WHERE DID I GO LAST NIGHT?

BLOG EXPLANATION. Many of my most inspiring thoughts come in the form of dreams. Further details on the link. Needless to say, the blog has departed from its manifesto. No apologies.

Tunnels

This book still storming up the Amazon uk chart. £3 off a £6.99 book. Good deal. Great sales. Say no more. It's that bloody tipping point isn't it. The one where you think there must be something in it so you go off and buy the book.

OLD PUBS NEW SMELLS

The foul odours hidden in The Smoke. Not only will the new non-smokers have a more keen sense of smell they will be able to breathe in the sweat-encrused pong coming from the bodies of the badly-perfumed drinkers. Mix that in with foul, day-old scents from bottles that ought never to have reached the market place and the lingering fumes from half-eaten meals. YUCK. You're gonna grieve for the all-embracing smell-disguise of cigarette smoke.

Earlyish Night

No late night, no dreams, no short stories, not even a line of poetry, although I do admit that around nine pm I was singing. That was in the local where we were celebrating the end of smoking. Strange thing to be celebrating. All smokers are schizophrenics, half of us want to stop half of us want to carry on. Now the government's decided we're all to be non-smokers, at least in public. It's a bit like that end of term feeling. I guess we're all going to lose a lot of the easy bonhomie that gathered around a group of smokers of a night. Did it do us any harm? Some, yes, but not as much as being obese. Look around, you see elderly smokers but you don't see elderly obese people. A consultant relative of mine said that when she was training, she's now in her thirties, she was told that most diseases in this country would be smoking related. Instead, they're weight related. I'm rather looking forward to giving up. I feel sorry for the publicans around Britain. I imagine they're going to lose massive amounts of earnings. The heavily committed smokers I talk to are simply going to fill their lungs before arriving, stay a shorter time than normal, then return home. Nobody's planning to fill the gardens - this is British weather after all. Those patio heater type things are not going to take off. They're not fun. Also, as any chest specialist will tell you, breathing in hot ciggy smoke outside in the cold air is a darn sight more damaging than sitting in a warm room smoking. My non-smoking friends never seem to mind too much but those amongst us who have given up are horribly unsympathetic. We'll see more of them this six months coming and I guess I will be among them. What's going to happen to the black economy in fags? That will be an interesting one to watch. Bye bye fags, it was great knowing you.

Confidence coming up...

After tackling the issues in the last post my confidence level shot up a few mega wotsits. Why was that? Could it have something to do with the fact that I have confidence in my ability? I think the rejection so far, allied with the minor success, has led to a wibbly-wobbly feeling. Nobody knows you when you're down and out but you have an awful lot of friends when you get back up again. I like the version sung by Clapton. What I am doing today is reassessing why I am writing. I had begun to have my doubts. Dreams are worth pursuing and this is a toughie.

On reading about other writer's mega deals...

That's it. Done. Finished. Promise. First, reading about other people's mega deals, was an encouragement to write. Then it kept me going during the lean times when the people who had made promises turned out to be charlatans, fools or simply too bleedin' optimistic. Then it helped me target agents. Not much new there. Now I'm reading this stuff and it's too bleedin' depressing. Great comment on my (top) explanation post about why bother when there are few comments? From a struggling writer! Why bother writing? Friend, you do it because it was always there. This is a long way from the life I would have chosen for myself but it is what I is, if you pardon the english. Enough. Back to work. Oh, a final word to other struggling writers. Do try and spread a little optimism - it's a tough enough world for us non-rowlings without being told to sod off and stop clogging up the ether. Ouch.

TUNNELS

Clearly Tunnels and its Potteresque publicity is working. A first print run of 20,000 when some publishers are dealing in the hundreds. Now a reprint of 30,000. High in the Amazon pre-sales. Good stuff. What surprised me reading about this was that an interview on the R4 Today programme boosted sales at Waterstone's. Really. Must make a note for THE DARK KINGDOM.

RESEARCH, PART 11

Oddly enough, and without meaning to, this writer hits the nail on the head re. my previous post about research. I never meant to imply that you deliberately had to know nothing about a subject in order to write about it, all I was saying is what this person got right: it's the emotional feel of a place and its people that sparks the imagination. Facts are facts, Mr Gradgrind. Get the emotion right and the story has a chance of being born alive. Enough on research. I'm bored now.

LIKE A FOOL

The historical novel I mentioned in the previous blog interested a top editor so much she wanted to publish it. Like a fool I held off until it had been written. Gullible, naive flaming idiot. What more can I say? Except to add that had I gone ahead I would have been richer and poorer. The book money might well have been spent. The book would have been crap. Right now, it's gonna be a belter. But the new one -- oh boy, why am I so excited? Don't answer.

SERIOUS STUFF

On a more serious note, let's talk RESEARCH. Every time I hear a novelist talking about research my hackles rise above my head. WHAT DO THEY MEAN? Are they writing non-fiction? Are they a journalist trying to write fiction? Are they trying to be a journalist? Fiction is Fiction. It's made up. Dickens used to go for 12-mile walks around London. He would pass dozens, if not hundreds, of pubs. Instead of going in and talking to the customers he preferred to walk past, imagining the conversations and the characters. That's called fiction. Had he tried to re-create the customers his books would have been nowhere near as good, and probably long since forgotten. He used his incredible imagination to create a new world from the real world that he saw from a distance. I'm mentioning this because I become severely ill on reading historical novelists describing their in-depth research. Okay, as far as it goes for physical period detail. Beyond that, are you trying to tell me you have a recording of what so-and-so said 500 years ago? I think not. Where did I go to this afternoon? springs to mind. I came across a wonderful love and adventure story from the 17 century. My "research" consisted of reading enough to see the characters come alive in my mind. That's all. I'll check a few details, as a journalist I don't call that research. I could contact half a dozen experts. But none would be able to tell me how those people spoke, looked, walked, flirted, made love, drank, smoked, fought. At least, not beyond the flimsiest of probably inaccurate details. What matters here is THE STORY. Call it a theme, call it a reason for writing a book, call it a Rabbit in a Hutch, I don't care. The story came alive and that is what I am going to write. It's also solved another problem for me, about writing another historical love story. I wrote, directed and produced a play on that marriage but, in trying to remain faithful to the historical facts, completely lost the plot in trying to write the book. It's now had a hundred failed starts. I had lost sight of the main purpose of writing - to tell a story by bringing the characters, and the events of their lives, ALIVE.

HECTIC, OH YEAH!

All the bloggers going mad over the Premiership. You would have thought that Gordon Brown was a surprise choice. I'm afraid there's no change. My guess is that Brown was more influential than Blair throughout the past ten years. Nothing happened without Brown's approval. Remember, you heard it here a long time ago, the economy is going into BUST. This will happen sooner rather than later, but it won't be overnight. There are also some serious issues regarding prisons and flooding that need immediate attention. I just wish we had an opposition party to put forward radical alternative ideas. Note to future party political leaders: leadership is about leading, not addressing the concept from the all-embracing nature of the vitality of the multi-faceted focus groups as seen through the statistical analysis of the daily nature of the...........well, you know what I mean. I would love to see a Churchill, or even a Wilson, cutting through the crap we're being delivered on a 24-hour news daily basis.

WHAT, ANOTHER SHORT STORY

Really bad night, sick as a dog, sweating like a pig, coughing fit to burst. But another short story. A cartoon character. Great. Next thing I know I'll be writing poetry again. Gimme a break.

ON GOING BACK TO BED

Okay, I cheated. At about seven I went back to bed. Hardly slept but remembered one of the two dreams from several hours earlier. Lazy boy. I was going to clamber out of bed and make a note. Time to put the Dream Diary beside the bed. At least the one I recall was the best, I think. And it's a short story. I think my chances of publishing a book of short stories is well below zero. The only fairly recent book of short stories that has been promoted in the big bookstores was by Jeffrey Archer. No chance then. What about a name change, Mr Author? JK Archer, perhaps? Jeffrey Rowling? You never know in the wacky world of publishing. That's the joy of writing. Just keep those creative juices flowing, the hope coursing through the veins and the arteries clear for the time when success beckons. Disraeli said something like Fail, Fail Again, Fail Totally and Triumph, Utterly. Anyone find the correct quote. Here's a good one from the same Premier Author: "When I want to read a good book, I write one." That should be all the encouragement an author needs. Inject that confidence.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Woke this morning at a quarter to four and saw the sun rise. Beautiful. This is the niece's 18th birthday. Eighteen years ago I was coming to the end of my stint in Florida. This time in the morning was the only reasonable period. By nine it was boiling the brain if you were foolish enough to sit or stand outside for more than a few minutes. I had decided to take a short holiday and that meant driving to Jacksonville Beach - the local beach, just twenty five miles away along an eight-lane highway. There I would listen to the excellent summertime rock band, drink coke, eat burgers, smoke the odd cig and watch the pelicans gliding by above me. Eighteen years - a lifetime.

HOT, HOT, HOT - AGAIN!

I interrupt this blog to bring you this missive. With Hot Tuna playing on the iTunes, I felt this is the appropriate time to remind you all that we are on the verge of turning sub-tropical. If you are a visitor to Florida - where the rain comes down in Sheffield-sized buckets - or a reader of Stephen King then you will know about storm drains. These are massive holes at the side of the roads where massive amounts of massive rain comes a tumblin' down and away into even more massive pipes. There to be dismissed from properties, gardens, roads, cars, etc etc etc. There's a story in today's Guardian repeating the point that Britain's infrastructure is not equipped to cope with our new weather. See here. We are going to have to get used to this new climate. Anyway, why am I blogging this on the site I use to talk about what goes through my mind. Well, the answer is that WARLORD is waiting to hit the bookstores and frit you all to death. Stephen, pass that mantle over here, or, at least, let's share!

THE GREAT FLOOD

As you all will know, this time next week none of us will be able to sit down in the tranquil environment of a public house, inhaling loads of passive smoke, even smoking, if that is our wish, and sharing stories over a pint or two. So, yesterday, I walked out determined to enjoy one last glorious Monday. Together with my friend, Warlock, we created the finest Radio 2 Drama-Comedy since Monty Python. I drank what's called quaffing ale; mildly alcoholic. Drank it slowly and so at five decided to visit some more friends up the road. Staying with the quaffing ale I managed to drink more than planned. Strolling back home, cooking a too hot curry, running a boiling bath, I idly switched on the telly and was gobsmacked: BBC NEWS WAS TELEVISING MY NOVEL IN PROGRESS: WARLORD. Sheffield was flooded, Bridlington was flooded, Hull was flooded, half the West Midlands was flooded, and the West Country. There was even an And Finally tagged on saying that Glastonbury was experiencing floods! I blinked, I drank coffee and still the pictures kept coming. So, what do I do now? I'm supposed to be selling this darned book. Are the powers that be looking inside my head? Anyway, went to bed and woke up this morning to realise it's real. According to the experts it seems this was just an unlucky meeting of several weather patterns. I say this is what it's going to be like from now on. Put simply, Britain becomes more like the sub-tropical Florida every day.

TRUE LIVES

Mis Lit is taking over the world. Apparently readers console themselves by discovering that their crappy lives might have been worse. I'm glad this genre is doing well. I've got ONE TO SELL. Actually, very nearly sold the darn thing but the agent got cold feet and told me the market was dying. My old editor friend said that was simply not true. Readers tell me they enjoy these stories because they believe them. (NOTE TO AUTHOR: MAKE IT UP) I've held dozens of these conversations over the years and everyone tells me it's not that they don't like fiction, simply that the stories are not real. In other words, the writer has failed in her job. You see, they believe in Harry Potter. He's real in a fictional sense. Couldn't be more simple. I'm working on a story about a literary agent. It's a thriller in which the poor creature dies in the opening chapter but reappears later on - FLASHBACK, darling. It draws on my limited knowledge of the publishing world combined with life in small villages peopled by rather shady but immensely wealthy characters. Could this be a new genre: LIT LIT? Or does being a thriller rule it out of the LIT category? Don't you just wish for a living Raymond Chandler to cast his acerbic pen over these debates?

BOOKS ETC.

On the subject of rubbish being published I think all of us strugglers have definite opinions. But we would do well to remember that TWAS EVER THUS. Many of the world's most hyped and best sold books are now cast out of the publishing memory bank with the also runners sitting on the top of the pile. Either in Kangaroo, or about Kangaroo, can't remember, DH Lawrence ruminated on the fact he found it hard to live on sales of 300. Yet all his work is in print and will remain so, hopefully for as long as books are published. The machine-written bestsellers of today will return to the machine to be pulped. Good thing too. I love the phrase "commercial" almost as much as I love the phrase "mass market paperback". Where are the publishers deliberately aiming to produce non-commercial books and paperbacks not to be bought by the masses?

COMPETITIONS

There's been a lot on the writing sites about competitions recently. Go find, inwardly absorb and then get back to the business of writing fiction. But there is a biggie out there that I need to enter this week -- one with real dosh and top agenting on offer. Like a pike smelling a bream on a fisherman's hook. YUP, go for it. Never give up.

DEEPLY DEPRESSING

A strange and deeply depressing day yesterday. Why? Lots of reasons. Primarily because the brain cells went into overdrive on Kingdom. Work like that always leaves me drained. Another reason might be some thoughts about the influence of parents on children; in this instance, mine on me and the siblings. Those thoughts were strange and disturbing and not at all connected with the fact the family had a major catastrophe in its early days. That left me feeling well down, wiping the smirk off my face left by the report a little earlier in the week that first-borns have a higher IQ than the later-comers. So TRUE. So very TRUE. Hope the sisters aren't reading this blog. Doubt it, they've got better things to do with their lives. They're into property, accountancy and money-making leisure businesses. Damn sight more sense than writing - as the littlest sis once said - "those little books of yours". Mind you, after seeing several members of several audiences at several plays in TEARS due to my "little plays" I can tell you there's no better feeling in the world. So there you have it - I write to influence as many humans as possible, living or not yet born. Fun, isn't it. Who said it ought to be easy? Dostoyevsky had to struggle and so did Van Gogh. I hate comparisons, plus I can't paint.

Scrawled Notes

A blisteringly hot afternoon, so much so that I was tempted to strip off and lie on the lawn. I spared the sensibilities of passersby by not succumbing to that idle thought. Two scraps of A4 paper and I plotted the remainder of THE DARK KINGDOM. The rains came and swept through the garden, hurling tombstones of water down on people, houses and cars. Seeking shelter in a warm front room I continued with the scraps of paper, my braincells rattling like a washing machine on its final desperate spin. Dear Reader, it all came together. The little tricks, the vast battles, the turmoil of the heroine, the magic of love, the embrace of all life.... I shall not bore you with more. What an incredible feeling. Frankly, I was exhausted. In bed by seven and still not quite with it this morning. All I need to do now is to write the flaming thing. I've dated these notes and shall keep them. Anyone care to put in an advance bid? One of those awesome experiences that makes the writer's life worthwhile.

TUNNELS and THE DARK KINGDOM

I warned that I was watching the progress of TUNNELS like a hawk. Whatever marketing strategy they are following I intend to find out and use it when THE DARK KINGDOM is published. Slight problem here at the moment. No agent. No publisher. All that will change. I'm sure there's someone out there who recognises its potential. Anway, back to the Tunnelling One. It's 42 on Amazon this lunchtime. That means there must be a substantial number of people ordering it. Can't all be friends and family. There's not been enough in the papers to generate sales of this order - or has there? When it comes to word of mouth I would say it's a bit premature when the book isn't out, remember this isn't The Highfield Mole. Well, sort of.... I wish it the best of luck but I'm sorry to say that my story is simply a better read. Well, I would, wouldn't I? Up to a point, Lord Copper. It really is that good. And getting better all the time, as some young band once sang 40 years ago, nearly today.

OUT AND ABOUT

After all the depression of reading about publishing and the difficulty of, decided to go out with the g/f and her flash new camera to take pictures to illustrate THE DARK KINGDOM. Why I started putting up pictures in the first place I do not know. However, the idea is working. What surprised me was that after playing about with a few old pix that fitted what was in my imagination I came across a few more pix that sparked off ideas for DK. This has never happened before. Obviously I have seen things in real life that made connections with my writing, but this is the first time I've used photographic images in this way. Rather getting into it. We went off to a remarkable old church that was nothing like the description we had been given. Then, on our way back, ran into a National Trust small stately home, if any stately home can ever be described as small, and found a goldmine. I won't give the game away by telling you exactly what we did discover since when you see it I'm hoping you will be enchanted by what we've done with it. In other words, it might spoil the final effect to know what the raw material was. Having done that, we sat in a pub for a couple of hours reviewing the pictures. During that process, with hardly any alcohol, the idea for a movie, stage show and animated website was born. All because of one picture in a place we never intended to visit simply because we didn't know it was there and even if we had done we would never have thought to look at an object that would not have been in the guidebook. Strange world. Rather like the creative process - you may take that sentence in both meanings.

SALES and THE BEATLES

A little anecdote re. the previous two postings. When The Beatles White Album was released in 1968 I set off for Derby one Saturday afternoon to buy it. The biggest music store - whose name has long since dropped out of my main memory banks - had a massive upstairs room filled with thousands upon thousands of albums. At the far end was the sales area: a long pub-style bar with a dozen or so tills. Behind the sales staff was a wall of White Albums. They were in stacks up to the height of a human and side-by-side. Each till point had a long queue. Once I had gone far enough towards the sale point I watched in amazement as the sales assistants appeared to have morphed into an octopus, with arms rapidly stretching back, picking up White Album, handing over to customer, taking money and repeating at a speed I have never seen since. It was, as so many people love to say, a seminal experience. Guess what? Granted there must have been Beatles pictures in the windows but there was no need to keep the album anywhere but piled high behind the tills. We all knew what we wanted. Some of us might even have bought something from the shelves on the way to the till.

One more point

Further to the previous blog I must add that if you peruse the websites of all the publishers - major and minor - you will find a vast number of apparently readable books! You will not find many of them in the bookstores. Nor will you hear about them in the newspapers. All this would be funny if it were not so sad. I don't think Amazon solves the problem - can't do, despite all its efforts it's not really much good for browsing. I would suggest there's a market for a totally different - and probably extremely huge - new style of bookstore. One fact that strikes me as odd is the way bookstores differ from supermarkets. In the latter, all you do not want to buy is stuck in the entrance and close to it, so you have to pass this attractively-packaged pile of goods in order to reach what you really want which is always placed either at the rear or the back of the store. Think bread, think milk, think soft drinks. Why then, on entering the bookstore, are the books the public is going to buy stuck at the front? (You might disagree saying that the new Deaver needs this place. Don't agree. Certainly the new Potter does not need a place in the store at all, except in the rear stock room to be brought out on request) Surely it would make sense to put the much publicised easy reads at the back of the store, forcing customers to browse along the shelves on the way, possibly picking up another title. On a related point, I notice the Waterstone's debate on charges. I'm not going into that except to say that with my comparison between bookstores and superstores the major manufacturers also pay massive amounts up front to secure certain positions in the supermarket store.

DEPRESSING

A distressing blog this morning from the CEO of Macmillan, Richard Charkin. Not quite sure how to respond to this plea from the heart from a fellow struggling author. What's really depressing is that he appears to have a really good agent. Clearly someone well up in the business believes this man writes great stories. Is this what agents mean when they write back talking about a 'difficult' publishing climate? Guess so. On a brighter note all I can say is that it is impossible to comment without reading the material. The would-be author is more than correct in describing so many hyped novels as next to worthless, his words were: "...truly awful fiction." My main bitch about the big book stores is that they all seem to be offering the same books. All these books might well have been written by a machine; they all revolve around one or two main characters engaged in some hunt to the death. The world of films is often criticised for bringing out sequels. The world of books seems to do nothing but. I'm not saying they're unreadable; indeed some are great fun. But there seems to be a huge gap between the formula book - whether a thriller or a life horror or a something-lit - and the huge range of classic good books. By classic I mean everything from Dostoyevsky to Pullman. As a child I loved reading Agatha Christie. There came a moment one day when I stopped and since then have never read another, although I love the film and tv adaptations. And that last sentence, dear reader, contains a major truth about modern day publishing. Every single Christie book has either been filmed or will be soon. How many of these thrillers and horror lit books makes it to film? Very few. At this point I ought to mention one of the exceptions, Harlan Coben's TELL NO ONE. Knowing how hungry the film business is for stories why is it that so few have been turned into movies? Could it be that when you look more closely, rather than page turn like an obsessive maniac, there is not enough there to hold the cinemagoer's attention for one and a half hours? There is an incredible craziness about linking celebrity with books. I am still waiting to find one person who bought a book by a celebrity because of their looks, their youth, their success in another field of work. Well, well. Of course I am excluding bio and auto bio. Nothing wrong in reading endless bios of The Beatles. Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt. Even bought Lennon's IN HIS OWN WRITE but that was because he was an artist. Ditto Dylan's CHRONICLES. It is so depressing walking into a big bookstore and being faced with a wall of celeb biogs, novels etc. Does any other branch of showbusiness (ouch) operate in this way. The famous author miming rock songs, the famous author treading the fashion catwalk, the famous author standing in as top politician for a month. No, of course it does not. There are exceptions, obviously, when a person is multi-talented. But, in general, the answer is no. So why treat the poor reader abominably? The reader wants a story. Simple as that. Is that too difficult to provide? The real point about the success of the Harry Potter Sevenology is that JK Rowling provided stories. The titles were brave in the extreme and writing about life in a magical public school struck me as weird. But the stories interested readers, not all, but certainly the ones otherwise compelled to read the simplistic stuff popping up on the shelves of the big stores and supermarkets. I have been an obsessive reader since the age of four and I don't ever want to ditch the stories the writers produce for stories about the writer. Once I have read most if not all of a writer's output then I will be interested to learn about that writer's life. Here, though, it is important not to go down the 'Golden Egg' syndrome. If there's anything linking novelists' struggles is surely is that each life, each story, each struggle, is different. I could go on - that's enough on this topic for a while.

HOW TO SELL A BESTSELLER

I is watching dis like a ork. Barry Cunningham, the man who spotted Harry, is promoing a crossover novel as the rightful successor to Potter. As I mentioned earlier, I'm not sure how he could achieve this. I don't think there are many people out there who do, since so many of the so-called next big new things fall flat on their face. Of course, the truth will out when the public get to read the book. But they might have bought it before the truth dawns that it ain't the new Potter. Then again, maybe it is. We shall see. However, I notice this morning that it's part of a half price - well 43 per cent off - deal on Amazon. Crucial words "up to", are they not? It's pre-sale figures this morning put it at 63 in the list of bestsellers. It's been high every day I've checked. Now that is successful. Don't think 63 makes it a Potter but it's certainly better than those languishing in the thousands, like a friend of mine who's work went from 90,000 to 9,000 in a day. I think the rise was the result of one sale! There's a lot riding on Tunnels and I wish it the best of luck. Naturally I would say THE DARK KINGDOM is the one to take on the Potter mantle, but I would, wouldn't I, yer honour.

THE DARK KINGDOM

Walking around town after watching Tell No One I got to thinking about THE DARK KINGDOM. The story is coming along so fast I wonder whether it's worth doing a Simenon and just sitting down and finishing it within the week. It's either going to work or it ain't. I shall find out. That's the next task. If only to discover what really happens in this strange and magical allegorical tale.

TELL NO ONE

So, plucked up courage to sit in the cinema watching a French flick. Two hours later and if you caught me at a lax moment I could not have sworn it was sub-titled. The words, actions and titles were immaculate. The story was perfectly filmed, true to the book and contained more smoking scenes than all the Hollywood films of the past decade. Wonderful. Rather pleasing to see as many in the cinema as there were for Ocean's Thirteen. Two completely different films but both excellent. An extremely emotional ending. Not wanting to take away from its glory but I can see THE FORGOTTEN WARRIOR having an even more emotional ending.

OCEAN'S THIRTEEN

Went to cheapo day at the flicks and saw the much maligned sequel. Reminded me of my old adage that if preparing to see a film that you expected to be good it was usually the opposite and vice versa. Could not have been more enthralled. Beautifully filmed, lots of realistic action, loads of 'tip of the iceberg' stuff that knew how to retain the viewer's interest without turning silly. It also has the finest most erotic scene in film, and without anyone taking off their clothes. Far from being bored witless by an endless remake I came away enchanted by a film that ought to go on the media courses as a classic example of how to make an entertaining crime thriller, or whatever the film people call this genre.

BEES AND ALL THAT STUFF

Loose link here between the last most serious post and the crucial need for bees to pollinate crops. This is a cheer-up picture.





Isn't it beautiful? Taken with a macro lens on top-of-the-range non-slr Canon. Not by me!

END OF THE WORLD

Isaac Newton predicting the End of The World. Cool stuff from someone who discovered so much about this Universe. I see it's already being dismissed as the ramblings of a fool. Well not quite as bad as that but I can see the eyebrows being raised. Probably this is because Newton was delving into The Scriptures to consider prophecy. I find it incredibly naive and arrogant to so easily dismiss a man with such a proven knowledge of science. He was also doing it to dismiss the frequent spoutings of the End of The Worlders at that time. I use the 60 years left on this planet for human life advisedly in my light-hearted Book to Be about Global Warming. I put this figure in the introduction because this timescale was given to me by a friend who was quoting one of the world's leading geologists. I also could not sleep last night thinking about this subject. My theory is that none of the usual suspects will be responsible for ending human life. It will be something rather simple - something we're currently overlooking. Bit like trying to see the nose on your face.

CONFIDENCE. UTTER, TOTAL CONFIDENCE

Is it the sun shining? I woke this morning with the realisation that only utter total confidence was going to be of any help in the writing and the selling and the marketing and the branding and the positioning of the books. No point whining and whinging. No point having doubts. Get out there and believe in your stories beyond all else. Reading about how Roderick Gordon sold his house to produce Tunnels and it being described as a 'rags-to-riches' story made we want to shout: IS THAT ALL? I've got a far better story. Sold more than a house, babee. Because I truly believe. At the moment it's still 'rags to rags' but this confidence thing is going to make the difference. The books are going to work.

VULNERABILITY

That's what it's all about. Artists being vulnerable.

ROCK AND ROLL

Are all my fellow bloggers taking the entire day off? No excitement out there, at least from those I most trust to interest me. Never mind, I shall watch a bit of Queen and Led Zep on t'beeb, before bed. Actually met someone this afternoon who actually met Syd Barrett. Knew him in 1968 and knew what happened to him. What an amazing story he had to tell. You think I'm sharing -- not at the moment, definitely in the fullness of time. Fascinating stuff. Doncha just hate it when people do this to you? I do? Off to rock and then dream.

More Wilbur and The Dark Kingdom

Promise to read a bit more Wilbur today. Then add to The Dark Kingdom. It's coming along fine. This blog is about what goes on in a writer's mind. I am trying to filter the horrors as well as the goodness of this world through a story about another world. Isn't that what all writers aim to achieve, to leave their mark on Planet Earth? No, it's not.

BIRTHDAY AND FATHER'S DAY

Another year older and deeper in debt, as the song goes. The sun is shining, there's good in this world and a lot needs changing. Ah well, time to relax a while.

ON INHUMANITY

Just read this - relevant to earlier posts - one of the saddest most horrible stories of our time.

Do I call it THE VENAL or THE FERAL?

Someone give me an answer. This article in The Sunday Times, by Simon Jenkins, certainly explains why we need a Free Press. Times are going to become much tougher for all of us, whether financially due to Gordon Brown's BOOM AND BUST economics or through GLOBAL WARMING. Frankly, I thought this sort of stuff would take at least a couple of decades to take effect, particularly GW. I was wrong. It's happening now. You don't believe me. Good. Watch. I saw Alastair Campbell in Millbank before New Labour took over. He seeming deeply scary. I always worry when someone is not open to debate. I can well understand the feral need to fight off the so-called Tory Press, but the methods of bullying went well beyond what ought to have reasonable behaviour. I told a colleague at the time, I think it was when Campbell went for Michael White's throat at one news conference, that the worm would turn. When you are bullied you either live or die. If you live you wait for the chance to get back at the bully. That was why I said that the Campbell-New Labour approach would be disastrous for the Labour Party. N.B. A final point. I thought the Labour Party represented those who clocked on and clocked off of a day for a manual job. If there's a statistician reading this I would suggest investigating just how many proper "working class" people can bring up a family without benefits. Then, you might see a need for a political party aimed at the poorer - but majority - of people in this country.

BAE SYSTEMS AND THE HOUSE OF SAUD

Odd story here in The Sunday Times. How many more stories like these are we going to get? It's fascinating reading material.

ON A POSITIVE NOTE

Okay, let's have some HOPE in this blog. I gave up a reasonably paid staff-salaried BBC job yonks ago to do something I had always wanted to do, and started doing at the age of 5 (YES FIVE YEARS OLD I WROTE AND DIRECTED AND PERFORMED, WITH MY THEN TWO SISTERS, MY FIRST PLAY --- THANK GOD VIDEO CAMERAS HAD NOT BEEN INVENTED) - so, why do I remember I was 5? Cos I asked Mum, after the play, to give me a boy for my next cast. Mum was "With Child". We were washing clothes at the time and pulling them through the two rollers that squashed out the water. Mum was beside the sink, facing the window, and I was standing in the middle of the room. One thing a writer has, which is often more of a curse than a blessing, is a perfect visual imagination. Also, sometimes, you can recall whole conversations. Back to the pregnancy and the wording: "With Child". Remember, Dad was a doctor, Mum was a nurse. Both had been through the Second World War and seen things that were so horrible they never let on until I was in my mid-twenties. So, why do I use that phrase? Well, when my eldest sister was preggie with first baby the rector said: "Congratulations on being pregnant." My Mum and Dad were FURIOUS. "PREGNANT, he said." The word was taboo. Me, so what, I thought. At least she's married! Back to my original point. Writers should reflect the world in which they live. The older I get the more I realise that absolutely nothing has changed since the days of Dostoyevsky and Kafka. So -- what about I ghost a great new novel by David Beckham?

OH MY SAINTED AUNT!!!

I read Grumpy's post and I EMAILED HIM. I Emailed a HERO. WHAT AM I DOING? It's one thing trying to contact the usual suspects --- but actually talking to someone who is a real writer and also knows about the book business. Get a grip, writer. You are hovering above your natural home in the sewer. Think Kafka - go home, get salaried job. Write books. Tell friend to destroy upon death. Guess you'll never know whether the work was any good or not. Suffer Trial, go to Castle, Metamorphose into a Bug.

THANKS GRUMPY

Grumpy Old Bookman comes to the rescue. I wondered about this Highfield Mole book and now comes something supporting my premise that all is not as it seems.

Rain, Wilbur and Writing

A slow day today with a bit of Mr Smith, a lot of rain and a sprinkling of writing. I was wondering what to listen to when I remembered that I have missed this week's Bob Dylan on Radio 2. Assuming he's still there, I'll catch up with him. Best programme on music I have heard since Ian Dury did a radio prog yonks ago. Always recall how back then the BBC top dogs weekly meeting referred to their surprise on discovering that a "pop star" had intelligence!

MEMO TO SELF

MUST stop blogging. It's turning into a writer's displacement activity. The blogs are a darn sight easier than the fiction. Oh dear. The other displacement activity is reading all the newspapers worldwide, well, those in English. Horrible story today about slave labour in China. Look it up, I'm not going to link like mad anymore since that is another displacement activity. Okay, just this once. I'll choose the version in THE DAILY FERAL VENAL since we must support newspapers damned by Blair. While we're on the subject of the PM, why does he have to have the same name as me? Once upon a time we Blairs were unknown. Even Eric the Writer changed his to the name of a Suffolk river. Would Tony have been more successful had he been called TONY THAMES? Tempus Fugit.

O NO

WILBUR. I FORGOT WILBUR. He'll be devastated. There I was earlier in the week extolling the virtues of a storyteller and I became sidetracked by world issues and the weather. And my own humble attempts at writing, sorting out the email, dealing with life, cooking, eating, washing. Now the sun's come out. Beautiful. I shall read a little more of you tonight Wilbur as there doesn't seem to be anything on the telly. Lucky I'm not looking after Poppy, her three rat sisters, three older gerbils and a baby rescue gerbil.

Re. Hitler and the previous post

Anyone reading my profile will also know I'm working on a "Hitler" book. This and the previous post are not intended to promote that work, not that I'm against getting across what I hope will be a serious message about the influence of Good and Evil in this world. Since this is the blog about everything whether important or trivial I felt I could not let today go by without mentioning this story. Back to fiction.

THUNDER and drops of rain

That's my excuse for blogging not writing. Believe me, it's sure as hell trying to come down in the quantities shown on the lunchtime news. So far, it's failing miserably. My mood was of thunder on reading that the Catholic Church is telling its communicants not to contribute to Amnesty because of that brave organisation's work with tortured women. This is Amnesty's response. I find the Catholic Church's attitude here utterly baffling. It is unhelpful in the extreme to attack an organisation that Jesus himself would pat on the back for its courageous work on behalf of humanity. A little humility is called for here. I'll give you two reasons why. The first is that the current Pope was a member of the Hitler Youth, albeit against his wishes. But there were also boys and girls of his then age who were tortured to death by the Nazis for their opposition to Hitler. The second reason is that the then Pope could have, but never did, excommunicate Hitler. I know the following point is daft, but sometimes daft points have to be made: Adolf Hitler killed millions of people. Geddit? Sanctity of Life! Brave Christians, such as Dietrich Bonhoeffer, opposed the Nazis, thus ensuring their own deaths. Brave Germans who opposed Hitler included those in The White Rose movement, such as Sophie Scholl. I wonder how many people today would have the courage to oppose such a vicious militaristic dictatorship?

ON THINKING

A hundred years ago we had Einstein, today we have Big Brother. Makes you think doesn't it? Was Darwin wrong about Evolution?

ETHICAL CONDUCT

Couldn't resist posting this from the BAE site. Is it a computer error or are they trying to tell us something?

MORE WEAPONS GRADE MATERIAL

This debate is seemingly hotting up, with the United States wielding a far bigger stick than our own guardians, parliamentary or otherwise. Judging by some of the figures going around might it not be more sensible to draw a line under Al Yamamah? My suggestion would be that since the Saudis are happy with the quality of the work, production can continue in Britain, thus safeguarding jobs. But since the value of the Saudi contract is so stupendous might it not be a good idea for BAE Systems to be sold lock, stock and barrel to Saudi Arabia?

ON CLOUDS

Strange clouds hovering over us this lunchtime. Flat with portal like holes through which the sun can be glimpsed trying to make its way down to the ground. Back to the books.

SEA K and ye shall find

Mars was once wet. I wish the papers would stop publishing all this stuff. I'm trying to create several imaginary worlds when along come stories like this one in the Venal, triggering my imagination. Links very well with the idea that life on Earth might have originated from Mars.

CORNWALL

I do hope this is more of an attention-grabber aimed at stirring up a debate rather than anything more serious. A good explanation from Michael White in the Guardian. My Cornish friends went to a summer party and were asked where they lived. When twice they replied giving the name of a small Cornish town in the vicinity, their questioner came back with this: "No, I mean, where's your real home, your home in London." On replying that they actually lived permanently in Cornwall, the questioner was shocked. "You really live here all year round?"
Now that THE CONTROLLER is involved perhaps it's time to call on the services of Commander Kruger whose home is also in Cornwall.

OH, WHAT SHALL I DO TODAY?

One of those moods coming on. Kingdom needs a few thousand words but I'd rather be working on Warlord. Now at the stage of making multiple mental assessments of the quickest method of finishing both books. Bad idea. There's more Rudy Kruger stuff to do as well. I need an automatic writing machine capable of taking the ideas from my mind and transferring them to paper. Now I'm thinking along these lines there are a dozen children's picture books that need sorting out. Since I've found a Slade School of Fine Art-trained illustrator (i.e. an artist who can draw) it's time I took some of my work to her. I'd love a cover or two from David Hockney now he's back in East Yorkshire. A fair few words of surprise that the artist has chosen to live in the "backwater" of Bridlington. So people really do live outside London. Gosh. Hold the Front Page.

THE RAINS HAVE COME

What a surprise. It's been raining. Almost forgot what the stuff was like.

A WRITER'S REMINDER

I know this is a public blog but I'm diarying this entry. There's a book I've started about the Sixties and the Summer of Love that keeps getting pushed back, most unfairly in my view, but, then again, I is only 'uman. It's based on time I spent in London during that period, with a sprinkling of The Doors. One day I'll get to finish it but right now it's THE DARK KINGDOM calling. The g/f read the most recent 20 pages and spotted the usual errors that I normally edit out at a later stage. She prefaced her kind comments with the sentence: 'You type slower than you think, don't you?' Missing words I can excuse but giving a blackbird teeth, even in a magical fantasy novel, is stretching credulity. Early this morning the teeth became a beak.

TAX AND PRIVATE EQUITY

As if by magic my earlier blog question has been answered. A story in the Daily Telegraph, not normally anti-business, highlights the issue. I think most reasonable people have no axe to grind with a person who sets up a business from scratch and goes on to make trillions. What concerns them are people who buy up ready-made running businesses, fiddle about a lot, then scarper with the excess money. Where are the checks and balances? In the real world of proper business I might buy something from Bill Gates, admiring his skill but glad that the price has been kept realistic thanks to the incredible imagination of Steve Jobs, from whom I might also go and buy something. Think what it would be like if the private equity industry - and here we must be glad the two aforenamed gentlemen have made so much money - bought both businesses. Prices would go through the roof and the quality of the goods would no longer be a pre-requisite since competition would have died.

ON SUNLIGHT

Walking through the densely packed inner city backstreets, the lights of the centre were clearly visible although tantalisingly far away. A lone rat scurried past, its teeth bared in a fierce grin, as though mocking the human attempt to keep order. Half full overturned waste bins demonstrated the vast rat supermarket encouraging relatives from the country to give up the tough search for survival and taste the pre-packed snacks flown in from the Far East. The sun shone ever more brightly as the few humans we passed stared at us suspiciously. From my days living in this area I knew how many ways there were of unsuspectingly indicating we were foreign to the area. Beside us lay the lines of graffiti-covered garages, doubling as front rooms. Easy to accomplish since the houses had been built with their front doors beside the integral garages. The weeds had made progress since my last visit and had found a way through the cracks between the cobble stones. Ahead lay the mock Egyptian pyramid of stone steps that was our only exit from the lower levels of inner city human accommodation. We climbed, sore-footed, until we reached the marble bridge. Below us ran the river of steel, its angry fumes punishing our tired lungs. An escapee with a bicycle passed, shooting us an angry glare while fiddling with his supermarket bag. Moments later, off the bridge and into the back of the car park, we reached safety. The light was much brighter here. The smells of restaurant cooking overwhelmed our noses; our eyes dazzled by the neon advertising signs. Cars that would have been stolen or stripped of their valuables in the streets we had left were parked as far as the eye could see, with the parking guards keeping a watchful eye for strangers. Beside a cafe we found a table facing a few anorexic trees standing nakedly beside a tall steel building housing even more cars. A police person rode by on a chestnut mare. In the centre of the square, the Byrds tuned up....(Okay, enough for now Dos, ED.)

H E L L O ! ! !

Come on guys, give this imaginative writer a break. Fascinated to read about Tunnels in The Independent. This was the book originally entitled The Highfield Mole. What's this about Barry Cunningham of The Chicken House picking it up from being a sell-out in one Norfolk bookshop? Oh come on, there's more to this story than meets the eye. The secondhand sales are going through the roof. There are signed copies that make it look as though the authors are already famous. More power to their elbow but how did they do it? Anyway, probably a great book, and the half a million pounds price tag for foreign sales seems just about right. I notice The Chicken House publication is substantially longer. Is that more pages or a different font and layout? Also, who was the person who told J. K. Rowling Rowling that children's books wouldn't make her rich? There are two versions out there, one referring to Christopher Little and the other to Barry Cunningham. There are also two versions over who spotted its potential. One says it was Nigel Newton's 8 year old daughter who insisted the book was brilliant and dad ought to publish it. Here, Barry Cunningham is saying he loved it from the first chapter. Even Jo, who credits Cunningham, says there's a problem with the first chapter since she had to put in so much information without giving the story away. I'd love to find out the truth. I'd also love to know who turned it down and what their reasons were for taking this course of action. Some dream, eh! Any of you want a mega blockbuster? Then you could do worse than go for THE DARK KINGDOM. I promise you this will sell in huge quantities. Remember, you heard it here first.

MONEY

Stories like these are meat and drink for writers. The figures seem extraordinary, as though Harry Potter has waved his magic wand over their bank accounts. A couple of minor points. Do the workers in these businesses earn above the minimum wage? If not are they also on benefits, in which case the taxpayer is subsidising the industries. How much tax is paid? Why do I get excited when I read stories like these...and why, oh why, did I not train as an investment banker? That's the really big question.

SORRY WILBUR...

Not a real apology, of course, but just a note to say the book is on hold while THE DARK KINGDOM gets a fair few words today. The story is blooming as fast as an orchid in a Global Warming conservatory. Our adventures have passed through the portal to take control of their own world and shape their destinies. Only, it ain't gonna be quite that easy.

IN PRAISE OF WILBUR SMITH

After my bad experience with yet another medical thriller I was fortunate enough to pick up Wilbur Smith's Shout At The Devil. The novel goes back nearly 40 years and the pure joy of reading a well-constructed story that comes alive off the page is magic. A word of warning. I am only a fifth of the way through, so I reserve final judgement. But let's hope the promise is fulfilled.

BACK ON THE OLD WAR FRONT AGAIN

Promise. I won't harp on about this much more. Terry Jones always struck me as honest, thoughtful and extremely caring. That is why I love his articles, this being a fine example. Am I the only one getting waves of nostalgia for John Lennon and George Harrison? Particularly Lennon, who was always able to open his mouth and say something controversial. Jones is spectacularly good at this and has the advantage of being so well educated that the knockers have to think twice before rushing to condemn him, unlike Lennon who was dismissed as being nothing more than a pop star, without even the benefit of a redbrick university or even, dare I say it, polytechnic education. Okay, he did go to art school but didn't gain a degree. Bill Gates, Richard Branson, William Shakespeare etc.

OLD HAUNTS

Went on a trip down Memory Lane yesterday on the way to watch Pirates of the Caribbean. The film was long but didn't seem so and was thoroughly entertaining. I prefer total escape adventures but this was fun and beautifully filmed. Just how many Depps does a filmgoer need? Couldn't wait for Keef's appearance. It was perfect. Pure rock and roll. The walk through the past took me to a rundown boarding house (Warning: Author in Dostoyevskian mood right now) on a sink estate in a Midlands city. Past worn out mattresses, nappies, dead fridges and crisp packets; on through narrow alleys decorated with washing hanging out to dry, occasional flourishes of florid flowers amidst the dead wood and brown leaves of dried out plants; past the inhabitants, half-dressed and wearing worn faces, idling away the afternoon with a outdoor cigarette; past the gym with its metal fencing; past the school with its playground sounds and another with its choir practice, until finally I reached my destination. Across the filth covered patio came the sound of a television gone mad, barking out daytime trash. Entering with trepidation (she came as well) we went to the bar and ordered a half pint of Guinness. Old friends were met, a homage was said for the recently departed, wise eyes cast their wild look over worn furniture and then it was back into the daylight, heading through the rundown suburban streets for the bright lights of the city centre.

VIRTUAL WAR

While we're still close to the subject of war let me guide you in this direction - towards Virtual War. This is one of my plays that I am trying to get to the West End stage. Some hope, eh. We shall see. It is a kind of Orwellian scenario, originally written for radio. Tell me what you think and whether you want to put it on. I'd love to turn it into a TV play but that market is dominated by about three writers, all extremely talented.

HEAVY STUFF ABOUT LIFE

Back to the heavy stuff about life. This is what I most enjoy reading and writing about. Here's a taster from a new book by Michael Hanlon. So, where did we come from? Well worth buying, and if you want it here's how to get it. It's called Ten Questions Science Can't Answer Yet; a Guide to the Scientific Wilderness. The question I want answered is where is the end of the universe? Or should I be asking: What lies beyond the end of the universe? Douglas Adams where are you now?

ARMS DEALER

He was with a client in London for a lunchtime meeting at The Dorchester. Their car had been taken for valet parking and the two men walked towards the entrance and the commissionaire. As they stepped up beside him a car in the street backfired and both arms dealer and client hit the deck. The arms dealer said I ought to have seen the expression on the poor commissionaire's face when they stood up and dusted themselves down. The man so wanted to laugh but that was rather ruled out by his job description.

ARMS DEALING

I should add that I shared a village and a pub with one of Britain's leading arms dealers, back in the early Eighties. One of the most interesting and most personally pleasant men I've come across. He's now dead but I will add a few tales in days to come.

WAR

WAR - Rather Churchill's: "To jaw-jaw is always better than to war-war." Talking about Iraq, as we were not, and Saudi arms deals, which we were, then this is most appropriate. Why are we selling to Saudi when we are the ones who send soldiers to fight in the Middle East? I worked in all the major British TV News operations and the pictures of war we censored, purely, and I stress "purely", on the grounds of taste, whether breakfast tv or evening tv, would make any mother, father etc. think a thousand times before allowing their beloved offspring to go to war. Okay, I know people are maimed and killed in war and I know there are times when there is no alternative, my mum made sure I knew what real war was like i.e. the Second World War when 22 year old pilots came home without genitals and troops were pulled from the English Channel with their faces burnt off. But that was what I would describe as a Churchillian War, one where we needed to fight evil. We also went out to conquer those we saw as evil. What on earth are we doing in Iraq when we do not even control Baghdad? Let's have more novels like BAGHDAD BOOMERANG or should I call it KIDNAPPING THE PRESIDENT. At least it's got a few true points to make about this war -- oh my god, it's also got a happy ending. Ah well, we all have Hollywood dreams!!! Anyway, onto more serious matters -- who's winning Big Brother tonight, and do they wear clothes?

Nick Drake

If you're into Nick Drake check this little lot out. Didn't know that Richard Charkin, super uber boss of Macmillan, was a friend. You get all the links here. I'll add on later ones if the days go by and this post of his slips down. As I've said earlier, Charkin is responsive. Not giving me loads of dosh for my super uber writing - YET, BABEE, YET - but we'll win him round. Then he can schmooze me as well as Jeffrey Archer. (Hit this date - Sunday, June 10, 2007 - for Nick Drake) The music is wonderful. You like Mr Pink and Mr Floyd and Mr Barrett then you will like Mr Drake. Ok, duck? (Derbyshire expression, for the ignorant or those from 'elsewhere' in England or further afield)

SPOT OF BOVVER

I thought this story had died. We always sell arms to foreigners and often they use them to kill us. So, what's new? Why's this story creeping up and staying on the front pages. What more lies behind it? I'd love to know since every news story I ever worked on told you ten per cent - I exaggerate, but only a little. Who are the names, who is now a trillionaire rather than an ordinary white collar pensioner? Tell me more, more, more. Oh, and if you want a film or a book - guess what, I've already written one. Get in touch. Oh, and if you want a rock icon to cast his view, watch this. Go George go.

A SMALL POINT

We look after our flowers and our animals and we look after ourselves. Need I say more?

REAL GOOD ORCHID

This is the flower that is the crucial element in THE DARK KINGDOM. A photographer - friend - journalist sent this to me and it is the picture of the vital ingredient capable of saving THE KINGDOM. The book ain't out in the world of books yet but I guess next year, at the absolute latest, you will see this novel (not the flower) and you will buy it in greater quantities than Rowling or Pullman or Tolkien or Dahl. That, I guarantee you. The Lady's Slipper is hopefully well protected and may it remain so until it has repopulated the world.

On Modern Thrillers

I seem to have consumed rather too many modern thrillers in the course of research. they become more horrific and more simplistic, concentrating on one main character. Apart from that the plots are either visible from about a third of the way in or the conclusion is plain silly. Having just finished one, bought as a job lot of three from Morrisons for £4, I feel as though it's time for a change. We need more sophisticated thrillers. Why can't these writers create a feel for places and for characters? They seem so cardboard cutout in their likes and dislikes. I won't name the writer or the book I have just completed. It wasn't that bad but it wasn't that good. How do these people get an agent and a publisher? Of course I'm jealous, but only slightly since I know this is a hugely competitive business. I wouldn't be writing if I thought otherwise. Also, continuing and ending the rant, why can't they say something useful about the world? It seems that the underlying messages they express so obviously are nothing more than psychobabble dressed up in red-top tabloid speak. Okay, rant nearly over. Why, oh why, as Charlie D might say, do they all have to steal someone else's plot? The one I've just finished is a rewrite of Silence of the Lambs - a thriller which is the exact opposite of these pulp fiction books, a novel that actually had something to say and did so by creating a realistic world peopled with characters closer to the crims and victims than almost all other books. Dickens was a dab hand at that trick. The book I've just finished is the second I've read that takes Thomas Harris' plot. The previous one was like a bad rewrite. And the author got paid millions for it. Nor am I going to mention him or her or the machine! Okay, rant over. Sun still shining and the rats are still all fast asleep.

ON BLOGGING

The advantage of blogging versus fiction writing is that you can put down idle thoughts. They don't have to conform to a plot and, if like me, you are a perfectionist, you can let that part of the brain relax a little. It also gets me in the mood for writing fiction.

STRANGE DAY

Strange day, yesterday. Incredibly hot, rather humid and muggy. Felt massively on edge with Kingdom and Warlord both pushing to be born. I ought to have had the writer's equivalent of an epidural. Then, I suppose, I would not have experienced the powerful birth pains. My arms race novel, started some time ago and waiting to be taken on board, is also coming along in the mind. I am bearing triplets. Then, as if to magic up some more frenzy inside the brain, appears the prequel to The Forgotten Warrior as if it too wants to come alive. Rudy is already taking over BIG TIME. Now though he will have competition from Sir Thomas. And I rather gather the old man is about to come first in this race. The mist descended during the night and this morning is hovering magically from ground to sky.

THE SUN'S OUT

Another blisteringly hot day. Fortunately my spare inch of writing space is shaded so there's no excuse for avoiding work. Kingdom racing along at Formula 1 speed. J. Clarkson Esq. ought to be impressed. Warlord coming along behind, a car's length separates the two. Let's roll...

PEACE AND QUIET - BUT STILL NO SLEEP

An early night, after two pints and a meal of vegetable scraps. Great stuff. Went to bed with a book during Jonathan Ross show. Why is he not getting the big names? Paul McCartney was on Steve Wright earlier in the week. You would have thought he would be on the Ross show. Read a book instead and then started thinking about the world, in particular the current role of Russia under Putin. The New Statesman has a wonderful piece by Bridget Kendall on Putin, and there's a list of the journalists killed during the past few years. Yet we are still cosying up to this man. A very dangerous move. I think that the 9/11 tragedy along with the Afghanistan and Iraq tragedies have allowed the world's leaders to believe they're doing the right thing but in reality they have taken their eyes off the global ball. Am I alone in believing the world is now a far more dangerous place than ever it was during the Cold War? A friend of mine tried to go into the security business in Russia a few years ago after selling another unrelated business. He was invited to a meeting in a cellar club. They all sat down at a large round table. "Guns on table," barked their host. My friend took a long time, culminating in a rather personal search, convincing them that he did not travel the world doing business with a gun in each pocket.

NOISE AND SLEEP

An extremely noisy night. This blog - Viewing The World From A Sleeve - will explain it all. The blog is about a Fancy Rat - them's the ones people keep as pets. They're clean and friendly and respond to lots of loving attention. However, there are several gerbils and one of them has just arrived and has lots of space and toys including a wheel. It's bleedin' noisy at four in the morning.

WARLORD v. KINGDOM

Now there's a battle going on. Warlord, angry and annoyed with me for ignoring her in favour of Kingdom, has now decided to strike back with multiple images. Good for you, but please remember I can only type at 100 words per minute. Only kidding, I can do that but you would not want to see the result. I wonder how many of us are really concerned about the changes underway on our planet? I think we need a couple of mega-selling novels to get this debate onto a higher level. I know the subject's been tackled before but I'm talking Harry Potter-style sales here. So that's why Warlord is racing through me brain...
Have fun, everyone.

TOP MAN

Go for this guy's blog if you want to know what's going on in publishing in Britain. I have a great respect for Richard Charkin. You should too, he really believes in what he is doing. How do I know? I shall explain later. Being serious, folks. Okay.

JEFFREY ARCHER HAS A SENSE OF IRONY

Look at this blog (More than a game) about WG Grace and tell me if I'm wrong. (I would love to know why Jeffrey appeals to so many readers. I know why he appealed to people such as my mum: he refused to be defeated, and that is what a woman, well some, want in a man. Good for you Jeffery, you at least can contact the head of your publishing company and he will talk to you. That, for you struggling writers, is one hell of an achievement. Okay, he ain't Dostoyevsky but a lot of people like his stories.

This, in case it's gone, is the post: "Nevertheless, however desperately he tries to paint W G Grace - who he describes as the man who did more to advance cricket than anyone, including Bradman - as a worthy figure, I am bound to say that after reading Major's words, I came out thinking what a thoroughly unpleasant piece of work W G must have been - a man whose ego appeared to be as huge as his talent."

Afterwards, go and read this. WG Grace was a truly remarkable man.

Loads of Ideas

Loads of Dark Kingdom ideas floating around in the brain at the moment. It would be good to get some more of it down on paper. Except the problem is that the speed of writing compared to the speed of thought is like a First World War tank creeping across the battlefield at four mph, all the time filling the lungs with carbon monoxide. No, not quite as bad as that - but it is bleedin' slow going. Nor does it help finding excuses for not writing this book by going off and adding chapters on the others, or even writing this blog. Just a little teeny weeny whinge. The sun's out once again. Best when it rains and there's no distraction. At least when I lived in Florida I could stay inside and write knowing it would be sunny the following day. Mind you, the weather's turning a tad sub-tropical in Britain. In fact, it's been warming up ever since I went to the States. I think this is aimed at taking the piss out of me.

THE DARK KINGDOM

This afternoon is pledged to pushing THE DARK KINGDOM onto another level. There's way too much in my head and far too little on paper. Time to do the hard work. This is the book I reluctantly handed over to the niece's friend, aged fifteen. I'd taken them swimming and we were all having a coffee, tea, fruit juice, with my papers laid out in front of me, when she demanded to read the story. My niece explained that her friend read a minimum of four books a week. I watched with nervous concern as she immersed herself deep into the pages, finished, looked up and asked: "Where's the rest of it?" The rest of it is coming along fine. This is one of the few delights about being a writer - the moment when the story comes into the mind thick and fast. All I have to do is convert the darned mental pictures into words that then recreate my mental movie in a stranger's head.

HOT, HOT, HOT

It was as hot at seven in the evening yesterday as it was at seven in the morning. What a day. An incredible stillness throughout most of the morning and afternoon. Where did all the noise go? I'm reading a Tess Gerritsen novel Bloodstream. I thought it was going to be another of her medical thrillers but little more than a quarter of the way in and we're off in Stephen King territory. I like that. I check into Scott Pack's blog Me and My Big Mouth, along with Clare Christian's Girl Friday blog. Fascinated to see that he's picked up a copy of DH Lawrence's Kangaroo. It's his first venture into Lawrence Land and it's a good one to start with. Lawrence moans that it only sold 300 copies thus failing to provide him with enough money to live off. Or was that him in Kangaroo moaning about another book? My copy has long since been loaned and lost. I shall stop now since David Herbert is, and always has been, one of my favourite authors. Fyodor Dos is tops, of course. No one even comes close to Crime and Punishment, to name but one. Back to work Mr Writer. Sun's gone in so that ought to make things easier.

A GLORIOUS MORNING

Seven am and the sun is brilliant and incredibly hot. It feels like a Florida morning. I've just gone outside and seen the most glorious blue advertising balloon. A light aircraft flew above. From the ground they looked dangerously close. There's no wind and I watched the balloon sitting still in the sky for a while. Then the thermals must have kicked in and the fire was unleashed and it began to move across the face of the sun. Beautiful morning. Glorious.

NEW MONTH - NEW MOOD

After yesterday's appallingly depressing day the sun has come out to welcome in the new month and my mood has altered dramatically. I intend to sell my work since I now have two books racing through my mind at the same time. Both are magnificent stories with a worthwhile message for the world at large. Did Dickens and Dostoyevsky wake to days like these? I would imagine so. We live in a crazy world but one with a great many blessings.