I seem to be pishing ideas at the moment, haemorraging bookseeds like a knifed and shrieking sow. A conversation with #2 son yesterday that began with us agreeing that space aliens will never show up on our planet with their hyper-evolved technology soon moved into an un-twentieth century where scientific advances had shot ahead of cultural development. I wrote it down, so I might do something with that someday.
For now though, my primary to-be-written project’s still the transgressionata and my most important polishing jobs are ‘person-hair’ and ‘1919 (outside)’
Long day at work today. Working at four (count ’em) different units for a couple of hours each. I don’t see me getting a mad crazy amount of writing done by the end of tonight somehow.
And I’m knackered. Bone-exhausted. Ah well, a couple of days off – just what the suicide bomber ordered!
now, why not read the novel that started it all? 1919 (inside)
Guaranteed – absolutely NO traces of horse DNA anywhere in this novel. And that’s the truth – or my name’s not David Cameron.