It’s almost October, which means that the spectre of NaNoWriMo looms large across the next two months. Barely a moment will pass over the next four weeks where I’m not planning my novel, or worse — worrying that I haven’t yet planned my novel.
I was going to write a work of near-future science fiction, but a recent post by Charlie Stross claims that’s almost impossible given current world events. I certainly agree with his sentiment, but many of his arguments (especially about plot obsolence in the time it takes to publish) are far less relevant to what will more than likely be a vanity work. An unpublished vanity work, at that.
At least the new house meets my every fantasy of a writer’s home. Large garden, plenty of space, excellent pubs and coffee shops nearby. Not forgetting R and J — two wonderful writers (and friends!) are my housemates and fellow sufferers of November’s death of fifty-thousand cuts.
Even L is joining in this year, so hopefully the house will be a suitable retreat with writing a constant activity.