With the first draft of my new novel done, I thought I had better start typing it into my computer so that I can edit it. Hah – I did two paragraphs and almost died with boredom......not because of the novel, you understand, but the laboriousness of READING MY AWFUL HANDWRITING! I mean, my writing LOOKS very nice, all curly and loopy and strong and slanted, but my letter-forming is a masterpiece of obfuscation. So I’ve put it aside for now and am happily continuing the even more soul-destroying task of bringing out the new editions of all five my novels, each one on three different platforms. Once that’s done, I can finally publish Commences which in itself will require much blogging to “talk about things” because this novel has hung over my head like the proverbial sword of Damocles.
There used to be some or other programme that I listened to on the radio as a kid in which a Big-Voiced bloke would talk about the sword of Damocles.....I’ve never worked out who Damocles actually was but the drama of it has never left me. It has something to do with doom (the sword, I mean) so I’m actually misusing it here: I don’t mean that Commences portends doom; rather, it’s been a black cloud hanging over me that I haven’t been able to make go away, no matter how much I huff and puff. By publishing it, perhaps the cloud will whizz off. Or rain money. Or rain a wonderful new life. Or something. At the very least, I’d like to move on as a writer.
I’m currently doing a final edit of Commences as well and have come to conclusion that it doesn’t matter what I do to this book: it’s never going to be anything other than bloody weird.
There used to be some or other programme that I listened to on the radio as a kid in which a Big-Voiced bloke would talk about the sword of Damocles.....I’ve never worked out who Damocles actually was but the drama of it has never left me. It has something to do with doom (the sword, I mean) so I’m actually misusing it here: I don’t mean that Commences portends doom; rather, it’s been a black cloud hanging over me that I haven’t been able to make go away, no matter how much I huff and puff. By publishing it, perhaps the cloud will whizz off. Or rain money. Or rain a wonderful new life. Or something. At the very least, I’d like to move on as a writer.
I’m currently doing a final edit of Commences as well and have come to conclusion that it doesn’t matter what I do to this book: it’s never going to be anything other than bloody weird.
Does anyone know who this is?
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