My favourite novel by Ernest Hemingway is The Garden of Eden, unfinished, unpublished in his lifetime, but a truly lovely book – a meditation on the nature of love and its 
boundaries, and on writing too.
Hemingway killed himself before he finished it, and perhaps he would never have finished it, but I don’t understand how he could voluntarily leave the world with work that needed completing.
“Is that XX?’ Jackson asked as he got out of the car. It was. Loud Places by Jamie XX (ft Romy). Must be three years old now, maybe more. I play it before I begin work on Jago.
Dakota.
Jester.
Where are they?
I’m working on it, I’m looking for them, every morning by half six I’m in deep. They’re looking for each other too, converging.
I began working on a project called the gods some time ago but it split into two different things, one a collection of micro stories and the other a longer contemplation on the idea of immortality.
the collection of stories is still called the gods and is on kindle but the longer piece, the long light, was lost in translation. I went back to it a couple of weeks ago to look at the structure, and a thought struck me so I decided to follow that and it looks like it might be working out. The title came to me while I was musing as I stood in the queue in MaccyDs, waiting for my second coffee of the morning.
Lucas is going to create a cover for me for a different project, so I might ask her to do one for this too.
Photograph by Laura:
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I enjoy mythology, especially Greek and Norse, and the character of Grendel has always intrigued me. I’ve always thought him not as a troll, but as a man. If Beowulf is the good king then Grendel is the tyrant, and he does the evil that men can do.
I have a novel called Grendel which is based on the premise of a woman falling in love with a man who is quite normal apart from his tendency toward multiple murders, a man who lives with the ghosts of his crimes and who, in his own way, is quite vulnerable.
And now I’m redrafting a story in which a character called Wyatt literally is Grendel. Or he was, a long time ago, and now he’s just an ordinary man. It’s part of my series of stories that go under the umbrella title of the gods which is a contemplation of the lives of the immortals.
5.49am, MDs.
Sunday 22nd April.
If I’m on a William Gibson kick I can’t not mention Molly Millions – old Steppin’ Razor herself – the surgical/military-enhanced street samurai who turns up in a few of his stories.
My old Mac is dying hard, and a fresh hard drive and memory upgrade isn’t fixing whatever ails it. I think it’s just worn out – 8 years since I got it and I’m not gentle.
I think I need to invest in something new.
image from: www.activewirehead.com/building-a-cyberdeck/
Quite fancy a sandbender.
Words move me.
More than anything else, I think, words just cut through: more than music, more than scent or keepsakes or the memory of the touch of my fingertips against another’s skin, it’s words that do it.
I rediscovered the Fleetwood Mac album Rumours a few weeks ago and the whole album is great, some of the lyrical stabs and ripostes are thrilling – the entire band was in some kind of permanent state of making-up and breaking-up with each other at the time they made the album – but there’s one track, The Chain, that just about kills me every time I hear it. It’s a song of heartache and loss and broken vows, and listening to it breaks my heart.