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So. Was a word that I rarely used when I was younger. I would write longer sen­tences. I guess I’m get­ting old and sim­ply can’t be both­ered with the poly­syl­labic poly­filla. I would break rhythym with an exas­per­ated ‘Any­way…’ which when the intertron started changed to ‘Any­hoo’. Amer­i­cans. Bad influence.

But now I use ‘so’ as my stock ‘changeup’ word. I am lik­ing stac­cato phras­ing more and more. I guess it’s a move from sixth-form poetry to some form of Heg­ley­ism. Or maybe it’s a secret yearn­ing to write Cather­ine Cook­son aga-sagas and have oodles of middle-aged women nudg­ing each other in the Post Office. And no, that’s not a euphemism. I’ve never read any Heg­ley. Or Ism. Nor Cook­son for that mat­ter. Although I did once read the ser­ial num­ber of an aga. Or what­ever those pretend-agas are. Rae­burns. That’s it. Funny the total kib­ble you can dredge up from your mem­ory if you really want to.

But I digress. My New Year’s Writ­ing Res­o­lu­tion (surely a C86 ‘b’ side) isn’t going so well. I have spent some time look­ing at words that I have allegedly writ­ten. And indeed, I have even moved my pen and pen­cil in such a man­ner that would sug­gest cuneiformic inten­tion, or at least Le Doo­dle (inci­den­tally, is there a 2.0 com­pany called Doodl yet? If not, why not?). How­ever, lit­tle has hap­pened in anger. Though some re-plotting has been done in sor­row. Back story has been buried so deep as to be in the gar­den of another novel entirely. C’est le turf, or vie or summat.

Any­hoo. I have finally installed Scrivener and I even read the tuto­r­ial that is how seri­ously I am tak­ing my dis­place­ment tac­tics this time round. Still, I have to write close to 5000 words for work next week, so I should be so heartily sick of doc­u­men­tary that I will be pos­i­tively flow­ing in the poly­chro­matic visions of Tom and Flame Haired Parker.

No-one is out there, I know, but if you ever stum­ble across this, do say ‘hi’. And sorry if you’re a Rae­burn owner and are now offended. Or love Cook­son. Or God For­bid. You are a Hegley-ite. Let me just say, for now. A pre-emptive “HI” back.

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