Things change...

Consuelo shifted slightly before spitting a single word at the back of Eli's head.

'Porco!'

He smiled before replying, 'sim Consuelo, e voce e una prostitute pequeno...'

Lizzie didn't understand a word, but the exchange seemed amicable enough given the translation that followed.

‘She called me a pig,’ said Eli, ‘ and I told her she was a whore, cos that's what she is... But she’s my whore and she knows I loves her, why else would she be in my berth?’

********************************************

Like I said things change, and if you write like me they change more often than I sometimes feel happy with.

I have an outline in my head, now I have to put some flesh on it's bones and that's proving a problem. Eli is one of the guards on the vessel 'Diana' and he's talking about his dark haired Portuguee lover Consuelo. They have a fiery relationship which will shortly be terminated when the young lady gets a knife in her gut... not from either of the two characters in this scene I might add, though it could well result in a relationship developing between the two later in the story.

Red Lizzie is a devious character, she can be a good friend but you really wouldn't want her as an enemy.

Chris.

Slow progress...

It isn't exactly 'writer's block', at the moment the story is simply taking its time, maturing like a good whisky, and I don't see that as a problem. On the contrary I see it as a positive thing.

This is a relatively new story for me, and the historical connections require a large element of research. How can I include an accurate description of an 18th century three master without actually exploring one? Actually I can't, so I think a visit to Charlestown is called for, a 20 mile trip up the Cornish coast. Last time I was there they had at least two old sailing vessels in the harbour so I need to talk my way on board and take a good look round. Maybe that will help loosen up the little grey cells! In the meantime...

'By the time the seaman got to the struggling women Susannah was the only one he could reach, and she took several punches before he was able to drag her away from her victim. Even then she seemed unwilling to let things be.

‘Bitch...’ she screamed, ‘I’ll make you sorry for this; you just see if I don’t.’

Read on...

Chris (Oz)

PS Actually that extract from the story was amended within 24 hours !

Twittering and tweeting...

And so the novel finally sets sail, heading downriver from the Pool of London towards the open (and doubtless stormy) seas of invention. Okay, it's not the novel I thought it would be, and nor is it the story it might have been, but it's fresh and it's new. I have the format, I also have some of the leading characters and an opening scene. What I don't have is any real idea what will happen next.

"The barge ran downriver from Puddle Dock on the last of the ebbing tide, its cargo subdued as the sleet ripped across the river in short, vicious bursts. Lizzie McCabe had heard many tales of the Thames, but this was the first time she’d ventured out onto its fast flowing waters and she was far from happy."

The story will change of course, they always do. It will take me to places I've never been before and introduce me to people I neither know nor like, and people I will fall in love with. Yet every journey must have a beginning, and for Red Lizzie McCabe that moment has now arrived.

Less than 300 words so far, yet already I can feel the excitement and the fear resting heavy in my heart and my stomach. Now I must go and write whilst you keep an eye on my progress via http://twitter.com/ozthewriter

Chris (Oz).

Bubbling under...

There are days, sometimes weeks, when the stories won't cooperate, when your characters seem to shuffle uncertainly on the edge of your consciousness, hinting at a rich vein of promise without ever quite delivering. When that happens the only thing you can do is keep going back, reading, rereading, researching, building the characters and their options in your subconscious. Oh I scribble things on paper every day, but they're poor, sickly things and even I have no compunction disposing of them with a flick of my wrist.

Which is why I've stayed away from my blog the past week or so, and why I'm back tonight. Because it's close, maybe tonight maybe tomorrow, but it's coming and that's what matters.

Can't remember whether or not I mentioned it, but I'm going with the story of Red Lizzie McCabe, and her journey to Australia on board the Lady Penrhyn in the year of our lord 1787.

Chris