I’ve started to put my old “Deep Thought” pieces from Death Ray up on the site, I’ve done a handful today. They’re almost like blog posts. You might call it cheating, we in the media call it “repurposing content”. Go and check them out under “Opinion“. Hopefully you’ll find them interesting, there’ll be lots more to come.
I’m now well into the rewrite of Richards & Klein: Reality 36. Having read a lot of fiction from new authors over the last 10 years or so, I’m beginning to see the mistakes of the neophyte in my own work, not least the inability pen convincing women (there are more, but they’re less apparent in my book, and where they do show up, far easier to fix). What was going to be a fairly minor redecorating job is now going to involve major renovation of one chapter, at least. But the book will be better for it. I plan to write about this, if I get time, in a little more detail later this week.
The other most important thing: bye-bye words. I’ve got my snippy scissors out, and, by God, they’re flying, word fragments are spinning everywhere. Extraneous clauses, repeated imagery, non-essential description, bollocks dialogue… Whole paragraphs live and die at my say so. Bwahahaha! Already it is starting to read better. “Pace and clarity” as famed SF agent (the literary not the espionage kind) John Jarrold said to me in the pub recently. Wise words, and that’s what I’m going for.
I got my dog at the weekend. His care is eating into my writing time some, but he’s not proving as much work as I thought. I’ve already started training him and he’s picking stuff up quite quickly. The house, predictably, smells of dog wee. Right now he’s small and cute, but he’s literally growing right before my eyes.
In picking him up I had to awkwardly manoeuvre through a whole new world of dog-collecting etiquette. One party, apprehensive and excited, yet trying to appear calm and collected; the ideal dog owner. The other party, sad yet striving for professional.
I’ll give you one example. We’re calling him Magnus, but the woman has been referring to him as Only, I think (he was the only pup in his litter), thus neither of us referred to him by name so as to avoid appearing too possessive. As he’d been inside, unlike the pups from a more conventional litter who’d been living in the garden kennels, he was getting close to being her pet. I felt quite the meany for taking him away.
Predictably, he does not give a stuff. He’s a dog.
Hopefully I can be a responsible owner and not raise a monster, because if he turns out bad, he’ll be a real handful (I chant in my brain ’56 kilos, 56 kilos!’)
Here’s a picture.