Andrew McEwan's Blog: Words Are the Gravy On the Mashed Potato of Life - Posts Tagged "space"

Back then I was half the age I am now. I'm not sure a lot has changed though. Not me anyway. In the first half of that year I wrote three short novels, two of which I have recently uploaded to Smashwords. The third is to follow shortly. I'm nearly through proofreading it and it just occurred to me I have a hard time believing in reality. Not that this is any revelation, but there's a paragraph near the end of The Long Walk Up From The Beach that encapsulates the notion quite well. No, not changed at all. I still don't get it. Time. Space. The universe. You. I'm still not convinced any of it is real. Oh well.

Alone but not lonely. Must be a human condition. Or am I kidding myself? I may delete this post later. Yes.

The Long Walk Up From The Beach equates to evolution. That and gravity I can believe in at least. And of course, comedy!

I went to bed at 3.15 this morning and got up approx twelve hours later. Sons of Anarchy is partially to blame, a soap opera with a body count and more hilarity than a Benny Hill sketch from back in the day. And there's a sixth season! Geordie Jax must have better things to do...

I don't watch much TV as it happens. Seldom at all during the week. One reason is I get shoutly, especially at the BBC. So I'm mostly limited to downloads and Netflix at weekends, with beer. Lately, however, this routine has grown tiresome. Often I find Twitter more entertaining. I am beguiled by my computer monitor. In the past this meant endless eBay trawling; only eBay ain't what it used to be. I used to buy and sell Apple Macs on a regular basis but everything is overpriced these days and bargains are hard to come by. Then there's the fraud. This year I've been involved in half a dozen disputes, more than in the previous ten years. The result is money tied up in PayPal and lots of wasted time. Bonne nuit to that.

Right now I'm halfway through a second edit of THUMP, the book formerly known as Spare Parts For Spaceships. I hate it, or parts of it, but I reckon several further mutations may result in something original and worthy of a revisit. There is to be a second volume, although ultimately the two may merge. This is the first SF I've written in years, and whilst it's fun the genre throws up a whole new set of problems. Watch this space.

I've submitted the first three chapters along with a synopsis (Why can't I write a decent synopsis?) to an agent. My first submission anywhere for a while. It would be nice to have some agenting but I'm not holding my breath. Again. Watch this space.

Speaking of help I'm heading to the doctor's Tuesday. Hmmm. A pattern emerging here. Yes, it's years since I saw a doctor. There are clearly a lot of inexplicable gaps in my life. Anyway. To cut a long story short I'm tired. I need help. I need drugs. I've been fighting depression for over thirty years and I can't do it any more. Not alone. Because in space no-one can hear you scream.

Wish me luck.

Cause and effect. Everything has consequences. The stars are alive and so are you.

I'm about finished a novel called Spare Parts For Spaceships, which is about a man who might be a robot, or vice versa. Two thirds of it is in fact Thump, the second volume of which never met its resolution and thenceforth (after much delay, a visit from the cancer fairy etc.) decided it was going no farther. The new title is in fact the original one, dating back to 2000, when I was living in Birmingham and doing the first year of an English degree. That ended early, too! Whole other story. Ergo: I now have a MS of around 129k. Probably it will shrink a little, but hopefully not too much. What I'd like is for someone with a shred of nous, an open mind and a love of sci-fi to read it and let me know what they think. If this is you let me know.

My sink is blocked. I'm rapping a piece of wood off the pipe behind the fridge. So far physics isn't helping.

Onward.