|Crow Head, Twillingate|
It is definite that I cannot repeat the crazy frenzy of writing that was a part of the first book. I think the reason I haven't been able to even really focus on the idea of a book for the past two years is because I am well aware of the compete and utter abandon with which I threw myself into that project.
But again I cannot stop writing. So I'm disciplining myself to a slow but steady progress which consists of two or three days a week with at least another day for finding inspiration and idea seeking.
The story is pretty set in my head..the beginning, the end, the middle but getting that on paper with any sort of way that will engage and interest a reader is still quite the challenge. Pages of notes, character, motivation and the never ending research(my kids may not believe it but I do not remember the 1930's at all.)
But it is moving along. I realized that life has changed and that perhaps I can find time to write in the summer this year with kids that are older and able to fend for themselves a bit more.
I expect a first draft completed by the end of June at this point.
Meanwhile, description and scenery are coming together. This excerpt sets up chapter ten quite nicely without telling you what is to happen. Who knows where it'll end up of course, or even if it'll make the final draft but I kind of like it.
"The wind screeched lynx- like through cracks in the eaves of the house. It banged on the door latch, the sound like the shaking tin cup of a beggar with two or three small coins. The windows rattling with the gusts were decorated with tufts of white that leaned against the right-hand corners of the sash bars like lazy kittens.
Snow swirled around outside in a wild dervish of patterns piling against the stilts that held the house fast against the rocky hill and laying a blanket across the empty flakes like a bed being made up for some great giant."