Two weeks off work, three new tales, 20,000 words. Is this combination a coincidence, do you think? I certainly don't, and frankly now yearn for more time to do this writing malarkey. I'm an obsessive type, and tend to focus on one thing at a time. If I'm tied up with other responsibilities, it's hard for me to do anything else. I need to be in the zone, permanently. Hence my novels, which tend to come in spells of white heat, during holiday periods or Xmas breaks. Anyway, I continue to work towards freedom, when I can do this kind of thing whenever I wish, and in the meanwhile squeeze out what fiction I can.
I'm really happy with the new pieces, all psychological horror stories. I got the ideas from tooling around the Whitby area, up on the moors, on a cycle ride along the cinder path to Robin Hood's Bay, and on the beach observing lovelorn sentiments youngsters carve into the sand. This all reminds me that to generate new fiction, you need to be out and about in the world. I've spent the last year, as ever, travelling around, and I'm sure my adventures in Lisbon, Prague and other places lately will lend themselves well to new tales.
I love this writing malarkey - sometimes I forget how much. In a latent spell of non-productivity, someone kindly kick my arse, would you? Thanks, dudes.