The Tiny Town Literary Festival
I believe I might have a gig coming up on 29th May...so that's something to get hot under the collar about. Like the man shovelling elephant dung at the circus said 'at least I'm still in show business'.
I've been trying to map out the plot of my to-be-written greatest novel of all time. It's not going very well though. Perhaps I should just start and see where it goes. That's the whole thing about chaos and chance - you can't plan it in advance....I think I might be on to something here. It won't be Nick Hornby, that's for sure. We're talking Gogol meets Bukowski meets Green meets Conan Doyle meets Borroughs - well I hope so at least. We could be talking Moore meets his own colon, meets a retarded eleven year old meet Jeffrey Archer. - That sounds quite good actually. Definitely a touch of Naked lunch in there. Well perhaps it's not such a lost cause.
As somebody who's name escapes me once said ' you don't need time to write, you need a deadline'. If I was a publisher, I'd sign me up now. Football teams sign children who's only promise is to be able to kick a ball without shitting. Record companies do much the same with bands - so come on. Writing is work, not pleasure.. Doing bugger all is pleasure. I can understand how a business minded person might baulk at paying me to do nothing, but how about a nice fat publishing advance on spec.
Don't you just hate those bus drivers, factory workers, school teachers who knock out a novel in the wee small hours. - I wrote it between shifts at the bus depot, or in the works canteen.
Look, give me half now, and I'll do ten til one, five days a week. Come on. I'm dying here. I'm going to Devon tomorrow for another well earned rest. When I get back, I'll expect a cheque.