23rd February 2019
So I just got savagely overtaken by an Audi. You know the deal. It was one of those steroidal Audi’s that started life as a Volkswagen Passat, then got all dressed up in a puffa jacket and garish trainers, hot for either track or A road. I can live with the overtaking, but what’s with the chip on their shoulders? Is it that deep down in the bowls of their turbochargers, Audi’s know that they are the children of Volkswagens and not the offspring of Bavarian Motor Works?
Regardless, I was left sucking tail pipes.
While I’m on one with the cars though, I will just crowbar a moment of your time to let you know that I recently categorised each of the four gospels according to their corresponding supercar. We shall do them in correct order;
Matthew. He’s the Porsche. Rugged and dependable, he’s got less on show but likely delivers more horsepower than his rivals at any point along the rev band.
Mark. Now we are in a Lamborghini, full of sound and wonder. When my pastor set a date for my baptism and asked me how I felt, I told him that I wanted to climb into a Lamborghini and stamp on the accelerator down the entirety of the M1. I asked him in return if he knew anyone who might work the key safe at a Lambo dealership. He thought about it but shook his head.
Luke. He’s cruising around like a McLaren. Of course he is, all that precision and tireless engineering, he knows a McLaren better than anyone.
John. Hello, Ferrari!
So there you have it, plus some apologies if and when needed. To clarify, when I said stamp on the accelerator down the M1, I did of course mean achieve the occasional deregulated speed limit of 70mph (!?) and remain there for the duration of the average speed checks. Now I think that is enough time talking about cars that I have never driven, so onwards.
The Brine in Me, as a whole novel top to toe, minus the dreariness of formatting, is good to go. Now that might mean that it accelerates into the public (!?) like one of the supercars mentioned above, or it might mean that it coughs its way towards the nearest available gutter and remains there like road kill until the morning. I am excited to find out. If you are excited to have an opinion either way, then get on down to my email and we’ll slot you in an advance copy and appropriate places to leave your feelings known.
I have come to terms with the fact that I am going to write a follow up to The Meifod Claw. It will be a Christian idolatry comedy, a most appalling revenge upon the first novel called The Impossible Possibility.
More immediately than that, a question regarding administration led to me having to think of The Brine in Me in terms of other things that it might be similar to. I asked if they meant like a supercar, then told them an original Ford GT 40. But they didn’t mean that, so I told them to go watch some Lovejoy. I did the same and lost a whole afternoon. Continuity didn’t seem high on the list of production. In fact, I left it thinking that The Brine in Me isn’t much like Lovejoy at all. So I’m no help, then or now, but you’ll soon be able to buy a copy and find out what it’s like on its own terms. My last try would be to say that it might be like a long form version of any Jim Croce number that you might care to put on when we’re done here. I would like to leave you with a link to the Guy Clark song, Boats to Build, as that might be closer to Derek’s own heart, but the version on YouTube is shocking. Perhaps in the absence of that I’d direct you to Jethro Tull and his song, Thick as a Brick. I like to direct people that way as a standard answer to many things.
Actually, I will just speak on those things which were of Derek Gainsborough’s own heart, his own succour. It ran a conceptual parallel narrative (!?) that intrudes on the main narrative in the skewed telling of how Derek would unspool the living memory of his life, if he were sat with you and you’d asked. He’s not going to do so with notes or forethought of the important bits. So I made no notes either and kept no timeline of his existence. This pleased my editor greatly, but she understood as she’s been with Derek for a few years as well. Praise is due to Katherine for her insight and the care of her cutlass.
A double thumbs up to my cover designer as well. He’s called James, and he’s from Essex like me, hence both thumbs up. James, you have been tremendous. People do ask what it is like working with others when it’s your words they’re going off? You find great people and it’s great.
JW Bowe xx
If you enjoyed this blog, and you’re impatient for something else to read, feel free to bunch up close to a free sample chapter from JW Bowe’s debut novel, The Meifod Claw, which is available now at Amazon, iTunes and on various other international eReaders.
You can also double up your sampling by following this link to the forthcoming fictional autobiography of The Meifod Claw’s wheelchair-in-chief, Derek Gainsborough. His life and apologies will be released this year under the sail of The Brine in Me.
JW Bowe can also be unearthed on YouTube and in various other ways through the Serious Biscuits homepage. Scroll down for further links, action and disclaimers.
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