Pre wedding insomniac

Phew, just trying to get the hang of this adding-a-photo-to-your-profile lark. It's not easy! But then again, what did I expect at 6.42am on a Saturday morning...

Had a few too many Pinots last night and have been fidgeting since 3.48am. Poor old boyfriend has had to get used to sleeping alone recently - at least once a week I pad out of the bedroom, pre-dawn, wide eyed and wired. But how can I sleep with all this going on?!

• Two weeks till we get married!
• Two weeks to write and send out hundreds of pre-Christmas press releases at work.
• Two weeks to delete all personal messages from my work email.
• Two weeks to say goodbye to the cats before we go on honeymoon.
• Two weeks to sort the table plan, flowers and first dance song.
• Two weeks to tone my bingo wings.
• Two weeks to wax off two months worth of fluff - it'll be like a harvest festival.
• Two weeks to sort the airing cupboard before the mother in law comes to housesit.
• Two weeks to pray I get some more good feedback from my first few chapters...

Miss not so Write after all...

OK bloggers, I think it's about time I faced up to the dead end that is this competition... No news is bad news. Louise Candlish stated on her blog that the winners of the competition would be contacted towards the end of August. So for me and the other 2331 entrants whose phones have stayed agonizingly quiet over the past few weeks, it's time to hang up our hopes and move on.

Still, it's not all sighs and downcast eyes. Time to get on with getting some positive feedback. Over the past few weeks I've been tiptoeing around, gently tugging on a few sleeves and sliding my manuscript under the nose a few friends in the publishing world...

The response has been great! OK, so nobody has mentioned a bidding war or insisted on a two book deal yet (I wish), but there has been a few appreciative nods - enough to give me hope and a few leads, at least!

Hurray! I'm on the right path. Just got to keep ploughing on and get the damn thing finished. At the moment I'm darting between polishing the first half of my first draft (ready to send off to agents and submit formally) and writing the end. It's all a bit topsy-turvy but after a few wrong turns and lots of meandering, I'll get there in the end. Promise...

Buy the book

I went to my writing teacher's book launch last night. Sophie King was celebrating the launch of her latest novel: Second Time Lucky at Waterstones in Berkhamsted. http://www.amazon.co.uk/s?ie=UTF8&search-type=ss&index=books-uk&field-author=Sophie%20King&page=1

It was a glorious balmy evening and as I flip-flopped towards the bookshop, sunburnt boyfriend in tow, I couldn't help wondering what the event might have in store.

I haven't hobnobbed with publishing types since leaving my editorial job in fiction three years ago, but I knew some old faces would be there and was hoping they'd remember me.

The lady of the moment was surrounded by friends, family and fans but she made me feel welcome straight away.

'Here, let me introduce me to my agent,' she smiled, tugging me towards a friendly looking man in the travel writing section.

I trotted after her, swapping my flute of Perrier for Pinot Grigio on the way and took a deep breath. Wow. A real live literary agent. Shaking my hand. As a budding author, what was I supposed to do in this sort situation? Is there a rulebook of dos and don'ts? It was hardly the place to wave my manuscript under his nose...

After a shaky start, involving a mad rambling moment when I lost all track of the rather uninteresting point I was trying to make, the conversation started to flow. At the mention of my chick-lit novel, another guest asked 'but isn't chick-lit dead?'

'I don't think so, 'I replied, stomach on spin cycle. Didn't she know I was trying to impress him? 'I think its ok as long as you've got a new angle or a hook to draw the reader in.'

Stealing a glance at THE AGENT over my canapé, I was relieved to note he was nodding along with me. Thank god!

'Yes, as long as it has new take on things, a catchy title and a nice hook, chick-lit still works,' he commented.

So that was that. Chick-lit lives on! I scuttled home for a celebratory Tio Pepe and a long night of working on my hook.

Warm words

After two months of floods of biblical proportions, the sun has finally got his hat on. Though I'm not sure it's his thinking cap.

I don't know about you but the last few days of sunshine have done nothing for my concentration. Stuck in an office that has bars on the windows, a view of a car park and a budgetary ban on water coolers, the last thing I feeling like doing come 5 o'clock is rushing home to work on my word count.

Following last night's dinner (on a tray, in a deckchair, in the garden) I found myself kicking off my shoes, topping up my glass of Tio Pepe and getting in the mood for my up and coming honeymoon to Andalucía. Boyfriend looked most pleased to have some company as he cracked open another beer and wiggled his toes in the grass.

All very nice but the novel isn't going to write itself is it?

The lazy part of me whispers ‘so what, leave it till after the wedding, it’ll be nice to have something to focus on.’ Naughty girl.

But the tyrannical part of me (the very same part that’s imposed a time consuming pre-wedding skin care and fitness regime) is less sympathetic. ‘I don't care if you haven’t seen the sun for weeks!’ she screams with military coldness, ‘Get out of the garden and onto the computer. But not before you drop and give me twenty.’

So, which voice will win? I’ve always found warm words the most persuasive…

Ad nauseam

I had a lesson with my writing teacher this week, and although things got off to a healthy start ('yes, I like this first chapter, well done,') by chapter 4 the compliments were waning (this needs a little more work.) By the time we'd limped through the last two ailing chapters, we were both a bit sick of it.

Oh dear. Is it just me or does anyone else regularly find themselves breaking out in a cold sweat, stomach-churning, while they feverishly try to remember what exactly possessed them to ramble on for 600 words - yes, two A4 pages! - about something completely gross?

This week's humiliation centered around a scene when one of my baddies was sick on one of my goodies. It seemed like a good idea at the time - a kind of dramatic turning point that inspires my hero to stand up for herself at last, after 60,000 words of lolling about like a weakling. Still, did I really have to go into such detail? What made me think anyone would want to read 600 different descriptions of vomit? I must be sick in the head!

Taking a deep breath, and a gulp of peppermint tea (to settle her stomach?), my teacher wisely suggested I rewrite the offensive section, trying this time, NOT to repulse the reader.

Bloody obvious, I know. But for some reason, in my determination to create vivid imagery, I’d overlooked the fact that no one wants to read about puke - no matter how clever or original the description.

Let’s hope I've learnt from that hiccup...

Miss Write around the corner

Back in the days when the summer of 2007 still seemed like a sizzling prospect, I entered a writing competition run by Cosmopolitan magazine and Waterstones. The competition, 'Miss Write', promised one lucky novelist a book deal with Sphere, an introduction to a top literary agent and an 'offer of the week' slot at Waterstones. Basically, the stuff of all my chic-lit dreams...

Well, rumour has it the judging panel will be contacting the winner over the next few weeks. Blimey! Cue butterflies and ominous music. Hey, everyone's allowed a dream...

Now. Everyone who knows me will testify, I'm probably the world's worst phone answerer - guilty of all sorts of elusive silences and where-the-hell-is-she sins. Who do I think I am? A post-baby, pre-powerplate celeb?

No more! The competition has reformed my non-contactable nature and like those annoying people at dinner parties who can't seem to press the silence button and let the caller ring off, I've suddenly developed a fixation with my mobile.

Every time the damn thing rings my stomach swoops skyward and I'm pouncing on the vibration in a nervous frenzy. Private Number? The screen might as well read 'your future editor calling.' I'm seriously starting to wonder if it's possible to overdose on adrenaline.

Tell you what though, it's done wonders for my telephone voice. And my social life.

First cup is the deepest

OK, so here I am, milky Earl Grey at the ready.

I'm starting my spanking new blog. I've fiddled with the font and messed about with the links, all that's left to do is actually write the damn thing!

It's a familiar feeling. Most of my novel writing sessions seem to start with a protracted faff around Facebook before I actually get down to adding anything to my word count.

It's taken me nearly a year to write 60 000 words! Is that good or bad? Fellow blogger and first time novelist, Cally Taylor (see Writing About Writing link below) managed to bang out a whole book in a third of that time! Wow! Well done Cally! Inspirational stuff for the likes of me, Miss 600-words-is-a-good-day.

But why does it bother me how long those 60 000 words have taken? Can success be summed up a word count? Let's hope not! I've never been good with numbers...