So the other night I cleared the empty whisky bottles from under my desk and started writing a new book. It had bounced about in my head for long enough. It was only a page or so, but there will be plenty more to follow. I don’t know why it had to be then. I don’t know why I had to clear away empty bottles before getting started. There are still plenty of three-quarter full and half empties under there, which is good as I’ll probably need them.
The new book is a novel. It’s not like the other novel. And it doesn’t have anything to do with wine. I’ll be playing it close to my chest for the time being with regards to plot and stuff. I don’t need it make sense to anyone else until such a time as it makes sense to me, and I haven’t written enough of it yet for it to make sense to me. Research will probably take me back up to Ullapool and then down to Skye, which will be nice. That will likely have to wait until the new year.
So why now? Well, why not? I’m still waiting to hear back from my editor about the latest rewrite of In Cathedral’s Shadow, and while I’ve enjoyed the lack of deadlines and structure, it’s beginning to feel weird, like being in a vacuum. I thought I could fill that with a bit more blog writing and even some wine and whisky writing, but it turns out all that sort of writing goes better with something bigger in the background.
So I’ve started something bigger.