So I finished the draught; book, not alcoholic drink, although draught always gives me the impression of some sort of mug, tankard type yard of ale or some such puke-flavoured water, blurrrgh! Beer…such a revolting practice.
Yea so, anyway, I finished the novel.
Started in September I think, it’s been going on like forever baby. I don’t know why but this one has been really hard, especially getting to the end of the bitch. Not great fun to write either which is odd because what I’ve read back is good shit. I think it’s the general malaise that’s hung over me like a fug since all the constant rejections and yet another pointless encounter with the local paper that’s amounted to zero sales. I don’t know why I need strangers to tell me I’m brilliant but I’m assuming that’s what I’m hoping for cause I can’t imagine what else I’m expecting to gain from being read. There has to be some flaw inside everyone of us who seeks attention for our skills, we’re all needy little tossers at the end of it or why would we put our work out there to be ridiculed and ignored? Odd thing to do isn’t it?
Saying that, if the average person had the vaguest idea how much work really goes into writing a novel they would suddenly go off the fantasy that ‘there’s a book in everyone.’
Is there bollocks!
There might well be a poorly edited, badly punctuated, scatterbrained mush of ideas rolling around amongst the wine and the Sunday roasts but there are seriously very few who are going to get anything of worth down. I’ve been doing this five years and I’m only now becoming confident that I’m even close to the standard required and still I mess up with punctuation at times. Found out consummate has two M’s today (that’s two ems) who knew? I also found out that you can plash OR splash, near enough the same meaning but guaranteed if you put plash (I have) some twat will think you’ve spelt it wrong. I like the idea of plashing in puddles, it sounds more grown up and cock off to anyone who thinks otherwise, you’re not writing it and probably couldn’t anyway. (Trust me on this)
It’s the poxy editing that gets to you.
Writing is one thing, the outpouring is amazing, trance-like at times, that feeling after a long blast of mind-to-paper concentration is equivalent to any number of stimulants, better than most but once all that’s been expunged there is still the odious, time-consuming tedium of checking, checking, checking, oh and when you’ve done that don’t forget to check, check and check the bloody thing again. It’s incredible that there can always be a better way of describing something, or a sentence can be twisted, shortened, rewritten to maximise it’s concisenessticity, it’s endless!
A bit like this blog, moan, winge.
And still no title! I like the Fanny Doctor but it’s a bit…
‘The Act’ is good but it does need to be in apostrophes to make sense and that is always a bit naff, no? Yes. (Again, trust me)
Doctor miaowmiaow sounds like a kids book but a novel about auto-asphyxiation, all manner of other dirties and littered with sweary words and violence needs a slightly harsher title I feel.
Oh well, during the three months of faffing and check check checking I’ll inevitably come up with something suitable.