It’s finally happened. My debut novel, A Heat Of The Moment Thing, is published. (Pinch. Ouch. Yep, it’s real.) I’m beyond excited!
House Shifts and Other Sucky Stuff
Sometimes I have the strongest feeling someone upstairs is laughing at me. They’re hanging about, devising crisis after crisis to throw at me, just for kicks. Then they watch me doing my headless chicken routine. Their latest idea: let’s make her shift house with only a week’s notice. What, she’s coping? Hmm. Let’s throw in a sick kid as well. And work that is critical and can’t be delegated or put off. Mwah-ah-ah. Cackle. Snort.
Thanks, cosmos. Thanks a blinkin’ lot.
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Finished – Again!
Today I finished revisions on A HEAT OF THE MOMENT THING. Which is kind-of ironic, because when I look back over my old news I see that on 23 February 2010 – yes, 2010 – I announced that I’d finished the very same novel.
Of course, there’s been a lot of water under the bridge since then – earthquakes, more earthquakes, moving out of our (unsafe) house, insurance wrangles… and on the writing front, submissions galore, rejections galore, lots of writing, the rise of self-publishing as a viable option – and, from an exceptionally gifted critique buddy, amazing insights and editing advice, more valuable than any other post-quake assistance we received. (Don’t tell Beloved I said that!) Thanks to that critique, my revisions are finished, my fingers are crossed, and I’m back on the bucking submissions bronto . . .
Another Year Bites The Dust
Down here in Christchurch, New Zealand (aka QuakeZone), 2011 has been unforgettable – and not in a good way.
Admittedly, that first big quake – the one that set off all the others – was in 2010. But this year we’ve had literally thousands of aftershocks (some, incredibly, more violent than the original earthquake). We’ve shovelled silt and patched up our homes and grieved for lives lost and kept going because, really, what else could we do?
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That Pre-Christmas Madness
Last weekend I had two glorious days of uninterrupted writing with Carla, my writing buddy (waves madly). We hid out in a holiday home near Queenstown, and did nothing but write. Oh, and drink the odd creativity-enhancing beverage.
Just as well, because it’s been absolute bedlam ever since; pre-Christmas madness with a capital M. And I’m left wondering, as I do every year, why we allow ourselves to get caught up in it all. The desperate stampede for just one more gift, the frenzied supermarket bun-fights, the manic Christmas Eve wrapping routine . . . And, as we do every year, Beloved and I swear we’ll be finished in time to enjoy a quiet Christmas Eve wine. (Yeah, right.) If only our kids knew the half of what goes into the magic of Christmas . . .