Authors Electric

I hear other writers talking about how they always/never re-read their own work. Of those that do – many say they cringe as they see their mistakes, or worry that it’s all rubbish in hindsight, and no wonder they never sell any books as who would want to read it anyway? And I don't understand the mentality of those writers who never re-read their books - why would you not do this? I have a confession to make. Not only do I constantly re-read my own books, but I actually do on occasion (actually, frequently) pat myself on the back for a particularly well-executed turn of phrase, or a paragraph that resonates perfectly, or a character that I’m still slightly in love with. Yes, of course I see the odd typo that escaped both mine and my agent or editor’s eagle eyes – and I do kick myself for word repetition and a clunky sentence I really should have caught on one of the many editing passes I do. But by and large, I’m happy with much (most?) of what I have written. Sometimes I even thi...

When I sat down to write this post, I was thinking about books and re-reading. Having recently moved house (and oh, the joys of arguing that the internet did not work, to discover 3 weeks and an engineer visit later that they’d connected the wrong house up, sure there could be a short story there, somewhere) I’ve been faced with the mammoth task of going through all my books. I should explain that we’ve already filled a bookcase with books to be read, and there are two more boxes of books that will get popped into this bookcases as we don’t have enough bookcase space for all the TBR pile… I should further mention each box measures 2 feet long, by a foot deep and a foot broad. And that there are fifteen of them. What can I say, I like books. (Don’t we all?) Anyway, I was contemplating these boxes and their contents. My wife and I discussed where we could store them. I suggested the loft, on the grounds they would be readily available to re-read whenever I wanted to. Wit...

Here is my annual garden surprise - the poppy we planted years ago, and which, once it's made its grandiose statement, dies back completely to near-invisibility until the following year. This was how it looked last year, but it doesn't look much different now. The difference is in me, because I can't yet risk walking round to the place where it grows in order to photograph it, due to what feels like a never-ending convalescence from ankle replacement surgery back in February. I never expected it to take so long to get back to normality. It was major surgery, so I knew the deal - two weeks in bed with a heavy leg cast, followed by six weeks in a much lighter cast, then the dreaded boot, and then, at last, the thrill of being able to walk to the shops. Yes, the website said it would be a year before things would be really approaching that stage, but I didn't take that too seriously. My health was good, I wasn't sedentary, I ate properly, so hey! after the longest th...