It’s gotten to that point in the year where I’ve clearly not been on enough holidays and I have days left to use up – poor me, I have to take days off to chill out at home. Oh, and go to the dentist. Aside from the mouth prodding, I’m planning to use these days to bake (’tis all about pumpkin muffins at the moment. Even better with ginger icing – mmm!), read, and finally get the outline of this novel down on paper. Timelines, coloured pens, character breakdowns – oh, it’s all going on! It’s all taken shape in my head, but I can’t actually say I’m writing it until I at least have the outline in physical existence.
I finished The Year of the Flood on the tube this morning. Fantastic novel, but finishing a book on the journey into work always leaves me anxious that I’ll have nothing to read on the way home except a free London paper. Luckily, working in publishing, new books aren’t hard to come by. I went into work with nothing and came out with Ghostwritten and American Gods to see me through my lovely looooong weekend. Reading the bio in Ghostwritten, I realised that David Mitchell was 30 when his first novel was published. That is my target age for being a published novelist. I’m still on the opinion that 30 is young for a novelist, despite the sickening two 24 year old debut novelists that we’re publishing next year – freaks! Damned, talented freaks!
