Friday, October 31, 2014

Just weeks away

I'm the wrong side of a bottle of red, plus an almost out of date Carling that had been reduced and I bought because it's Friday and needed a beer for my delayed train home. Anyway, I realise I've not blogged for, erm, two months, but then I'm writing the mother of all blogs by turning all my angst into a novel. Except it would've been too easy for me to just put everything in chronological order and leave it at that. Oh no, I had to weave a fucking narrative into it, and turn it into some kind of journey as if any of this is meaningful to anyone.

Anyway, I'm now 40 pages shy of the end of Draft 4, and drunk, and it's probably it's most readable yet*  
*This still doesn't make it Wuthering Heights, but you get the point.

Suffice to say, this is definitely going to be published. I was planning on a Draft 6 as well as Draft 5, but I can't take it and may slit my wrists before then. I mean, I'm happy with it, but I also can't live like this any more. I've spent years working on it and I want my life back - which is ironic, as I barely had one.

So, "sorry" for not blogging, which I understand has bothered absolutely no-one, but this has consumed me. Here is a picture of my chair at work yesterday, no longer able to take the weight I've gained since I gave up the gym in order to write.

Behold! The sight of success:

If I can pull my finger out, I'll edit/ re-write this final 40 over the next couple of weeks. I've got a few more proofers to check it out (thank you Nix and Kaiser, who I'm certain has totally forgotten), and if I can somehow strain Draft 5 out in a matter of days, I may - may - have this ready to put out there by December.


Normal service will resume soon, though I'll probably become an annoying marketeer for a sub-par story that renders every blog post from now on an advert.

At least I can say I've tried hard not to just wham my posts together. Seriously, if I did that, this would've been over about two years ago. And once this is done and I sell twelve copies, look out for my bloated corpse being fished out of the Thames soon!

Thank you all.


Z said...

Look, babycakes, if anyone has an excuse for not blogging it's me and I'm still plugging away. Two months my left foot, it's more than three. Under the drafting circumstances, I'll give you a pass for the next fortnight, but after that I'll start reminding you politely.

Fweng Ebola said...

I am so, so sorry and offer my sincere condolences. I've tried to reply on your Wordpress acc but couldn't prove I was human, and struggled too on Blogger so I'm replying here. I've been in my own little bubble for ages and didn't even realise. My only consolation is that after two months perhaps some of that initial pain has gone and while there remains a gaping hole in your life, I hope you are coping under the horrible circumstances. I wish you a long life.

Exile on Pain Street said...

I can think of lots worse things to be consumed with than writing a novel. Charles Bukowski said that many a good man have been put under a bridge by a woman. So think about THAT next time you hit the typer.

Z said...

Thank you - yes, I'm coping but I know it's going to take a long time.

daisyfae said...

at least you've accomplished something... i continue to putz about and fart around and behave as a complete oxygen thief!

looby said...

Well, you've definitely got a buyer up here in the wilds of Lancashire.

I hope you won't stop relating the adventures that constitute the novel though, once its finished.