It was a day of achievement today: after kissing Luscious goodbye (there are advantages to undertaking a residency within driving distance of home- a visit from your wonderful wife is one of them), I embarked upon my first engagement of the fortnight– a forty-five minute interview by the participants of the KSP Press Club, led by my old pal and fellow author Melinda Tognini.
My press desk. How cool is that?
For an hour I was grilled by a merciless team of flint-eyed investigate reporters about my literary influences, whether ideas drawn from real life or fiction are more worthy, and exactly which iteration of the Guardians of the Galaxy was my favourite (What can I say? Two comic book geeks in a room: we bonded…)
Don’t let those adorable smiles fool you. Gimlet-eyed journalistic assassins, one and all!
One of my greatest joys as a writer is working with kids– with so many other, easier forms of entertainment available to them, you know that any kids who takes the time and effort to become involved in literature is there because s/he absolutely loves the stuff. That passion is palpable, and the questions and interests they reveal are usually fearless, and incredibly insightful. This was no different, and in the end, I had to be gently reminded that everybody had other things to get on with today, or I’d still be there, now. And still comparing Yondu Udonta to Charlie 27, and explaining how chicken’s eyes work. It was that kind of session…
Once I’d reluctantly retreated to my cabin, I turned my attention to Song of the Water. There’s a point in every story where you can feel that the narrative has reached the final turn, and is beginning to sniff out the end. I hit that point with this story late yesterday, and was able to bring it in to a conclusion at a slice over 3000 words. It was my only writing of the day, so to be able to conclude something was reward for not moving on to more Ghost Tracks words. Tomorrow. In the meantime, there was just enough time to get the first words down on the next story, and a character I’ve been fascinated with for years.
From pages recovered from a fire in the office of Colonel Bull, Governor, Melbourne Gaol, 24 May 1892.
They called me mad, and I called me mad, and damn us, we were all correct.
The Ballad of Albert Williams will focus on the compelling Frederick Bailey Deeming. One day I will write a biography of the man, but for now, tomorrow will involve furthering the action of Ghost Tracks, and diving into my research materials to thread out the narrative of this alluring lunatic.
Until then, a completed story means beery reward and boxing videos: time for me to explore the career of The Prince, Naseem Hamed.