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| Pondering... |
The proofs to my Bogeyman book have arrived - yikes! I say that because it is getting close to being real and it is getting closer to not being mine but everyone else's who chooses to read it. That is the scary bit, especially as I have been a tad hard on some in the kid lit 'tribe' - of which I am not really a member. If the tribe were Robin Hood and his merry men, I would be Will Scarlet, the wandering minstrel who drops in occasionally. Although if you saw me now you might think of me as Friar Tuck, being as I am a little wide around the girth - I am working on it honest but its taking some shifting. And to make matters worse, I picked all the plums on my plum tree and made way too much jam of industrial proportions. In fact I have run out of jars. What am I going to do with it all? I must have been mad. But back to the Bogeyman, it is a worry knowing that I have called the idea behind a major critic’s book called The Hidden Adult the biggest elephant in the room. But sometimes other things come good too. In the Monsters book I managed to steal an idea on wonderkammern and it works a treat as a metaphor, especially when I then turn it into wonderkinder but unfortunately, that too is preceded by the elephant in the room idea - so it’s now in both books. I hope he's not a big bloke, or has heavies waiting at the end of the phone. Worrying times, being a writer is a potentially hazardous job. Which is why I am sitting pondering - should I be concerned. A friend I edit a journal with said, 'you are making enemies of most of our editorial board.' But they were never my friends anyway - and besides, intellectual sparring is the food of knowledge. But I have worked out that Bogeyman and Monsters are my thirty-second and thirty-third books - double yikes, because it’s my own fault and I should know better by now. And that said I am now thinking about publishing an edited version of The Ghost of Joe Di Maggio on Kindle - thirty-four, show me the door, the world doesn't need any more! Bob Dylan once said that nostalgia is death - what does he know? Right now I have a heavy cold and there is no better way to feel sorry for yourself than a good wallow. Illness makes me miss my home country, which has an umbilical pull, so some time this summer I will go back to see my Ma 'n' Da and my mate Rocky. In the meantime, sit back and wallow in the sites (sic) and sounds:
