We're nearly at the middle of the month and at least half a dozen of Brighton's novelists have cruised past the halfway point (25,000 words) and entered the home straight. Others are struggling a bit, or a lot.
- One has just written a norse/horse love scene
- Another has introduced poetic interludes into her novel
- A third is trying to cope with a character who keeps setting fires
- A fourth has belligerent fairies who insist on duking it out at every opportunity.
I get to share all the highs and lows, surprising developments, unlikely plot departures, soul-destroying computer crashes and ebullient 'look at my word count, ain't it great' messages. And it reminds me that when I'm moping around the place, wishing I had more income, or that agents would recognise the beauty of my prose and accept my novel instead of sending it back to me by return post, I am still one of the tiny proportion of writers who are making money from writing fiction - and I love every minute of it.