Hello, my friends and the occasional relative!

This week has been a slow one in terms of achievements and deadlines because my next deadline is August 12^th, when all my feedback on The Slaves and the Djinn (still debating that title, by the way) is due back. I received more feedback this week, and it indicated many areas of improvement and/or adjustment. I’m shocked, shocked I tell you, that the book was not perfect at first edited-as-I-went blush. Lots of positive input too, which made me feel that the new approach did pay dividends, and will be repeated. I am having a slight horror at the idea of compiling multiple notes upon notes into one file and then setting myself the task of addressing them. That will be another mountain to climb. Writing is full of them.

Why be a novelist? It doesn’t pay, it takes up a ton of time, and if you earnestly try to do your best it is a complex and laborious process that gains you little but various forms of fleeting satisfaction, fleeting because once you finally finish one novel, the desire to write the next kicks in. Is it a strange form of intellectually punishing addiction? Maybe. In looking at my long term goals this week I worked out that I might be satisfied with my body of work by the time I have fifteen novels out. I’ll be seventy by then at this rate, at best mid sixties if I continue to write ever more efficiently. Without the use of AI/LLM. And, not to be morbid, but there is no guarantee I’ll live that long. Bummer. But apparently by fifteen I might be able to declare myself satisfied in a way that is more than fleeting. I’m sure, should that glorious day dawn, I’ll find another literary hill or mountain to climb. Just because.

I recently finished the 9^th book of my SPFBO 8 cohort. It was a mixed bag for me, to be honest. Great, if occasionally opaque, world building, but its originality kept me invested/curious. However, the book almost lost me a few times when new characters were introduced into what I felt was already a crowded field. I really did throw my hands up into the air once as I plodded along on my treadmill. I got the point later, but still wonder if the purpose served by that character could have been achieved in another way, and their introduction saved for the next book. Like the last book I read, it has a ton of ambition, unlike the last one, this was not riddled with typos and attribution/action issues, which made sticking with it much easier. Thank you for that! I can’t lie though, it just didn’t sing to me the way the two front runners of the nine so far did, maybe because I didn’t get that invested in the lead characters, maybe because I didn’t follow the world building as well as I thought, so some of the drama dependent on the world’s context passed me by. I’m not sure. I have a sense, though, that this book and its ideas will stay with me for quite a while. I randomly repeat one of the words from the book to myself, which is intriguing.  

And therein lies the pain of being a novelist—all that hard work, all that creativity, and my response to all that effort is a modified “meh”. Can’t make my mind up where I stand on it. I know that is absolutely not what the author wanted, and I feel for them as a result. Being a writer is not for the faint of heart. It’s not rocket science or roofing or retail or farming or brain surgery either. Every occupation has its struggles and its costs. Not all have equal rewards. Such is life. Pursing an artistic life is a choice (perhaps an addictive one—haha!), and I hope all who walk that road enjoy their satisfactions where they find them, however fleeting they may be, because those moments do live with you: I can still dip back into mine, and smile. So was it fleeting? I think perhaps not. Maybe that’s why we do it, after all. I am decidedly indecisive this week!

Is that a down note? It’s been a quiet week, so more reflective than adrenaline packed. Take care folks: don’t forget to smell the roses.   

This blog brought to you by The Nephilim album, which may help explain its tone.