Making Headway.

I’ve mentioned my writing projects before - though I’m keeping them private for now. They’ve finally started making real headway, which is exciting after working on them, on and off, for quite some time. There were stretches that felt heavy, like a weight I couldn’t quite shift. But I pushed through, and now I’m about where I hoped to be.

I’d planned to reach this point about a year ago, but the project grew - became more expansive than I’d imagined. That’s the nature of creative work, I suppose. It unfolds in its own time.

Soon comes the part I’ve been longing for: the enjoyable stages. They’ll take time, but I know I’ll love every moment.

Unusually for me, I’ve been handwriting these stories. It’s surprising how many people find it difficult to write by hand for any length of time. With computers and screens everywhere, we’re all out of practice. But my handwriting has improved, and so has my stamina. These days, I can fill page after page with little effort or with my hand cramping.

I do get through pens and notebooks, but the tale is really coming together. And you never know — one day, it might even be seen by others.

Big-noting and Small Talking.

I once met an author who spent an extraordinary amount of time speaking about themself. I would have said it was just the highlights of their apparent illustrious career, but it went on and on and on. Shortlisted for a few local awards, one one and lost a couple - but not their fault. Always hard done by and as a result of vendettas against them.

They hadn't actually published anything of real note, and I hadn't read any of their work. Or so I thought.

They then mentioned a book, quite an obscure book that they had recently ghost-written. I had to bite my tongue, as it was a book I had actually read - an historical book on a subject close to my heart.  It was awful. It was, in fact, the worst written book I had ever encountered. Poor grammar, badly structured, repetitive, with whole paragraphs that seemed to convey the same thing several times, and obvious spelling errors.  And the editing was even worse. (Yes, they had self-edited, I believe.)

There is no reason to believe this author remembers me at all, and we have no current connections. Even though, I doubt they would recognise themself from the above. Someone told me recently that they hadn't changed, although the minor glories were now long in the past.

As they spoke I didn't say anything, just smiled and nodded with the others who were standing there. But they continued to preach their prowess, name-dropping at will. Oh, and they said a few things which shouldn't be said in public.

On the other hand, a few months ago I managed to listen to Charlie Higson. Not only is he a respected author, but a very funny comedian and fine actor who appeared in The Fast Show, one of my all time favourite comedy shows. A show that I watched repeatedly when I lived in Japan, and then again when I returned to Australia.

Charlie was funny, engaging, self-deprecating, and humble. I managed to catch-up with him afterwards, and thank him for his time. Told him how much I appreciated his work and then left before I could annoy him.  He was gracious, and thanked me.  He said he was grateful the Fast Show had been able to touch and entertain so many people.

I know who I would want to listen to again, or purchase from. Which reminds me, I need to go and watch The Fast Show again.

It's gripped! It's sorted! 

Let's Fast Show!

Andy Remic

I haven't been able to write this post for some time. I've wanted to, but just haven't been able to get the words down.

My friend, Andy Remic, passed away just over a month ago. It wasn't unexpected, although it was sooner than we'd thought.

It was a couple of coincidences that brought me into Andy's orbit. We shared several interests, and both loved writing. Andy, of course, was a well know SF and Fantasy writer with a string of credits to his name. I'm just a guy who sells an occasional short story. But Andy treated me like a peer. He not only taught me a great deal but asked my advice and opinions. Due to circumstances, Andy didn't write for a few years. But when he did return to writing, with a short story for Grimdark Magazine, I was thrilled when he asked me to crit it for him. I was really pleased he incorporated most of my suggestions and edits.

We talked of collaborating on some fiction, but time got away from us. Andy started writing a script - I have the early draft here somewhere - and was planning to film a series of short films featuring us both. But in the past few years, Andy's focus was on film-making. He made a series of documentaries on the early days of computer games, mostly centred around the Spectrum, one of his great loves. Writing wasn't completely abandoned, though, as he had started writing another novel, incomplete at his passing.

We weren't able to see each other too often in the past couple of years, mostly due to the pandemic and especially with his vulnerability due to his medical conditions. We planned to catch up, but it was close to two years before I saw him one final time.

I was privileged and thrilled to be invited to his wedding a few months ago. I think like many people, I was surprised at his changed appearance and physicality due to his illness. We managed to grab 20 minutes to chat at the reception. And that was fantastic. We didn't speak about his illness at all, except when he mentioned his discomfort. We spoke about life, film, Philip K Dick, teaching and writing. And beyond his appearance, there was an even bigger change evident.

Andy was a straight-talker. He had no time for people who were dishonest or messed him around, and he could be quick to see red. There were a couple of times at conventions, for example, where I'd have a quiet chat to try and calm him. And ever since I've known Andy, there were certain events and people towards which he had anger.

But at his wedding he was the calmest, and most serene I'd ever seen him. He seemed accepting of much of what had happened to him. I sensed he had forgiven much and felt comfortable. He told me that he was progressing with his new novel, and that he was in the right headspace to be writing. He told me he was past the anger he had held. And he told me it was all due to his new wife, Linda.

I don't know Linda anywhere near as well as I knew Andy (and that wasn't anywhere near as well as I would have liked.) but I like her a lot. She was good for Andy, and I got the impression he was good for her. 

Andy told me how much Linda meant to him, that she was his rock and had eased the anger from inside him. He told me how special she was, and that he didn't know where he would be without her.

Don't get me wrong, he also spent time talking about his boys, how much they mean to him, and how proud he was of them. But when he was talking about Linda, it sounded almost as if she had saved him.

And my heart aches to see Linda going through all this.

Andy was my friend and my writing mentor. Just yesterday, my Facebook memory was:

Despite his nagging, just spent a fantastic afternoon in the company of Andy Remic. Talked books, writing, publishing and music amongst other topics.

Once again I leave feeling inspired and having learned so much.

Thanks, Andy.

Yeah, he always nagged me to write a novel - sometimes loudly and in front of other people. He always said good things about my words.

Tomorrow is his funeral, and although invited, I can't go for reasons beyond my control. And I'm absolutely gutted. I want to be there to remember, to celebrate his life, to mourn his untimely passing, to wish him Godspeed, and to be with others who feel the same way.

I'll be doing all that, but from the comfort of my home.

Farewell, Andy. Sleep well.