I was ill in bed for most of the weekend so I worked on my novel. It has been renamed Love in a Warm Climate, which I like, although I did also like Lost in France. Mainly because of the Bonnie Tyler song.
The name may have changed, but the worrying is the same. Sometimes I read what I have written and think ‘that’s not half bad’ other times I think ‘who cares about this?’ or ‘why on earth do we need to know what Sophie eats, does, thinks, says, wears?’
Is this a problem all fiction writers face? Did Scott Fitzgerald worry that no one cared if Gatsby ended up with Daisy? I don’t suppose he did, he probably knew it was brilliant. I know this is not, but then you can hardly compare chick-lit with the master.
Another dilemma I have is Sophie, my main character. She has to chose between two extremely sexy, rich and gorgeous men (why write a book with a load of men no one can fantasise about was my reasoning). I have ended one chapter with Sophie telling her French friend Audrey that she has almost decided. “There’s just one more thing I need to do,” she says, mysteriously.
Well, what she needs to do really is a mystery. I have no idea. Any suggestions most welcome, before the book has to be submitted in August please….
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2010