It's been awhile since I last wrote here; I know. Life's like that, but it also comes and goes in circles.
Two years have passed and I'm just finishing my sixth ms (Moorings). This one might even rival V.S. for my favorite, but those things change.
A novel - to me - is like a child. You raise him the best you can, using what you know as best at that moment in time, then hope things will turn out well in the end.
As with children, we put our hearts into our stories, wondering on-the-fly if we're making the right decisions. With the writing, I always think it's dreck until a good year has passed and I re-read. Perhaps it's only then that I allow myself to fall in love with my own stories.
Perhaps I feel I've abandoned my characters in finishing a story. Could be. My son once said, "Daddy, I can always tell when you're getting close to the ending of one of your books, because you talk about the characters like they're real people - your friends." Well, Peter, they are; they have to be if you're doing it right.
And like children, we must set them loose to fly on their own.
I promise not to be away for long again...
All the best,