I have, of late, and I know not how, completed a trilogy.
Last night, with a pint by my side and a dog curled at my feet, I was able to type the above words at the end of the first draft of A Final Storm, the final book in my Blood on the Motorway series. That means I have now written a complete trilogy, at least in draft form. Roughly 225,000 words of apocalyptic mayhem, ranging from the wilds of Sunderland to the ruins of London. Six narrative arcs, one demented physicist, and a lot of stale sandwiches.
It’s a weird feeling. For the best part of seven years I’ve spent time with these characters, fathoming them up from nowhere in that strange way we writers do. And, while I won’t be fully done working on the books until later this year, there is no new runway to be laid. The story is there, start to finish. The narratives have arced, and everything else is tinkering now, before I start on a new, completely different story.
Somehow, that feels a little bit sad. I feel a kinship with these ragtag survivors, and I have been rooting for them, just like I hope you lot will root for them when the books go on sale. If you do, sorry for putting them through so many trials and tribulations. And, *spoiler alert* not all of them will make it to the end.
So, tonight I will be celebrating with my family, having a nice meal to toast the latest in the list of quiet victories that is being a writer. Next up is the book of the Rolling Stone Challenge, which needs to be not so much written as corralled into something approaching a book. Then I’ll be working on the third draft of Sleepwalk City (the second in the trilogy), before getting back the first book from my editor, and getting out there for you lovely people to purchase. Oh, and I’m considering a complete redesign of this website, just to fix a tiny bug which bothers nobody but me.
Not a lot to do in the next three months, then.