happy november first

I hope so.

I really did intend to write more today but I worked instead. A lot. Three chapters equals a lot of blogs. Not that they were all new. I’m updating a book, getting it ready for publication. Did I tell you? I have paid the first instalment of a large fee, and signed the contract to self-publish a book I wrote almost three years ago now and have been unable to sell. (Ageism?) The irony kills me; i have published 35 to 40 books, some of them being plays, which is why I’m not certain of the number, and here I turn to DIY this late in life.

So I’m up-dating the book and getting it ready for a March-April pub date.

Happy November First.

happy hallowe'en

I finished Florida by Lauren Groff and I still didn’t like it. Groff is such a good writer I had to finish reading it but I was glad to be done with her this morning. (I read at breakfast.) Interesting though: I learned more about Guy de Maupassant (in her short story “YPort") than I have ever known. It reminded me again of the trend when I was at university, of studying the work and not the writer.

We never paid any attention to biographies. I didn’t know E.M. Forster was gay until years later. I remember doing a seminar presentation on him in a third year novel course and commenting on the male-female relationships that “their clothes didn’t come off” - that’s how I put it, little knowing. Hell, I was 17 years old and I had yet to read the brown-paper-wrapped parcel that my brother ordered for me in the mail to teach me about the birds and the bees.

Back to the inner dialogue; it really is a dialogue, not a monologue. I listen to parts of me argue or comment or make suggestions. I just listen, internally. None of us makes any noise.

More anon….