Lately I find myself struggling to write, which is a problem because I have a few projects I need to get done by the end of the year. I think it's the afterburn from working so hard on Beyond Here Lies Nothing, my third and final Concrete Grove novel. I always go through a period of creative blockage after finishing a novel, and this time it seems to be lasting longer than ever.
But it gives me time to read, and to think about my current projects. My mate Tim Lebbon always says that not writing is just another part of the writing process. He's right. It is. Ideas need the time and space to percolate.
So I keep tinkering with The Quiet Room, the novel I'm working on right now. And I keep thinking about The Bones of You, the short novel I'll be writing next (it's been commissioned by an acclaimed U.S. publisher). Both of these books are ghost stories, and sometimes I feel like they're haunting me. Elusive phantoms; wily spectres, glimpsed out of the corner of my eye but never for long enough to become solid. Not yet.