I often wake in the middle of the night with a lot of strange ideas but I won't relate them on this blog.
The particular notion that struck me as odd was: can a man write a good love story? I've never actually read one - ever. But there's nothing to stop me trying. I could always take up a pen name. I rather like Gladys. It's one of the few genres I haven't tried, although in my novel The Book Of Pain there is a love story of sorts. That's if you can count the relationship between a four hundred year old man and a twenty something woman as love - especially as he's considering casting her into hell to save his own soul.
I (mentally) wrestled with the idea of heaving bosoms and men coming to terms with their feminine side and finally admitting what we already know; ie that women are fully in control with their identity while men almost always act in accordance to how they perceive as what the world is expecting of them. I went on with this for almost twenty minutes before quickly casting it aside and returning to the fourth horror novel in my trilogy. Short lived identity crises over; I'm going back to blood and guts.
Here's something I knocked up using not one but three painting packages. The inclination is beginning to wear a little thin and I see some writing coming on. I can't wait to try out my new writing package. The one like Word but infinitely better and written especially for the tablet. At just under £5 it was a bargain and I can't wait to try it out.
Blogger's messing about with my font size again.