Rat Old Sailor Man!
Saturday morning: 10:53 a.m.
I received a communication this morning from the sensei and reverend who is now settled in Phoenix, concerning the press reports that getting knocked out could lead to an increased risk of developing Parkinson's. Although the sensei was brought up in that idyllic, Brigadoon-like little Scottish village called Maryhill (what a nice name!), where the only trouble he could recall was an argument over who was going to get first prize at primary school for the flower arranging competition, he thought a bit of the old ultra violence was maybe hard wired into to some young joes, and that what you weren't evolved to do was sit around smoking and frying up dead animals! And he might be right. Or:
I biffs em and buffs em
An' always outroughs em
An' none of em gets nowhere.
I'm fond of the lyrics of that song. Anyone know where it's from?
By the way, for the people who land on this bloggy looking for info on agents ... I couldn't get Simon Trewin of PFD to look at three chapters of the sensei's very good crime book. But I sent him an email and he did get back to me after a wee reminder. Considering the amound of emails he must get, that's really quite good.
If I can't get an agent for the sensei (but I will!), what's the point of me writing a crime book? It'll take a long while and I've already got seven unpublished books (at least!). I've hardly got time to work on the plotline for this one, but I hope to have it finished by the end of June. Then I'm off to the hut. Then, I'll leave the plan and if I'm still going to write, I might work on a script. Lots of writers can write better prose than me, but I'm taking my hat off to nobody when it comes to writing dialogue. I've always thought it was better to write books that I couldn't get published than scripts I couldn't get produced, but tempis fugit. Scripts are faster and you can write them easier in your head.
I hope everyone is going to have as good as Saturday as I'm going to have!
I received a communication this morning from the sensei and reverend who is now settled in Phoenix, concerning the press reports that getting knocked out could lead to an increased risk of developing Parkinson's. Although the sensei was brought up in that idyllic, Brigadoon-like little Scottish village called Maryhill (what a nice name!), where the only trouble he could recall was an argument over who was going to get first prize at primary school for the flower arranging competition, he thought a bit of the old ultra violence was maybe hard wired into to some young joes, and that what you weren't evolved to do was sit around smoking and frying up dead animals! And he might be right. Or:
I biffs em and buffs em
An' always outroughs em
An' none of em gets nowhere.
I'm fond of the lyrics of that song. Anyone know where it's from?
By the way, for the people who land on this bloggy looking for info on agents ... I couldn't get Simon Trewin of PFD to look at three chapters of the sensei's very good crime book. But I sent him an email and he did get back to me after a wee reminder. Considering the amound of emails he must get, that's really quite good.
If I can't get an agent for the sensei (but I will!), what's the point of me writing a crime book? It'll take a long while and I've already got seven unpublished books (at least!). I've hardly got time to work on the plotline for this one, but I hope to have it finished by the end of June. Then I'm off to the hut. Then, I'll leave the plan and if I'm still going to write, I might work on a script. Lots of writers can write better prose than me, but I'm taking my hat off to nobody when it comes to writing dialogue. I've always thought it was better to write books that I couldn't get published than scripts I couldn't get produced, but tempis fugit. Scripts are faster and you can write them easier in your head.
I hope everyone is going to have as good as Saturday as I'm going to have!
posted by Hotboy at 10:53 AM
2 Comments:
I thought the lyric could've been Ian Dury and the Blockheads, but google tells me otherwise.
Ion: I yam what I yam. Popeye
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