We turned the heating on. We don’t want our energy bills to go up, but it’s cold. All week we have been yawning or awake too early. The clocks have gone back, re-gifting the hour that we gave for springtime. I was excited that I could walk home in twilight. London’s autumn evening light was rose. The buildings looked like deep sea creatures lighting up in the dusk. But the hour we’ve gained makes me walk home in darkness. London is now jewels in the dark. I have to wait until after the winter solstice to see the underwater creatures of London’s tall buildings again.

I finished another draft, maybe draft 4.2 of the full text and sent it away to a very small number of agents. One of whom came back to me almost immediately, although nothing is certain, especially not in this mutable season where even the leaves change colour.

In the most recent draft I’ve included scenes that were missing, to help the plot stop creaking. I’ve tried to clarify character motivations and to smooth out my bad habits. I’ve used scrivener to re-order the material and to figure out the synopsis properly. I think there’s still some work to be done but I can’t see it clearly when so close to it, so agents can read the latest draft while I let it sit at the back of my mind, gradually coming into focus.

I am reading the Best British Short Stories anthology, and Angela Flournoy‘s book.