>Today I wrote about a storm and a strange thing called a nymphstone. The nymphstone started as a MacGuffin but already it’s taking on a life – and character – of its own. More so than I’d intended really. Another reminder of how the outline’s just a sketch on the back of an envelope, and the novel’s more a gigantic sculpture hacked out of a glacial cliff made of solid, highly resistant and ever-so-slightly radioactive granite (see my previous post about sweaty writing).
I’ve also taken a moment to reflect on my decision to blog-as-I-go while writing this novel. While it might seem that novel-writing is essentially a dull and solitary experience with very little entertainment value for the outside observer, I’d like to think it might one day be elevated to a spectator sport, perhaps even achieving Olympic status. If you doubt me, I recommend you restore your faith with Monty Python’s classic Thomas Hardy sketch.