Seasonal Variance

That's it then. 145 thousand words, 380 manuscript pages, a finished first draft five days before the end of the four months I allocated for the project on the 5th of May.

Looking back there were not that many onsets of writers' despair, when one is convinced that the output is puerile rubbish.

Indeed, puerile rubbish Seasonal Variance may well be, but at the moment I quite like it. 

As I indicated last week I shall upload the work to Authonomy, fully aware of the futility of such a step, at least in terms of reaching the goal of publication. But there could be... possibly... some feedback.

Authonomists... or others who sample only an initial chapter before writing a comment intended only to draw attention to their own literary efforts... will probably be fewer in number and less kind than they were in respect of Golden Dawn. Good! I would prefer to be seen as a bit outrageous, sesquipedalian in spades, unapologetic in my detours through obscure meanders of a 'roman fleuve', overindulgent in a prose equivalent of cinematic gratuitous nudity.

And now? What's next?  I reckon there might be one or two of my older original screenplays worthy of novelization. 

Unemployed I may be, but idle? Not!