There is that moment, I suppose that point of time that unifies all people who write a series, where they look back and ask themselves that question ‘have I jumped the shark/nuked the fridge’? 

Star Wars, good god, it most definitely did that so long ago, yet perplexingly it still makes money‽

We digress…

Big empty auditorium I have a character who has been beaten, abused, suffered almost intolerable pain, and yet survives, survives, and thrives (all be it with nightmares and crippling bouts of sadness). 

Is it all so-so pedestrian predictable rehashing?

Have we passed the shark jumping moment?

Is it a tale with recurring themes or rehashing old tropes? 

Self-doubt is a crippling monkey that happily climbs on your back to whisper incessantly in your ear… 

Good art is not its own reward – it just isn’t. 

Words are written to be read, paintings to be seen.

Creations aren’t finished when the paint dries and the keyboards stop clicking, bizarrely these are the moments that only confirm the true beginning of the project.

To be relevant Art must be enjoyed.

To be enjoyed it must be seen, be experienced.

The monkey is telling me all the doubt, all the negative. 

There is a chap called ‘Harvey Andrews,’ a Birmingham (England) folk singer of some considerable ability.  This chap wrote a song called ‘Writer of Songs’ which articulated better than I can ever hope to express the urge to create written words, for him it was songs, for me tall stories…

So, Amy, is it cliché trope overload? 

Is the (absent) reader sat there mouthing the plot before it has happened?

Do we invite others into our world to ‘spice it up,’ ‘keep it fresh’ or are indeed those actions as predictable as the preceding ones? 

Henry Winkler is poised; the speedboat is revving its engines…