When sending out a query application or submitting a book for review, there’s sometimes a box that will ask something like: “What is your favourite line from the novel?”
I find that question virtually impossible to answer. First of all, to remember even a handful of lines verbatim out of 90,000+ words that I wrote two years before is something I fail at miserably. Second, I wonder what favourite could mean in this context. Is it a beautiful piece of description, a stirring piece of dialogue, a collection of meat-and-veg words thrown together in a pot and inexplicably, serendipitously turned into Michelin-star cuisine? Does it even matter?
My experience of life at the moment is a little like seeking an answer to that question. What’s my favourite activity? What do I enjoy doing? Where do I like to eat and drink? What still stands out in my mind after fifteen months of fuck-all?
Again: does it even matter? No, probably not. Being out and about is enough. I don’t need favourites right now, because even something as simple as taking a seat at a café table or in a cinema has a quiet, earned satisfaction to it. Like reading back through a piece of writing that has been gathering digital dust in the corner of a C drive and finding passages that prompt a smile or an intake of breath, now is a period in which to recall and explore the old rhythms, to remember, to engage with that which has been put aside for nearly a year and a half. Some things will no longer be as palatable or as enticing as they once were, while others will be more of a technicolour experience than ever. All that matters, I think, is to do as much possible in this time and to cement new favourites in the process.
Then, once autumn/winter come around again, I can retreat into my shell and send off more query applications asking me inane questions.
NEWS OF THE MONTH: none? I’m writing a sequel to Reality Testing. That’s about it. I’m barely sending out short stories, Reality Testing itself is still in production with Black Rose Publishing, and I have no events coming up, reviews scheduled or guest articles to write. Quite the novelty, I gotta say. And not unwelcome.
BOOK OF THE MONTH: The Spy Who Came in from the Cold. Aside from Le Carré describing his protagonist as “a man in his 50s, well-built, with a swimmer’s body, and sexy, real manly, like the woman can’t not go for him yo”, the writing and the Cold War Berlin atmosphere are strong. It’s so far removed from The Night Manager that I’m glad I gave John another chance.
MUSIC OF THE MONTH:
photo of a v. strange bouldering wall by david pisnoy