Writing the Weird
I’ve spent all of today writing. Essentially a whole chapter, or the bulk of it, came out of my fingers and onto my hard drive: 3000 words, give or take, after a very quick bit of editing. It pretty much all takes place in an Edinburgh pub. I’ve made the pub up, but it’s based in part on memories of a real one, called the Green Tree, in the Cowgate. It’s no longer there, but it was a favourite of mine in the early eighties when I lived on the Canongate.
Sitting in front of the keyboard doesn’t make for a busy day full of the kind of things I might want to write about here. What I can say, though, is that writing weird stories, based in a world which isn’t quite like ours, is a great way to block out the world and relax.
The weather was filthy this afternoon, so I’m going to go and have a late evening walk while there is a patch of blue in the sky. I also have a 1970 Music post just about ready to go, a project I need to bring up to date.
ps: Happy birthday Steve Bell!!
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Music: inspired by the shitshow that is US politics, here’s the great Norman Blake, who just makes me want to hit my fingers with a hammer every time I hear him play.
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