I suppose I should write an update here. My publisher likes the idea that I can chat and provide ‘vaguely witty comment on the World’ as some kind of oblique way of selling more books and upping my profile. Well, that’s nice.
I suppose there’s a mystique to keep up. All writers are supposed to project an aura that the public are supposed to believe. I’d love you all to think that I’m some kind of diva and goddess who spends all their time surrounded by flunkies and bathing in Ass’ milk. Well, thankfully I’m not. I’m just another person with a boring day job that isn’t quite as boring as a lot of other day jobs that I could have had. I write when I have some spare time, and – shock horror – I write because I just like writing stuff. It’s kind of scary to think that some-one somewhere might just read some of the stuff I write, but they do.
It’s been a busy old week. Having worked three twelve hour shifts on my three days at work, understandably there hasn’t been much time to put fingers to keyboard, but I’ve done a little. There’s a few short stories polished off and sent out to magazines. No doubt, as is usual these days, more than 90% of all I send out will be rejected. There’s nothing new in this. It is an unfoirtunate fact that the biggest bunch of timewasters short of lawyers (sorry Zoë), politicians and estate agents are literary agents. The number of times a piece gets sent back rejected not because it isn’t any good but because the workshy timewaster whose desk it landed on couldn’t be bothered to even read it is beyond count. But it isn’t just me. Even the greatest writers have suffwered such rejections throughout their career. Joanne Rowling, Enid Blyton and Stephen King are the three who readily spring to mind. It’s nothing personal, just the unfortunate way that the publishing industry works.
The other two days in the week were spent in Durham. I had to go up there to pick up some wedding dresses. Long story – in essence if you see the dress that bowls you over, don’t waste your time forever searching in lots of other bridal shops. Follow your heart and just go with the one that bowled you over. That meant that thursday and friday were taken. So that just leaves today for writing. Well, it is going well. The short story with no name is reaching completion. Hopefully it might be able to be passed over to be edited by the end of today, or maybe tomorrow at the latest. Good news I feel. I really ought to think of a title for it. It’s sci-fi horror, as I’m sure that I mentioned before. I must have a think about it.
As a final oblique thought, I filled my car with petrol yesterday. Now, I don’t usually do a huge mileage any more. In fact I usually only fill the car up once a month, and even then it is rarely less than half full. The trip to Durham used a reasonable amount and I am horrified to find that ten gallons now costs over fifty pounds. What kind of daylight robbery is this? Especially as much more than half gets thieved off as various taxes to be frittered by the government. Where is the good public transport alternative we were promised? No sign of it materialising around here.