19 May 2006


The next time I write a novel, I'm not showering until the thing is finished. I might end up a big, smelly, anti-social mess but at least I won't be plagued by ideas.

Why is it that whenever I think about my novel in the shower, I get a brainwave that will really, really improve the plot but requires a big chunk of rewriting?

The hardest part is that I've written so much so it's not just a matter of moving some words around. There's a whole grieving process going on here. I start off by ignoring the idea, hoping it will go away. The brain is good at ignoring stuff but the stomach pits know when something is right. Damn stomach pits.

After a while, I get used to the new idea and begin working with it and then all the dominos fall down in a row - this change here means changing that over there and something somewhere else. It never ends.

That's why I'm giving up showering. I want to cut these ideas off at the source. Enough of the ideas now.