For those who haven’t heard of Enid Blyton’s Famous Five, it’s what Britain had before Harry Potter. Anyway, I have my own pet theory about Uncle Quentin. I think he’s modelled on Enid herself. Although he’s a scientist, he behaves just like a writer. He’s bad-tempered, forgetful and uninterested in the real world. There are smugglers and fraudsters in the books, but he’s the real villain.
Drafting has this effect on me. When it goes well, I’m in a wonderful mood, but very disorganised. It’s hard to keep a track on appointments and emails when you’re living with imaginary people four or five hundred miles away. When it goes badly, it’s horrible. I realise my characters and setting are made up. And they behave like it. Writing about them feels like a colossal waste of time.
This is why I’m glad and my family even more so, a. that drafting this novel is over, and b. that I’ll be revising and editing it for the rest of this year, too busy to consider starting from scratch with anything else. I can re-join reality.
Did I mention I’ve finished the first draft? So relieved.
