Remember this? I do. Last November I went off to a writing retreat in Devon and wrote around 15 000 words on a mystery story. Since then the manuscript has matured into around 80 000 words and transformed into a sullen and confused teenager, possibly one that likes dressing in dark clothing, smoking and listening to The Cure. My manuscript doesn’t like itself very much at the moment. But I’m going to try my best to smother it with positive reinforcement, some heavy-handed editing and maybe one day it’ll be a well adjusted adult.
Yes, I might have taken that metaphor slightly too far. What I’m trying to say is that this weekend I’m off to another writing retreat in Devon. What I really want to do is write speculative short stories set in outer space, but I think I’m just trying to distract myself from dealing with a certain annoying teenager.