Another one for the fat folder in the sky

[grahamfielding]

The Cyclist died on me just now. I was pulling too much of the guts out, and loosing what I needed to put back in. It’s a damn pity, because there was some nice writing in that draft. And I liked the main character. A little bit. He had goals and passions, at least. Only they were getting jumbled and fuzzy in my head. I like to think that some of this story will dribble out into next years crop of junior masterpieces as I bang them out. A bit like composting. Some idea gets drafted into a story. Then I dump it. But the draft stays about somewhere in my subconscious, whilst the worms digest it and then I find myself writing the same story over again, only with different a different title, different characters and different words an some other presumed insights.
    Now its time to take a whack at this next varmint. Would you adam and eve it, it looks to be a science fiction tale.
    Also, note to self: Don’t do a podcast novel.

Keep walking forwards.

Graham