Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Free as a bird*

Mes Amis

I never realised how good it would feel to be free of Sam Bryson. Really. Much as I've loved writing about him in the pages of AHMM and how much I've been trying to build him over the years, being forced to say goodbyeee to the introspective gloom-meister has been refreshing. Yes, I'm well underway with the new manuscript, the *one that will sell* as I have taken to calling it with a degree of naive optimism. Its based on an old Sam idea but now that I've placed a fresh new character in there (who shares a few traits with Mr Bryson) it feels like its got an energy it wouldn't have had before.

I'll tell you what it is; its the thrill of getting to know someone knew. This new bastard is pretty much a blank slate to me. I'm finding out things about him I never knew when I started and I'm making sure he never tells me any more than I need to know.

So for all my griping, I'm really enjoying the freedom of starting all over again. Except its put getting money off for a while. Still, I met a grumpy fella at Harrogate who told me that, "These crime writers, they never produce art because none of them are suffering for it. They all have money." So, hey, this has gotta mean I'm gonna produce something worthwhile...

Anyway, mes amis, that's all for now

Au revoir


*Ray (and all the others), this header is in no way a reference to Little Russ.


Ray said...

Course it's a reference to Little Russ. Everything's a reference to Little Russ. He can't bear to be cooped up in those stuffy old pants. And besides, from what I hear, you're keen on pulling out your pants pockets and doing your "elephant impression".

Russel said...

Dammit, someone's been blabbing my secrets again... who was it? Talk, Banks, talk!

But I'll tell ya, that impression goes down great at philosophy conferences...

Jennifer Jordan said...

'stuffy, old pants'

What is happy in that habitat beyond mold spores and mice?

And 'that impression goes down great' at conferences? You will be popular with the ladies in Chicago, you rogue.

that girl said...

pink pants.
oh yeah, "they're not yours"