Bring out the flute bearer, it feels like summer might just be on the way! It’s been sunny today, complete with those off-key symptoms that people exude in the sun, like getting a ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ instead of one or another of the other hands gestures that kick about from autumn till a day like today. It’s enough to keep me inside working on my Q&A answers.
It’s a funny business, talking about yourself and feeling like you’re answerable. Or hoping that you’re being answerable, whichever of the two I was trying to be. I don’t think that I really knew, so I don’t imagine that it went very well. Anna is going through the raw footage at this very moment so expect to see the results online before I’ve been told. She says it keeps me honest, even though I keep making clear that my job with fiction is to make things up as much as possible, and that’s as rarely in step with reality as I can possibly hope to keep it. And that’s a hard process to retro fit into an easy answer. Which in all honesty is the reason I have given the world Cave Mind; in simple conversation with Arthur I can offer a better example of my mental process (good for you) and swill through the sort of chaff that leads to future plays and novels. In all honesty, Cave Mind probably isn’t for you at all, but if its application informs or entertains then Arthur and I are most lucky and humble. I’m off to see him in a little while as it happens. There’s some pedalo business we gotta talk over, and that’s God’s honest. I’ll test the water, maybe break out the recording equipment. Not that I only have to rely on Arthur for reasoned conversation, there’s been an upsurge to the value of two humans with an interest in talking with me in recorded conversation. One is my new bookbinding obsession, Alan Binder. That only half of his name is real is not the point, not compared to my steeling of nerves at the thought of holding down a reasoned conversation with a true artisan. Small details, like when a keen interest spills into alienating effervescence on my part, are worrying me. In the end I know that if it goes poorly I’ll make the whole thing up and release it as transcript, but I’m keen as mustard to get it right, to ask the questions that are correct for the audience, to not get thrown out of his workshop. Especially as his wife made me the greatest coffee that I’ve had outside of the small group of associates that I’d entrust to make a decent cup of coffee.
If you have any questions that you’d like for me to ask Alan, or would like to know how I like my coffee, shoot your interest over to the contactable linkages at www.seriousbiscuits.com and I’ll do my best to remember the gist of it. If you’re interest is the period of time where cow hide lost its popularity to goat hide for restoration purposes in antiquarian libraries, I’m already all over getting that answered.
Elsewhere this afternoon I took in a golf course and an ex-communicated quarry on a wander to get the next five years ordered in the narrative of The Brine in Me. Obviously being human, all thought was sucked into the vacuum of the golfers’ incredible apparel. A hole in one, a shunt above par (if that’s the term). Ever been tempted to run out onto the fairway and kick a golf ball like I wasn’t this afternoon? They’re not really even balls, they’ve got dimples so far as I can tell.
Don’t trust me though, I write fiction for a very factual reason.
Glory hallelujah, its time to spread the news.
JW Bowe xx
P.S. Anna urges me to point out that while I’m going on about fiction, The Meifod Claw is now returned from its final check and formatting with the editor and will be doing its things soon. Unnatural things… (John’s exaggeration).
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