It's been a funny old day. Thought I was getting nowhere with the book, but then turned round at the end of the day and found a little over 2,000 words stuffed into the electronic cheese-holes in the computer. I think it helps that one of the characters is basically Marky B, so I can take the piss with impunity, and have fun doing so.
The only trouble is that I don't think I can call him Chief Constable Mark Billinhgam of West Midlands Police. I'd like to, but I don't think I'd get away with it. Not after having PC John Rickards in BROKEN SKIN. There's such a thing as taking an in-joke too far, after all. People might grow to expect a different crime writer to pop up in each book. And I get the feeling that's not too good an idea.
Other strangenesses come in the guise of a 'Best of 2006' list*. I didn't make many best of lists this time round (as I'm shy and retiring), but the National Review Online did say:
"The best--and the least known--of the Scottish police procedural writers, Stuart MacBride's excellence comes close to making him Michael Connelly with a burr."
Among other things. Which is nice. I can burr with the best of them: put your cheek up against your monitor and feel the faint vibration of my manly, Scottish twang... Rrrrrrrr... Was that good for you? You naughty minx!
Tomorrow I'm going to take the piss some more. And then maybe make something nice for tea involving smoked Toulouse sausage and green lentils. We've been on something of a gastronomic roll of late: baked trout with dill and vermouth; pan-fried venison fillet with spinach and crushed new potatoes; roast free-range chicken with garlic stuffed peppers; home-roast spare ribs with a piquant glaze and sweetcorn muffins; spinach and chicken risotto; and tonight it was tartiflette. Which probably isn't helping the old waistline get back into any sort of shape -- other than 'distended' -- after the festive excesses.
Still, everyone has to have a hobby, and right now cooking seems to be mine. I should probably take up something less inclined to lead to obesity and heart attacks. Like ballroom sniffing, or formation gurning, or something involving chasing slow-moving things with a pointy stick.
After all, there's more to life than making stuff up.
*With due defference and thanks to Mr K Wignall for pointing it out to me.