Finally heard from Dad, Linda and Tom today, via an e-mail from Tom. All is well- apparently, they’re somewhere in New Zealand that sounds like ‘Tiramasu’, and it’s very, very cold.

I got plenty of work done today- and also proved to myself that being positive can help more than I realise. I’ve solved some problems in the novel, and I think I’m going to be on course for at least pasting over all the gaps in this thing, so i can get a vaguely coherent first draft that makes sense. I’m going to get there…

Watched RUN LOLA RUN tonight- one of the most breathlessly exciting and kinetic films I’ve seen in my life. It’s a pity it can’t quite keep it up for the full 80 minutes of its running time, but its still dazzling in its sense of style and energy. If I could get half of that sense of pace into the novel, I’ll be doing well.

Rain. Actual, real, wet droplets of rain, falling from the sky. It rained today in quite a serious fashion, thus meaning that, at least for the next couple of days, I don’t need to immediately panic about watering the garden.

I have a series of annoying habits when it comes to writing, and one of the worst is the “find something more interesting to do” habit. Sometimes, I’ll do it almost unconsciously, and if I’m not doing the equivalent of placing a gun at my own temple and shouting “WRITE!!! GODDAMMN YOU!!!”, I’ll very often end up randomly frittering sections of the day away for no good reason. And, very often, it boils down to fear. Fear, and lack of confidence. These are, I think, the problems that meant that I’ve taken so long to get around to doing what I should have been doing since I left University. Sometimes, it takes a long time to find your path, and there’s so much that wouldn’t have happenned to me if I hadn’t taken such an eccentric one for the past ten years, but I still find myself wishing that I could have had a little more faith in myself. But, unlike the last time when I found myself with a gigantic project to finish, I’m not alone. I’ve got someone who’s prepared to shoulder the load with me, and that makes all the difference. So, instead of moaning and complaining, I’m going to go back to the coal face, as Charles Stross has described it in his blog, and keep hacking chunks out until I’ve at least got something that resembles a fully complete first draft, and then I’m not stopping until this baby is in the best state that it possibly can be. And then, somehow, I’ve got to find a way to do it again, as I know that whatever happens with The Hypernova Gambit (for that is its name), I’ll be able to do even better with the next one.

(I have to admit- I am terrified at the prospect of finishing this, sending it out, and then watching it get turned down by everyone in range. I know that it’s very likely to happen (simply just via the law of averages), and at least 30% of me is secretly, fatally optimistic that something good will happen because of this, but on the aforementioned Charles Stross, I also read that Singularity Sky- his rather impressive (if, for me at least, slightly flawed) first novel- was actually written from 1995-1998, and took five years to get published. I know that these are realities that I have to confront- I’m just not looking forward to it actually happening…)

Feeding the fish every night is strangely relaxing. A quiet life in the country is really starting to appeal.

Tomorrow is a work day. Things need to be done.

Gulp…

Watching music videos while I was growing up always used to moderately blow my mind. Here’s another reason why!

Week 11 of WHO- and I think it’s safe to say that New Who and I may have our occasional moments where we click, but the chances of a long-term relationship are looking pretty doubtful. This weeks wasn’t dreadful- and yet, it was up and down the quality barometer like an epileptic hamster, with a climax involving the Olympic Torch and the line “Feel the Love” where I actually did have to pinch myself to make certain I wasn’t having a very surreal kind of bad dream. At the least, there was fun in spotting the references, which this week range from The Exorcist, Chocky and Sapphire and Steel adventure Four (for the second time this season!!) to- er- Ghostbusters 2 of all things…

Next week is the first of the big apocalyptic two-parter that ends the season, and they may have (yet again) repeated last year by giving away a pretty major surprise in the teaser. And no, I’m not talking about the Cybermen…

Anyway- today was more work on the book, plus I got an e-mail from Dad and the world seemed to rebel against the idea of me replying. (I’ve sent him a note to leave comments on my blog if all else fails). I’ve remixed the prologue and chapter one of the book, and I’ve also made a halfway decent start on Chapter Two. I’m still feeling my way- but one decision I have made is that I’m not going to be ashamed of this being what I’m describing as “Pop Sci-Fi”. It’s big, it’s emotive, it’s weird, and it’s not afraid to be downwright silly when the moment deserves it. I’m either inventing a new subgenre, or embarrassing myself hideously. Only time, and my ego, will tell.

Finished watching THE RIGHT STUFF over dinner. Great, great film- although very long. The kind of thing DVDs were invented for. It is, I can’t help feeling, ironic that Intermissions have now gone the way of the dodo, as there are plenty of films (like King Kong, for starters) where it would be rather nice to have one. Here’s to progress!

There’s something about staring out at a quiet country evening with the wind rustling the trees, only the occasional noise of traffic from the nearby road, and the sound of Jimi Hendrix on the stereo playing one of his calmer, less galaxy-expanding tracks. This is, to be honest, starting to feel like the kind of thing I need to do more of.

Dad, Linda and Tom began their journey at 5.30am this morning- I woke up to find an extra note about a plant they’d forgotten to remind me to water, plus a little “Good Luck” note on the desk where I’ve set up to work. I am, at the moment, writing at a beautiful antique writing desk, surrounded by fantastic paraphenalia like a three volume edition of “A History of England” by Adolphus, a lever-operated calculator, and plenty of papers crammed in nooks and crannies. I managed to make a little progress today, although waking up feeling like someone had reversed over me in a truck didn’t really help. Since I had managed to forget to leave George the card to my P.O. Box (without which she can’t check my post while I’m gone), I already had to leave the house at some point, so today was mainly a preperation and acclimatisation day, where I unpacked food, familiarised myself with the alarm system, and slightly freaked myself out when I couldn’t open the plush locked postbox that Dad uses, before I realised that I was actually using the wrong key. I fed the fish for the first time on my own (one of my daily duties), and I also cooked myself up a two-serving stir-fry, which means that combined with the meal that Linda left for me yesterday, I’m now sorted for at least the next couple of days, and probably longer.

I solved one small problem concerning a subplot in the novel today, figuring out a way of making it actually relevant and in some way linking up with the main theme. I occasionally feel incredibly talentless and confused in the way that I’m doing this, and I don’t like it when there’s a gap in the story- I know something fits there, I just don’t know what it is, and I end up worrying that whatever I come up with isn’t going to be good enough. So, instead of fixating and doing bits and bobs for the next few days, I am throwing myself into it. There’s twenty chapters (and a prologue), so for the next twenty days I have a plan. I’m heavily rewriting and plugging the gaps in a chapter a day, and I am going to try and make sure that I’ve got something that actually resembles a complete novel by the end of this. It might not be any good, but by golly, it’s going to be complete…

I watched the first half of THE RIGHT STUFF tonight, and had to stop myself from just watching the rest, as I’d forgotten exactly how good that film is, as well as what a wonderfully intelligent piece of work it manages to be. Plus, it has Sam Shepherd being the absolute 100% epitome of effortless American cool as Chuck Yeager. 2nd half tomorrow, as long as I can keep my head together and write all day.

Hopefully, I’m going to sleep better tonight. I miss George. It feels weird being here without her, particularly in the bed, which is one of the most comfortable that either of us have ever slept in.

Let’s see what Day Two has to offer…

I’m perched on the edge of a ludicrously comfortable double bed, I’ve got broadband, and within a few hours, I’ll have the place to myself. The journey down to Cornwall was problem free- although the preperations did, just for a change, turn me into a jangling mess of nerves. Said goodbye to George, and I’m now going to proceed to miss her like crazy, even though she’s only on the other end of a phone line. I arrived, and Dad proceeded to give me a military-level briefing on the ins and outs, what to do, and what plants to water. It’s a lot of information, and I’m slightly worried that the one truly vital bit of info is the one I’ll end up forgetting– but I guess I’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Plenty of hugs and well-wishes have been exchanged, as they’re setting off at 5.30am tomorrow morning, and I’m highly unlikely to be functioning at that point.

The War against the novel begins tomorrow. We will see who is the victor…

The last few days have passed in something that could loosely be described as a confused fug. George realised during the middle of last week that we had actually managed to miss our second Wedding anniversary (technically, it’s the anniversary of us getting married in Gretna Green before our actual wedding in October), so we spent Sunday having an impromptu belated celebration (after I had gone to see STORMBREAKER, which essentially played like an Enid Blyton version of James Bond. It’s not dreadful, but neither is it particularly outstanding…) where we ate like kings and watched possibly the loopiest Wedding Anniversary double bill we could manage- the beautiful strangeness of MULHOLLAND DRIVE, followed up by the magnificent popcorn fun of PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN. I then, rather daftly, managed to screw things up mercilessly on Monday by, essentially, getting worked up about something and peeking at some of George’s mail without asking her. I have what could be liberally described as ‘trust issues’, and after telling George what had happenned, getting upset and apologising profusely, I did what seemed like the sensible response. I baked a cake, iced it, and left it ready for her when she came home from work. She was terribly happy and very pleased, and it was only later that I fully cottonned onto the fact that (a) George is trying to lose weight at the moment, and (b) if she eats too much flour-or-bread related products, she ends up feeling ill as she has a problem with wheat. Still, it’s the thought that counts… (At least, I hope it is…)

I’m now counting down the hours. At twelve o’clock tomorrow, I hop on a train. I get to Dad’s at about five o’clock, I’ll get an intensive evening of briefing about the entire house and what to do in case of a meteor strike, and then at five o’clock the next morning, he, Linda and Tom head off to New Zealand, and I’m on my own for the next twenty six days. The mind boggles. Whatever happens though, I am not wasting this opportunity, and I’ll try to keep this blog as up-to-date as possible on my strange hermitage in the wilderness.

I’m discovering some of the delights of YouTube- including the fact that there’s no limit to the kind of strange stuff you can find. In particular, there’s this wonderfully strange video to Portishead’s song “All Mine”, which I was almost certain that I’d dreamed. The low quality means you don’t quite get the full effect of the blurry, sixties-style live broadcast video look, but there’s still something seriously unsettling about it, like a transmission from a very concerning parallel universe.

As Radiohead once sang, “No Surprises”. The ‘experimental’ episode of New Who turned out to be largely an exercise in Russel T Davies showing how utterly fantastic, witty and adventurous he thinks he is, with a few genuinely good ideas buried under a mass of embarressing self-aware storytelling and chase sequences on loan from the Chuckle Brothers.

Still, only three more episodes to go. It’d be nice to be a little more excited, though. This season hasn’t killed my love of Who, but I think it’ll be even harder to care once Season 3 arrives next year. Old Who will live on, no matter what happens with New Who.

There are certain moments where you’ve got to be honest with yourself. Yes, it’s been bloody hot this week, the kind of suffocating heat that makes Siberia suddenly sound decidedly inviting, but the fact is that I haven’t used this week as well as I could have done. I’ve made a couple of major breakthroughs on the novel, getting good ideas and clarifying sections of the plot that were, to be honest, terrifying the hell out of me, but I haven’t used my time well. And time is ticking away- I’ve got four more days, and then I’ve got my 28 day voyage into solitude that will (hopefully) result in me having something vaguely resembling a novel at the end of it. I don’t like the fact that my determination can fade so easily- but, at the least, I have got 140,000 words to prove to myself that my determination is capable of producing something– just as long as I can go the whole hog and actually finish it.

I did, at least, manage to crack one particular plotline- and the solution I’ve come up with is, I’m slightly shocked to say, a gigantic homage to one of my favourite films, the spectacularly wonderful guilty pleasure that is FLASH GORDON. I keep worrying that I’m not being highbrow enough with this, or that it’s going to be an insane hodge-podge (the influences at the moment include James Lovegrove, Phillip K. Dick, Alan Moore, Douglas Adams, Iain M. Banks, P.G. Wodehouse and chunks of Neon Genesis Evangelion just for starters…), but then I remember that the key word is ‘romp’, and this needs to be the way I want it to be. It’s going to be a big, bold, colourful pop song of a novel. Of course, whether anyone wants to actually publish anything like that is a completely different story…

George is on her way back from a trip home– the first venture of her fledgling art business that she’s starting up with her mum and her sister, and apparently it went pretty well. Dinner will be happening soon, as she’s terribly hungry (called me from the train, you see…) so must go soon.

Out of the various films I saw this week, there was one- a thriller called ADRIFT- which sent my brain into a tailspin for a whole variety of reasons. Here’s a loose review, but one with major spoilers for both the film, and one of the films it heavily resembles. Consider yourself warned…. (more…)

Oh. My. God.

Life has a habit of taking interesting turns when I’m least expecting it. After a week of intermittent good sleep (and one night on a hideously uncomfortable bed) I was hoping that, having returned to the familiar world of my flat, I’d be able to get at least one seriously decent night of sleep. Not so. Instead, I’m back in the horribly familiar world where my entire flat seems to function as a stuffy, over-humid heat trap where it’s almost physically impossible to be comfortable without sticking your head inside the freezer. The fact that in about six months it’ll be so inhumanly cold in here that I’ll be wearing multiple layers even with the heating on max is, to be honest, one of the reasons I won’t be too sad to move on from this place. There’s a certain level of heat that I just don’t function well in, and this will drive me up the wall for the next week, particularly if the temperature stays in the 25-30 degrees area. The idea of emigrating to Alaska is suddenly very tempting.

The real surprise, however, is a turn that happenned last Friday when I was staying with Dad, and whiuch happenned all as a result of George wondering who’s going to feed their fish. A little explanation- Dad has, for the last few years, been converting and rennovating an old Cornish house, and has been gradually doing up the massive garden next to the house. He’s added a one-floor extension, redone the kitchen, added a back porch and decking, and is now in the process of adding a massive front porch. He’s also made a lovely pond, where there is now a thriving collection of fish, and George was wondering who was going to be feeding their fish while they went away to New Zealand for almost a month, when she said “You could stay here and finish the book!”, mainly as a joke.

But, of course, then I started thinking.

The practical upshot of this is that now, instead of a vague arrangement for late June and July where I was going to try and earn plenty while doing as much work on the book as possible, I am now going to exit London on the 22nd of June, and I’m not back until the 20th July. I will, for 28 days, largely be on my own in a large, comfy house that’s out in the middle of nowhere (there’s a relatively busy road next to it, but that’s one of the only concessions to civillisation), and I will be spending most of my time getting the book into shape- filling up all the gaps, and then giving it a really brutal rewrite to actually get it into the right state. It’s a slightly scary idea, and the fact that it will close off certain (but not all) ways of earning money is a little intimidating, but it’s happening at the right time. I can just about afford to do this, and once I get into August, I’ve got Edinburgh, bits of Frightfest, and then the London Film Festival- for about four months, my life is going to HAVE to be solid movies. My hopeful plan is to get the book into a state where I can actually send it to someone before Edinburgh. It’ll take an awful lot of work, but it’s not impossible. The next few days are going to be screening hunting, and next thursday, I’m off to write. This blog may get even stranger before the end…

Week Nine of Who- and it was still great fun, even if it fell prey occasionally to the “Let’s make important speeches” school of writing, the logic was creaky in places, and the steals from ALIEN really did get utterly shameless. Also, the solution for the ending was just a little too convenient, but overall one of the best stories of the new series so far. Next week, we have RTD writing, an “experimental” story, Peter Kay guest starring, and more from Rose’s mum. Colour me unexcited…

Lots to do. Not enough time.

Think cold thoughts. Think cold thoughts…