It’s been a while since I’ve done a list. Today will be a list post. Lists are nice ways to ease back into writing after a long weekend off.
I might not write novels anymore. I’ve got an excellent plan for a whole series of marvelously written and intricate text-adventure games and I want to do those instead now please.
People keep asking me about my influences when they’re interviewing me. I never know what to say. I worry I sound a bit like a big tit. I’ve had a long think about it, and I’d like to correct the record and say that if anyone were ever to compare me to Patricia Highsmith or Dostoevsky, I’d be very happy. Plummeting amazon rankings tell me this is unlikely, but so was writing a novel anyone would want to publish/read/review.
Fringe. I need either to cut it, or grow it out. I’m in limbo. I’ve got a hairband at the moment. For some reason, probably completely random, I am reminded of a line in Martin Amis’ Experience, where Amis quotes his father Kingsley inquiring about what galaxy of acne is hiding under his floppy fringe. Hmm.
I’d like to get an allotment and grow vegetables. It’s either that, or write this novel, and number three – which is SEETHING to get out of my head and onto the computer. But I like the idea of me wearing a halterneck and boots, digging. Freckles on shoulders. A worm tapdancing on my palm. Do other people fantasise about themselves in third person? I am always the star of my own film.
Please recommed me a book. I’ve been reading lots of long, difficult things recently. Don Quixote and Montaigne. I’m after something different now. Short, spare, plotted. I like Raymond Chandler very much, but I’ve read all of his. I like crime, mystery, thriller, suspense, psychological. I like reading to find out what happened and admire the writing along the way. Story must come first. Not all the time, but that is what I am in the mood for now.