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reSenTinG YoUR DArLiNGS

haters gonna hate – even the shit i be proud of, yeah?

Month

April 2013

twenty-four hours – world of skin

Less than twenty-four since I finished ‘person-hair’ and the ideas are coming thick and fast, like a porn-film plumber.
It’s starting to look like there’ll be a third ‘dreich NOiR’ novel, mibby even a fourth. I feel like I’m churning, ideas exploding out of me like a collapsing star.
Of course, this is the easy bit. The spewing of concepts ‘n’ fragments in the general direction of the target. (And if I *do* write #4, it may well contain reality tv, BDSM and prison-rape. So, yeah – it’s a love story, naturally.)
This is only the second time I’ve actively taken steps to write a sequel to a finished novel. And, rather than base it around the same old characters, (okay, a couple, I admit it!) I’m building in new characters – whole new families – as well as developing some of the ones from ‘person-hair’.
Character will always drive plot, but plot will almost never drive character.
I’ve pretty much outlined the thing. Figured out some of what the characters will be faced with (but not how they’ll respond).
Which, if this one turns out as far away from my outline as the last one did, will be a rollercoaster made of surprises.

*person-hair, getting out,

now, why not read the novel that started it all? 1919 (inside)

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/bunnied

Guaranteed – absolutely NO traces of horse DNA anywhere in this novel. And that’s the truth – or my name’s not David Cameron.

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stop or I’ll scream – mute drivers

Wow, that’s another one done. ‘Person-hair’ is finished (well, the first draft is!) and I’m having a well-deserved breather. And, by ‘well-deserved breather’, I mean heading into work for what’ll no doubt be a really heavy week.
It’s always a bit of an anti-climax, finishing a novel. I’ve been living and breathing the alternate edinburgh, racism and equal marriage for the last month. If I’m honest, it hasn’t really sunk in that the bastard’s finished.
For the last month, I’ve been getting up (almost) every morning, putting on either status quo or the ‘dredd’ soundtrack. On friday, over in ayrshire, I managed to find three mute drivers’ LPs I haven’t seen since I foolishly sold my copies back in 1994.
Nineteen years since I jettisoned all that vinyl and I’ve *almost* replaced the lot, either on CD or mp3.
So, I’ve been gorging my funny-looking self on the mute drivers since yesterday.
There’s a point in the writing of any novel where I start thinking about sequels. I reckon the process of getting so up-close-and-personal with my characters makes me want to cling to them.
And that’s where I am with ‘person-hair’. Although in a way, it’s a ‘sequel’ to ‘dreich NOiR’ as it’s set in the same universe.
I’m feeling like setting another work in that same universe would be a good thing.

now, why not read the novel that started it all? 1919 (inside)

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/bunnied

Guaranteed – absolutely NO traces of horse DNA anywhere in this novel. And that’s the truth – or my name’s not David Cameron.

dirt in the ground – tom waits

That’s me hit thirty-thousand words (okay, thirty-one thousand, but who’s splitting hairs?)
And, as is usual when I’m this deep in a novel, I’m worrying whether I’ll rin out of plot before I hit fifty thousand and the wee bell rings.
I’ve been at work since monday, so everything I’ve written this week has been on my PDA. Hopefully get home tomorrow and write in front of my netbook, which’ll be great.
Of course, writing even twenty-four hundred words on the day our beloved former prime monster went in the ground was quite a feat. For those of you who don’t follow me on facebook or twitter (@white_cell), I informed the workd of socialk media that I’d taken a tablet of LSD around 09:00 (I was still at work until 09:30!)
So, for the rest of the morning, I posted intermittant updates (with strategic spelling mistakes) describing how horny I was AND culminating in a lovingly detailed picture of me having a massive dump as the old bag was lowered into the forgiving earth.

now, why not read the novel that started it all? 1919 (inside)

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/bunnied

Guaranteed – absolutely NO traces of horse DNA anywhere in this novel. And that’s the truth – or my name’s not David Cameron.

fingertips – they might be giants

My first day back after my holiday and it’s going to prevent me getting home all week. Three sleepovers in a row – which is fine. Survivable even. But it means I’m off work – in a small Scottish former mining town – from nine-to-five every day.
So, today: I hammered the gym, then had a swim, before hitting a cafe and thrashing out a couple of thousand words.
Later, in a boozer, writing this, trying to surf the afternoon teevee and old men conversations, trying to shoehorn details into the text.
And I’m drinking fucking pepsi. Diet pepsi, at that. I don’t really have time to burn off even a couple of units of alcohol before I have to act all responsible again.
And here I am, hours later, at work. All responsible and that.
Blogging.

now, why not read the novel that started it all? 1919 (inside)

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/bunnied

Guaranteed – absolutely NO traces of horse DNA anywhere in this novel. And that’s the truth – or my name’s not David Cameron.

fingertips – they might be giants

My first day back after my holiday and it’s going to prevent me getting home all week. Three sleepovers in a row – which is fine. Survivable even. But it means I’m off work – in a small Scottish former mining town – from nine-to-five every day.
So, today: I hammered the gym, then had a swim, before hitting a cafe and thrashing out a couple of thousand words.
Later, in a boozer, writing this, trying to surf the afternoon teevee and old men conversations, trying to shoehorn details into the text.
And I’m drinking fucking pepsi. Diet pepsi, at that. I don’t really have time to burn off even a couple of units of alcohol before I have to act all responsible again.
And here I am, hours later, at work. All responsible and that.
Blogging.

now, why not read the novel that started it all? 1919 (inside)

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/bunnied

Guaranteed – absolutely NO traces of horse DNA anywhere in this novel. And that’s the truth – or my name’s not David Cameron.

stick to me – graham parker & the rumour

I haven’t written in here for a while. Okay, most of my attention’s gone on this month’s NaNo, but I also took some time out to commit my first holiday in about three years.
‘Person-hair’ stands at just over twenty-seven thousand words as of this morning, which is good. It’s gone (as I think I wrote a week or two back) in a much more emotional direction from the violence-fest I’d anticipated.
The outline seemed really violent but the process of making it real has led me into areas of the characters’ personalities I hadn’t expected.
And the holiday, you ask? Me and a friend went to Riga, Latvia for a week. And I wrote all but one of the days I was away.
Riga’s a beautiful city. I’d say it rivals Paris in terms of sheer loveliness – but then, I’m a sucker for all those imposing, soviet-era buildings.
And all those churches that look like mosques. Big onion on top. It really is a beautiful city.
I was pretty underwhelmed by their market, however. It seemed to consist of mostly clothes and footwear. And underwear – LOTS of underwear. Although anyone over a certain age – or chest size – isn’t really catered for in Riga. Once a woman hits THAT age or THAT size, the only ‘Saturday night-wear’ available is granny nighties. Not quite what my Wee Glamourous Pal had in mind, apparently.
There’s also a sex shop we found. Prices were about half what one would pay back in blighty. Most of Riga’s prices are about the same or slightly more. Like Belfast in the 1980s. But their sex shop was immense.
Coming back, we had the three foot latex-covered rattan cane sticking out the top of a dolly trolley. And we got it past Ryanair’s security, past the heavily-armed UK borders agency at Prestwick and back to my Wee Glamourous Pal’s place.
The following day, I had to get it to Glasgow, across the city centre and onto the Edinburgh train. Making great time, me and my wee bag with the sticky-out stick.
Unbeknownst to me, there had been some kind of football ceremony that afternoon. And the centre of Glasgow was filled to capacity with cunts. Football-tribe cunts, to be precise.
So I was stuck on the station, watching the uniformed masses being crammed onto trains by other uniforms.
I hate football (and pretty much all other sports) like I hate racism. And the only thing worse than people is groups of people.
Still, I got home unmolested. And carried on writing.

now, why not read the novel that started it all? 1919 (inside)

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/bunnied

Guaranteed – absolutely NO traces of horse DNA anywhere in this novel. And that’s the truth – or my name’s not David Cameron.

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