Though the recent weather here has turned the local countryside into something of a trackless waste, or perhaps a scene reminiscent of the Somme, the wastes that are occupying my mind at the moment are the fictional, slightly Welsh, and possibly rather wordy ones in ‘Consorts of Heaven’.
I am, technically, a third of the way through the rewrite, having just completed Chapter 12 out of 36. One of the main objectives of the rewrite is to reduce the traipsing across wilderness whilst introspecting and increase the peril and angst, both because I’m over my contracted wordcount, and because, as my first readers have correctly pointed out, action is more interesting than mud. I cut a whole chapter near the start. Since then, however, the wordcount has crept back up, mainly because now I look at my traipsing again there’s some juicy conflict possibilities in there. (The traipsing itself is non-negotiable as the plot requires it – actually the plot of Principles of Angels, and the next book, require traipsing in this book; trust me, it’ll make sense in the end).
Yesterday, during a rare break from t’garret to cook dinner, I thought of a two whole chapters I can cut, though they contain a couple of scenes I do need to get in somewhere, but at the moment my word-count is still going up, not down. I’ll report on any willfully lost words when I’ve worked out which words they’ll be. Meanwhile, Chapter 13 awaits.