I tweeted a few days ago about writing a book ‘live’ as a blog. It seemed like an adventurous, possibly bold thing to attempt. And yet here we are. If I write it down it must be so.
I have a work in progress that is barely a thing. In my head, it’s a memoir told through fiction with dashes of non-fiction and smatterings of whatever it darn well chooses to be. A hybrid thing. I am only 3,000 words into it and much of it resides in my head. It’s also my ‘secondary’ writing project, as I have a novel (the fourth I will have written), Naked Magic, began in 2018 and which stands at over 60,000 words and is in its umpteenth draft on its way to being a full first draft. And that novel is one I shall complete this year (I also said this on a similar date—i.e. early January—last year. I have the notebooks to prove it).
Anyway. This other thing: I shall attempt to post it here as bits of it become written. Of course it will be spasmodic, unkempt, irregular, with the possibility of huge gaps between posts while I work on Naked Magic, and also publish the chapbooks and potential other things that we are committed to over at Seventy2One. But if you’re interested in reading it, in keeping up with its stuttering progress, then here is the place.
The opening salvo will be published here before the end of this week. Feel free to comment on it, just as I will feel free to graciously accept any praise and completely ignore any opprobrium. In the meantime, happy 2022. Stay healthy. Get jabbed. Love your neighbours. See you here before the weekend.