Drafts, redrafts.

I've found myself at the one third point of the novel, and, for a change, I've been redrafting as I go. This makes the process seem very slow because normally I throw myself at the project, miss sleep, wear myself out etc. This year, partly because my back is so bad, I'm slowing down and doing more of the editing. I'm taking loads of people's advice, and having a go at planning (which I do my analysing what I've written and plotting out the strands that have crept in). I hate dead ends in a story, and I seem to create loads. Having found strange welts on the suspected antagonist, I was very surprised to find she is covering for her daughter. In fact, the kid has been creepily upbeat throughout (why didn't I see that coming?) so I spent the morning planting little plot seeds.

My back means I can only type in a stupid position, which is stressing my shoulder and wrists, so I'm trying to vary the strain by moving around a bit more. The back is sore, but everything else is a lot happier. I have TMA1 to do this week, but can't settle to it. I think I'm trying to write an MA answer to an undergraduate level 1 course question. Maybe I should relax a bit! 

The house is being sorted at light speed (it feels). Two new carpets down, two rooms furnished and the electrics replaced, windows covered, furniture moved. Every time one of the kids changes rooms, about a thousand books, DVDs and CDs goes with them. I think this is a displacement activity for me, before I go to London to meet the agent. I suspect I will come home on Wednesday, and fall in a  heap, whatever the outcome. At least I have a choice of freshly painted, newly furnished rooms to fall into.