I feel slightly out-of-condition. Somewhere I’ve lost the ability – and focus – to write every day. Still, now I’ve identified the problem, hopefully I can rip its lungs out.
The plan: I’m still keeping my (near) daily journal, still trying to write in here as often as I can. And when there’s time, I’m getting torn into ‘coal face’.
My journal is essentially an x-ray snapshot of my skull each morning. What I’m thinking about, how I feel about it, anything interesting that’s happened in the last twenty-four.
‘Coal face’ seems to be getting plenty of likes and follows. Which is kind of ironic, being as it’s an attempt to write something that out-grosses everything else I’ve done. The self-mutilation in ‘erotic cleansing’, even the cascades of shit, piss and miscellaneous in ‘1919’. The ‘great white death’ of contemporary scottish literature!

http://dreichcoalface.wordpress.com/

Why not read the novel that started it all? 1919 (inside)

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

A love story – on home-made acid – narrated by someone first used romatically, then set on fire, by the blue peter team, capering around the pyre like wrinkled vikings.

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