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Hangin' with the Cosmic Surfer

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Nothing Ado About Much

21 November, 2012 (17:08) | Books | By: Ian Burdon

I have been writing a fair bit recently, just not here.  Mostly, though not completely this has been for work.  It has been enjoyable but obviously has kept me away from other stuff – like here.

I mentioned a few posts ago that I was toying with writing some fiction and I have, in odd moments, been working on that. Working on it has brought rewards as a substantial chunk of plot fell into place over the course of a single Saturday morning a couple of weeks ago as a newspaper article set of a chain of dominoes in my memory to give me both a MacGuffin and its backstory which in turn gives me the core narrative.

This is not sufficient of course, as the excellent Charlie Stross points out, the idea amounts to about 1% of the process, the other 99% being execution.

Nevertheless, researching that MacGuffin and working out the rest is an excellent way of occupying myself creatively. I am especially interested that it has taken me back to working out the consequences of a remembered comment from one of my old tutors in 1982 and my more recent interest in pre-reformation folk plays in Scotland.

Sorry if that is vague, but there we are.

Also, as I write, on my headphones Maddy Prior is singing:

She took him by the milk white hand, led him to the hall
Till they came to a stone chamber where no one could hear him call.
She sat him on a golden chair, she gave him sugar sweet,
She lay him on a dressing board and stabbed him like a sheep.

Out came the thick thick blood, out came the thin.
Out came the bonny heart’s blood till there was none within.
She took him by the yellow hair and also by the feet.
She threw him in the old draw well fifty fathoms deep.

They don’t write them like that anymore – which, given the history of the song, is just as well


Comment from Rachel
Time November 23, 2012 at 10:07 am

Excellent news, scary lyric :).