Finally booked my ticket to India, home of my forefathers and foremothers. It's been a trial since I was meant to go back in November but thanks to an over-enthusiastic visa office got well and truly delayed, but here we are.
What am I doing?
Well, wrapped up the latest draft of Dark Goddess, managing to cut 12,000 words out of the process and bringing it down to 76,000 (which, to get some comparison, is 11,000 longer than Devil's Kiss).
Reading Mortlock by someone called Jon Mayhew. Hmm. It's rather brilliant but I'll save my critical analysis for the enxt blog.
Shoveling snow. The novelty has worn off.
Pondering my next book. I have written it, but it's not quite there yet. Obviously it's set in India, and Kali will be relevant, but beyond that, who knows? Even though there's a manuscript sitting there, it's going in the bin and I'm starting afresh.
Which is the great luxury of writing. It's not like putting up a house, where if you don't like it, hard luck it's built and there you go, live in it. Manuscripts can be dumped if you get a better idea. Especially if you get a better idea. In fact, I'm counting on getting many better ideas once I'm out in Varanasi.
Right, back to Mortlock...