Category Archives: writing
The semi-requited novelist
People are asking me questions.
"Yes," they say, "it's all very well, all this business with burgling and urine portage and the lesser-known works of Danny DeVito, but didn't you used to be an unrequited novelist?"
"Well--" I say, but they interrupt me.
Also posted in Evil Sulphura, The, The Last Monk, sandwiches, success Comments closed
Continental drift
When a continent is millimetring its way gradually across the face of the earth, occasionally subducting or letting out an embarrassing little slip-strike, there's a lot of time for it to reflect, ponder and submit silly stories to its blog.
After a few hundred millions of years of this, however, the continent looks up lazily from a half-finished story about pigeons, of which it very much likes the look, to find India carving mountains out of its southern flanks.
Also posted in The Last Monk Comments closed
247 Days
With The Last Monk still in dry dock with the Mysterious Assessors, I've been casting about for work to stave off the necessity to sell my body for tiny morsels of food and suddenly, two days ago, it came. The opportunity to write cricket articles for crikey.com.au.
Also posted in success Comments closed
Truth, Beauty and Above All Quantum Superposition
Suddenly I’m at an imaginary party.
“Nice party,†I say to a passing poet, rather lamely. She nods politely. I look around, a bit lost.
“Listen,†I say, “do you know why I’m here?â€
“I don’t even know why I’m here,†she says crankily. “Why am I a poet? You’re making me up, you tell me.â€
Also posted in drinking Comments closed
Small, green plastic frogs
Due to recent advances, I can now reveal the first and last line of The Last Monk. It begins with 'The house is suddenly filled with music', and ends with the words 'small, green plastic frogs'.
It's a philosophical piece, obviously.
Also posted in The Last Monk, editing Comments closed
Breaking the dam
There isn't really an effective way to describe it: I woke up Monday morning feeling positive, went through my normal Monday morning ablutions and habits in a perfectly normal Monday morning kind of way, sat down at the computer, turned it on, opened the correct file, and seized like an oilless motor.
Also posted in fairy-floss, not writing Comments closed
The Ninety-Thousand Man
Milestones are a strange business. I've never had a problem with motivation writing this novel, except when driven to soulless despair by some of the insaner moments of a listless career in university administration, yet I do tend to go a bit wild when my word-odometer passes a number with four zeroes in it.
Also posted in The Last Monk, drinking, photos Comments closed
The cocktail shaker
Halfway through the week, I've added a few thousand words and laid down the bedrock for about half of the climax.
These intense typing sessions are very unusual: I normally sit down to the blank cursor feeling as though I'm leaning out over a cliff and the wind is turning. I know what plot is required, but how am I supposed to make it exciting and interesting? What will people say?
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Tempting hats, kinky chairs and reverse-somersaulting climaxes
I've spent much of the last three weeks informing the reader (also the spouse, the neighbour and the teen-aged sales assistant at J.B. HiFi) of my revelation that before I could type a single word of the grand climax of The Last Monk, time would be required to percolate, to mull, and generally to walk around parks scowling at ducks in the vain hope that someone would ask me what I was looking so thoughtful about.
Quite a bit of time, I thought. About a fortnight.
As it happens, it took about six hours.
Also posted in LaTrobe Reading Room, editing, photos Comments closed
Thai food nearly broke my ankle