There are some weeks when writing a blogged novel feels a bit like trying to start a train. Each week there's one more carriage to drag along after you. It can take a while to get things moving. The secret, I suppose, is to uncouple some and park them in a siding for a few weeks. I can't advance every mini plot line every single chapter. But I can't leave things for too long either, or the tension dissipates.
Not that this is proving to be a terrible tense affair. It feels more like a gentle comedy of Anglican manners. The surprises are usually small ones. I keep being surprised. I had no idea what the archdeacon was like until I saw him hang his pork pie hat on the stair knob in the empty vicarage. It all grew out of that moment.
I had distinct plans for the archdeacon in Chapter 19, but they came to nothing. The chapter was going to end completely differently. Here: http://catherine-fox-novel.blogspot.co.uk/ In fact, I'd written most of it, but it just wasn't working, so late on Sunday afternoon I deleted it. We ended up with Fr Dominic remembering his Primary School swimming lessons instead, which I was not expecting. I was just trying to invent something for him to do on his day off, and came up with bluebell woods. Which made me remember my own trips to Deer Leap Open Air Swimming Pool in the early 70s. A trip down memory lane courtesy of google. http://deerleap.ning.com/
Not quite knowing what's going to happen is one of the great pleasures of writing. It is also one of the biggest stresses. What if it all falls apart in my hands?