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Sneak Attack By Gaie Sebold
Woken by alarm at usual utterly unfeasible hour. Lurch from bed in fashion of inadequately reanimated corpse, trip over cats.
Apologize incoherently to cats and feed same. Stumble onwards to arm self with laptop and caffeine.
Return to bed with mug of stimulant, plonk laptop on knees, and glare at novel.
Novel glares back.
Novel obviously not underslept and waiting for caffeine to enter bloodstream. Novel fully conscious and on the defensive. Perhaps has been secretly training with Zen masters in Advanced Glaring.
Decide, as novel impervious to usual approach, will sneak up on it. Ostentatiously open new file called "notes"-- though as already have one of these, have to save it as "new notes." Really must do something about filing system before attempting second draft; as calling files, variously, "notes," "new stuff," "thoughts," "things that need doing," "scene bits," "bl**dy rubbish scene I might actually need," and similar, really not likely to be terribly helpful.
Start roughing out scenes that need filling in, in order for novel to actually have something approaching plot arc and adequate ending. Tempted to just stick notes into novel, bung in final scene, and write The End but know would not work and would only induce more guilt.
While roughing out scenes, realize how to ensure that villain receives well deserved and thoroughly nasty comeuppance. Rub hands together in glee and make note. Would quite like to write scene now, as definitely in correct mood for villain-filleting, but scene not due until nearly end of novel. Must Finish Plot Arc or will only stall again.
Feel strange sense of mounting triumph as remainder of story takes shape before eyes. Glance sideways at novel which is examining its fingernails and humming. Little does it know, ha ha.
Cat appears on bed, attempts to sit on keyboard and, repulsed, headbutts laptop a few times before going to sleep in atmosphere of deep sulk.
Rough out final scene, and grin with pleasure. Novel looks startled and suspicious, but have no time to enjoy triumph as spot clock and realize have lost track and am running appallingly late. Save all files, fling self out of bed, projecting startled cat several feet into air, and race for bathroom.
***
Have organized visit of friend for weekend of writing, brainstorming, discussion of how will entirely revamp lives and become hugely happy, successful, etc., etc.
After several hours manage to wrench selves from fascinating, if possibly not entirely productive gossip, and embark on respective novels. Attack own with renewed gusto as now have Plan, though does not seem as effective a weapon as did two mornings ago.
Rest of afternoon largely silent except for click of keyboards, frequent shuffle of footsteps towards kettle and coffee machine, crunch of biscuits, and occasional bouts of exasperated swearing.
Novel fighting gamely but gradually succumbing to renewed attack. Get past point of previous failure and start enjoying self. Emerge several hours later, feeling smug, having completed whole new scene, and part of next.
Friend and self descend on local restaurant in mood of mutual congratulation, and spend much of remaining evening in ridiculous but thoroughly enjoyable pastime of casting all favorite film stars as our characters. Realize chance of Johnny Depp ever playing one of my characters vanishingly small, but fun to imagine, anyway.
Wake next morning with slight hangover, but feeling smug. So what if J.D. never plays one of my characters. Doesn't know what he's missing.
Gaie Sebold's short stories have appeared in, among others, Black Gate, City Slab, and Legend and she has received an Honorable Mention in Year's Best Fantasy and Horror. Her first fantasy novel (first publishable novel, that is) is now with an agent and she is currently working on her second. She is a member of T Party Writers and commits occasional poetry readings. Her first poetry collection, Urban Fox (The Tall-Lighthouse, 2001) is available at Amazon.co.uk. Contact her at urbancat<at>talk21.com.
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