Well, Book Three is no longer book three anymore. I even know what the ending might be like. Not the scene or anything, but defiantly the feel. Been quite a weekend for things coming together. I had a quick look over the first six chapters of The Manda, and came to the realisation that I may not be finished line-editing wise, but I am sick to death of looking at it. I don't think the prose is terrible by any means. Is it the best it could be? Probably not, but because my idea of what is good prose and what is not is influenced by whether I yawn or not, all I know is that it holds my interest.
Also, it's a fantasy book, for crying out loud. Not a literary one either. I might as well make sure the bloody thing is readable, and then give it to other people to read. They will have different perspectives and tell me if it's shit or not.
Five times I've rewritten that thing, four times from scratch. There are still three chapters, I think, that need fixing. I came up with a solution to a major plot problem, where the character gets on a ship because the plot needs her too, not for any other reason.
Now I have her stowing away, being found by the man who in the original draft took her in because it was implied that he recognised the same terrible things from his life, in hers. What a load of crock.
Anyway, after she's found, he needs a messenger and filer, so he uses her.
Why that took me five drafts to think of, I have no idea.
So, the Book Three, the one that is going to need a hell of a lot of research, now has a name. No Knack for Happiness. Got a nice ring to it I think.
I've also realised something strange. The books that I'm writing (at the moment, The Manda and Varrick) and the books I'm planning (No Knack for Happiness and a thrillery thing) follow a strange pattern.
The Manda was the book I wanted to read. Varrick is also I book I enjoy reading and writing, but I imagine it being the book my father would give me after he'd read it.
No Knack for Happiness is not something my father would ever read, but my mother defiantly would. Then the thriller (it does actually have more plot in my head then "No Knack for Happiness" at the moment. I didn’t say: oh, thriller is the next genre I should try out. I just think "No Knack for Happiness" will be harder to write for me, so it's coming first, before I go to Med school, while I still have time on my hands）
The thriller is something I hope my brother would like.
So, I have subconsciously been working my way through my family in the ideas that materialise and take form in my head. I enjoy all the things and idea I have, but each one is slanted slightly more to one family member than another.
Uncanny, huh. Well. The next thing I get to do is make up spaceships. I'm writing the Varrick book so fast that I'm trying to describe things that are not only imaginary, but I have no idea what they look like.
Amazing fun. Bloody hard work.