The Floodgates Have Opened!

Aha!!  I knew if I pestered the Muse long enough, she'd come round!!

I do have a Muse.  A lot of people are sceptical about the existence of Muses, but there it is.  I have a Muse.  Her name is Irene - after Miss Adler, 'The Woman' of Sherlock Holmes fame who had loose morals and the brain of a genius, rather than after Mrs Roberts, the recovering alcoholic of Home and Away fame.  "Strewth, dahl, I've been off the grog for years now, cobber!" - etc.  Yer flamin' galah.

Anyway.  Irene is a very skittish Muse.  Sometimes she'll knuckle down and let me write like a thing possessed.  Frequently, however, she will throw a strop, pack her bags and jet off to the Bahamas for wild nights of cocktails by the pool and lascivious carryings-on with random nameless waiters.  This leaves me right in the lurch and the result has been the complete abandonment of a myriad stories through the ages.

Yes.  Yes, I have created a blame character for times when the Writer's Block is upon me.  What of it?!  Anyway, she's got her business head on now (she's like the Muse version of Worzel Gummidge), so we're good to go.

As I reported on Wednesday, I was having trouble in linking bits of my story together.  I have had much success now and have even finished the chapter!  Yes!  Good old Irene!!  More amendments and general tweakings will be made later on tonight, and first drafts will be emailed over the weekend to anyone who wants to read it - requests to the usual address, please, all feedback is most welcome.

Some writers hate their main characters.  Ian Fleming couldn't stand James Bond (fair point there, though), Arthur Conan Doyle couldn't stand Sherlock Holmes and reportedly did a little jig of delight when Sherlock and Moriarty plunged to their death during a proper man-fight.  I don't think any self-respecting fan of The Goon Show would read about Moriarty falling off a cliff and *not* instantly think "You've got to go 'oooowwww'!!" 

I, however, really like my main character.  I do.  He's a good guy.  I've developed a best friend for him, as well.  I was going to have him as a loner and a bit of a grump-bag, but he's got a pal now, and he's much more cheerful.  The best friend is named Jonathan Bailey, but is nicknamed Tiny, due to the fact that he's six foot six.  They have a lovely little bromance going on.  They're going on a date at the local pub in Chapter Two, right after Alex meets Tracey.

Incredibly, there has been a bit of interest already about the will-they-won't-they nature of Alex and Tracey's relationship.  I am not, have never been, and have no intention of being a romance writer.  I can't be doing with all that stuff and nonsense.  It irritates me.  Why can't people be more like "Look.  How about it?" "Yes, that'd be spiffing, thank you." "Right.  Okay then!" and then just get on with it, rather than all of this moping about with faces like slapped arses and saying ridiculous things about moonlight in eyes?!? 

No, I don't have a romantic fibre in my being.  Having said all of that, though, it seems as though people are already rooting for them, and if there's one thing I have no objections to, it's writing to please my audience!!  Giving the public what they want, that's what I'm all about!!  In your *face*, poets!!  So.  I'm not promising the romance of the century, but there may be a moment here and there to keep my chick-flick rom-com loving pals happy.  Maybe.  You'll have to read it.

Keen readers of this four-day-old blog may remember me promising on Wednesday that I might post a sneak preview of Chapter One here.  Well.  After a great deal of deliberation, I decided that it might be best if I posted a bit of dialogue.  After all, I can tell you everything about Alex Charnley and Robert McAllister, and tell you just how much they hate each other, but it might not work quite as well as if you read their first conversation:

"Alex Charnley," he said, sounding far more cheerful than he felt.

"Charnley!"

Alex would have known the Scottish snarl anywhere.

"Bobby!" he answered, grinning broadly, as though he was addressing an old friend rather than his former boss.  He felt an overwhelming sense of smug satisfaction, knowing exactly how much his cheery disposition was infuriating the man on the other end of the phone.  It came as no suprise at all to Alex when his greeting initially only received a growl in reply.

"Detective Inspector McAllister to you, sonny Jim!"

"You don't sound your usual chipper self this morning.  Is Mrs McAllister not giving you your porridge of a morning these days?" Alex asked, his eyes glinting mischievously.  He could practically see McAllister's purple face, almost ready to explode with anger.

"That reminds me.  How is Helen?" McAllister asked, a sinister smile in his voice.  Alex raised his left eyebrow in derision.  He had already had more than enough of his ex-wife that day.

"Oh, never mind Lady Deathstrike - what can I do for you?"

"Get to the station immediately," McAllister demanded. 

"You do miss me!  I knew it!"

"Be quiet, Charnley.  I've no time or patience to get involved with your idiocy for longer than I need to!" 

"Is it a social visit, or shall I wear a tie?" Alex asked, knowing exactly what McAllister's response would be.

"Social?  You?  Don't make me laugh!" he answered derisively.

"I wouldn't.  I couldn't!  Is it possible?"

"Charnley," McAllister said, his voice low and menacing.  "If you aren't in my office in fifteen minutes, I will have you arrested.  Do I make myself quite clear?"

"Arrested?  For what?"

"Murder."

Alex's jaw dropped.  That was a pretty big accusation, even for McAllister.

"Give me half an hour," he answered, sounding serious for the first time that day.

I know it isn't much, but hopefully it'll give you some sort of an idea of the type of chaps they are.  I hope you like Alex and have a great time hating McAllister.  I'll be making a start on Chapter Two over the weekend. 

My next blog will probably be on Monday, I've got a busy weekend coming up and I don't want to bore you all with my incessant ramblings.  I'll be telling you how I got on trying to stick to Slimming World while at an Indian restaurant.  Distressingly, in the Slimming World book, there was no mention of the amount of Syns involved in a Chicken Tikka Korai.  Bhuna it is, then...!!