Strategy is a system of expedients

I find myself at an odd juncture at present.

I’m currently in the process of re-reading my book. I am, also, busy wading my way through the resultant editing process that is the reason for said re-read. This has, inevitably, left me feeling a little disjointed: I’m nearing the finale in my reading – an emotionally loaded moment that had me in tears as I wrote it (in my defence, I did spend the best part of a year with these people). I find myself both anticipating and also dreading the time when I can finally put it down and say ‘finished’.

At the same time, however, I am also mired back around the middle of my tale, slowing working my way towards the point in the story where everything comes to a head for the first time. I imagine its how new time travellers would feel, during their initial forays up and down the local continuum.

On the positive side, the process has reacquainted me with parts of the story I’d completely forgotten about (I’ve always found that a little on the strange side: that you can write something only to completely forget about it). Its also allowed me to deal with the continuity issues across the book. I think next time I go through this process I’ll look perhaps to worry about that side of the creative process less until this point. It’s proved so much easier to iron out paradigm details having reached the end of the first draft.

The old saying about battle plans should definitely be heeded by writers.

Kudos to von Moltke the Elder.


Magic Mike

I have a confession… I was inspired to begin this blog not by some higher, artistic ideal; some desperate yearning to pour out my artistic heart. No, I was inspired to do so by the tongue in cheek coming of age/strip-a-thon that is Magic Mike, the film that sold itself on the rippling abdominals of one Channing Tatum.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m as much a fan of male nudity as the next gay man, but I was very much not taken in by the hype for this one, and only went because the other half (and several friends) wished to drool over said star and his assets (if any of my friends are reading this – no smirking – I’m being honest, regardless of what you may think). No, I attended with distinctly low expectations, and it’s perhaps because of this that I was the one who came out having thoroughly enjoyed myself.

I was like my own personal pep talk. Matthew McConaughey’s occasional bouts of evangelical preacher-esque monologging notwithstanding.

Now, understand, at this point I’d not had that all important letter requesting the rest of my manuscript (that gave the processes of intent their final kick start), was still very much working on the self-publishing goal. Which I still feel holds no less validity, though it’s a damn sight harder slog from what I can gather, having spoken to various who’ve gone down that route.

Anyway… I just felt I should come out and say it. As I commented on my previous post, its difficult when writing these things not to feel like, and/or come across as, some pretentious idiot who is too eloquent for his own good.

(Okay, just realised how big headed that sounds, but I’ll let it stand…)

I’ve done a lot of soul searching over the last week, about what to make of this blog, what I want – need – it to be for me. The above – embracing the mundane, or the (some would say) trite influence of the mass media, seemed like a step in the right direction. I love pop culture, and I think that shows in my writing. If you don’t, you’re reading the wrong person.

Paddling with the Big Bad Woolf

Why do we dance round the abyss?

The mind is a treacherous place. And will, the angel that ought to hold your hand, a poorly understood ally. Too often, that angel is assumed to be some sort of external force, an outside influence that will animate, bringing our desires to fruition.

Would that this were the case.

The truth is far more hard work. It’s called will for a reason. Recognising that, and acknowledging it as a part of yourself, under conscious control, must be the first step on any new road.


Time runs away with us.

I took a change in position for my day job last week. I was told on Wednesday, and before I knew it my weekend had been swallowed, the evenings to either side vanishing down the same hole thanks to the commute for my old store, and the late opening hours of my new.

As a result my original intent vanished on the winds of necessity, and it is only now I return to my nascent journal.

Apologies, and thanks to those who looked.