The grant thing is coming along well.
Every morning I go to the library and write my six pages in longhand in an A4 notebook– why six, I don't know, but that seems to be where I stop, which, with my somewhat cramped handwriting, is about two thousand words.
Last year I wrote a novel this way. I also learnt that I'm much more comfortable drafting a book in a non-linear fashion, and that when I rewrite those six pages usually come to about ten, because I tend to leave a lot of detail out, and there's quite a bit in the way of short hand.
Scenes are all over the place, but the book has come to an interesting point, and I think I know where it's all going: partly as a result of a poisoning, and a character being pushed off a cliff.
So far this book has delighted me with it's bloodthirsty swans, puppets that like to suffocate their guests, a city founded on knives in the back; poison; and the midnight luminescence of ghosts. Oh, and Sturm and Drang: I'm loving Sturm and Drang. Like one of the characters says: Histrionics, it's all about histrionics. First drafts are the province of invention, and stumbling, lots and lots of stumbling (and varying degrees of despair). Second drafts are reflection (and still quite a bit of stumbling, and more or less despair). I think I might be in provincial old Second Draft (criticise the joinery, and don't walk under the ladders) as soon as Monday.
Oh and thanks to Kate and her krewe at the QWC for their card! Made me feel like a right proper writer.