Misery…

One day in your life you’ll realise why you’re here… and so the song goes.  The purpose of life being to give life purpose – that’s either deeply profound or a facile distillation of the complexity of existence – and I’m not too sure which (if either) it is!

So, Amy followers, where are we now? 

Young Amy Grace is flying with the bogy man as her passenger (didn’t see that coming!) to right the genesis wrong that echoes in all of her adventures. 

She is now in 1888 still correcting a repetitive wrong from 1885, some of the characters have changed, but the tragic concept remains consistent.

And there, or indeed here is where we are, blinking cursor flashing on a white screen thinking to ourselves is this all too predictable?

Are we guilty of rehashing the same story in a never-ending volume of telling’s? 

I don’t think I am, but then sometimes I do…

Yes, I know, and I understand if you distil any series of tales down you end up with the constant telling and retelling of a need for love acceptance and justice.  Themes that are universal from Homer to Billy the Bard James Herbert and so many others.  But…

We are currently reading some Margaret Atwood, and although the comparison is pitifully suicidal and we are doomed to view oneself as a sad charlatan, we still look at the works of those we both admire and enjoy and turn that spotlight that shines upon greatness and turn it into a harsh illuminating self-critique of ourselves.

It could be the isolation that writing necessitates, it could be. 

It could be the frustration at rejections for tales I feel are worth telling, indeed it could. 

Lonely are they who type tales.

Tea is being consumed in copious amounts, ideas for ‘other’ tales are scribbled, but guilt at abandoning the unfinished saga, of being a cheating lover permeates every word I type for the interlopers. 

I have to expunge myself of this story, I have to finish it, find a conclusion.

I’m not looking to kill off Misery Chastain, but I am keen to finish book three.

I know how it ends, I kinda know what follows, but I need to make that journey really believable and above all a page turning thrill for those who’ve travelled with us from Egypt all the way to California (and innumerable stops in-between). 

I have been scribbling away (metaphorically) at ‘The Diary of a Nobody’ and a new as yet untitled ghost story, but all these ideas need Amy’s permission to continue….

I appreciate that this is becoming as coherent and rambling as ‘The Book of Dave’, but as with the scribbles of that taxi driver these words are not a mantra or collection of sage inspirational words to lift humanity, they are my scribbles as I struggle to be published, as I struggle to finish writing.  Definitely nothing more and assuredly nothing less. 

So, the job offer still stands.

Keep the faith.

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