When I wrote ‘Erotic cleansing’, back in the 1990s, it was a joyful burst of enthusiasm and next-to-no actual talent or experience.

Like a young Quentin Tarrentino, what ‘experience’ I had was secondhand. Where he learned from the great directors by watching their work and absorbing their genius that way, I had devoted my own life to studying to work of writers, auteurs and even composers, from Dmitri Shostakovich to Jim Thirwell. Where there was a narrative – any narrative, I absorbed its rules and made it a part of me.

When it came to characterisation, I made it up as I went along. And, to be completely honest, I wasn’t in all that great a space psychologically in those days.

I may as well admit it, EVERY female character in ‘Erotic cleansing’ was composed of one real, actual person of my acquaintance and one model from the pornography I was terribly keen on at the time.

Apparently, Paul Schrader wrote ‘Taxi driver’ while living in his car on a diet of junk food and pornography, following a divorce. (I hope I’m remembering that correctly!) But I do refer to that era as my Paul Schrader period, so there!

A long lie this morning until 08:00 and another two thousand words of ‘Dystopian’.

I’m somewhere between a third and halfway through the outline now and sitting on about seventeen thousand words. I have a wee niggling worry that I haven’t written enough to actually generate fifty thousand, but all I can do is keep plugging away and see where it takes me.

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