From Lulu (publishing) My first edit copy of Smithi, and I’m pleased with the way it looks after a quick glance – cover not developed yet. There is something so totally amazing about receiving a book through the post after you have loaded up a PDF and sent it off some time back – bye, onto the next thing, almost forgotten, and then wow! a book, of mine! pages, words, paragraphs . . . mistakes, lots of, no doubt, but it’s so exciting!
Yep . . . that point again. What to do next – which way to follow – which project to start/re-start.
But it feels all right this limbo stage; I’m not suffering from the blank page thing, more a need to concentrate on one idea at a time. Hoxton, the novel I’ve been working on for a couple of years, is now being looked at with a regard to some possible action happening, agent -wise, and the follow-on book, Smithi, is finished up to serious editing point.
So where to go while I’m sort of . . . waiting for the possible action. I’d quite like to spend some time putting my various blogs into book form – being someone who imagines the Net could just evaporate at any point; then there’s several follow-up book ideas beyond Smithi; a story about souls; a story about cryogenics, and my latest idea – to develop one of my short stories into a novel. So far this one is winning and I’ve started on a few chapters – an interesting exercise and perhaps good to get away from London 2070 – the place and time my mind has largely inhabited for the last few years.
I have my style sorted for ‘Smithi’s drawings. – Following on from previous posts. I have finished (until an editor peruses it in detail) the second in my series of novels set in 2070 (amended from 2090). Each chapter will have a heading either in the form of a letter written on the main character’s travels, or a sketch depicting his surroundings or thoughts.
Below, a sketch of the ‘horse-letter-man’ who visits the pub where ‘Smithi’ temporarily resides – the Cat and Fiddle in the Peak district – (second highest pub in the UK; the highest being in Swaledale, Yorkshire).
And Smithi’s inky-splashed sketch of the soaked Peaks during an unproductive mushroom-gathering forage; after which he returns to the pub to encounter the sinister Reverend Christie.
Following on from last post, I may be getting a little closer to what I had in mind. Exploring a new handwriting style, and writing with a scratchy quill pen are fascinating ways to pass a few hours – think I might adopt both . . .