Funny, isn’t it? Life imitating art. Only the other day I was writing a scene in which a guy gets literally pissed on and then BAM!
There he is, Man Of The People, DT. With his gold-plated belt buckles in his private jet. His NYC skyscraper and his TV show. There he is, giving jobs to the hardworking man and clamping down on those lazy Mexicans. For the benefit of his country, you understand. There’s nothing in it for Donny. It’s a selfless act.
But what the fuck do I know? I’m sitting here listening to Kula Shaker.
Back to business.
So what are you working on now, Jack? I loved the stories you’ve put out so far?
Well, thank you for the compliment and thank you very much for asking.
Next month I’m going to put out another short story. It might be might scariest one so far. It’s pretty bleak, too. And if that hasn’t sold it for you, it straddles the line between sexual farce and pure horror. Details to follow …
I think I’ll keep to my schedule of releasing one a month.
I’m also working on full-length thing. A novel, I suppose you could call it. (Although dare I use a word so grand?)
I’ve been knocking this idea around in my head for about three years. I couldn’t work out how to execute it. And then, one day last week, it hit me. The thing just bled onto the page like a severed artery I couldn’t cauterise. I’ve written 15k so far and it’s good. Like … really good.
I’ve even managed to write a believable protagonist (which is often my downfall, and possibly the reason I tend to stick to short stories).
But writing those short stories has been great. I’ve trained myself to write whenever I’m sitting at my computer. There’s no dead time spent staring at a blank screen anymore. I just tap away at my keyboard and get the fucker down.
Practice makes perfect.
And I suppose it helps not having a job.
I have been looking, but … well … I suppose I’ll need to work eventually. I had an interview the other day. Psyched myself up as usual by walking to the office listening to John Williams’ Imperial March (I have come to terms with the fact I work for the real world equivalent of The Empire). I slouched in my chair and when the guy asked me how the job hunt was going, I shrugged and said, ‘I’m not terribly bothered.’ I was going to mention how I’m enjoying having the free time to write so much, but he was wearing a Hugo Boss suit and he was very serious; he didn’t care about shit like that.
He said he’d get back to me by the end of the week, but it’s 4pm on a Friday afternoon now, so I guess I didn’t get to the next round. Oh well …
I’m still writing about London. Not living there anymore, I have to rely on my memories. For some weird reason (perhaps I am a rare advert for the health benefits of Scotch overindulgence), my memory is pretty good. However, I do find reliance on memory tends gives everything this sort of surreal glow. Perhaps distancing yourself from the place you’re writing about helps the imagination run along and do its thing. Either that, or I could be writing complete and utter shit.
Anyway, for want of a better word, I have a groove now.
I hope you like the short stories I’ve put out so far. If you ever feel like leaving a review (good or bad), that’d be lovely. Although quite honestly, I’m just happy you’re even the slightest bit interested in anything I’m doing.
And if you fancy joining my mailing list (I have one of those now), you’ll get copy of a free short story (details in the sidebar).
That’s about all for now.
It’s my last weekend in Bondi Junction before I move to Darlinghurst. The bars are better in Darlinghurst. That’ll probably mean a dramatic decline in my productivity.