What We're Writing--Debs Draws a Blank

DEBORAH CROMBIE: Happy new year and 2nd day of January, everyone! Time does march on but I am convinced that there are wrinkles in the fabric of the universe that somehow swallow chunks of time without our permission. At least that is what happened to me between Thanksgiving and this week.

The week before Thanksgiving week I was really on a writing roll. I hit my pages per day goals, I had a great conference with my editor, and I could see the end of the book, beckoning to me. Look, in this photo there are more pages in the manuscript pile! (As well as the Christmas cactus that didn't bloom. Sigh.)

And then time did its cute little tesseract thing. As I mentioned in a previous post, a few days before Thanksgiving, our dog got really sick and thus began many, many vet and emergency vet appointments. Also, it was the holidays along with lots of other stuff, including my blog week and two back procedures.

Which brings us to the new year and me staring down the barrel of January only a few pages further along on Duncan/Gemma 20. (I suppose I could tell my editor that the dog ate my homework?) Even the pages of my weekly planner, which normally contain all the color-coded minutae of my life as well as my writing progress are...blank.

This is so frustrating because I know more or less what needs to happen and how the scenes will be blocked out, and I know that the bits I haven't figured out will come to me as I'm writing. (Really, I'm sure they will...won't they?)

My editor (bless her) needs this manuscript finished before the publisher's February sales meeting, which means I have got to buckle down, get a grip on that maverick time, and write the bloody end! 

In the meantime, here is a hopefully not too spoiler-ish snippet for you. I love writing Doug Cullen and Melody Talbot's sometimes cantankerous relationship. They have been on the outs for several months in the gap between books, but now they are in cahoots over helping Gemma with her case. In this scene, Melody is staying in her parents' London townhouse and has invited Doug over for dinner.

“Sorry I’m late,” Doug said as she ushered him in. “And sorry I’m empty handed. I had to stand Kevin a second round and I ran out of time to stop for something on the way.” He smelled a bit beery, but didn’t seem the worse for wear.

“I won’t report you to the etiquette police. Kevin’s your mate?”

“Um, yeah.” Doug was peering into the ground floor rooms, eyes wide. “I know I’ve seen the country house, but this…”

“Yeah, I suppose it is a bit much.” Melody nodded towards the dining room with its table for twelve and the sitting room with its deep emerald green wallpaper traced with golden vines and birds. “But normally they don’t use these rooms much. Come on, I’ll show you where the real action is.” She led him to the back hall and down the bare Portland stone stairs into the basement kitchen/sitting room. Unlike the formal rooms above, these areas were designed for comfort. And utility, as her dad, especially, liked to cook. Even though her parents could certainly afford to have a daily chef, they preferred to organize their own meals or to go out.

Her mum, with her usual genius for color, had painted the walls in a soft color that was somewhere between taupe and mauve, with the cupboards and the base of the island in a deep aubergine. The soft furniture was done in pale neutrals, with scatter cushions and paintings providing splashes of color. When her parents were in residence stacks of newspapers and books would proliferate and that only added to the room’s hominess.

The French doors to the garden were open and the outdoor lighting had begun to come on, illuminating the clean contemporary landscaping. “Wow,” said Doug, going to the doors to look out. “The garden’s nothing like the country house, either.”

“No mixed borders here, and no roses,” Melody agreed. “But it works. I think Dad finds a calmer garden restful after the chaos of the paper.”

Having attempted her dad’s famous whitefish dip as an appetizer, she busied herself putting thin slices of baguette in the oven to toast.  She’d bought only one bottle of wine, a crisp white Bordeaux, and now she poured them each a half glass. Doug wasn’t a big wine aficionado, and she meant not to over-indulge.

Doug ran a hand over the veined marble top of the kitchen island. “This is bigger than my entire kitchen.”

“It doubles as a table.” Melody gestured to the well-padded barstools. “Have a seat. Cheers.” She clinked her glass against his. When the timer dinged on the toasts, she took them from the oven and slid them onto a platter, then removed the dip from the fridge and placed both before Doug.

“Wow,” he said again, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “I wasn’t expecting anything so fancy.”

“You should know better than to underestimate me, Doug Cullen,” Melody retorted, but she realized she was actually nervous. When he'd taken a bite, she said, “So, do you like it?”

Doug responded by piling a second baguette slice with dip. “It’s terrible. I’m forcing myself here.” He rolled his eyes. “Seriously, it’s delicious. Are you sure you didn’t buy it?” Then he grinned and if she’d had anything handy, she’s have smacked him.

Darling REDs and readers, does anyone else suffer from "time derailment syndrome," especially between Thanksgiving and Christmas?

P.S. Jasmine says to tell you that she is doing much better, and that she doesn't have to visit her pals at the vet for a whole week!! Her neck is finally healing, and maybe next Monday the vet will put in the last staples to completely close the wound. We are all crossing our paws and fingers! (She adds that it's nice to be out enjoying the return of some nice weather, even if she does have to wear a silly collar.)

P.S.S. Speaking of time derailments and tesseracts, is anyone else watching the last season of STRANGER THINGS? We have a couple of episodes to go (so no spoilers, please,) but I have loved all the references to A WRINKLE IN TIME in this series. This was such a momentous book in my reading (and eventually, writing) life, and I have to assume it was for the writers of the show as well.  But I also wonder if the references make sense to viewers who didn't grow up with the novel. What do you think, dear Reddies?