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



Ah want ti be – Sandie Craigie

I’m planning out a follow-up novel. When I wrote ‘1919’, it was all one story, it was just too fat so I split it in half before shoving it out. For July’s NaNoCamp, I wrote the draft of a novel set in Edinburgh in the 1990s and now I’m extending it, picking up some loose ends and, hopefully, developing them.
In some ways, I’m feeling a bit painted into a corner, I can’t just let my imagination run wild, as I could with the first part (working title: ‘Wifies’). This time, everybody’s already got their hair-colour, eyes, jobs and sexual preferences. Everything has to grow out of what came before, all those set-in-stone factoids I had so much fun dreaming up last time. So I’m approaching this one, baw-deep in limitations already.
That said, I’m genuinely fond of several of my characters. The ‘shite friend but a great fuck’ and the battered wife, for starters. Since about June, they’ve been talking to me, hanging around my house pished, bitching about each other – and they’re almost all smokers, the bastards. Much more of this and I’ll start casting the movie in my head, the way normal people do with ‘American tabloid’!
Before I started’ Wifies’, I created dossiers for my six main characters. So far, I’ve spotted four I’ll need to create for this one. Should take me about a week.


g-spot tornado – ensemble ambrosius

That’s both 1919s off to the meatgrinder and, apparently now, included in all the fancy-pants bookshops like amazon, itunes and so on.
So, with no deadlines hanging over my head like a bucket of butchers’ knives, it’s time for a wee spot of post-natal dip.
It’s always the same when I finish something I’ve been working on for a while – one day, it just isn’t there and suddenly everything’s in black and white and we’re back in kansas with auntie Em.
Kansas. Shit. I was still in Kansas. Each day I lie here in Kansas, I get weaker and each day Miss Gulch squats out there in the bush, she gets stronger.
So you can dig where my skull’s at, yeah? Each even if you can’t forgive.
Her idea of r’n’r is cold rice and a little munchkin-meat.

the end – the doors

That’s 1919 finished. I got the new artwork this afternoon and it’s looking groovy. All I have to do now is add the artist’s contact details to the endstuff and it’s ready to take on the meatgrinder.
It’s taken about seven years from first sitting down to write it to finally having the whole thing out there where people can touch it with their own skin.
Of course, I’m already working on what-comes-next. Another novel, later this year. Another next spring. And after that? Probably a monstrous eternity, shrieking in a lake of fire, as far as the eye can see. That’s the plan, anyhoo.
I suppose, looking back, ‘Erotic cleansing’ was all the mistakes I could make, writing a novel and ‘1919’ was all the mistakes one could make preparing one for publication. Now I’ve got that under my belt, I can teach myself everything that could possibly go wrNog grabbing the attention of those already happier than I am.
I’m exhausted. My skull’s battered. I feel like I just did fifteen rounds with a sabre-toothed Jehova’s witness. Tonight shall be spent, staring at Mistress Jinty’s enormous telly, lapping up ‘Old boy’ (which she’s NEVER seen!!!) and tomorrow, I’ll get started on the what-comes-next. Probably.

the time is now – moloko

First of all, beloved readers, sorry about the recent radio silence. A whole swarm of personal pish-demons, with April’s NaNo hot on their wee heels led to me having to batten down the hatches for a few weeks. Anyway, those days are gone and the time is now. And this blog should be a weekly event from now on. Or at least until Scotland gets independence and the entire nation is rat-arsed starting on my birthday and continuing until Cameron is thrown to the piranhas, following his 2015 election defeat. Like SPECTRE, the tories normally make their minions walk the plank after they lose an election and Cameron’s the one who’ll preside over them losing 37% of ‘their’ subjects and about 10% of ‘their’ revenue. He’d be safer working for Gru, he really would. But try telling him that.
April’s NaNo shot past surprisingly quickly. As usual, I was the only one in my ‘cabin’ who actually finished their draft, but hey ho. Anyway, that’s done and I’m already gnawing on the research for August’s draft. I won’t be doing NaNo in July as I have holidays booked and how can I be expected to concentrate on the tapping out of violent pornography with that damn woman being all fascinating and delightful at me all the time?
I’ve also finished the polish-job on ‘1919 outside’, the follow-up to 2012’s ‘1919 inside’. I know I’ve been using the expression “almost finished” since around the end of 2012, but it actually *is* finished now and I’ll fight any ten Venusians in here who say different, yeah?
I’ve also managed to blackmail a pretty good artist into coming up with new covers for both ‘inside’ and ‘outside’. Design continuity. That’s pretty grown-up, isn’t it?
A few weeks back, I got back in touch with a Domme I used to know when I lived down south, who told me ‘inside’ took her “right back to what it was like in 2007”. Best compliment I’ve had in a while.

first time – the boys

I’m planning NaNo 14 04. Traditionally with each novel I write, I’m trying to break on through into something I’ve never attempted before. With ‘1919’, I tried to write about my then present relationship, but with all the sex behind a veil. When I wrote ‘Dreich noir’, it sprang from a desire to create a central character as different from me as I could imagine.
It’s like Pixar – with ‘Toy story’, they set out to show what could be done with humanoid animation. With ‘A bug’s life’, light. With ‘Monsters inc’ they did the animation of fur and with ‘Finding Nemo’, water.
So, the cherry I hope to pop this time is setting. The basic building-blocks this time will be place, with the whole thing glued together with the usual prejudice against otherfolk. So yeah. Same old shit, warmed up again for you.
Another first is, this time I’m going in without a title. Generally speaking, I have a title fixed in my head before I kick off. It might change as I’m squeezing out the prose, but having a title gives me a focus, something in the distance to aim at when it’s the first week and fifty thousand seems a long way off.
For some reason, this year’s is just NaNo 14 04. Indexed rather than named. There’s a few weeks to go and the plot’s starting to coalesce. The characters are starting to talk to each other and those ludicrous/brilliant ideas from a few weeks back that wouldn’t fit anywhere are all slotting together at last. This must be how terrorists feel when a plan starts to come together.

in the greylight – virgin prunes

I contacted a couple of artists last night about covers for ‘1919’, ‘the C-word’ and ‘person-hair’. Then, to stop myself being bored, I exported the whole of ‘dreich NOiR’ from WordPress and started ripping out all the extraneous characters.
I also watched ‘benefits street’ on 4OD, since people were still arguing about it on Twitter and Facebook. For anyone who’s had their head stuck in the ground all week, it breaks down like this: a poke-fun-umentary about people with, quite literally, nothing. Like Scotland’s ‘the scheme’ a couple of years ago, ‘benefits street’ points the camera (and the waggy finger) at a group of people who live near each other, the bastards. People under intense financial (and social) pressures, people forced to break the law in order to survive. What’s next? Videotaping a group of working class primary fives in a gas chamber, watching them claw their way over their dead and dying peers for the last crumbs of air? With points deducted for anyone not having very good manners?
According to Twitter, the company responsible for this latest Circus Maximus have previously been investigated for exposing children to risk in some other ‘documentary’. And people who appeared in the programme have been subjected to death threats and baseball bat offers.
This is propaganda for that Bullingdon view of the world: a world where anyone without the common decency to have enough disposable income to insulate themselves against the present economic disaster is, at best a cartoon character, with no function other than to entertain those of us with televisions and couches.
Watching it, I was incensed that these levels of poverty and desperation are still with us in 2014, disgusted that people can see people fighting to survive and hate them for it. So much for that ‘big society’ the prime monster seems to have shut up about recently.
The United Kingdom is breaking down into those with too much (how much did IDS pay for his breakfast this morning?) and those living from day-to-day, with no real hope of anything other than battling the symptoms of their poverty.

don’t look back in anger – oasis

My Owner and Goddess is going over ‘1919 (outside)’, so it’s starting to look as if it’ll be out there where people can touch it, in the next month or two. It’s been a long enough wait.
The original plan was to have it out by the end of 2012, but reality was waiting to ambush me. And, if anything, my confidence has dropped regarding this project.
So, come next month, I’ll have to give it a final once over and try to sort out the cover.
I’ve been cobbling together all the drafts I have, backing them up on the cloud (which I should’ve done before) and passing them along to She-Who-Reckons-She-Ought-to-be-Obeyed. once ‘outside’ is under way, next up is ‘Person Hair’ from last spring.
It’s been about a year-and-a-half since ‘1919 (inside)’ came out. The time since has been devoid to working too much, playing too hard and resting when I collapse from all the above.
I originally wrote ‘1919’ in 2007-08. It’s strange going back to it all these years later when (I hope) my writing’s improved in so many ways. It’s been a fantastic festive period and, I’m pretty much sober now. Hopefully 2014 will be the year this stuff sees the light of day.

eating jello with a heated fork – the deviants

What a bizarre and monstrous year. 2013 saw the ends of Mick Farren, Lou Reed and Colin Wilson, the last of these completely swamped by the death of Nelson Mandela a few hours earlier.
A year in which the present administration showed just how evil and antithetical to life on earth they could be. Iain Duncan Smith went about as far from weeping at the poverty of others – when in opposition – as it’s possible to get.
We’ve seen the Arctic Thirty accused of piracy and hooliganism, although it was nice when they were amnestied – and so were Pussy Riot.
There’s been some pretty good albums this year, too. Pharmakon’s ‘Abandon’, Nik Turner’s ‘Space gypsy’, Poltergeist’s ‘Your mind is a box (let us fill it with wonder)’, Syzergy’s ‘The legend of goody Cole’, NTT’s ‘Your suffering will be legendary’…
So there’s hope. Next year, Scotland votes on whether to remain the bitch of the nation that gave us Nigel Farage and all those cunts off the x factor, or whether to operate as an independent people in Europe – and we’ve got the foreplay to the the election campaigns for the tories, the ukip and the so-called labour party.
My new year’s resolutions, you ask? Firstly, no more soft drugs – in 2014, it has to be class A or not at all. And ‘1919 (outside)’ will finally be published. And that’s a promise – or my name’s not David Cameron.

expressway to yr skull – sonic youth

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!

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

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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