Words for aspiring novelists; don’t bother. It’s about as much fun as painting the same stretch of wall – without intermission – for weeks and weeks and weeks on end. No respite for you; you’d better get a move on. Ignore the magnolia-coloured emulsion dripping into your eyes – ophthalmology can do wonders these days. And for god’s sake, do something about your punctuation.
You grow to despise the characters that have set up camp in your head over the previous months or years (even if that hatred comes from over-familiarity, the relentless dynamics of intimacy). Plot holes rear up in the dead of night acting like the oversized Kraken that’s unaccountably moved in beneath your bed; you’ll find the narrative suddenly landmined, sentence construction atrophied, and fuck it – you haven’t even finished the first chapter yet.
My advice: listen to music instead; write about it if you really, really have to. Then venture over to Twitter – where if you’ve calibrated your feed to include the cool kids wired in to a cunning appropriation of the zeitgeist (@lazerguidedblog comes highly recommended, at least when he isn’t drunk), your ‘must-buy’ list of records will grow extremely long in no time at all.
The other day, whilst passing through the dystopian landscape that is Twitter’s overgrown back-streets, I noticed somebody proclaiming a certain record as the best thing they’d heard since Miles Davis accidentally left his trumpet far too close to the fire, inadvertently inventing free-form jazz when he lifted the instrument to his lips. No artist was mentioned in the tweet in question, so being a nosey bugger I whizzed off a few messages of my own, and was thus grateful to be introduced to Cate Le Bon, whose second album CYRK is released at the end of April. Thank you for the heads-up, kind internet stranger.
Cate Le Bon / Eyes So Bright