You know how to whistle, don't you?

If you'd asked me about feedback ten years ago, I'd have launched into an explanation of how amplified sound leaving a loudspeaker is picked up by the microphone, causing a cycle of further amplification until you get the whistling screech familiar at rock concerts or near a hearing aid wearer.  Possibly I'd have drawn a diagram.  If you'd asked me on a day when things were going particularly badly, I'd probably have gibbered into my copy of Fundamentals of Acoustics and lapsed into miserable silence while scrolling through the vintage jewellery listings on eBay.

But those days are behind me now and today I'm more concerned with feedback from readers.  Yesterday a friend told me I had my first US review on Amazon.  I was a little nervous.  I don't know anyone in the States so this was my first review by a complete stranger.  Eventually I plucked up the courage to read it and it was far kinder than I'd dared hope.  This was A Relief.

Writing is a solitary pursuit.  It's easy to lose all perspective over whether what you write is any good or not, and it gets worse once you've had a few knockbacks from literary agents (although I still cherish the rejection letter than described Looking for Buttons as "well-written and perceptive").  Until now, only friends had judged the book and, delusional though I am, I could not regard their opinions as totally unbiased.  But now Looking for Buttons is out there, fending for itself, being read and, I hope, enjoyed by people I will never meet.  I hope that some of them will tell me what they think.

Until then, I'll just have to whistle to myself.

Tumbleweed

Not much happening round here, is there?

Thank you for noticing.  That's because a lot has been happening elsewhere, not much of it related to writing, unless you subscribe to the "all experience is material" school of thought.  However, there are a few molecules of relevant information, so here they are:

1.  Looking for Buttons is doing the rounds with agents again.  I'm unconvinced I could cut it as an indie writer, especially since the 70s bonkbusteresque attempt at a cover image (not the idea I wanted to convey at all).

2.  I have a pen name at last, which I shall reveal when I am certain I'm not pinching anyone's identity in a heinous way.

3.  The thriller-with-no-name has a name but a blog about Looking for Buttons is not the place to reveal it.  I may have to start a new blog. Again.

4.  The follow-up to Looking for Buttons is underway.  I have characters, a plot with a beginning, a middle and an end and the actual writing has begun.

None of this is terribly exciting, I'll admit, but it is progress.

Do say hello if you're reading this.  It feels a bit like talking to myself, only with no-one answering.

A little ado about nothing

I wrote a little anxiously a while ago about the dangers of over-editing.  I knew I needed to make alterations to Looking For Buttons but I wasn't at all sure I'd know when to stop.  In the end, after far too much faffing about I read an excellent book by Jane Wenham-Jones that gave me the boot up the rear I needed.  I got stuck in.  I read.  I reread.  I tweaked.  I cut.  I rewrote.  Occasionally I laughed and then felt sheepish at laughing at something I'd forgotten I'd made up.  But I persevered.

Until tonight.  Right, I thought, time to do some writing.  And nothing sprang to mind.  Nothing at all.

Oh, I hear you sigh with no noticeable sympathy, another post about writer's block.  But no!  This was quite a different class of nothing.

I have nothing more I want to do to Looking For Buttons.  My subconscious seems quite happy to leave it alone.  So it's time to print out the manuscript, give it one last check for typos, and then send it to the next agent on my list.

I would like to celebrate, but unfortunately the Difficult Second Novel has woken up and is demanding attention.  Excuse me, I have plotlines to organise...