Andrew McEwan's Blog: Words Are the Gravy On the Mashed Potato of Life - Posts Tagged "spaceships"
Spare Parts For Spaceships
Sometimes you really can travel back in time. Right now I have one foot in the early noughties, toes wriggling in the grass of then, sensing the earth and air of that place in the past where was written the first 14k words of a science-fiction extravaganza the title of which resides above. That it's lain idle this long is no mystery: I lost interest in the genre. Why? I'm not entirely sure. Perhaps I read one too many average sci-fi novels. Perhaps I felt the need (as agents and publishers would tell me) to write something else. That's else, a peculiar word that doesn't necessarily mean different. Different is bad in agent/publisher speak. Else generally means marketable. But I've worn out that record...
Spare Parts For Spaceships is the 'space and time' of Skidmore Shuffledeck, galactic mechanic. And my other foot is firmly in the now. The struggle is to bring my heels together without a) anyone noticing the narrative gorge, and b) crushing my balls.
Not having written anything since last year I must say having something other than quiet desperation occupying my imagination is a relief. A book fills that subconscious space otherwise given over to pernicious mindfruit and self-devouring insightfulness into the human condition best not shared with the world at large, which, facilitated by the internet, tends to present itself, despite your best intentions, as piss on shoes.
So, you're asking, how's it going? When might we see this novel of which you speak? Well, I've added roughly 1000 words. More importantly I've tuned in to the when and made subtle adjustments, which hopefully will result in a new now. And a way forward. And a book that finally breaches 100k words, with room for more.
Skidmore Shuffledeck, bespectacled, stoic, non-violent and - almost - unkillable.
Out 2014!
In the meantime there's 10k on Smashwords as a free download. Or 99c will get you a whole Armwrestling the Dead. Sci-fi in mutant form, by me.
Spare Parts For Spaceships is the 'space and time' of Skidmore Shuffledeck, galactic mechanic. And my other foot is firmly in the now. The struggle is to bring my heels together without a) anyone noticing the narrative gorge, and b) crushing my balls.
Not having written anything since last year I must say having something other than quiet desperation occupying my imagination is a relief. A book fills that subconscious space otherwise given over to pernicious mindfruit and self-devouring insightfulness into the human condition best not shared with the world at large, which, facilitated by the internet, tends to present itself, despite your best intentions, as piss on shoes.
So, you're asking, how's it going? When might we see this novel of which you speak? Well, I've added roughly 1000 words. More importantly I've tuned in to the when and made subtle adjustments, which hopefully will result in a new now. And a way forward. And a book that finally breaches 100k words, with room for more.
Skidmore Shuffledeck, bespectacled, stoic, non-violent and - almost - unkillable.
Out 2014!
In the meantime there's 10k on Smashwords as a free download. Or 99c will get you a whole Armwrestling the Dead. Sci-fi in mutant form, by me.
Tuesday
I think the two people I admire most in the world right now are the little old lady who, regardless of the weather, always seems to be out walking her dog, and the guy who picks litter up in the shopping park who I pass most mornings on my way to work. They're just there, doing what they do, day in day out; temporary yet perpetual cogs in the universe, burning like stars who never think about death.
To me, individual human beings are a peculiar thing. Or maybe it's not just me. We're all beter at handling groups than individuals, surely? Whether through racial or other stereotyping, it's easier to classify a mass of people, for better or worse, than it is to understand, or at least comprehend, an individual. A lot less effort is involved. The difference between reading the blurb (forming an opinion based on someone else's distilled version) and reading the book.
So people are naturally lazy? The old lady and the litter picker certainly aren't.
Just you then. And me.
Enough of that though. I'm having a birthday and you're all invited...to read stuff and buy books! Yes. Go on; it's only once a year. Take a longer look and engage your brain. Seek out rather than wait to receive. Point a knowing finger at the pubishing industry and say, 'I know what you're about.' For you are being sold to. You are marketing's bitch. You walk blindly into fast food outlets and you munch the same old unheathly crap. And then you come back for more. Worse, you leave a trail of discarded packaging in the car park. You're crapulous. Little old ladies do more leg miles than you.
No, really. I'm 48 on the 23rd. I've survived largely intact thus far. I go a little crazy on occasion and I've allowed far too many opportunities to pass me by, but overall I've resisted the compulsion to create a black hole. I think life is funny. I think individuals are important, even if no-one recognises them. Plus I'm skint.
Looking at my previous post from last month I describe Skidmore Shuffledeck, the MC in my latest novel, Spare Parts For Spaceships, as non-violent. Approaching 40k words in his character has developed somewhat. There are now two sides to Skidmore, or even two Skidmores - I haven't figured it out yet. He may even not be human. What's for sure is the more I get to know him the more complex he gets. He has become real to me, as I hope he will to the reader. He has become an individual and thus difficult to brand and box. His cog will turn as mine and one by one the stars will go out.
If you let them.
To me, individual human beings are a peculiar thing. Or maybe it's not just me. We're all beter at handling groups than individuals, surely? Whether through racial or other stereotyping, it's easier to classify a mass of people, for better or worse, than it is to understand, or at least comprehend, an individual. A lot less effort is involved. The difference between reading the blurb (forming an opinion based on someone else's distilled version) and reading the book.
So people are naturally lazy? The old lady and the litter picker certainly aren't.
Just you then. And me.
Enough of that though. I'm having a birthday and you're all invited...to read stuff and buy books! Yes. Go on; it's only once a year. Take a longer look and engage your brain. Seek out rather than wait to receive. Point a knowing finger at the pubishing industry and say, 'I know what you're about.' For you are being sold to. You are marketing's bitch. You walk blindly into fast food outlets and you munch the same old unheathly crap. And then you come back for more. Worse, you leave a trail of discarded packaging in the car park. You're crapulous. Little old ladies do more leg miles than you.
No, really. I'm 48 on the 23rd. I've survived largely intact thus far. I go a little crazy on occasion and I've allowed far too many opportunities to pass me by, but overall I've resisted the compulsion to create a black hole. I think life is funny. I think individuals are important, even if no-one recognises them. Plus I'm skint.
Looking at my previous post from last month I describe Skidmore Shuffledeck, the MC in my latest novel, Spare Parts For Spaceships, as non-violent. Approaching 40k words in his character has developed somewhat. There are now two sides to Skidmore, or even two Skidmores - I haven't figured it out yet. He may even not be human. What's for sure is the more I get to know him the more complex he gets. He has become real to me, as I hope he will to the reader. He has become an individual and thus difficult to brand and box. His cog will turn as mine and one by one the stars will go out.
If you let them.
Words Are the Gravy On the Mashed Potato of Life
...there may be lumps in either or both.
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