Distressed
I'm rather distressed at the moment. I've started writing my next novel before I've even finished my last one.
I always do this, and I really must stop it.
My novel at 120,000 words is in very real danger of coming to a halt if I don't.
So I'll leave my new magnum opus as it currently stands until I get the one I'm working on out of the way:
The thing that was once Dave lay before us. It wasn't a pleasant sight to behold but, then again, Dave hadn't been much to look at whilst he was alive, so the only thing he'd really lost out on was his life.
Judging by the state of his corpse, that life had been beaten out of him. He looked like he'd taken on a herd of elephants and come a distant second best.
Poor Dave, always second best - even in death.
He lay on his stomach, face down. The brains that should have been inside his head were being worn on the outside, where they'd do him no good, not that they'd been much use to him, anyway. Dave was strictly muscle.
In the end, it turned out his muscles had been of no use to him, either. His arms and legs had been broken, several times, and his head and face resembled raw hamburger meat, pulverised, ground down, and nasty; the kind of stuff you get fresh from the mincing machine, still dripping blood.
In life, Dave had been a big man. It would have taken several men to hold him down and pull this off, several big men, or a herd of elephants.
In this neck of the woods I wasn't prepared to rule out either.
"Who the fuck did this?" asked my brother.
"Sienna Miller," I said sarcastically. When my brother sighed, preparing himself for the inevitable retort, I answered, "How the fuck should I know?"
"Was just asking, like."
"Well, don't. You took the same call as me. You took the same car as me. And you're stood in the same place as me, looking at the same fuckin' body.Well, do you know?"
"No," he snapped with teenage surliness.
"Then don't ask me if I know, cos I don't."
I always do this, and I really must stop it.
My novel at 120,000 words is in very real danger of coming to a halt if I don't.
So I'll leave my new magnum opus as it currently stands until I get the one I'm working on out of the way:
The thing that was once Dave lay before us. It wasn't a pleasant sight to behold but, then again, Dave hadn't been much to look at whilst he was alive, so the only thing he'd really lost out on was his life.
Judging by the state of his corpse, that life had been beaten out of him. He looked like he'd taken on a herd of elephants and come a distant second best.
Poor Dave, always second best - even in death.
He lay on his stomach, face down. The brains that should have been inside his head were being worn on the outside, where they'd do him no good, not that they'd been much use to him, anyway. Dave was strictly muscle.
In the end, it turned out his muscles had been of no use to him, either. His arms and legs had been broken, several times, and his head and face resembled raw hamburger meat, pulverised, ground down, and nasty; the kind of stuff you get fresh from the mincing machine, still dripping blood.
In life, Dave had been a big man. It would have taken several men to hold him down and pull this off, several big men, or a herd of elephants.
In this neck of the woods I wasn't prepared to rule out either.
"Who the fuck did this?" asked my brother.
"Sienna Miller," I said sarcastically. When my brother sighed, preparing himself for the inevitable retort, I answered, "How the fuck should I know?"
"Was just asking, like."
"Well, don't. You took the same call as me. You took the same car as me. And you're stood in the same place as me, looking at the same fuckin' body.Well, do you know?"
"No," he snapped with teenage surliness.
"Then don't ask me if I know, cos I don't."
posted by The Nothing Man at 2.6.08
5 Comments:
That's fine - and characteristically disturbing. You've made me disown everything I've written.
But don't stop yourbook to write another one. That's just stupid.
Believe me, I'm trying not to stop writing my current one. It's getting difficult to maintain momentum, that's all.
However, I will finish it. Even if I have to drag myself kicking and screaming across the finish line (which I inevitably will).
As for quality. I wouldn't disown your own stuff, just yet. Chances are that I'll read your novel and feel just as jealous. It's the shock of the new - that's all.
Lots of famous authors abandon one book to write another, then go back to it. Just as long as you finish at least one!
Sounds great so far!
You rock. And I want to read the rest.
Always wondered what 'angry kid' would grow up like.. thanxx, i now know.. ;-)
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