I’ve lost my notebook.

It’s not lost lost. It’s in the house. (Um, I think). I distinctly recall taking it out of my handbag whilst going . . . well, somewhere, someplace where I obviously didn’t want to chance dropping/losing/misplacing my words. Only now the safe place I stored my notebook might as well have been inside a fucking BEAR TRAP for all the good it’s done me. There’s nothing safe about being COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY MISSING.

Neither strictly a diary nor a note depository, my moleskine kind of spanned the two, a no-man’s land for thoughts and ideas about my novels, including a list of possible titles, notes about my characters – birthdays, parents’ names, education, distinctive characteristics etc. – and nonsensical free-writing. It’s 50+ pages of my tight, loopy handwriting and the surreal outpouring of the more fantastical contents of my head. It is not good that it’s been mislaid.

What bothers me most is that it was a gift from Claire, uber-BFF and rootin’, tootin’ advocate of Vikki Blake, my literary alter-ego. It probably wasn’t her intention, but this notebook? It was one of the best gifts I’ve ever had, for – intentional or not – it symbolised her belief. Her faith.

I repeat: it is not good that it’s been mislaid. Sob.

I’m not dead.

More surprisingly still, neither is the book.

It’s been four months since I last wrote in here? Seriously? How did that happened?

It’s hard to justify an absence that long. I’m not at death’s door or grappling with a personal catastrophe. Life’s been ticking on pretty much the same as usual and that, my friends, is probably the problem – Vixx doesn’t talk much when there’s fuck all going on . . . just look at my blog for evidence of that.

The good news is that while I’ve been silent, my novel certainly hasn’t been. Yeah, it’s still a slog and some days and sections are harder than others but there’s been progress and that’s pretty much all I can ask for these days. I think last time we spoke Chapter Eight was kicking my arse but today it’s wrapped up – albeit very much in a first draft-y kind of way – and whilst Nine too has been somewhat reluctant to commit itself to paper, that too is moving in the right direction. Around Christmas time I decided that writing as and when the mood hit clearly wasn’t working for me, and so these days I take an advance peek at my upcoming diary and commit at least two evenings a week to this thing, trying to fit them in around my other half’s night shifts, even if that only means reading, re-writes and edits. It’s not perfect but it has been helping me stay focused – which is just as well, considering that that had been the intention. Heh.

I’m also trying to stop writing so fucking passively. Seriously – I am so, so bad at this. What I know about the theory of writing could fit neatly on the back of a postage stamp, but even I know that PASSIVE NARRATIVE = YOU SUCK so quite why I can’t avoid it amazes me. I’m trying to sooth myself with reminders like – hey – isn’t this the first time you’ve tried to write a book? – but some of the things I struggle with seem so obviously Creative Writing 101 that I feel like a failure for stumbling at such simple hurdles – for failing before I’m barely even out of the gate. Once again I have to remind myself that I don’t actually know what I’m doing, that all of this is new, that only I know how to write my story and as I’ll write it the only way I know how, anything I write is better than nothing.

And then I remind myself that I’ve been saying this for five fucking years. If I don’t get my thumb out of my arse soon and stop worrying and procrastinating over a story that hasn’t even been fully written yet, nothing is all I’ll be left with.

p.s. Upgraded to 2.7.1 (man, an upgrade was overdue!) and it FUBARed my Progress Meter. Bollocks. Will come back and try to fix that another day . . .

Well, look at that. Normal service did resume. Who’d have thunked it, eh?

In the last few weeks, a number of things have slipped into place. I’ve seen and committed new scenes, including an awesome new finale which made me jump and down with glee it’s so perfect for my characters, and I’ve been better able to visualise the links of the chain that moves this story along. (Trust me, this is a big deal for me. It’s historically my weakness.) And although everything felt kind of piecemeal, a little slipshod, sloppy and untidy, even with re-writes and serious chopping of extraneous sections I’ve managed to push the word count up past 80k. I shit you not. 80k. 80k of Charlie and Will and their stunted, fucked up situation. Yay!

I’m still pissed that I can’t think of a suitable title yet but wtf, we can’t have everything.

This thing on? Check one two, one two, one one one.

There have been no updates because, essentially, there’s been nothing to update. My writing has ground to a halt thanks to a manic few weeks of vacations and babysitting and Dr. Who episodes and fifth birthdays. It’s irritating, to be honest with you; when I’m working all I do is crave some time off to properly devote time to writing, and then when I am off I find that I have none. Pft.

Anyway. Normal service will resume again shortly. Um, hopefully.