I’ve been thinking about my book a lot lately. Back in 2008 I finished writing and published a 120 page novel. In it, a disgruntled drug dealer, who sleeps a lot, learns he’s being blamed for the malfunctioning of the universe by an organisation that he’s never heard of before – because it doesn’t exist. Which means that he has to fix the universe.
What I’ve been thinking is that it is poorly written, full of mistakes, it’s drug-related content won’t appeal to anyone, and it’s pretty much an embarrassment. If I wrote it today it would be totally different.
I sometimes wonder whether I will do a re-written version, where I make it a bit better but keep the same story and the same jokes. But, on cynical days, I think I would change it beyond recognition and therefore render the effort pointless.
I guess that it the evolution of ‘art’. The creator of the ‘art’ moves on stylistically and philosophically and personally, so, of course their work will evolve. 2008 was bloody ages ago! But, how is one supposed to feel about work created eight years previous? Embarrassed, but accepting, because the work is out there are you can’t take it back or destroy it. Once it’s out there, it’s out there forever!
I’m not sure. In a (feeble) attempt to overcome my embarrassment, I am sharing with you now a few pages from the book. Chapter five – one of my favourites – and chapter six.