Hello my friends and the occasional relative!

I come to you somewhat shame-facedly, on account of my total failure to engage in the real work facing me: rewriting the opening of the novel. I have nibbled at, then chewed on the bones of all the other available listed problems, and any that remain can all trace lines of possible improvement to either earlier mentions, or foreshadowing, in the now fabled refashioned opening.

And there’s more. I have the two new threads I want to weave through the text, and some editorial suggestions that never made it onto the list, but nevertheless have stayed in my mind as worthy of addressing. So that adds to the 17. Hey ho.

I’d like to blame this on corned beef. The primo stuff, mind, from a can, with a key to wind up a spool of metal and free a block of fat riddled grossness/goodness, like a G.I. in WW2. A childhood treat I indulge in once in a blue moon/year or two. Thick slabs of it in a roll. I had three yesterday. Finished my Branston pickle with it. It (the pickle) was out of date, but as it’s a preserve I took my chances, because the combination is so good. With mayo. Yes, I know that sounds horrific, sue me. In my youth it was with Heinz salad cream, but I don’t have any of that in stock, so mayo had to get pressed into service. Vegan mayo of course—the height of irony. And a touch of mustard, in one of the rolls anyway. I tried poppy seed dressing coleslaw (a total winner, btw) in the last roll, to have some vegetable matter involved. It was all yum.

But I can’t lie, it rests rather heavily in the gut. Along with the frankly nasty (but oh so tasty) cheese-food based chips that arrived afterwards. So, constipated in mind and body, I have not progressed as I would wish.

No, I don’t buy it as an excuse either. I also re-watched a chunk of Altered Carbon for the third time, maybe I could blame that. I should really read the books, I suspect they may be better, but I do love season one. Season two always intrigues me after watching season one, but it doesn’t quite match up, not least because the budget was so obviously cut back. A pity: the first season looks gorgeous. But it didn’t get the event TV eyeballs it needed, so the investment, I suspect, was reduced accordingly. I have a lengthly blog on Altered Carbon gathering dust somewhere.

Anyway, back to the lack of desired progress. And I do desire it. I’m the kid standing on the edge of the high-dive board for the first time looking down to discover that the water is really far away, and the joy of proposed falling flight is suddenly tempered by visceral aversion to the risk of bodily harm. I want to jump, but worry the landing might hurt quite a bit. And worse, look uncool. Maybe I’ll take the plunge later today, create a new file, copy paste the first few chapters over, and go nuts, splashing words all over the place as I try to remember which way is up. That way I can sell it to myself as a fun and painless experiment—nothing has to be permanent, right?

In order to get through this blog without starting a paragraph with the word ‘so’ (next week I’ll work on avoiding ‘anyway’), I’m writing this sentence. And then chortling about it. Humor, my friends, can be a writer’s salvation. A reminder not to take everything, or yourself, too seriously. I do go on at times about being an ‘artist’, complete with fainting couch at the ready with regard to AI and the future, but FFS, I only do this because it is fun, and sometimes it tickles me, and I laugh.

Have a laugh today, my friends. Don’t overdo the corned beef.