Managed to get ourselves to church this morning and actually it was okay. Though I did start singing the third hymn in the tune I knew with great gusto, only to realise that everyone else, including the organist, was using an entirely different tune. Ah well, I never did like going along with the crowd, you know. I managed to u-turn gently into the correct tune - or a passable resemblance of it - by the second verse, so I can only hope they didn't notice the join. Hmm, some hope eh.

For the rest of the day I've been typing away on The Bones of Summer and have now nailed that extra chapter with the key scene with Craig's father's church, hurrah! I feel really happy about it too. So I'm about a third of the way through the edit and am even looking forward to tackling the rest ...


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Here's a new one on me: a brand new literary magazine, The New Anonymous, is calling for submissions of fictions, prose and poetry which it will publish anonymously. This gave me pause. I am still pausing. Here is their mission statement:.......

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Anyone who's dipped more than a toe in the waters of creative writing knows that much of the craft (and art) of any writing is in re-writing. But even once you've discovered that writing 'The End' is only the beginning, it can be hard to know how to go about that rewriting which we all know is the making of the piece. I know of writers who re-write each page until it's perfect, then never change a comma. I know writers who write scenes from wherever they fancy in book in their head, then stitch it all together at the end, and writers who do the same without knowing even where those scenes come from. I know writers who revise yesterday's work by way of getting back into it, before continuing with today's, and writers who don't re-read a word they've written till the whole first draft is down. A quick dip into a random selection of the Paris Review interviews, either in the anthologies or the absolute goldmine which is the online archive, will show you that, of even the authors who are willing to say how they work, the possibilities are endless.

I know how I work, and why it works for me, and if I'm asked, I'll tell.

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My writing friend Kuzhali Manickavel has just published her first short story collection, the wonderfully-titled "Insects are just like you and me except some of them have wings". If you like humorous, offbeat, moving and lyrical short stories, then this book is for you. ....


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A DESCRIPTION, WITH PHOTOGRAPHS

The Inspiration Machine is essentially a tube which presents the user with a series of four inspirational stimuli, a combination of words, letters, images - both abstract and figurative - as well as some Egyptian hieroglyphs. These stimuli are revealed through revolving windows in independently movable paper sleeves. To use the machine, the person in need of inspiration may either think of a random number, or roll a die to generate a number. A preference for 'up' or 'down' is also either expressed or randomly generated by means of a coin toss. The first rotating sleeve is then turned the requisite number of times in the indicated direction, revealing the first of the inspirational stimuli. This process is repeated until all four windows have revealed a stimulus. It is then up to the user to interpret those stimuli in whatever way they wish.

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Have spent this morning continuing the edit to The Bones of Summer. I've added in one of the scene additions and its aftermath that the report suggested and I think it's deepened it. So far so good. And hey, more words too, which is a bonus - I'm nothing if not a short novelist. The next move is to add in a key scene with Craig's father's church, but that'll take some thinking about so I may not tackle it today. In the edit, I've also read through one of the sex scenes, and even though The Literary Consultancy were happy with the sex writing, I think I might cut it back a little. I don't want to move too far from my plot for no reason. It's a difficult balance sometimes, but hey I'm not complaining!...


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HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!
And a fine day for it; summer came back. ZaZa baked again, in honour of my birthday. We began with home-made ice-cream in brandy baskets with strawberries and sauce….mmmmmmmm!

lovely pics too.

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I have on occasion made the odd incredible MAJOR ERROR. How these things come about I do not know but I believe it's-at times-my lack of composure,the time to just weigh up the pros and cons before committing.I try too hard at times and sometimes it flies in my face.One particular incident still slaughters me when I think back on it.

I moved into a shared house about 5 years ago and much to my surprise I was the only guy living there with 5 other young women.In theory that's what any guy would call fortunate! It was at times and the more comfortable I got in the house the more outgoing I became.I had quit smoking pot before moving and looking forward to my experience living with who seemed like nice down to earth people. So one day while the girls complained of being bored I thought I would treat them all to a DVD on me.Eager to please them in my first week there,I raced to the Blockbusters store thinking of the brownie points this selfless act would earn me.Whats the worst that could happen?

Mainly my knowledge in the history of serial killers would be my downfall on this occasion and I thought I had rented a simple chick flick.In my mind Ted Bundy was the lazy sofa dwelling,beer drinking modern day Homer Simpson from the American sitcom"married with children." You know the one with "love and marriage, love and marriage,go together like a horse and carriage"?

It appears my judgement in this case was a bit off as Ted Bundy began to masturbate over a hedge as the popcorn was passed between my pajama clad new female housemates.To my horror this Mr Bundy character was perving on a young woman undressing in her bedroom.

Some words may not describe the look on my face as I stuttered my innocence to the 5 girls I have just moved in with,that will be living with me from now and onwards?First impressions etc?The collective turn of their heads towards each other then eventually to me took an eternity.I could have died right then.It was quite possibly the worst thing that could have happened! Comedy? Serial killer / sex attacker most notorious evil mentalist in the history of man possibly?

I was sweating and panting more than Ted was as I fumbled with the remote control,desperately trying to end this fuckin nightmare and trying to explain my innocence at the same time.I think I managed to get a laugh and of course be believed but it wasn't really the outcome I was aiming for.

I swore that guys name was Bundy too,how embarrassing if it wasn't I'd feel like a right idiot!
The good intention,the innocence of the gesture and the calamitous result of such a deed will have me in stitches in my latter years I hope.




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Lovely news - although I didn't get anywhere in this comp (yes, well, really...) Short Review author Clare Wigfall, whose collection The Loudest Sound and Nothing we reviewed a few months ago, has been shortlisted for the BBC National Short Story Award with her story, The Numbers.......

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Lordy, what a rollercoaster of a day. Up with rosy-fingered dawn (lucky dawn) today as I'd booked an 8.30am haircut and Lynda is super-efficient and always turns up early. Indeed when Lord H left the house at 8.15am, he found her parked outside and sent her up. She'd probably been parked there all night. Perhaps I should have offered her breakfast? Anyway, after her tender ministrations, I now look fairly presentable. At least temporarily.

All this meant I could pop into Godalming first thing and stock up on essential local papers and jiffy bags (in case someone actually buys Thorn in the Flesh (click on full post for links) and I have to send it to them - hell, you never know!). I also spent my birthday book vouchers in Waterstone's, and the girls there were incredibly helpful and got me books I might actually want to read - ie dark, quirky and different, which was what I asked them to find. I suspect they might have been significantly less helpful if they'd known I was one of the hated Breed of Authors. Bookshops don't mix with the likes of us, you know. Interestingly, one of the girls also said how boring most of the stuff they had in now was and it was very dull that everyone was writing the same sort of book, and how lovely it was that I as a reader was making their jobs exciting by asking for something different. Cue my line of bringing Goldenford and our wonderfully different books to their attention, but I was too frightened to mention it, to be honest - it's not often bookshop staff are nice to me and I was too moved by the experience to ruin it ... Sigh. I am a Grade One Wimp, to be sure ...


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