I’m still here. I’m tired, I’m full of snot, I’m grouchy [Is any of this news? - Ed], but I’m still here. Hah. But lurking, obviously. Can one lurk on one’s own blog? [It takes solipsism to a new level of affectation, certainly].
Anyway, The Novel. I re-read the entire thing.
Parts of it I like a great deal. These include the banter between the policemen, the descriptions of weather and landscape, and the double-helix plot architecture. Both the detective and the main suspect follow mirrored arcs of ‘story’ – aha, I am now pondering how much to give away, just to make this point comprehensible. I’m very proud of it, in any case. If you aren’t that bothered about plot-’splosions, I will discuss this further.
Parts of it suck. The sex scene (ah hah hah hah) for a start. The pathologist, who has already switched gender, height and ethnicity twice, totally sucks. I am thinking I do not need a cool pathologist right now in any case, and I may well amputate this character down to a mere stump. I am convinced that the identity of the culprit is so screamingly obvious from chapter one it gives me hives. I am deeply unaware of what a detective sergeant is and is not allowed to do of his or her own bat, and I do not know how long it takes for DNA and similar results to come back from the lab (I am however aware that CSI is taking the piss).
Parts of it make me nervous. I, for example, adore the fact the entire thing is riddled with references to two John Donne poems. I also have a fairly massive crush of my own on the Romantic Interest, but feel that my own taste in these matters is highly idiosyncratic and most people will look at this character and say to themselves ‘what? Who is this boring person? Why isn’t she pretty? Why isn’t she feisty? Why isn’t she in her early twenties and perky as a basket of kittens? How could anyone fancy her? How can DS Jiro fancy her when he has this other pretty and feisty and young and pouty female vying for his attention?’
And the whole thing needs to increase in verbiage by about 75%.
I suppose I had better get back to it then.
[No, no one's going to rescue you. Get back to your galley, slave.]