One of the real delights in being a novelist – in part because it’s such a rare occurrence it never gets old – is the completion of a book. And I just did. Complete a book. Whoopie!
One of the questions I often get is “how long did it take?”, which really is impossible to answer. I started the book over ten years ago, sometime in the mid noughts. But that was the first incarnation. Then I started playing with it, changing a great deal of its structure, not liking the result, and then abandoned it. Since then I wrote and published another novel, A Dark and Promised Land.
It’s funny how we have to learn the same critical life lessons again and again and again. This isn’t a function of aluminum pots or heavy drug use, nor is it a function of subtlety of the lesson or an obtuse personal nature. Something else is at work that makes a person slip up again and again.
Human weakness is undoubtedly a big part of this, as well as social pressure, ego, and the media. But before I carry on with this analysis, I suppose I should describe more clearly what exactly I’m babbling about.
A little bit of everything, and why life is a dish best served a little burnt. A photo essay of a single weekend trip to Portland Island and back.
Not a boat dog.