Hello again,
Bluesphinx here once more, and I hope you are all well.
Four months ago I set myself the challenge of writing my first book, a novel, and I set aside a year for its completion. I have to admit that it’s not the easiest task I’ve ever attempted.
Setting out what I wanted to say, and the order in which I wanted to say it was the hardest part, but once I had the basic framework of the narrative in mind, the words tended to flow from my head and out onto my keyboard with increasing ease.
I have proof read the work four times now, and even though I now know the story off by heart, at last I can say that I am happy with the end result.
Well, I am pleased to announce today that way ahead of schedule, I have at long last, completed the two hundred and ten page, one hundred and eight thousand word assignment-HOORAY!
I now have the ambition to get the thing published-Let the search begin! Wouldn’t it be fantastic if it really took off and I were to hit the bestseller list?-A lovely flight of fancy, for sure, but really, I must always remember to keep my feet firmly on the ground!
Anyway, look, a lot of people who embark upon the same journey for reasons best known to themselves give it up. If I never sell a single lousy book, I can at least state, with hand on heart, that I have actually completed the project, and seen it all the way through to the end.
As far as getting published is concerned, as I insert entries into the blog, I will keep a running commentary of the progress.
Now, to continue the story of Bluesphinx…and before I go any further, in the interest of presenting a deeper perspective of myself, I will furnish you with some background information.
There have been many influences in my life, and as I suspect is the experience familiar to most people, the ones that run deepest occur during childhood.
Obviously my parents and my school life went a long way to shaping the person that I am today, but I am thinking of other things, characters, and events outside of these familiar categories.
My grandmother, my mother’s mother. A sweeter, more loving, patient and indulgent person you could never wish to meet. She loved me, nicknaming me her ‘Best Boy’, and I absolutely adored her.
I always craved her approval in all my endeavours, and she granted it so easily, and so freely. Some of my happiest childhood memories are of me spending time with her.
As a family, my parents, my siblings and I could always be found, belching and satisfied, post roast dinner on most Sunday afternoons in Gran’s little old-fashioned, spotlessly clean, mid terraced house, that was perched precariously on the side of a heavily populated hill deep within Swansea town.
Or later, when I was a young teenager, I would ride my first bicycle (a reward from my father for my doing quite well in one of the annual school exams) the twelve miles from our house in Llanelli to Gran’s place to stay over for the weekend.