Imprisoned in a Word

Here I am in my Ivory Tower. Do you see that Turret on the right - that's the one - well that's me (the recluse) by the window in the east wing. The light is fading.
Have I written any more of the novel? Yes I have.
Do I like what I've written? Well, yes ... yes I do, actually.
So am I ready to mail it off to the agent?

Oh Gawd...

That elusive last sentence for chapter three is all that falls between me and the slush pile.

Now this could take some time...

Does a Picture Paint a Thousand Words?

My novel is an inspirational story; a thought provoking observation of emotional conflict, consequential loss, and poignant acceptance. I am not ready to share a synopsis of the story (aspiring novelists can be quite precious - paranoid even - about revealing our work to anyone other than an editor or publisher) so I thought I'd illustrate a visual taste of the 'time and place' setting of the book. Of course the novel doesn't include any illustrations, but these are just some of the images that fill my mind as I write the words...


The story is set in the 'here and now' but at times we are transported back to the post war years of the mid forties and fifties.
We learn of the struggles of the residents in the declining city centre of Manchester, and the promise of a better lifestyle by relocating to the suburbs, where there are 'trees in the streets'.
In particular, we follow the remarkable aspirations of one little girl, born into this golden era, as she embarks on an inspirational journey of passion, grief and self-discovery...





We indulge in the opulence of prestige properties in Cheshire, the 'stockbroker belt of the north'
where the nouveau riche and the noble gentry nestle side by side in the established country houses and the tastefully converted, (though sometimes ostentatious) luxury penthouses.




And as we become more deeply engrossed, life's journey finds us soaking in the passion that is Spain. Not the Spain of the tourist. No. I speak of the Spain that captivates only those fortunate enough to recognise the very soul of its culture, the remarkable essence of its passion for life, and the endearing sincerity of its people.

As the slogan says; You think you know Spain?
Think again

This is the inner court-yard of an elegant house in Madrid where resides an elderly woman, Sophia, a feisty character in my novel. It is the setting for several passages of dialogue that have a disturbing effect on my main character, Beth.

The roses depict The Garden of One Hundred Thousand Roses - a beautiful park in Madrid which I have visited on many occasions in my life, many years ago, when I lived close-by. This park features in a poignant scene in the novel.

With ongoing choices between passion and compassion, a voyage drenched in grief takes us on a transitional journey of self-doubt and self sacrifice, to a destination of a true recognition of self worth.

For Beth; choices, decisions, consequences.

For Jonathan; suffering, selfless sacrifice, despair.

This is not a 'rags to riches' story, though that does feature as a backdrop. Neither is it a love story, though some may argue that.

It is an observation of grief.

I have written and polished over ten thousand words.

The first three chapters.

Ah well, just another eighty thousand to go ...

In Progress

As I said, I have written the first three chapters; I need to add another paragraph or so. The end of chapter three is fine, as is, and anyone reading the complete novel is likely to continue because the current ending, followed by the opening line to chapter four, facilitates this, beautifully. However, agents and publishers usually request a submission of the first three chapters only, and I feel there is something I could add to help ensure that they will want to read on; and thereby request the complete novel for submission.
This has been the cause of my 'Stuckness'. I will master this dilemma within the next few days and I will post off my submission to the agent. Then will commence the dreaded wait for my first experience of rejection. To those not familiar with the 'aspiring novelist' procedure, I want to say that I am not being pessimistic, just realistic. It's a sorry but well accepted fact that the majority of submissions are rejected time and time again. So, you ask, why bother at all? Because deep down we all believe that someone, somewhere, will recognise our little 'best seller'. Note, if I should defy all the odds and receive a request for the complete manuscript - then I'm really in the poo - the rest of the novel (although complete) has yet to transfer from my brain onto paper!!! What a glorious problem to have though!

About Time

There is a time for all things; now is the time. About time, is what I'm really saying. About time that I continued writing my novel. Note, I say 'continued' not 'started' because I drafted, wrote, and polished the first three chapters two years ago. I actually wrote the first page over twenty-five years ago ... and then, life got in the way. But the fiction could wait, for the real stuff was more important, more fulfilling, more rewarding, and - by far - more precious. The real stuff was my family, my business, and my personal development; each, in themselves, such things as novels are made of...
Now, as I find myself living in - what I sometimes perceive as - a sequel to the life I knew and loved, now is the time to complete the novel that has lay dormant for so long.
It will not be left to languish...