Feel like crap. Some bastard has installed a tap inside both my nostrils, so a thin stream of mucus will drip down my face without warning. Constant use of tissues to stem the flow has turned my nose into a red, angry, sore thing. Drugs are having little or no effect on this lurgy that's nothing major, merely debilitating and demotivating.
I guess illness was inevitable. I'd been keeping it at bay for weeks while the Biggar Theatre Workshop rehearsed its Christmas pantomime. This year we presented The Scarlet Pumpernickel, a jaunty joke-fest set during the French Revolution. I directed and stage managed. Due to scheduling clashes, the show effectively had five weeks to get pulled together, a ridiculously short amount of time. Somehow we managed it, but now half the cast and I are paying the price. Colds, flu, sore throats - all were held in abeyance while we got through our five sold out performances. But now? Not so much.
To make matters worse, I was planning to start writing my thrid FIENDS OF THE EASTERN FRONT novel yesterday. Instead I was struggling to stay conscious on the sofa, feeling like death warmed up. Must knuckle down and make a start. Happily, I printed out the plot synopsis and discovered there was no shortage of incident to write about. But establishing a house style is proving less simple.
The first FIENDS novel [Operation Vampyr, on sale now, kids!] was written in third person and proved a tough assignment. For the second FIENDS novel [The Blood Red Army], I switched to first person and found it much easier. IIRC, it was thrashed out in three weeks and was all the better for it - down and dirty, fast and furious, etc and etc.
So now I have to make a decision about how to write FIENDS 3. And quickly. The book is due in 27 days and I haven't written a word of it yet. That's why I'm posting to my blog instead.
Writers - we never claimed to be sensible.