is good. I'm working, being a bit creative, performing a bit. The world of potential that I live in seems to have upgraded a little :) in that my hilarious longshots now have shinier names attached.

Still doesn't make them anything but hilarious longshots, though.

The tangible things, however - is well good.

I'm off to swan about town with a talented, beautiful woman. With any luck I'll take her home tonight.

So, how are you feeling?: happy

I'm well.
The book has been edited.
A manuscript titled 'first draft' has been sent to the agent.
Now? Gigs, more writing, christmas.

So, how are you feeling?: working

'Oooh!' I thought. 'I'm all finished 'n shit!' I thought. 'Surely this is it?' I thought without admitting it to man or beast.

It isn't.

Information from the crunching panel is trickling in.

Early returns are 85% very positive and 15% extremely intellectually challenging. Basically, I'm going to have to have a long sit-down with my brain and something akin to the following conversation:

Me: "Brain! Wake up!"
Brain: "Wmz..whu.. wha'? It wasn't me! The apricot did it! ...Oh. It's you again."
Me: "Yes. Get up. There's work."
Brain: "Ha ha. Very funny. Fuck off? Please? And wherever you fuck off to, please post back that nice computer game with all the orcs and goblins and crap. That should keep you occupied. Or, y'know. A piece of paper that says 'please turn over' on both sides. But the main thing is that you fuck off and leave me alone."
Me: "Sorry. Can't do that. Remember the book?"
Brain: [terse silence]
Me: "Okay, so you remember the book."
Brain: "Because it took a year to write."
Me: "Okay. But-"
Brain: "Along with as much work as you could get your grubby mitts on."
Me: "Yes. Yes, I know. But-"
Brain: "And two theatre parts."
Me: "Yes. But only in months that started with 'A'."
Brain: "And a hundred comedy gigs."
Me: "erm... yes. Brain..?"
Brain: "What?"
Me: "...are you mad at me?" silence "Ow. Ow! OW! Okay! Okay! Uncle! I give up! Stop the headache!"
Brain: [frosty silence]
Me: "...I'm sorry, ok? I may have been a little ... enthusiastic in exercising you in the last year or so. But I just have this one thing...? ...that's kinda important? Just this tiny little thing? One thing that will validate all the madness of the past year?"
Brain: [sighs wearily] All right. Fine. I'm up anyway. What is it?
Me: "Please synthesize comments from 2-10 people, edit the 340-page novel accordingly, fix all logical flaws and bring it up from merely 'exciting' to 'super-awesome'. Oh, and before Friday please."
Brain: "I hate you."

...apart from that, everything is hunky dory. And on that note I'm off. Toodles!

So, how are you feeling?: prophetically head-achey.

It's done.

It's done and it's also edited and off to my crunching panel (Mom, Dad, my brother, Morag and Nick) plus a small selection of fantasy literature enthusiasts who represent the catchment area, if you will.

Time until the comments start to come back: hopefully around a week.

I went to work today without my laptop on my back. It felt weird, but good. Instead I took a notebook and started work on my next book, on the tube at 8am this morning. I'm actually going to do work to keep my mind off the work. Yay for increased productivity!

The book goes to the agent on November 14th or thereabouts. After that, all bets are off.

So, how are you feeling?: optimistic

2nd draft of my first book, Swords of Good Men, finishes tomorrow. With any luck I'll do the significant rewrite needed for the last chapter as well.

It's been a ride. Now - to bed.

So, how are you feeling?: calm

...has there ever been a case of a first-time writer who will find everything else to do before finishing the first novel, the ending of which is the single longest-living thing about the whole thing (with the men doing the thing in the thing near the place with the thing)? I'm reaching almost comical levels of procrastination here.

edit 01:30am No. It is doable. There's actually not that much left.

edit 02:24am That's big important thing that happens #1 out of the way. First whip-through is not bad. Look forward to polishing that thing. Onward! Roll on the ninjas! Roll on the pirates! Roll on the mutant walrus!*

edit 02:36am Slight super-important-plot-point problem fixed, rather elegantly too**. Pirates, ninjas, etc.

edit 03:00am Second big thing done with, more or less. I'm so tired I initially spelled 'second' as 'sedonc'. Which might be preferable. Django Reinhardt is keeping me sane. Is it illegal to drink tea at 3am?***

* My book contains no ninjas or mutant walruses. Maybe next time. Vikings, you could argue, are fairly pirate-y, in a less 'Pirates of the Caribbean' and more 'Bastards of the North Atlantic' kind of way. And writing this, I realize that I completely forgot THE MOST SIGNIFICANT THING IN THE FUCKING BOOK. Maybe I should just go to sleep right now, abandon all pretense of finishing this before 16:00 tomorrow (1415-1430, realistically, with preferably 6ish hours of sleep) and try to do it better instead.
Ah sod.
** We shall see whether I agree with myself on that count in the morning, though. Caveat, Author!
*** I am officially punch-drunk. I think I might be coming up on 2.000 words today; the novel is reaching 88.000 words and will probably go over 90.000 words. When I started this I worried as to whether I had enough story.

So, how are you feeling?: silly
What's that racket?!: Gotan Project - Santa Maria de Buen Ayre

When I said, you know.. 'today'...

I think I'll use my god-like powers to redefine the end of 'today' as 'when I go to sleep'.

That might not be a strategically sound move, but sod. Write more, I must.

So, how are you feeling?: frustrated
What's that racket?!: Bugge Wesseltoft - Skog

Having taken the controversial decision to write from home today (saves money + 2 hours of travel + proves a point (aaagh - I'm a PaP!*)(*more on the PaPs at another point)), I'm now actually back on track.

Can't quite escape the feeling that chapter 10 is the worst one yet. Which is slightly less than optimal. It kind of needs to be the best one, doesn't it? In a constant leapfrog of 'Oh my god - how could this chapter possibly be more riveting than the last? It is - but I don't know how he does it! Weirdly named foreign author - please have my babies! I see your dubious face - please have my money instead!' - kind of way, doesn't it?

But fuckit.

I have decided to finish this novel in the next 8 hours.

(how's *that* for a sentence, by the way?)

If it means there'll need to be some serious editing later on, then so be it.

But this book ends today.

So, how are you feeling?: determined
What's that racket?!: Dunkelbunt feat. Boban I Marko Markovits Orkestar - Cinnamon Girl

is reluctant, and remembers with fondness days of yore when he was only luctant.

So, how are you feeling?: reluctant
What's that racket?!: Beethoven as played by four wooden boxes.

Today, Saturday the 31st of October, marks the 1 year anniversary of my meeting with my literary agent, the pitching of an idea that I had at the 2008 Edinburgh Fringe and me subsequently starting writing a novel, having not done anything like as committed ever before.

The 2nd draft of said novel is now nearly completed. When said draft gets completed, it will need revising, editing, sending out to my readers, then upon receiving it from them it will need another editing. Then it goes to the agent and I go do something else with my time for a while. Like cut down drastically on the sugar, start moving my lardy arse, enjoy the 10 gigs I've got lined up in November and basically get on with it.

So, how are you feeling?: awake
What's that racket?!: Street sweepers outside

But all in all, not bad. Not bad at all. (and yes, I'm wearing my full-on smug git face while writing this) 1.000 words of fresh stuff + a rewrite/fix of chapter 10 - and I may actually possibly maybe be inching towards getting to the place where I can push the pedal to the metal and write the Final Flourish, the one which I've been carrying around in my head since, oh - November last year?

What I have is, in my modest opinion, good.

If I manage to pull this off I might - might - have something very good.

I recognize that just by writing this I am at risk of being deported for un-British behaviour, but fuckit. There are bits in this that *really* fly. I look forward to finding the other ones and beating them with sticks until they do.

Oh, and Morag my love - if you're reading this I totally ate loads of vegetables, went to bed at a sensible hour and took v. good care of myself.

So, how are you feeling?: calm
What's that racket?!: My computer sounds a little bit like the seaside. Is that bad?

I'm fairly emotional and grumpy today/-night. And no, I'm not always emotional and grumpy. Used to; not anymore. Much of which can be attributed to sterling people in my life. Meaow.

But today I am a curmudgeon; a grouchy Ogre who sits in his own Castle of Unreasonable Expectations and lobs rotten fruit at the world for not behaving like I think it should. I'm reminded of myself, ca. 1997 - angry and driven, working bloody hard and therefore thinking it nothing but natural that everyone else work at least equally hard to get what I want done.

I should probably have realized by now that it doesn't necessarily work that way... and I have. Most of the time. But not today. Today I'm grumpy, needy, tired, under the weather and generally prickly, if not an all-out prick.

And I'm not going to 'take time off', 'rest and relax' or any of that malarkey.

Work.

Push, push, push.

Something's gotta give.

So, how are you feeling?: Ogre-ish
What's that racket?!: Henry Mancini - theme from The Thief Who Came to Dinner

currently spell 'THINKY FROWN'.

I'm in a very "In a. DESOLATE. Age. [dramatic pause]One. Man. [a longer dramatic pause. Children fall asleep] Must FINISH. His NOVULLL. [two-year dramatic pause.] Despite having. MILD. symptoms of the COMMON [dramatic steel door slam] COLD."-type mood.

And on the other hand I can't rightly be bothered being all sturm and drang about it.

Go have shower, then raid food supplies for anything healthy, put good stuff in body, then do nothing but write.

and upgrade my farm in Farmville. And do my correspondence chess. And check my email. And get the f**k away from the internet. Oh, and gig tonight.

So, how are you feeling?: cold

I don't know.

It's 0330. I've cracked 1.000 words today. Tomorrow's going to be rough. *And* I'm gigging.
This time tomorrow I'll probably be cursing myself for a fool.

But, y'know.

Still inching towards the place where everything's lined up and ready to go - but tonight I got a little bit closer.

So, how are you feeling?: Okay *now* I'm ready for bed.
What's that racket?!: Leigh Michele - Fever (from www.triviacompanion.com)

I'm one day into vacation week, the week where the novel gets finished.
I'm also getting ill.
This sucks weighty, fleshy and hairy yak testicles.

In some kind of karmic and cosmic interconnectedness episode, my good friend Dóri posted a song by the John Butler Trio on Facebook today.

This made me go search for an old favourite of mine and listen to a track I had pounding in my ears as I pounded the pavement between 23 Gloucester Road in Acton and LAMDA in Talgarth Road, the autumn/winter/spring of 2005 and 2006.

I find it appropriate.

I'm struggling through the first bit of the last chapter of my book - where everything has to be neatly balanced before [insert phrase here: ball starts rolling, shit hits the fan, the chickens come home to roost, it all comes to pass] - and my brain is squeezing itself to Make It Happen.

Fuckit.

I'm making tea.

...it weighs in at 81.4k words. That's 1.5k words today, for those of you playing the home game. Nick the Awesome Scot says he's read in writers' periodicals about these muppets saying "yeth I jutht thit down at my computer, get my five hundred wordth out and I feel I've done thomething that day".

I'm telling you - if anyone thinks of actually paying me so I could do this full time (as opposed to squeezed in between work and comedy)... it wouldn't take me a year to produce a work of quality fiction. Nosiree.

(Oh and there's no way this cockiness is going to come back and bite me in the ass. No way no how.)

But all that aside - I just rewrote the 9th chapter today.

There was very little *to* rewrite. And what I read, I really <i>liked</i>.

I am excited about my book, and about showing it to people when the correct time comes.

So, how are you feeling?: productive

So maybe writing on 4 hours' sleep wasn't so productive last night.

This takes my tally of waking up to look blearily at the screen and say "eh... when did I write-a-whatnow?" to two.

Talking to the lovely Ellie and Dory last night I wore it as a badge. A fookin' badge, I tell you.

But now a horrible thought strikes me.

What if it's not because I'm pushing myself to limits only an 18-year old high on fizzy drinks and diluted vodka would think of? What if it is because my book is really f**king boring?

...naah. It's a nugget of genius, the wedge that will get me in through the door of the international book market on my first go, the umbrella in my charmed-life walk through the never ending rain of unpublished writers' tears. And I've had people read what's already written and they like it.

There was no panicky self-assurance in the last paragraph. Not at all. :-þ

The facts of the matter are these.

1) the bloody thing weighs in at 298 pages
2) the word count is sitting at somewhere around 79.600
3) I am pretty sure it would legitimately hurt if I hit you on the head with the printed-out manuscript of the first 8 chapters.
4) I've written out a bare-bones structure of the medium-length chapter that is left to write
5) I am awake and ready to undertake my hour-long journey to the writing place.

In the words of Jake and Elwood:
Elwood: It's 106 miles to Chicago, we got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark, and we're wearing sunglasses.
Jake: Hit it.

So, how are you feeling?: Wielding a sharpened axe

#1: How long does it take now to scroll down from the top to the bottom of your manuscript using PgDn, Snorri?
32 seconds.

#2: Shouldn't you be writing instead of measuring that?
Yes. Probably.

So, how are you feeling?: working
What's that racket?!: Daft Punk - Make Love

I am very good at very many things.

Waiting for other people isn't one of them.

I am waiting on a couple of fronts at the moment, and it irks me. It really does. It's time to strap on the blinders, tighten the belt and singlemindedly just motor on. One foot in front of the other, step by step by motherf~~king step.

So, how are you feeling?: annoyed

...a manuscript weighing in at 272 pages, 73.396 words. That makes 6.406 words left until it's officially "novel length". I've got one chapter to finish, then another to go.

Today, however, is editing day. There's been a couple of things niggling at me, things that are poorly or not realized, that I thought I'd add in after the writing of the magic words. This has stopped being a viable option, and thus I've made an editing copy which will now get a major handiwork treatment - going through the whole thing, colouring, poking and prodding.

All manner of interesting things are afoot.

So, how are you feeling?: working

So.

Time is now 01:14. I just headlined my 2nd consecutive night; did very well for my 2nd consecutive night. Of course none of this has any bearing on me doing the Comedy Pub tomorrow night (next door to the f**king Comedy Store - JINX ALERT). None at all whatsoever at all whatsoever.

Also, I've been late in to work 2 days in a row.

Which is approximately 19 kinds of rubbish.

So now - even though I'm more inclined to waste time for another 2.5 hours - I'm going to take off almost all of my clothes, turn off the lights and raise the blinds so that the sunrise floods the room with light to shake me out of my level ZLORP coma that I am sure to descend into at about 4am.

I'm basically doing 3 days a day this week. Full day of teaching + full day of writing (when my computer allows me) + full day of gigging. End in sight? Not so much. Novel manuscript? 89.6% of required length. Inching closer.

Right - I've now wasted 4 minutes of sleep time. Actually - make that 84. I got in at midnight and I am a fool.

So, how are you feeling?: tired

Been having talks with the Nearest and Dearest, all of which tell me to not exhaust myself.

I'm hip to that.

I'm also awake at 0219 after having applied for a job, sent off a report for tonight's gig and thought about tomorrow's gig.

Oh, and I'm waking up in 4 and a half hours' time to go teach for a full day, then gig.

I'm a fool.

So, how are you feeling?: tired

Now let's see if we can learn anything from a) experience and b) the lovely woman who sometimes looks at me in exasperation and then proceeds to spell out what to the rest of the world might seem bleeding obvious.

From the evidence available to me, I'd say I'm tired.

( Cut for weapons-grade rambling and introspection )

So, how are you feeling?: happy

I am handling quite a lot of stress these days - I suspect more than I've done before. Maybe I can get away with saying I'm doing so with determination, moxie and toughness - maybe I'm just reaching new heights of immaturity and simply (I initially wrote 'smiply', which is a much better word) ignoring more things than I've ever ignored before.

Whatever the result, I have a job interview that starts at 9am tomorrow and lasts, if the website is to be believed, for 8 hours. It is more likely that they run half-hour slots, but I'm not chancing it.

However, in my rebel way, I have not ironed a shirt for this interview. I have my Good Shirt - that'll have to do. And I shaved, goddammit. What more do you want from me, Real Life? Sheesh.

I think possibly the worst thing in my life these days is the fact that I've got Beyonce's "ifyoulikeitthenyoushouddapuddariiingonit" on repeat in my brain. It got put there by a youtube clip of a small child in diapers dancing to a music video. Now I just have to find out what a Ringo-nit is.

It is actually still within the realm of reason to say that my novel may have reached the requisite length for a novel on Oct. 7th of this year.*

This would please me greatly and probably surprise a couple of people.

Somewhere in the back of my brain I'm motoring on with this despite the hilarious chance of nothing coming of it - i.e. I'm bracing myself for a disappointment the level of which I've simply not seen before. Which, y'know, might be fun.

SLEEP, FFS.

* and no, that does not equal 'ready'. It equals 'long enough to start editing'. Will it be in time for the Frankfurt book fair? Probably not. But hey ho.

So, how are you feeling?: dragging self to bed
What's that racket?!: IfyoulikeitthenyoushouddapuddaRINGOnit

Good news: much like Frankenstein's monster the novel staggers along, groaning under its own weight and my self-pity.

Bad news: I have little in the way of job.

Good news: I have an interview on Sunday.

Bad news: I have a very limited perception/understanding of "real life" and "adulthood".

Good news: I have some very modest prospects.

Bad news: I'm knackered and therefore likely to whinge more about my own life than is strictly necessary.

So now I have two options.

a) tailspin into obsessive/compulsive "analysis" of what's "wrong", or
b) shut up, do the report I need to do, then have a shower and go to BED.

I think I shall pick b).

Good night.

So, how are you feeling?: whinge-y