Friday, 18 November 2011
The Second Book.
So while I'm waiting patiently to hear back from the agent, (Guess which word in that sentence doesn't quite ring true) I thought I'd have a relaxing couple of weeks. After all I'm not going to the day job and then having to come and slave away at my home desk to complete the first book. I thought I'd be able to catch up with my To-be-read pile, which is growing, literally, by the day, and I could spend a bit more time downstairs with the family. I figured I'd do this before starting on book two.
Who was I kidding. The story for the next book in the series is nudging me in the brain day and night. It just won't go away. So two days after sending the first book to the agent for them to look at and respond to, I'm already putting together the next book in my head. Not just in my head though, oh no. I've written two pages of notes and googled a few points I need to look at for research.
I was under the misguided impression that I could try write this book and if I couldn't do it, I would go back to finish the Open University degree. That was what I said in a blog post in about October last year. Now though, now I realise I really really want to write. Stories. All the time. So regardless of what happens with this one agent, I'm sticking with it. I will do any rewrites necessary and keep submitting and I will also make a start on the second book.
I have the bug. I think I'm a writer.
At what point did you realise you were a writer and not just dabbling, that it was seriously what you wanted to do? Was there a specific point it became more real for you?