I’ve done it again, dear reader. Why do I subject myself to such maddening idiocy!
I’ve spent the last few minutes searching amongst the newly-published eBooks on the kindle store. I don’t know why, I should have turned to my own bookshelf. I should have begun to reread Keep the Aspidistra Flying, or even the Bernard Cornwell Pagan series in excitement, if it can be called that, for the new instalment.
Still, there I go searching. I hope to find another Sketch of a Last Day amongst that madness, I think, something that will cling to my mind like a literary cancer and I will love it for it. But no, what drivel accumulates there!
I think that, when the Caitiff is done, released out into the world and nobody has read it, I will write a generic fantasy. The good men will come from the north and they will face of heroically against the wealthy, treacherous, southerners. Or a romance, perhaps, with some title like the ‘Billionaire’s Fuck-buddy’, or some other equally gratuitous madness.
In other news, I’ve just hit 40,000 words on the Caitiff. Woo.