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“Oh, the twerks of being a writer- literary tweaking.”

To use a famous philosopher’s words:
“I get knocked down
But I get up again..”
(…Or then again, was that Chumbawamba?)

Writing a novel is hard. It’s scary. On a par with having children, with slight variations. Creating a baby takes timing, similar to the Goldilocks Theory, plus ten months of waiting. And in that time you can’t revise, adjust or rewrite or even stir. Creating a novel can take years and can begin any time. But for both, the outcome is the same. Look how ferociously protective we get with our little baby Buddha’s? And that parental care never ends. Our baby’s out there. So is our book.
So, after spending years on your masterpiece, feeling like you’ve really nailed this one, you then- masochistically- decide to enter the school of knocks and hard left hooks.

I keep having this daymare involving a scene from the film Goodfellas, with the conversation twisted around a little bit. There’s a publisher or an agent in the place of Tommy, slapping down my manuscript, hard on the table.
“So what’s so good about your book? What’s so fucking good about your book? You think it’s funny? You think it’s interesting? You tell me, what the fuck…?”
Until that day, when someone flatters me enough to give me a grilling, have a read of my blogs. Enjoy. I plan to cover anything and everything. The little things and the littler things. Hopefully with a smile. Let me know what you think. Let me know what you fucking think. Ciao.

Skilbey- London-born, now Pembrokeshire, West Wales writer, recently finished writing her first novel and presently editing in preparation for publication.



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