Length, or girth?


It appears I might make 85/86,000 words by the time I’ve finished this sci-fi madness. I did worry a while back because I feel a fraud if I don’t get near the almost obligatory 90,000 minimum. I would prefer over 100,000 words for all my books just because it’s better value for money I reckon but as I’ve often said before like some old sage whose seen it all, done it, thought about getting a t-shirt printed but let’s face it the fucking things are one of the most hideous articles of clothing available these days and alway have been. It’s the ring-neck… Takes a certain sort of guy to get away with that. Personally I’m much happier in a v-neck or shirt-type arrangement but I get that it’s probably some form of betrayal to men.
I’m not keen on the slogan shirt either.
Band pictures without names, cool.
Advertising no-mark sports companies; er, no!
I’m still with Bill Hicks on advertising.

So; anyway, I look at novels a bit like the length of a film. If you can get 120 minutes for the same price as 90 it’s an easy choice eh? I always feel slightly cheated by the shorter film so I assume people will feel the same about my books which would make sense if I had an audience but I fucking well don’t, alright! If only I could get across how good this shit is my Nigerians but alas, alack, the muse is against me.
“One day…well show them won’t we petal?”
“Yes dearest, we will.”

So: today I sat on a stile between two fields where the trees could protect me from the stoooopid heat, that felt as if it was frazzling the hairs on my neck, and wrote half a page.
A surprisingly nice place to zone out… Burnt House Lane. Ever since I saw they were resurfacing the lane I’ve wanted to cycle along it. It’s lovely anyway but now; the girth is slender but the length is good and so smooth!
After that it was on to a field on the edge of the downs above Apse Heath. Beautiful but it was too hot even for me and I love the sun although since I got my new tattoos I find it an absolute pain having to slather poxy sunblock on them every time I go out of the house for five minutes. Admittedly I was out for a few hours but what we need are sun-proof tattoos! Still, I got a couple more pages down and then, before I burnt to a crisp, I/we/us moved to the cycle path at Merstone before the return journey to Newport.
This island has got some magnificent countryside and some of the best roads in the world. Beautiful for cycling, motorcycling, shit for cars.

So; it’s been a productive day.
Wrote about 3,000 words, typed up 5 pages and I reckon I’ve got maybe 2/3 days left before the first draft is finished.
Novel number 14 is it? Something like that. Anyway it’s all good. It’s an amazing thing to finish something as complex as a novel. You start with a blank page and an idea and somehow it expands and flows, meanders and fantasises, metaphors and dialogues it’s way into something alive, something of you, a little slice of your mind for those that wish to sneak a peek behind the veil to see some of the inner workings. It constantly astonishes me the stuff that’s hidden in the corners of my weird brain. I swear if I hadn’t given up the weed and the cigarettes none of this would ever have found it’s way to the surface. Saying that, I might be delusional and the whole lot a load of old twaddle. If it is I’m just glad I got to use the word twaddle as it is exceptionally worth bringing into any conversation, probably. As is probably, best pronounced with an over-emphasis on the bab bit, probabibobobably.

Anyway, one/two/the three of us are pleased for once aren’t we?
Yes, we are. We can have a well deserved rest can’t we?
Of course, when we’re finished we will take some time off, until the next time. Maybe a fantasy fable next?


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