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.