Friday, May 06, 2011

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.

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