|Image from Scotland.org|
I'm posting while the dinner is in the oven - on a timer ;)
Between visits to Mum who is recovering from her 14 day stay in hospital with heart problems and my Babe writing her car off on a motorway (she and all other road users walked - or drove - on unscathed) I've been a little too busy to blog. Soz ;)
Welcome! Some new followers arrived while I was having my haitus - I'm suffering with guilt to top off my regular feelings of anxiety ;)
Tomorrow is Valentine's Day - it is also our wedding anniversary. See that piece of forward planning? I like to think of it as building success into the process: How often do you think my other half has forgotten our wedding anniversary? See? He is a natural-made romantic ;)
Third person limited is limiting.
Why did you think it was best form for this novel? The one you're writing using two contrasting POV?
Have you considered re-writing the novel in 1st Person?
AAARRGH!!! I need this ready to enter in the KELPIES COMPETITION by 29th February.
THE HIGH ROAD
When the road skirting the edge of the loch twisted up the side of the mountain, I leaned and slid around every turn. I swung my legs over the rail that kept my mattress on the shelf in the top of the van. Hysterical, I couldn't stop laughing. Maybe it wasn’t that funny but we were nearly there and sliding around on my bunk bed seemed like the funniest thing I’d found to do in ages.
“Fion!” Mum turned in her seat. She pushed at the cardboard box of cooking utensils. They’d skidded around too.
Great-Grandpa was still alive. That was stunning. Our family was small. We were three and that seemed plenty to me. The newspaper photograph told us we were three with an ancient number four. Duck – my Dad – had driven us up the world following the overland route. We’d travelled through India, then turned east and went through China before we drove the total length of Europe. Slowly. Travelling in a van filled with half of everything we owned, the journey was never going to be fast. During our weeks of travelling, I found the world was enormous, and all the same: endless days of nature and groups of people huddled together.
Every minute brought us closer.
Duck concentrated on the road and the idiot in the sports car who kept trying to overtake. According to the Homecoming Plan, Mum was down to drive most evenings. Duck wanted to drive the final stretch – the last few miles from Dunblane to the house his Grandpa had grown-up in. We’d no idea how the old man was going to react. We were going there to find out.
We were almost there.
I'm working to a deadline. Work!
And missing my Bloggy friends and Twitter. WORK!
ARE YOU WORKING HARD TO MEET YOUR DEADLINES?