Why does the second book deal feel better than the first?

A second horrible child is on the way. And I couldn't be happier.

(By the way, this episode is all about me. Deal with it.)

A Graveyard Visible has done what I thought was impossible. It has landed a publishing contract. All going well, it will tear itself loose around October/November 2017.

Currently I have the pleasure of choosing images to inspire the designer of my new front cover. I used to dream of such days... I can't tell you how much fun I'm having, imagining what the final product will look like in my hands. Another real actual book, sitting next to Mac Pliers on the shelf!

This is pretty cool - it's got the hill, craggy old tree,

headstones dotted about. A bit grey, but mood is about right.

This is a wow. Love love love.

I'd read a book with this cover in a heartbeat.

Wowzer, right?

Too zombie-ish for my novel, but still...

I could always stick a zombie in.

That's about a quarter of one percent of the amount of stuff I've actually looked at (and in truth none of these has actually been chosen to pass along for inspiration, and - for the record - I don't own any of them, okay? So no-one freak out).

I've written a hell of a lot since I started tapping away on my knacky electronic typewriter 20-some years ago. I'm about to finish my tenth full length novel. (There's various scripts and attempts at short stories on top of that. Even a poem or two. We all try stuff out. Some sticks, some... bad times.) So, until I got the incredible news about A Graveyard Visible, I had a single novel and 3 short stories published over the course of those 2 decades. One novel. 20 years. Mac Pliers looked like a fluke.

People always say this - it took J K Rowling x amount of attempts before she got published, you know. It's usually Rowling they refer to. And the amount of attempts varies from 20 to 30 submissions to publishing houses. I wish I had that kind of average! We're talking in the hundreds for submissions here. Not hundred. Hundreds.

There was only one conclusion: either my targeting was way off, or I simply can't write, and Mac Pliers was an accident bound to happen when one has committed so many strings of words to paper.

A discouraging thought, I'm sure you'll agree.

So, as happens every few months (for I am a stroppy writer, don't you know), I decided that my most recent submissions would be my last. I was wasting my time, other people's time who had to read my queries, and all in all that seemed to be a lot of time going up the spout. Best to get on living, and keep my scribbles to myself.

I meant it this time.

I really did.

I sent it, gave up on it, and we had a busy Christmas in which everything but food, drink and cats up trees was forgotten, and then in the first week of the new year an offer of a contract came. I'm pretty certain I cleared the high jump world record. 2nd time really is the charm, folks. It's much harder even for stroppy writery me to believe in a double fluke. I might actually be good at this. In fact, I'm actually doing it, I'm being a writer. Plus, another novel of mine received 2 very positive bits of feedback in the very same week. Not an acceptance, but positive feedback. 2017 has been very nice so far.

No hidden morals in this story. I mean seriously everyone, if I can keep going after THIS LONG and finally get to where I want to be, then there's hope for every single one of you. It simply needed a teeny tiny touch more patience than originally anticipated.

Perhaps I'll stick with this novel game a while longer. Only this time, I need to get a good grasp on promotion.

This time.

Don't forget - this guy gets re-released at the end of Jan 2017

Laters

Oh God, this BOOK!

Oh God, this BOOK!
What am I going to do? What am I going to do?
I don't understand what's happening, I really don't. This can't be happening.

Things couldn't be going better for my career as a writer. For a start, I now actually have a career as a writer. A publishing contract. 17 years down the line. Not with a vanity publisher either. No money going from me to them. They're publishing it, making an actual hold-in-your-hands book. What better validation can there be than other people wanting to take a chance on your novel? Surely this means that I can actually write, so I can take confidence in that. Yes. Of course I can.

So why is A Graveyard Visible dying on me?

The story must be in here somewhere.

The irony! That a novel about so many coffins should bite the dust! It's chugged and chugged and chugged, and now it has ground to a complete halt.

I know. I'm not the first this has happened to. I absolutely won't be the last. Doesn't make the situation any easier to handle though, does it? Some kindly soul pats you on the shoulder and says, 'Never mind, just move onto the next thing, eh?' It's at that point one looks at the kindly soul and screams 'I've written 37,000 bleeping words and you think I can just move on?' and then one rips the individual keys off the keyboard and bashes each one into their forehead and proceeds to type 'D I E I D I O T' over and over and over again.

If that sounds like an extreme over-reaction, then you are not an author and do not belong here. Please, move along. Go find some kitten pictures to stare at.

He's doing a better job than me.

Sorry. That was mean of me. It's just that this... situation makes one a bit tense. I'm sure you understand. If you don't? Then you are not an author and you don't belong here!

Sorry. Did it again, didn't I?

Here's where I got to in my stupid bloody novel. Caleb and Misha have just come out of a fairly spectacular showdown with a kid so bad you'll want to punch his head in. There has, in fact, been plenty going on, with certain events changing the relationship between the two leads, and the story now shifts gear. It is time for Caleb and Misha to talk. She's got something very important to say, something that will alter one of Caleb's long-held beliefs (the death of his mother always looms large, and it's been a major factor in forming his world-view). They climb to the top of the fort in the playground, lie on the roof in fine rain, stare up at the clouds at her instruction...

And nothing. She's got something to say. I know she does. It's important. It drives Caleb to make his next decisions. But I can't get her to say it, whatever it is. When my dumb, stupid writery instincts took me down this cul-de-sac they advised me that this was most definitely the way to go. Everything had been fine so far, hadn't it? It wasn't fine. Misha mumbled a little bit, pointed at the fat grey clouds above like she had something grand to say, and then it all came to an end. What's worse, for some reason I can't find my way back to the road that brought me here. It's become a sealed circle.

I had a novel die at approximately the same point about eight years ago. Shanty for the Soulless it was called, a pirate story taken off the high seas. The ship, the parrot, the captain's way of life was chopped out from under him in one single swipe, leaving him floundering to find his way in a harbour town full of people who remembered him from his last colourful visit. Captain Silus de Sansa was a great character, I had so much fun with him, and yet a powerful horror dawned on me as I hit 35,000 words. After a dramatic opening, nothing had happened. Plenty of talking in different locations, plenty of meetings with figures from Silus's past and reminiscing about events that occurred before the start of the novel.

It was dead out of the water.

What really killed it was the pull of another story. I let the other story take me over, promising myself I'd go back to 'Shanty' in six months and give it another go. I never did, never will. I think it's happening again here. With Mac Pliers landing a contract, I very suddenly feel a strong urge to focus all my attention on him. Maybe I'll come back to 'A Graveyard Visible' in six months.

Except I won't. If I drop it, I'll never go back. I love this story. I do. No. I don't. I hate it. I hate it!

The gates are closing...

So what on earth (or under it) do I do?

Laters. Maybe.