The Not-So Great Escape.

So I've been think quite a lot in recent days *sound of a cog chunking along* mostly about writing. As it would appear I change my mind, more than a woman changes her mind about the outfit she's wearing, a certain amount of reflection would appear necessary... but not that much, that I become absorbed. I've been manage to read quite a bit lately, which has nothing to do with anything, I just wanted to get that out there. I'm just joking, it does. Amidst the brilliant books I have been reading, I have continuously read Maybe, Misery.

Each time I read it, I like it a little bit less. I am proud of it, but it is juvenile. It's pretty much the literature version of Luc Besson's The Fifth Element... he wrote it when he was twelve. And it dawns on my that Maybe, Misery is my high school book. Despite its good points, there's no way around the fact that I would of written a story exactly like that during my high school exams. Filled with sex, violence and all things silly. Well maybe not the sex.

The Talon Strand grows on this, even in it's early draft, it is nowhere near as silly as Maybe, Misery. It has its moments but there is definite growth in the undertones... somewhere. It's at the point now where I am close to printing it out to get a good look at it on paper. I see more clearly that way. My eyes go bog eyed staring at a screen all day... Again I kid, I have no ability to go bog eyed.

Now, to my point. Due to the realisation that I haven't written the best book I could have written, I feel I need to write my Great Gatsby. Yes, that is a bold claim. I don't mean about the life and times of this generation... that would just be a book about me complaining about humanity. I mean, that perfect book, words flow flawlessly and every sentence almost seems like poetry. Where reading it feels like you're experiencing it for yourself.

And the painful truth is, that I can't do that with The Talon Strand. The subject matter just isn't right. It's supposed to be an 'out there' tale. It is bloody fiction after all.

So what is my grand plan you ask?

I haven't got a clue. Not a single one. I just know now, that I won't be done writing until I am 100% sure that I can't do any better. Which as of Maybe, Misery... I know I can.

So on this Halloween day of Birthdays, births and spook goings on...

Here's a toast, to you, me and the redemptive future.

*I'm sure that last line was straight out of Maybe, Misery. *Awkward silence*