I foolishly announced that I'd finished The book of Pain a few days ago.Two years of writing, editing and re editing ad nauseum. I must have changed the tense of every single sentence at least four times, indeed it's almost a different book from the original, and either the best thing, or conversely the most pretentious rubbish I've ever written. I'm just finishing the latest re-write and glad I did because after all those which preceded it I finally realised that a sub-plot was completely wrong. How did I miss it? I've fixed it now and am just reformatting different versions for Amazon and Smashwords, both to be released on the same day.
I sometimes wish it were possible to reformat people. There are a few for whom I'd gladly pound the delete button. Clearly every black cab driver in Londinium would be the first on my list, quickly followed by... but enough of the wishful thinking. Suffice to say that if I was the only person riding my motorbike through the capital I would be the happiest man alive. Only three days into the new year and I've almost been slaughtered three times already. That even beats last year's record.
The new year has brought with it an new adventure. I've just begun an interesting exercise with a friend on the net. We're writing a collaborative short story, which could conceivably become a novel. So far it's been great fun and our different writing styles have not been a hindrance but a positive boon. I can't wait to publish it once we're both happy.