I won’t say more than that at the moment because a. I don’t want to jinx it, and b. I don’t want to give anything away (it’s taken me 10 long years to actually come up with something that has real meat to it, not just an elephants leg in a kebab house).

Perhaps I should muse some more on here about how I’m trying to think things out in my head a little bit.  That might help.  I have a lead character, a betrayer and probably two friends of the lead character.  It’s just at the moment I’ve got a stick person and they don’t have life or shape to them at the moment.  I know the sex of two of them, and I’m rather undecided on the other two.  Hmmm… I wonder if there’s an idiots guide to creating characters.

The introductions had already begun, carefully moving about the room, conveying who each person is, and why they are here.  A lot of nervous smiles and a wash of pride for every person who has gotten to this room today.  Yet she sits, and she watches and she waits.  When it is her turn, she conveys an authority that does not appear to be hers to give.  There is something in her voice, like she has to boast of her background and what it is that she does, like she is somehow more important than every other person in the room.  There is something about her that appears false, that she is something less than she is.

The hours tick by and she remains ramrod straight in her chair.  Her looks suggest she is at odds with the room, like they do not deserve to be there as much as she does, what rights do they have.  When the break comes and she stands to leave the room, her clothes give her away more.  Clean and tidy, and carefully put together, but no brands are on show.  When she returns, she perches on her seat and opens her lunch, the observer of her behaviour notes what it is and how she nibbles her food.  It reminds the observer of a squirrel, holding a nut in both hands and carefully nibbling away.

1. This course reaffirms my belief that studying English literature was the thing to do. I just get it. I’m not struggling with the terms or what they mean and I love it!

2. Everyone there seems to want to do the same thing as me, namely, write. So, you would think that in a room of my peers I would feel at home. I didn’t. I felt outrage. Part of me seems to think this is a competition and they are a threat to my success. I shouldn’t feel like this, but I do and it worries me.

I shall perhaps explore this in another post when I have had a chance to digest what I’m thinking and feeling.

Where do I want to be? I want to be something that right now I’m not.  I want to write, and be taken seriously, I want freedom of expression, and not to be bound by the typical constraints that tie all of us down.  Now I know, that “little girls who say ‘I want’ do not get”, we sod it, I know what I want, and the only way I’m going to get it, is to reach out and grasp it, firmly, with both hands.  So this is what I’m going to do.

I am giving notice, (to myself mainly, as I appear to be the only one that is remotely interested), that I am going to make a success out of writing, to turn it into a career that makes me proud of my achievements.  I am not going to do it in ten years time.  I’m going to start now, this year.  I really am going to turn things around.

Ho hum, I really should get my writing pen out and try to do some writing.  Perhaps I could be laughed at and ridiculed by people for writing an absolutely awful novel (this is me I’m talking about, not anyone else, I’m just suspecting anything I write would be utterly appaling).

He went un-noticed in amongst the noon crowds. They were swirling around him as if he weren’t really there. The vinegar smell of the chips drifting down the street, his eyes momentarily closing as the acidic air stung them. He was not there among them now, not as they see each other, not that they care to. When his eyes re-opened, they appeared tired, and worn, as if he had seen things nobody should see in their life.

He wasn’t there to be seen. He was there to blend, to wait. I could see him, but then I knew what to look for. It was the fetid smell that lingered around him, those who came close would put it down to rotting rubbish, but I knew. I knew that smell, it was a mixture of fear, of pain, of huger and of death. A chill ran down my spine. The sky that was blue only moments ago were now rolling with thick, voluminous cloud, not the cotton candy type either, but the ominous type that precedes a soul drenching downpour.

Whilst I had no idea why he was there, I knew the outcome could not be good for whoever was involved. And whoever it was was fast approaching. I felt the first fat drops of water fall upon my skin. They felt warm, I expected a cold wave to wash over me, but the droplets were warm. I opened my hand and let the rain fall into my waiting hand, the drops collecting and merging to form a small glassy pool on my hand. As I brought my hand closer to examine the water, there was a rushing movement in front of me. I had let my guard down.

“You have no claim to be here, curiosity will cause you nothing but harm” His voice was soft and devoid of any emotion. He was old enough to know wiser.

I shuddered, though not from the rain that was now soaking me, I knew I shouldn’t be here. I had slipped out without anyone noticing, I thought I was being clever, but now I realised I was wrong. An icy spear of fear rushed through my body, routing me to the ground, I could not find the words to respond, I knew that by not doing so, I was being disrespectful.

“The others know you are here, they will come for you, I can offer you no protection. Your curiosity will not go un-punished. Do you understand me?” He said only to re-iterate his point.

“y-y-yes” I stammered, which was more than I thought I could manage. My stupidity was now washing over me in waves of nausea mixing with the fear.

He flinched; something had caught his senses, already heightened by the steady down pour of rain. He looked back at me and told me to leave. My instincts told me to find somewhere to hide, trouble was coming and it was no longer a game.

Anyway, I thought I would get to the point of the post. So I’m on a writing course and I should be writing, and clearly I haven’t really been writing (apart from the three really short stories whilst sitting through the dullest. meeting. ever! So I thought I’d write a review of a book I finished reading last week.

Sign of the Cross, by someone who should know better.

Firstly, what kind of planet was this yank on? He starts off with an archaeology professor with the worlds worst English accent (that disappears as fast as Keanu Reeves’ in Dracula for those who care to know), who comes from that great English University, Dover. DOVER?!? seriously? I could understand that he wouldn’t go for Oxford or Cambridge never having been to either (at this time I’m not sure if he’s even been to England) for fear of getting it wrong, but DOVER? He describes it as this wonderful place, and the building so beautiful etc. Seriously. Dover. is. a. shithole.

You wouldn’t mind so much but the author then goes on to say how great his book is, and how it would have been better had he left in all the bits he wanted to etc. Woah there sport! The book is about 300 pages too long. I was drifting off through several sections because you just couldn’t get to the point. I have read some awful books in my time, but yours was simply laughable. Did you decide to jump on the Jesus approach before or after you’d read the Da Vinci code? The ending was a let down. It needed to be explosive. You needed to have something like Raymond Khoudry in the Templar Legacy. You really did promise so much and utterly failed to deliver.

The Roman thing could have been so promising. You could have blown everyone out of the water, but it just felt like a poor quality Da Vinci code ripoff. Instead of the blood of christ, you went for the blood of someone who purported to have killed christ. Was it a bit too much for you to think that Christ wasn’t what the bible says? It was not a page turner, it was a page burner. I could most definitely put it down as I read another book whilst still trying to read that one.

Ok back to the traveller. I finished reading it this week, I bought it before I saw lots of reviews about it, or the underground station plastered with adverts for it. I thought it looked interesting. Finally picked it up and well I couldn’t put it down. I don’t know why. I love the idea, I loved the theory behind it, but damn it, it really wasn’t *that* good. The prose was great, right up until the main protagonist left the UK to go to America, after that it got watery, the detail was gone the raw grittiness and the description just lost it’s basis.

You’ll sit there and wonder all the way through what makes each side so special, is one wrong or is it right? Who really are the bad guys in all of this? As far as I can tell there are only one set of people with special powers, the travellers themselves. What do the Tabular do that makes them so frightening? In essence, what is the big deal?

As I said, I really did enjoy the book, and it’s haunted me since I put it down, a search of Waterstones didn’t yeald anything like it. It’ll have the same grip as the Matrix did on screen, only I hope that it doesn’t have the same affect that the Matrix did, i.e. after the first film, it was so over hyped they got worse rather than better.

I read in the Observer this morning that the author is a mystery, his publishers have not met him, he’s to become a legindary recluse. Does this mean we now have someone other than Belle Du Jour to while away our time wondering about? OK I’m taking it a bit far, but you get my meaning. Perhaps the author’s reclusiveness will detract from his writing, making people rave about a book that’s pretty good at best, possibly to become over rated at worst.

Such is life. I’ve got some new books to read now… I’ll probably read in the next week:
Karin Slaughter – Faithless
Dean Koontz – Velocity
Jack Kerley – The Death Collectors.

I may also get bored at some point today and sort out the leaning tower of books into author order…

This book was good, it looked good from the outset, more of a return to her old style, but it was sloppy, it wasn’t put together well, the narative was all over the place and well lets not get into revenge issues that she keeps dragging up. It was good to see Marino taking care of himself, that Benton was well and still in contact, but the overall plot, was weak, and the ending was poor. Does the word closure not appear in her notes anymore… If I were her editor I’d send it back and demand the ending have more bulk to it… I know I’m not and maybe my new job has given me a critical eye but even so… not her best but still better than the last one.