150 – The Return of the Mighty Quad

This is the title of my book. But that’s not important at the moment. What is important is the importance of editing.

When I returned from my cycle trip a few weeks ago, I was not happy with the book at all. All I could think of was ten months wasted. Continue reading “150 – The Return of the Mighty Quad”

149 – Hay Bale Gymnastics and The Continuing Theme of Outdoor Living

The best thing about living in the countryside is that I don’t go to the countryside anymore. It comes to me.

Continue reading “149 – Hay Bale Gymnastics and The Continuing Theme of Outdoor Living”

148 – World Cup Heroes and Outdoor Living

Another English World Cup campaign comes to an end (in effect), but the sun still shines here in France. So much so that we’ve moved our lounge into the garden. Everything in fact. Even the coffee table and the horse and cart motiffed drinks coasters. The only thing we haven’t moved is the woodburner (not necessary in 30 degree heat) and the bookshelves (there’s football on). Continue reading “148 – World Cup Heroes and Outdoor Living”

146 – Marsh Frogs and Dragonflies

It’s half past ten on a Monday morning and I’m sitting by the pond in my deckchair minding my own business. Reading a novel set in Vienna during the war. Sipping treacly black coffee from my ceramic beaker. Lazing on the banks in thirty degree heat. My skin already the colour of bark after a burning week of sun. Continue reading “146 – Marsh Frogs and Dragonflies”

145 – Decision Making and Nomadism.

Time moves gently on. It’s been nine months since we sat outside on that first morning sipping thick black coffee and tucking into the full English breakfast I’d prepared as a celebration. Continue reading “145 – Decision Making and Nomadism.”

144 – Drilling for Water and the Art of Novel Writing

Writing a novel is like drilling for water: at first there’s so much material, you think you’re going to drown in it. You’re overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of it swilling around you. Memories you thought you’d buried are floating past like corpses. ‘Where did these come from!’ you scream. You feel helpless and terrified. ‘What do I do with all of them? There’s so many, they just keep on coming.’

This is where the novel starts. Continue reading “144 – Drilling for Water and the Art of Novel Writing”