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shivers

I don’t know how it’s possible but I’m missing the winter. Last year we had no snow and I need a cold blitz by November.

A three-month white-out would be perfect.

July/August

Got a lot of free downloads coming in the next few weeks.

light

I woke last night before 3am and it was already light. Got up, checked my emails, read a bit, went back to sleep around four and it was full daylight.

The latitude here is only eleven degrees south of the arctic circle, so nighttime is short in the summer. In Scotland it’s even less. My family come from Thurso, and up there it barely gets dark in the summer.

 

35k

The thing I’m working on is nearly done. It’ll be short, about 35,000 words. Not sure of the title. It has a tone.

In the meantime, a friend in America is reading Jago for me, helping me root out the non-Americanisms. So far there doesn’t seem to be a huge amount to do but whatever it is, I’ll edit it then republish. In the meantime it’s still available.

I lost the note

I’m getting quite a few people checking out my story I Lost The Note. Weird, it’s not one that I thought was particularly popular. I reread it just there, and it’s more fractured and beautiful than I remembered.

If you want any more info on that story, get in touch.

more 000s

I try and write 1000 words a day, maybe a bit more, but not too much more. This leaves me impatient to write more and fuels my effort for the next day. It’s also, conservatively, a possible 250,000 words year (though I spend a big chunk of that time editing and stuff).

If I attempted to write 2000 words a day I might struggle, and I definitely wouldn’t be keen to repeat it 300 times a year. And anyway, what the hell would I do with a half-million words a year?

bum note

On a less self-flagellating note, the end of the lockdown on somewhere around 4th July* means I can go busking again. So, a week on Sunday I’ll be in Durham, towards the bottom of Saddler Street, with my saxophone.

In theory.

It might be I get lots of people nodding and applauding my serenading of the end of the lockdown regime. Or I might get arrested. Who knows?

 

* I don’t really know for definite, and no-one I’ve spoken to is quite sure.

 

level

Sometimes for a bit of a laugh I’ll read the crime reports in the local newspaper. It’s an entertaining array of sullen-faced wastrels with bad hair, dope-skin and disappointed eyes.

I looked at one picture, of a homeless alcoholic who had hundreds of convictions for theft and misbehaviour. He had a collapsed face, with tattoos on his temple and face, and a missing eye that made his eyebrow droop almost to his lower lid.

I felt awful. This damaged man had been someone’s child. This person was born with hopes and enthusiasm and love, and he ended up as a feature in the crime section of the newspaper. And here was I, sneering. Feeling superior.┬áThis broken person’s broken soul had become my entertainment.

I decided not to do it again. Not to laugh at someone’s misfortune. Not to assume that everyone’s station is a result of their choices. Never to feel superior. Because, no matter what happens in our lives, we start equal and we finish equal.

 

 

connective tissue

I realised that in the story I’m working on, one of the characters needed some motivation for what they were about to do. It’s a crucial move and there needed to be a ‘why’. So I thought about what needed to be added, went back into the story to do it.

And discovered I’d already done it.

Weird.