But that's the beauty of these socks - they take very little effort to make them fit correctly. The red-green, I knitted for Squidgeling J, also for Christmas. The final ball is a purple-grey-pale lime mix that I'm going to knit for myself at some point. Have decided you can't beat sparkly toes...

I've only knitted one purple sock so far - that wool was a pressie at Christmas. The West Yorkshire Spinners random green was picked up on the way to Bristol; we have to stop to plug Sparky in to get us all the way there, and there's a shopping outlet with a charger AND a super little wool and yarn shop. So each time we've stopped there, I've been tempted by new colours and have succumbed to a ball. Or two. I liked the fact that in the case of WYS, I'm supporting the British wool industry as well - not many places hereabouts stock this particular brand. 

Now these have a story behind them; I was asked whether I'd be willing to make a couple of pairs for someone. She preferred handmade socks but was unable to source them from the family member who used to knit them for her. And - this shocked me SO much - she'd have to pay around £20 a pair if purchasing via Etsy. Seriously - £20 a pair! (Mind you, if the wool costs around £8 a ball minimum, it doesn't give the knitter much per hour of knitting...) I said yes, checked her shoe size and knitted up a pair of odds-and-sods fairly quickly. Forgot to take a pic of those, but she loved them, they fitted - hooray! - and I agreed to knit up two more pairs from wool she'd already bought. They're the ones in this pic. (The blue-grey ones are cabled, but shhhh, don't tell her! She's not picked them up yet.) 

Before you ask, no, I'm not going to make a habit of knitting socks for other people!! For a start, most people's feet are bigger than mine, so it takes longer. Secondly, if I'm knitting, I can't write. And thirdly, my fingers can get quite stiff if I do too much in a period of time (like two pairs in a week). 

I enjoy knitting socks, but I'm going to have to ration buying the wool. I have a bagful of leftovers - I could probably keep myself in odds-and-sods socks for the next ten years, without adding any extra colours. 

See what I mean? I did use some of the stash to knit little stars to use as decorations on my brown-paper-wrapped Christmas gifts this year, but it's not made much of an impression on the pile. 

Maybe I can allow myself to buy one ball a year? Oh, and if I'm bought a ball, I won't refuse it!