Today (like, a few minutes ago), I hit 90,000 words with Children of the Resolution. The end is near, I’m over-the-moon with the quality of the writing and, as zonked-out as I am, I can’t wait to continue.
I am, however, going to force myself to have the weekend off. Wouldn’t do to be silly at this stage.
Longer, meatier post soon!
Three things I won’t be doing this summer:
- Watching Big Brother. Enough is enough! People-watching is fun, when we’re talking real people and not hand-picked conflict/fuck droids!
- Getting a tan. This is England, what can I say?
- Publicising my new novel. That’s next summer.
Three things I will be doing this summer:
- Watching Wimbledon in HD and on Interactive.
- Reading War and Peace (always assuming I ever get Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain finished!)
- Planning We Are Watching.
- Learning to count.
What does/doesn’t this summer have in store for you?
Well, today I reached the point in my novel where I had to, reluctantly, let the character of Johnny — the fictional representation of my childhood friend, GS — die. I expected it to be difficult, whatever I may have said in previous blog posts, but in the end it just happened, much as it did in real life, off-stage and oddly veiled.
I’d thought of tampering with the circumstances — solidly putting the “semi” in the phrase “semi-autobiographical” — and having Johnny die centre-stage, clutching his bosom, so to speak, where my narrator (yes, okay, where I) could see him, but that struck me as crass and intrusive. GS wouldn’t have objected, I’m fairly sure. He liked a bit of drama, and often went out of his way to create it. But I think the off-stage choice is the right one. There’s a dignity about it that I feel is right. Whatever else it might be, I can only be pleased with that, at least.
In other news… I’m taking tomorrow off, and heading out I don’t know where. Possibly onto the moors again — see if I can find out anything more about Austin Wright. I can’t help wondering, Why Fylingdales? What’s he, an ex-remote-viewer, doing out there? It has to be significant.
If you see me on the news tomorrow evening being detained by sweaty military types, you’ll know I’ve got a little carried away with my research
I always find the North York Moors an inspirational place to be. It’s somewhere that always leaves me feeling uncluttered and open to possibility. Today, whilst out near RAF Fylingdales, this was especially true — for ’twas there I “found” the first glinting traces of my next novel, tentatively titled, We Are Watching.
Let me introduce you to Austin Wright. Austin is a quiet guy. Quiet and solitary. He spends time, too much of it, out on the moor… remembering… remembering the night ten years before when his wife disappeared, three days after a remote viewing experiment in which the two of them had taken part… remembering and putting together the pieces… putting together the pieces and planning…
Thematically, I want to touch on faith (Austin never wavers in is belief that his wife was “abducted”) — using stylistic motifs borrowed from thriller and conspiracy-based fiction, whilst keeping it, in effect, a “literary” novel. I have a healthy respect for genre fiction, but that’s not what I’m good at; We Are Watching will at heart be an exploration of the relationship Austin shares with his “abducted” wife, but with a plot that moves, twists, doubles back on itself and (I hope) surprises.
Now, please excuse me while I go finish Children of the Resolution