Life without a car

Forget what I said in the last post about contemplating life without a car. I’ve been living without my vehicle for a week now (due to repairs), and it’s been so frustrating. First, over the past seven days, Northern Ireland has been in the grip of a heatwave, and the thought of cycling to work in this blistering weather was unbearable. Didn’t want to use up my “annual leave” holidays just yet, but felt I had no choice. Now, I am not the sunbathing type; I am the “afraid of skin cancer” type, so I was left contemplating seven days indoors with nothing but DVDs for company. But … perhaps there was a better way to invest my time.

Since moving into this house almost three months ago, I’ve been gradually re-decorating the living room. And by gradually I mean graaaaaaadually. Last week I had a chance to really sort the house out - to finish stripping the paper and paint the walls and get my furniture in place. But the thought of cycling out to B&Q to buy paint in this weather was unbearable. So, I reluctantly asked a friend for a lift - several times, because (a) I didn’t buy enough paint, and (b) I made a mess and had to re-paint. More trouble ensued later in the week, when I ran out of food. This time, I risked a bike-ride, filling up my back-pack and pedalling through the heat with the sweat running down my back. Oh, for the convenience of an environmentally unfriendly diesel engine on four wheels!

And the moral of this story is that bicycles and heatwaves do not mix. I’ve felt like a prisoner in my house all week. I won’t be selling my car any time soon; being an eco-warrior can wait.

The regression of Darryl Sloan

Something is going on with me, and has been for a few months now. Some kind of … regression. It started when I moved house, although you could argue that my earlier purchase of an old Commodore Amiga computer was part of the same “syndrome.” When I moved house, I thought, Hey, let’s try life without the internet. Then I thought, Let’s try life without TV. And you know what? I like it (although I hate the way the TV license people keep sending me those OFFICIAL WARNING letters; boy, am I going to look smug when they finally send the inspector round).

Just lately, I’ve been thinking, Could I live without a car? After all, why shell out the guts of a grand per year on insurance, tax, MOT, repairs, fuel, when all I’m using the vehicle for 99% of the time is a two-mile trip across town to work? A decade ago, before I owned a car, I thought nothing of going to work on my bicycle. But saving money’s not what this is about; the main thing holding me back from selling my car is a strong desire to buy a canoe, and there’s just no way to bring a canoe to the water without a car.

But maybe the canoe is just another part of this regression. Maybe I won’t be content until I’m living in a log cabin beside a river, deep in some Irish forest. A while ago I decided, for some reason, to grow my hair long, and I haven’t been do a barber in nearly half a year. I’m also sitting here with almost two weeks of beard growth. Heck, I’m turning into Grizzly Adams!

But seriously - regression? Pah! This is really about stepping outside of the trappings of your culture and giving yourself permission to be different. I got rid of the internet because it was a bad influence on my life. I got rid of TV because 90% of broadcasting sucks, and the other 10% I can rent later on DVD. I’m growing my hair long because … well, because I’m a 1980s freak and I remember the days of glam rock (no, I won’t be putting on make-up). Being unmarried means I can have total control over my home environment, and I’m trying to create an atmosphere that is more conducive to creativity and holiness. When you take away the TV and the internet, it doesn’t leave behind an empty space that can only be filled with boredom; it allows you the space to do something better with your time. So far, so good.

Chionophobia at the proof-reading stage

Got the ball rolling again with Chionophobia. After investing the whole of Saturday and most of Monday, I’ve completed my major edit. You know, any professional authors out there will have to pardon my ignorance, but I’ve never really put into proper practice the terms “rewrite” or “second draft.” What exactly is a rewrite? Is a writer supposed to say, “Okay, I’ve written my novel, but I know I can do it better second time round, so I’m going to start it all over again”? I can’t help thinking this is a piece of ancient terminology from a time when authors used typewriters; they had to type their manuscripts out a second and a third time, because there was no such thing as a delete key to fix mistakes and make improvements. Nowadays, we have word processors; we can change a word here, amend a phrase there, move whole paragraphs about. To me, the editing process is all tweak, tweak, tweak, on the first and only draft I write. I don’t subscribe to the idea that the first version of anything you write is always dreadful. And yet I’ve listened to interviews where writers talk about throwing pages upon pages of prose in the bin, because something’s not quite working. My motto is that if I plan well, I’ll write well. The idea for Chionophobia sat in my head for years before I put a single word down; I didn’t begin until I had the story fully formed.

I’ve now sent the manuscript off to six friends who are willing to proof-read: Alison Quin, Andrew Campbell, Andrew Harrison, Earl Keith, Mark Stevens, Chris Winter. You’ll notice there’s a lady on the team. I’ve heard that it’s hard for men to write women characters, and vice versa. An old girlfriend of mine once chuckled at finding some really “blokey” elements in my writing, so I’m counting on Alison to let me know if I’m making any blunders with my strong female lead character.

By the way, I’m still open to suggestions from anyone on a better title for this story about genetically-modified snow.