Getting My Groove Back

For the last few weeks I have been obtaining quotes from various bookbinders from around the country for the purposes of getting two of my novels, Classmates and Gap Year, professionally bound.  They are never likely to be commercially published, so I thought at least after working so hard on them I can get them into ‘book’ format so they are readable.

I finally settled on a company and am currently preparing the books in the format required.  Rereading Classmates especially, my first novel which dates back to 2003, has been a real trip down memory lane.  It is interesting and rather strange seeing how my style has developed and (hopefully) improved since then.

I hadn’t looked at that manuscript for a very long time indeed, and when I did last night I was instantly transported back five years, to when it was all so exciting to be embarking on my first attempt at novel-writing.  I wasn’t so jaded and cynical then, y’see; my confidence had not been knocked by dodgy reviews.

I set Classmates in the 1980s, during the protagonist’s childhood, and – like a lot of first books – many of the scenes were heavily autobiographical.  I had enormous fun reliving those cheesy 80s and early 90s memories, and researching the features of that decade which were slightly hazier to me.

Why can’t I get my groove back when it comes to writing?  I lack motivation at present.  Classmates was raw, no doubt about it, but there was a brashness about it somehow; an ‘I know this isn’t Jane Austen, but I’m enjoying writing it so much I don’t care’ feel. 

My second effort, All the Rage, was like that too really, but when it came to Gap Year I seemed to lose my way somewhat – possibly because I was having to ‘invent’ more rather than draw or embroider on memories.  This was borne out when Gap Year was absolutely slated by the RNA, as a result of which I wept for two days.

Currently reading: When She Was Bad – Louise Bagshawe
Currently listening to: Call Me Irresponsible – Michael Bublé

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