Good Time To Be A Writer

As I write this first paragraph of today’s blog entry, it has rained constantly now for almost 36 hours. It’s not been light, and it’s not been broken – total, full on saturation, down pouring of water from the sky. It’s been so humid for the past week or so it’s no surprise this has happened, but we have flood alerts popping up all over the place now. Rain, you see, is something us Scots are quite used to, so we just tend to ignore it and accept the fact it is part of who we are, and be glad we don’t live in the hills any longer with nothing but kilts on.

Today started off just like any other: shower, coffee and toast, and two chapters edited of Hunting Jack, all before I leave the house for the day job. Sticking to the two chapter rule is good for motivation, productivity, and it gives me a huge lift knowing that by the time I’ve got to the office I have already worked on the part of my life I actually give a damn about,

Chapter 17 has seen the first real piece of major surgery performed on it. I’ve added a whole new scene into the Stopover Homeless Hostel, which helps to give the location and the plot a deeper feel of reality to it. There will be more re-writes of this nature to come, particularly towards the end where I intend of altering the ending significantly to fit my idea of the series and also to tie it up better than it does. That’s experience for you.

I felt like killing my bus driver this morning. Instead of breaking steadily up to each bus stop and junction on the route, he kept tapping his foot of the break so everyone on the bus jerked forward about 20 times as we approached each stop – which, in Edinburgh is every 50 yards. What’s the point in giving us all neck pains simply because he doesn’t know how to slow a bus down properly? Kangaroos have better stopping mechanisms than that twat. Yet another deposit into the Bank of Why Lothian Buses are Shite (BOWLBAS).

Sent of some queries for some freelance gigs and my editor ay my regular client that has been quiet over the summer is beginning to talk about possible work in the pipeline. Hopefully things are about to pick up again.

Caught up a lot of email today, as well as doing a bit of work on Greener is the Grass – but not as much as I would have liked. I’m struggling, yet again, with writing in first point of view. I just isn’t flowing and sounds poor. I may have to go back and re-do it in third, where my true voice lies.

My Slick synopsis is coming on – though slowly – and I completed the first draft of my first section of autumn’s Scotland’s treasure column for The Scruffy Dog Review.

All in all, a busy day, and with only two days to go until the start of the book festival, it’s a good time to be a writer.

Here’s a nice picture taken on my mobile phone last Monday after I left the Liquid Room to see The Dickies. It’s of a very foggy Royal Mile in Edinburgh.

A Foggy Royal Mile

Greener is the Grass (Writing)
Greener is the Grass (Writing)

Hunting Jack (Editing)
Hunting Jack (Editing)


PLEASE DONATE – For full details of my Abseil off the Forth Rail Bridge in October for the Royal Zoological Society of Scotland, please go here:
https://rzss.workwithus.org/Fundraising/Donate.aspx?page=4212


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About Colin Galbraith

Thriller author, music fan, St Mirren fan, fluff chucker, rabbit tamer, outstanding fake faller. Loves cannoli.
This entry was posted in Day Job, Edinburgh, Editorial Comment, Freelance, Writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Good Time To Be A Writer

  1. Binny says:

    aye First Glasgow drivers do the same thing with the brakes… I HATE it, and its very inconsiderate when it has been raining and the floor is all slippy.

    In fact it was harsh breaking on a First Glasgow bus that caused me to go flying down the stairs of a double decker once damaging my big toe for months after 😦

  2. Adam Pearson says:

    Nice picture. I am in awe of the amount of work you do – I always found writing to be so hard, I can’t imagine what it is like to keep track of a whole book.

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