Indeed, it’s not a quickie, not an instant leap from keyboard to stardom and a castle in Scotland.

The steps between the two are numerous, and some are forever moving. 

The constant, the never changing aspect is the need to have faith.

If you don’t support your project who else will?

Indeed, if you don’t why should ‘they’?

I have a dream, it’s not for a castle or indeed riches. 

These aren’t the thoughts that keep me awake.

I’ll not reject them should they come calling, but my aim is pure, almost pure enough to be an Arthurian quest.

I want to offer the very best version of my work to the world, and for the cold huddled masses to cast their judgment upon my scribbles, having first read it.

That’s it.

No world domination, now renaming the days of the week or months of the year, in fact I don’t really want an annual day to celebrate my work – I don’t.

So, I continue to sabotage myself with crippling self-doubt, the imposter syndrome rides high…

Something must give, mastery has to be obtained, one side has to concede, hopefully it’s the monkey on my back feeding doubt into my ear that will succumb: hopefully…

While the world suffers genuine problems, this is my indulgence, my vanity. 

Will I drown while pondering my own reflection, or will I fly and soar like an eagle?

First world problems and the ponderings of the pampered – these continue.

Stay safe, look after each other and whenever possible spread the love!

It’s monkey time again. 

Seems that the little beast of self-doubt is never truly vanquished. 

Some echoes never fade, and his grip holds as tight as it ever did.

Self-affirmation can only take you so far, chanted mantras can only do so much.

The elephant it remains.

Art isn’t its own reward, Dorian Gray the only painting designed to be hidden, everything else needs to be seen, cries out into the night for daylight to caress its canvas and oil.

Written words are as impassioned as those masterful brush strokes.

Phrases clever and coy jostle with emotion raw and honest for a caring eye to save them from obscurity.

They are patient, but what they have isn’t inexhaustible, action needs to be taken, screams to be taken!

Your work may indeed fall flat, but it still wants its day in court, it still needs to plead its case.

So, the monkey of self-doubt rides my back, while the elephant in the room shares that deadpan expression, it knows the obvious.

Publish.

Publish and be dammed.

Publish and let the tiles fall where they will.

I could very well be that pretentious prick in the café with the cold coffee letting everyone know that he’s writing a novel…

But this struggle is real, and it keeps me awake at night.

Is my best version good enough? 

First world problems of the safe and the well fed.

My only risk is my ego; not my house, not my life – yet still I dither…

Stay safe – keep sane and as ever thanks for listening!

It’s one of those analogy metaphor things that kinda explains where I’ve been and how things have been going.

Amy Grace was intended to be a trilogy, a three-part series neatly wrapping up a single event.

By and large it worked, all be it that I stumbled into five books and not three…

And therein was the rub. 

Book five just didn’t sit, it was a good premise (brilliantly told), but it was one that I just struggled and struggled to run with. 

The tales follow on from each other, but No.#5 just felt awkward.

‘Home’ began where ‘Prison’ ended only it didn’t.

‘Home’ was more a much fuller and compete ending that ‘Prison’ needed – and now that’s what it is.

The WIP that was ‘Home’ has now morphed into the end of ‘Prison’ – and the whole thing now reads so much better. 

The ‘albatross’ around my neck is now gone. 

I’m not struggling to turn 40,000 words into a full novel, nope, these extra words now provide a more fulfilling and complete ending to a saga, give us a clean break from which to write new adventures.

‘Prison’ is now retitled as ‘End,’ and a brand-new adventure tentatively titled ‘Friends’ is now in the offing – and it feels good.   

So, around my neck no longer hangs a sea bird of lore, my fingers instead now type freely a tale of espionage, intrigue, and the rescuing of an old friend.

Things are looking up!

Stay safe, remain sane and love the life you live!

And the singing girl asks why things are so complicated…  this isn’t the teenage angst of her warbling; this is getting my book to market.

I need to present the absolute best version of my scribbles.

If I fail, I fail because my work is poor, not because the offering was poorly put together.

I want to edit my work, I want a skilled and practiced eye to cast criticism over my chosen words, the rhythm of my writing, the spin of my yarn.

I need this.

But to whom do I turn, and once facing them for what task do I ask?

I want my work read, grammar and spelling errors highlighted; plot holes if they exist highlighted. 

I don’t want the nature of the story critiqued. 

I don’t want unpleasant scenes removed.

Maybe what I want isn’t what is needed, maybe I need more than I’m asking for?

I feel under pressure – although it’s all in my mind, none of it is real.

I’m publishing this book, not to satisfy a Bond style villain who has my loved ones hanging over a tank full of angry bass… 

Nope I’m doing this because I have a need to give my tale the opportunity to be read, to be read and enjoyed.

Can’t be read until it is the very best version of itself.

Can’t be the best version until I’ve had it edited by the afore mentioned skilled practitioner of all things wordy.

So, having spoken with Sean (a patron of the arts) down at the GAA club I now have funding to pursue this worthy cause.

All he requires is a reasonable return on his investment, a few overheads and expenses covered, an administration fee, and all monies returned within six months.  Nice man Sean. 

So, back to the point under discussion – EDITING.

I need one.

I want one.

I just can’t find one.

I put a pinned tweet on social media – may as well ran nude round the big field for all the attention that’s achieved, and this, this talk into the great empty auditorium of the world wide web, this will attract even less attention than streaking past the bemused sheep.

So, we search. 

We search and we pout about it all being too complicated.

Stay safe, look after all that you love and remain sane!

It’s a peculiar thought, and it’s one that nags away at me from time to time.

Am I comfortable NOT being published?

If NOT published, am I comfortable because my work is NOT being judged?

If NOT published, am I just too comfortable playing the part of a struggling artist?

Is the chair upon which I sit just too comfortable?

It’s not pathological, it’s something deeper, something primal, something base from the very depths of your soul, and it needs, no it demands satisfaction.

Titbits are cast aside, what once may have placated the desire, what were once acceptable distractions baubles and trinkets, these no longer sooth the raging inferno that burns within.

Needs are screaming, sustenance for this ravenous beast can be ignored no more.

Denial, obfuscation, mirrors and shadows, half-truths and clever lies, their power is fading.

Impassioned pleas MUST be met.

Fear of rejection, fear of failure, fear of success… 

A bare breast is beaten, a pounding heart thumps, naked eyes reveal the true depth of the soul, vulnerability is unashamed…

Tales need reading, stories need to be told.

Breath needs to be stolen, and a little laughter heard too.

Reasons against have lost their lustre.

The two wolves have stopped fighting, the dust is settling, and a victor is emerging…

By means fair or indeed foul, Amy Grace is coming.

Buckle up, strap in tight, the ride will be wild, but so worth it!

Stay safe and remain sane!

This could be a momentous moment hitting this marker in my blog, entry number 151 could be a statement of so many things, and in a way it is.  I’ve persevered, I’ve kept the faith, ignored the nay sayers and retained belief in my project.

Post #1 back in June 2017 acknowledged the potential for this entire process to be nothing more than self-indulgence.

I don’t often quote myself, but this from #1 still holds true:

I suppose I see this blog as kind of akin to being given access to a great palatial auditorium, yet one in which you will have to speak confidently into a darkened room – maybe people are out there in the cheap seats listening – maybe they’re not.  But if you don’t speak, you’ll never know…

I’ve tripped, stumbled, and committed more than a few faux pas along the journey.  Ideas that were written down in the firm belief that they were perfection personified have been either heavily amended, or indeed suffered under the editors cut.

We’ve learnt some powerful lessons thus far. 

On my wall I’ve a framed copy of Theodore Roosevelt’s “Man in The Arena” speech.  It wasn’t written for writers, wasn’t written all those years ago as a cleverly placed egg for me to discover, but boy is it relevant and uplifting.

“…who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

Version #1 of my favourite tall tale has improved over the years, the telling has evolved, the journey still pulls on your heartstrings, still makes you cry…  and I’m immensely proud of that.

The easiest reference I have for Amy Grace is still in drawing parallels with ‘Lisbeth Salander’ in the world of ‘Sally Lockhart.’   We have this baseline upon which we’ve added a layer of steampunk and a healthy dose of magic, fairy tales and Celtic folklore. 

The tales pull no punches, but it doesn’t exploit, trivialise, or try to use suffering as a form of spank bank entertainment.  Cruelty is shown for what it is, resilience too.  Recovery is a theme that weaves through all (currently five) volumes of Amy’s tale.  She is a flawed woman, but understandably so.  She isn’t a two-dimensional character dependent upon rescue, she is her own woman (Bechdel and Mako Mori take a bow).  And those bad folk, those who are the villains, these aren’t mustachio twirling caricatures either.  Our main villain is cruel, sadistically so, but he finds love, finds loss, and finds a path to redemption too.

Amy Grace and her struggles, her journey, her loves, and her losses, all these we have catalogued, all these we have told. 

My tales aren’t perfection, aren’t stories that will forever change your life and have you shaving your head while living in a remote log cabin – lit candles and incantations.  These aren’t entry level cult material, but they are captivating and entertaining – oh, I didn’t see that coming tall tales that once you start you will just have to, absolutely must see what happens next.

And therein lies my perennial problem. 

Nobody’s read them.

Well, some friends family and strangers have – my heartfelt thanks go to them all. 

All who all now look at me with a somewhat quizzical and wary eye – WTF, how/why from where did you imagine that?!?   

This pool has been relatively small, but feedback has been overwhelmingly positive. 

I have options to improve my lot, choices to make in order to bring Amy to a wider audience, and on these issues, I worry, overthink, and stumble.

For those from the outside looking in, some may be screaming away the obvious answer, the clear solution to my problems – hopefully, I’ll see it soon too. 

I ended post #1 thanking the darkened auditorium for sharing the journey with me, and to those of you still sitting out there in the cheap seats, or to those who’ve stumbled upon my musings – THANK YOU.

Keep the faith, stay safe and remain sane!

A popular (by that I mean reoccurring) theme in my scribbles, be it either here on this blog, or in my tall tales, is that I references popular music (by that I mean music I like).

I’ve referenced songs by bands as varied as Ladysmith Black Mambazo singing about the beauty of rain, The Meteors and the battle between Ford cars and tractors, and innumerable hats have been tipped to New Model Army, and lately a healthy dose of references to Bauhaus. 

In fact, I write directly in The Sorcerer’s Apprentice about nobody in the tale getting the obvious ‘Bella Lugosi’ joke, I come back to it a few times as the main character mutters away in disbelief that nobody else can see it…  

Will folk ‘get them,’ and if they do, will they allow a wry smile, a slight nod of the head and an inner chuckle to break out?

I hope so.

I add these not to distract from the tale being told, but because they just fit the narrative and scream to be included.

So, if you see them, if you suspect you’ve seen them, fear not, madness is not this way coming, what you thought you saw indeed, you did.

Enjoy, keep the faith, stay safe and remain sane. 

Somehow, despite any conspiring forces I’m feeling good.

Scribbling is going well (multiple plates are still spinning).

The love affair with writing remains.

Some said it wouldn’t last – but here we are still enjoying each other.

The great announcement still alludes us, but onwards we joyfully plod.

Keep the faith, stay safe and remain sane!