I wrote a novel, years ago, when I was doing my Master’s Degree, and I thought that it was about time I finished it off. Because what sort of madman writes a novel and then does nothing with it" We’re talking  over 160,000 words here; admittedly it’s not War and Peace, but it did take a bloody long time!
So this week I set about editing my novel. At first it was very exciting; it was like reading a book written by someone else, because – although I remembered the basic plot and the essential facts about the characters – I had completely forgotten most of the finer details. Twists in the plot would take me completely by surprise, bits of dialogue made me laugh out loud; it was like being reunited with an old, familiar friend but having to re-learn all of their quirks and idiosyncrasies. And then things got rather difficult. And I suddenly recalled why I had shelved the blasted book in the first place; I had managed to tie myself into a tangle of plot-lines that made absolutely no sense, and trying to unpick it had evidently been far too much effort. Sitting here now, with the draft versions of chapters 21 to 31 minimised on my desktop and with three new documents entitled “New Plot Plan”, “NEW New Plot Plan” and “NEW New Plot Plan 2” open in front of me, I can tell you that attempting to untangle nearly a third of a novel is as frustrating as wading through quicksand with sieves on your feet.
Peo...