I am not having a very good year.
There have been deaths, illness, broken computers, disappointments and frustrations. And I still have moving back in with my parents to look forward to as well.
At least I have finished my studies, sooner than expected thanks to some successful complaining and bargaining. Now that my slightly dubious diploma is on its way through the mail, I am free to finally begin working on my next novel.
I had everything prepared, ready to dive right in and give myself completely to this new creative venture. I gathered books for research, watched relevant films and scoured the internet for resources. While the core concept of the novel was rock solid, I was struggling to really get a feel for it as a whole. The pieces just weren’t falling into place.
But then something very strange happened. I was seized by an entirely different idea, one that came to me fully realised right from the start. An idea so ludicrous that I don’t even want to share it just yet . If I were to say it out loud, you would laugh. Even I would laugh!
I remember in art class back in high school, I only ever got average grades for the pieces that I poured my heart and soul into. But if I carelessly squished a lump of clay together with no regard for emotional meaning, the teachers would always love it, give me top marks, and put the artless lump in the student art gallery. If HTDC was my deeply personal, heartfelt work, then this next book is going to be the haphazard lump of clay. It’s going to be superficial, ridiculous, like a pulp novel or a B movie or a bubblegum pop song.
It’s going to be fucking awesome.
This is a little hint: