He Made Me, the second in my Booker and Cash series, has now had its final read-through. It has been formatted; it has its table of contents and back and front matter, and is awaiting uploading to Amazon. But I can’t upload it yet because I still don’t have the cover. Because I don’t have the cover or any idea of when it’s coming I can’t even say when I’ll be putting the book out there. That’s all a little frustrating. I worry that if I were to be killed by a bus when I take the Halfling to the park today then my biggest regret as I waited patiently in line at the pearly gates for my one way ticket in the elevator going down would be that He Made Me would die with me. (I know, not much of a life, eh? Sorry kids. There it is.)
In the meantime, I’m bashing away at R&M#5. I’m thirty thousand words in and it’s going well. Romney is still cantankerous. Marsh is still respectfully patient (for the most part). Grimes is still…fat. Boudicca is still ginger. Dover and district is still keeping CID busy.
Almost four years ago I wrote something of the non-fiction variety. It concerns a theory I have regarding intelligence. I’ve held this theory dear ever since I thought it up and I only see examples in daily life to reinforce my belief in it. It is not something that I could hope to publish, even self-publish, without upsetting most of the people who would probably read it. Until now.
Enter DI Romney. He is the perfect mouthpiece to give voice and credence to my theory. It is exactly the sort of theory that he would come up with. (The more I write about him the more I realise that Romney and I are not so unalike.) Since I accepted that I wouldn’t be able make my theory known through conventional channels I have been toying with the idea of introducing it in one of my books. I won’t be talked out of it. But what I must do now is to find a way of incorporating it into the narrative without it seeming contrived and I must not let Romney stay on that soap box too long. I have to distil my ten thousand word rant into a couple of meaningful paragraphs. Yesterday, I realised that I’m nearly at a place in the book that would be perfect for it. I’m looking forward to that particular ‘literary’ exercise with some relish.
It’s a lovely sunny, still day here in Shitstanbul. I’m off out to the park with the Halfling, a walk along the seafront and then a coffee outside somewhere. It’s not a bad life.