Swallowed a Stoat.

I've hit my writing target for the day, so before I go and do my reading, here is an update on last weeks trip.

Edinburgh - Turned out I had no time at all in Edinburgh to do anything that I planned. I was meant to be going down to the Cameo (my favourite cinema in town) and the Filmhouse (a very close second) to catch up all the films I've been missing here in India. This never happened. Instead I spent most of my time shuttling between interviews for job prospects. This seems to have turned out good in the end as I've accepted a new job with a company I admire - good news for me, and a relief for Madame Vin.
I did get along to the Edinburgh Secret Society's seance for the spirit of the magician Lafeyette, of which I've already written.

Nottingham - I came down with a cold and spent most of my time trying not to get too close to friends and family, and snorting into my handkerchief with watering eyes and a throat that felt like I swallowed a stoat.
I did get to see the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie, which wasn't bad. Not as good as the first, but substantially better than the last one.

London - At last I felt a little better and just in time as my Dad was in town and together we went to see the Doctor. I spent a bit of time with him and he even let me have a go at flying the TARDiS. True to form, I left the breaks on.

Me trying to look cool in the TARDiS. Taken by the Doctor.

I saw a small exhibition of the work of Paul Duffield of Freakangels and Kate Brown (of the same) at Orbital Comics.

We went to Greenwich and stepped along the Prime Meridian.

Dad then departed, so I went to see the 'Under The Damp Earth' exhibition which features the work of Stuart Kolakovic, at NoBROW.

And finally ended up seeing Much Ado About Nothing at the Wyndham Theatre featuring the 10th Doctor and Donna - both of whom, were excellent.

Not bad for three weeks. Now, back to 'Waters Deep.'

Something that goes whoosh.

I am back in Chennai for four and a half weeks. That's it. We've done ten months and the time has gone past like, well, something that goes whoosh and makes your hair all messy.
The three weeks in the UK were brilliant and I'll write more in the next few days but let's just say meals were had, friends met, a seance was attended, pirates watched, the Doctor examined, museums walked, timelines crossed, thunder gods viewed, art appreciated and on the last night Shakespeare met the Doctor and Donna. Not bad.
I also had a cold for two weeks that kind of knocked me for six, so if I seemed a little spaced, I apologise now. This also had the knock on effect that I got very little writing done. I plan to rectify that in the next few weeks.


- From the desk of AJS. Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Time was swallowed

I'm in the UK. More specificly, I'm now in Radcliffe-on-Trent, the village in which I grew up, which should herald whimiscal tales of youth. But, as I'm suffering from a cold and have only been out a couple of times they will have to wait until I feel up to telling the yarn of my birth amongst the squidlings (a story for another day).
We've already been to Edinburgh, where I had hoped to write during the day and see friends in the evening. As it was, my search for work for when I return at the end of June, escalated, grew tentacles and morphed before me, so that I ended up having numerous interviews for which I was not properly prepared. So my time was swallowed. Though I did get to go to my first Secret Society Event, where I was invested and then helped to raise a spirit. You can see whether or not we were succesful here.

A mysterious man at a mysterious event.

Now in Nottinghamshire, home of all things Robin Hood and Lincoln Green, I've come down with a cold. Obviously UK bugs are more virulent than Indian ones. I'm just starting to feel human again. So, once again, time was swallowed.
Next week I'm in London, and have many plans and visits set up with my father. No doubt, time will be swallowed.

***

An article I wrote for Edinburgh Libraries about John Connolly is now up and available on their rather good blog Word Up. I enjoyed putting the essay together and will endeavour to do some more, but where would one start? There are so many books, well known and obscure, that I like, that I could fill a book with them. I could fill a big book. A very big book.

Well Nasty

I'm piling through the typescript for 'Waters Deep,' at fast as I can, spending on average a good six hours at my desk, every day, cranking out at least 2,500 words at a time. I thought I wrote 'Stigma' fast, but this is even quicker. I was hoping to reach 50k by the weekend, but I've already surpassed that and now hope to hit 60k. I want to get it down as quickly as possible whilst the ideas are buzzing around my brain. Interesting (flawed) characters are making an appearance and the big nasty is, well nasty.

There's not much else to report on as I've been so busy. Next week things will be different as I head to Edinburgh tomorrow and my diary will soon get full. I'll post highlights as I travel around GB.

***

Underground England by Stephen Smith
A companion work to Underground London, once more the subterranean explorer and writer Smith digs down below the top soil of our country. Not much to say here other than the writing is light and breezy, if sometimes a little off topic as he recounts visits to hidden military bunkers, smugglers tunnels, below palaces and off particular delight to me, the caves under Nottingham. My only small itch I have to scratch is that a few of the things he writes about aren't what I would call underground, namely Corpse Roads and sunken villages (one is definitely above ground, the other under water).

Misadventure by Millard Kaufman
The second and final novel (he died, unfortunately) by the ninety year old author published by McSweeney's. I preferred this to 'Bowl of Cherries,' as it's a crime novel with interesting and somewhat hideous characters. It reminds me of the movie 'Sunset Boulevard.'
Jack Hopkins meets and falls in lust with the mad Darlene Hunt, the unhappy, desperate wife of a rich real estate magnate. Having satisfied his loins, Darlene asks him to kill her husband in return for ten million dollars. Jack considers it, until it turns out that her husband is the same man merging his company with the same one Jack works for, and it seems a similar reverse offer soon comes his way.
This feels like a film noir written by Dashiell Hammett with just a soupcon of David Lynch thrown in for good measure.