And yes, I do edit but I choose to live and don’t spend every minute in front of a keyboard looking for inspiration.
I can either write, of I can’t.
The ideas – most times I fight against them but I hate killing characters.
If someone can invent an automatic writer where you feed in ideas and it produces a UK, and USA edition and then goes off to find an Agent and Publisher, having researched earlier and given you a set of key words to put into your A4 page for President Trump’s fiction.
Then you are just left in Cirencester to go and create the lawnmower noise – and I have no lawns – but everyone is usually concrete, kitchen extensions and can’t afford Hemel Hempstead for their nervous breakdowns, so they have them here – it free’s the NHS at times
I said that I think people come to Cirencester for safety – a chance to have children in safety; a chance to grow old in safety, and much as I rebel this area allows people to give birth and die, and I can always move on if I don’t like it.
The main problem with Cirencester is that back in the seventies I paid the Royal Navy three-quarters of a year’s money to buy my way out of people dictating what I did and now I find them.
With their concrete lawns; kitchen replacements; back-garden extensions – I might as well have have stayed in a bureaucracy that works; as opposed to over the back and front – cum hedges.
On the story – leave you to think. There are three initial generations and it will take a lot of work to change things.
Initital 60,000 prisoners. Each Admiral has a key for what was supposed to be 20,000 each to bond to him. A third are possibly destroyed. 120,000 more on the way; will they arrive? When? Will the planet be stable? How will they feel to find all ships destroyed? Will the Dwarfs, who can’t stop fighting … ever stop?
A lot of thoughts.