So here I am, having decided that writing a diary of the process of writing a novel, will perhaps assist in actually writing the bloody thing. Clearly not. Like how many other of the half arsed ideas I get?

There it is, a longboard, sitting propped against the hallway wall, largely unused. Ooh, great, I can keep up my skills in the off season, in all these long stretches when I can’t manage to get out snowboarding, and so next time I go, I won’t have taken so many steps backwards… Not that I don’t like riding it, but I don’t get around to it that much.

Like the smile lines that cut far deeper into one side of my face than the other. Like I can’t decide whether something’s truly worth smiling about. Or perhaps I don’t fully want to commit myself to the grin. Or maybe it’s just one of those villainous twisted smiles, that so popularly abound in pulp fantasy novels (I shudder to use the word novel here – like I somehow demean a “real” book by association – like comparing Romeo & Juliet to the Mills & Boon trade).

I like to think of it as something that every crappy fantasy author uses, but no one really knows what the fuck they’re talking about… but really, it’s probably just another half arsed effort…

I have detracted somewhat from the dogs, though haven’t I…


~ by Gethin A. Lynes on January 22nd, 2009.

One Response to “Twisted”

  1. Lacan. Where Lacan?

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