blackout – david bowie

I was just about to head for my nest last night. I’d even said a jocular cheerio to all my imaginary pals on twitter when Colonel T Parker contacted me to say that the copy of ‘1919’ I’d sent her was unreadable. I’d trashed the layout.

Oh, how we laughed. Or, at least shouted at each other, which is nearly the same, isn’t it?

So I ripped out all the formatting and had to put it all back in by hand. All of it. By hand. I stopped at two this morning. Thereupon, I cheered myself up by smashing my fists and face into the unforgiving floorboards and shrieking, “TAKE ME NOW, LORD!” I find this often helps.

Back up at 07:30. I finished revising the final forty pages of ‘the last film’ and went back to ‘1919’. three hours later I was halfway through it. Twenty thousand words, roughly. Checking it line by line. and I found a cracking mistake that’d sneaked through every revision I’d done, which was lovely. In a ‘Christ, I’m a dullard’ kind of way.

This evening, I went back to it and did another ten thousand words.

And this was meant to be a day of rest and tranquillity.

So, if we’ve threatened you with a copy and you’re worried that you’re having blackouts, you’re not. Well, probably not, anyway.

And if you are, it’s not our damn fault.


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