Cage Dunn's Blog, page 88

Biblio or Myth?

Do I prefer to think of myself as a bibliophile (lover of books) or a story (would this be called a fabliophile or a mythophile or . . .?) lover? Is it something that is separate or do they naturally belong together?

I think they need a bit of separation. Why?

Non-fiction, serious tomes of facts and research and the result of years of hard work and mastery of the subject is what belongs in the non-fiction section. Then there’s the not-quite-as-serious-as-research non-fiction (otherwise known as pop-[you-name-it {eg: psych, culture, etc.}]), which is a lot more prolific these days, sells better and gives the ‘reader’ a line of understanding of sometimes extremely complex subjects. Then there’s the out and out ‘recreational’ non-fiction (the best seller of all in non-fiction).

That’s the non-fiction – and I read within all those areas. These are books, even though they have a structure and layout and should be perused in a particular direction (generally, that is – sometimes secondary research needs must be met by sliding in at a particular point – and then out!).

Fiction, so many genres (and some that blend, bend and distort) out there – how to define and categorise along the lines of non-fiction? Is a story book more ‘serious’ (like the factual tomes of non-fiction) if it’s written by: the qualified person [but don’t forget that the quals may not be as real as the book in your hand, or that quals don’t equal professional necessarily], or the book is the right length (big count of words), or the writer/author is on a best-seller list, or if it follows the ‘theme’ of story based on historical cultures? There are also the ‘age’ lines: child, YA, NA, A, M, F, and a special category all on its own: literary (because it can’t be contaminated by genre, can it?).

That’s a brief outline of fiction. I read in all genres, all ages, all levels of category and style (and I’d like to read in other languages, but TIME, need more time, a long life and . . . another dream). These are all books, whether held in the hand or the e-gadget, and I read them.

Both forms of word structures can inform, create passion, exhort the reader to action or thought, deflate and inflate (think on that a while) – and for every written work out there, I can learn something from that piece of work.

Is a story different to fact? Is there a more serious bent to the non-fiction side of this equation? You know what? I don’t think there is, because, like so many things, like all things – everything changes over time. What is a fact now may [in the future] be something we laugh about!

So, story and fact all belong in the same place, bibliophile is the same as mythophile, and I love them all!

Long live the book, the outline of words that create understanding. And remember:

Discourse creates and shapes perception!

 

 

The Process

The Writer At Work

 

Someone asked me what my process is for writing. My answer: it’s a hard slog, a job, a compulsion and something that can cause extremes on both sides of the emotional scale. I think what they really meant is: what is your ritual?

In thinking about the ritual, I have to decide whether to start at the ‘finding ideas’ stage, or the writing stage . . . hmmmmm. The finding ideas stage is so variable that I think I’ll leave that one (it can be as simple as opening the dictionary to find words (last time, one from each letter) and writing about that word – 26 draft ideas in one hit!), and go on to the writerly routine and process.

Get out of bed. I used to do this at 0500, but now it’s 0600 (I’ve finally learned to sleep in!!!!). One cup of black tea, take the dog outside while the computer warms up and goes through the things it needs to go through. Drink tea and make sure dog is inside (can’t forget, especially when it’s so cold outside).
Go through the admin things – emails, sites and updates, short responses, quick readthroughs – nothing dramatic, this is not work, it is administration. Rule for admin: if it can wait, let it; if it can’t wait, do it within the timeframe allowed (
If it’s a day to do the WP (this blog thing) have a look at what’s there and write to the min. allowable words for the post (I never plan these posts, so you get it raw – I should plan them, everyone tells me I should plan them, but I don’t). Write it, find a picture (bit rough on the appropriateness of these things sometimes) and press publish (and copy the post to the 06 blog folder – yes, I have folders and subfolders for every task in my life, especially my main job of writing). Done.
Another cup of black tea, sit at the computer, open the daily work sheet schedule, find the marker, open the document/s (usually one is the secondary research notes and the other is the ‘work’) and re-read the notes from the previous day – read the schedule for this day.
Hum – a lot; mash the ideas and words together with the characters for the day – put them in their positions and get the voices warmed up and warbling.
Write – complete at least one scene or one chapter (a scene sequence) or one section (if I haven’t yet got scenes/sequences/chapters sorted).
Have breakfast (usually 0900) and coffee (!!!!!!! with full cream!!!!!!! – but only one – sigh). Sit down and enjoy breakfast and coffee – the brain is doing cartwheels and spinning out the threads of story in my head, so I watch and listen and eat.
Back to work – write until [bum is sore] 1100 – get up and walk around, take dog outside (have I mentioned the walk yet? It’s in there somewhere, depending on the weather – but the walk also involves the same mind-whirls as breakfast, so it’s still work).
Back to work – write and write until either: stomach growls for sustenance (that’s usually about 1500-1600); eat, feed the dog, take the dog outside. Check mail, etc.
Back to work. Sometimes, I work late, especially if something is due for publication, if pictures are involved, or the obsession is too hard to fight.
Sleep, dream of how the story could be better, how the characters need to do this, that, the other!

***

Now for the story process: The idea document/s are all in one folder. Some of them sing to me in dreams and thoughts and won’t let go until I do something with their words (see musae problem).

My story process is a cycle, so we’ll step into the cycle as if I didn’t have concurrent works in progress. Here:

Find a piece of idea (you saw that earlier) and play it out into an outline or brief ‘idea-line’ or character chat. Spend one day on writing up the focal moments, the focal characters, the ‘world’ and the world structures (politics included – yeccht!!).

Write a full outline (sometimes it includes scenes, sometimes not), fit it to the characters and the world and the theme. Write a full first draft – beginning to end, or scene by scene, or however it gets done. Usually, this takes one to two days (it is a first draft, and I might end up doing three or four first drafts so I don’t worry about too much – just get it done).

Put the story to bed for a while, let it sleep and grow and dream and expand.

Start on the next ‘idea’ for a story. Do the same. Finish the first draft, put it to bed.

Pick up the previous story – re-read with a fresh mind, and write the story.

And then there’s the editing process (still working on improving this – need to save some time in there somewhere, but for the moment – it is what it is). I have done up to seven separate edits on one story (arcs, high/low points, flow, etc – you could see more of the editing process from my ‘writerly notes’ – oh, which have now disappeared [bloody technology!]. Should I put them back? Let me know.), but it saves those ‘forgetful’ moments to concentrate on one area per edit. I do separate edits for specific items (character/s and arcs, plot/conflict – within characters and arcs , etc. etc.). And the very last edit is proofreading – I don’t see the point in proofreading until the story is ‘just right’!

There. Done.

If I don’t get too many distractions or tough moments (that’s life, they say), I can write a story from idea to completion in two months (not consecutive, but total).

My plan for the next five years: write five novels a year [leave two months to ‘grow’ some ideas], and see just how good/bad it gets!

Care to join me on the ride? I’d love your company.

Time spent on this piece of admin: 14 mins – must improve!

And a PS – back up all the time – the only reason this is still here after a ‘crash’ [bloody technology!] is because I do a backup as I work.

Why?

Our Children (picture is copyright – no permission to use will be granted)

 

 

Please be warned: what follows will distress and perplex and horrify.

It’s about William Tyrell – do you know of him? A little boy who went missing from the garden two years ago. He hasn’t been seen since. The town, Kendall, is a tiny place, a little village (about 835 residents), so you’d think – what, that it can’t happen in such a place? Or, that surely someone knows or saw something? Or, the worst – it happens everywhere, all the time, so why is he so special?

That last one, that really gets to me. Read the whole article, see the section that says ‘690 persons of interest’ and get a real grip on that number. How many people live in Kendall? 835 (approx.) How many persons of interest? Six Hundred and Ninety. 690! Why is the problem so rampant, so obvious, so unmanaged, that there are 690 persons of interest in such a rural location?

I HATE pedophiles and child abusers more than any other criminal – and to find out that there are SO MANY close enough to this event to be considered as serious contenders for the perpetrator means something.

What? It means we, as a society, are not doing enough to protect our children; we are not doing enough to remove this disease from our community; we are too LENIENT when it comes to punishment! Want me to go on – I could, you know. Ask me to be the one to pull the trigger – I’ll do it! Why?

Because when you see the damage caused by these acts, when you find out that so many people are damaged (and therefore, cannot be as effective in contributing to their community), when you see how much it costs in terms of mental health and future employment and caregiving problems – that’s when you realise the cost is too high.

We need to do something! We, all of us, need to do something to get rid of the idea that these people ‘love’ children! They DESTROY not just our children, but the future – of EVERYONE!

It is illegal, immoral and unforgivable to enable, in any way, a person who ‘loves’ children –  a pedophile is a rapist. Any rapist or manipulator or sleazebag who wants to damage children in such a way should be:

Shot (in the gut to die slowly and painfully); taken out in a shark fishing boat (and not returned); chopped up for dog meat; de-gloved; dragged behind a vehicle (not going too fast, don’t want it to finish too soon); wrapped up in barbed wire (and bleeding) and left on an anthill; . . .

Many more ideas, but then I’m a writer, a person of ideas. Any to add yourself?

If you can’t or won’t help with this issue, consider this:

In Australia (data from 2000-01, I think) there were 1:5 girls and 1:9 boys (these are the reported cases only and from one state only) who were sexually abused. Carefully consider those numbers. Based on ‘discussions’ with others (yes, hearsay, but from good sources), I discovered that only 30% of cases brought to the notice of police go further than a simple complaint. That means (you guessed it) 70% of these cases go under the rug. And that’s in Australia – how much worse is it where you live?

It is so close to home and you didn’t even realise, did you?

Find out, and do something to stop the rot!

And please, please, if you know anything about William, do something, tell someone, be moral and upstanding and HELP!

Another Day

A radical moment of irrationality and fear – it woke her up with a start, her heart pumped drum messages and her eyes were so wide, so afraid. Even after she had leapt out of bed, switched on all the lights in the house, she could feel it – something, someone was there, watching.

It wasn’t the first time; she was attuned to the sense of it now, and the sensor alarms hadn’t been tripped, but the camera was recording – so she sat in the corner chair and clicked the remote, watched what was there.

The big tree, the one at the back fence of her long garden, moved and swayed in the wind. It looked like an old-fashioned photo in tones of sepia and pewter. Except for the darkness beneath its shadow. The blackness that was deeper than black, that was an emptiness, a void. No light, no reflection. A stillness that was at odds with the wind, with the movements of the branches and leaves above it.

The only piece that moved was the coal-red eye – the single eye in the centre of the void. No eyelashes, no sclera, no pupil – just the red-black burn of a single eye; intelligent, far-seeing, seeking.

It was back. And it would keep coming back. She knew that. But she wasn’t going to just wait for it to act. There were things she could do to stop it – there had to be, right? Other people had survived this thing, survived its attention. Surely. Otherwise . . .

No, she couldn’t think that. Would not doom herself to those words. Once uttered, they would become real, and real is power, and power is capable of . . . of course!

***

The tree, so beautiful, such wonderful shade in the long summer days, now gone. Nothing left but the pile of timber – some to go for furniture and products, but most would be carted away for firewood. It was sad, but now there was nowhere for it to hide. No bushes, no shrubs, and now, no tree. Just a flat expanse of lawn and a timber fence that surrounded her territory.

Three nights she slept, three nights of no fear, no sweat of irrational emotional outburst – the sense of it faded, dissipated like fertiliser in the rain.

On the fourth night, the windows rattled, the sensor alarms sounded the klaxon horn, the camera recorded.

She leapt out of bed, a cold sweat, groggy, unprepared – wobbly with shock and that horrible moment when her heart stopped. She waited for it to start again, to thump or bang or drum. It didn’t. The heart stayed silent.

The only sounds: bangs on the door, the medical alarm, the whirr and skirr of the record function. Flashing red and white lights on the ambulance cut the darkness of the garden – one place remained, a void of darkness with no reflection and no enlightenment.

Copyright CS Dunn 2016

If you like scary stories, here is the link to the book that’s free this week (the above story isn’t in it): Speculations of a Dark Nature, Vol II – Alone in the Dark. [One week only!]

 

The Serial Disappearance

 

Yep – the Journey of Shadow serial is on the way OUT!

The reason – it’s been seven full days since it was downloaded in any way, shape or form – so, it’s off to the farm for a rest. Don’t worry, the whole story is  Book I of The Narrung Sagas, so if you really are desperate, that’s where to find it (which will become a free book when Book II – A Dragon Dream is released (March 2017?) – if you can wait that long).

Tomorrow, I’ll take the serial away, un-publish it, disappear it. Tomorrow – the day that never comes, that comes too fast, that doesn’t know the rules of repentance or reluctance. But tomorrow, the serial version of the Journey of Shadow disappears. Forever.

In the meantime, you have Unknown Sins (it’s out now!!) and by Christmas (or for non-religious calendars – December) 2016 there will be a NEW story – The Third Moment. Just for you, so don’t forget. Put the date in your calendar.

 

The Black Stump

I’m sure the Daily Post word today (stump) will bring out all the Australian closet bushies, so here’s mine:

Miles and miles and miles – not a tree or shrub taller than a jack-wrangler, not a shady spot that wasn’t overrun with ‘roos, not a single colour that wasn’t Desert. Stuck out here, in the middle of nowhere, not just one flat tyre, but three – melted on the hot rocks and black sand, most likely – and no comms.

Black zone, no coverage; black mood, stupid to come here in the first place; black Stump? What the hell? Surely that’s just a myth. There it was, jutted up from a lower than flatscape depression, black as myrtle ink, black as a recent bushfire victim. The Black Stump.

Well, at least now he could tell them where he was – if he ever walked far enough to get reception – at The Black Stump. In his early years as a wanderer through the bush, he’d always thought it was a good name for a pub – and it was, but someone else had done it. Later, he realised it was locals poking fun at the weekend pretenders, and the directions they gave were as useless as the proverbial tracks in the shifting desert sands.

Now he was here, and the stump was so black, so distinctive, so alluring – he had to touch it, or get close enough to see what type of tree it had once been. He stepped up close – the trunk as big as a River Red (not possible, out here), little nodules pimpled up to the lip of the break-point – where was the rest of the tree?

Nowhere, not a branch or twig or root scattered anywhere. He scraped his fingernail over the black – yes, fresh! Recent fire, or storm or lightning or . . . The taint of wood-ash filtered through the dry desert air – fresh. Not a single smell until now. All the desert smells were the same – dry, dusty, debilitating; smells that sucked life. Not this – a black burn that lived in the distinctiveness of that smell – sharp, acrid, biting. It was something. Real.

The Black Stump. The myth of the Black Stump. The story told by the old farts at the pubs in the middle of nowhere.

“By the time you find it, you’ll know you’re at the end of the road.”

That’s what they said, regardless of what the name of the town was, or . . .

The end of the road. The Black Stump. He took a step – now he was here, he just had to go Beyond the Black Stump, otherwise . . .

 

Copyright CS Dunn 2016

 

Character Interview (M)

A minor character, someone who wasn’t supposed to play a big part in the story – that’s what I thought, but she (M, we’ll call her here) had her own ideas. So I have to recharge her role, and went back to her profile for an interview, which follows:

M – character profile/interview, Sat 10 Sept 2016.

Why don’t you like him (B)?

He’s a wuss! I mean, really, what do you expect? I been so many places, met so many people, done so much for my people – and what’s he done? De Liddle Boy Dun Nuttin, bin no where, got no people left at all.

Is that a good enough reason? Because he’s young and inexperienced?

No, that’s not what I mean – he’s one of those who say only what’s expected, and then that’s it! Nothing actually happens! Just say the right words, and that’s all – no work required, no further thought or effort necessary.

I don’t understand that. What does it have to do with B?

I don’t like him. He’s a punk, and a cage-rattler, and he made trouble for us – and he broke my magic! Is that enough?

No, not really. He’s part of your team, isn’t he?

How can a dead person be part of the team? Especially ’cause he’s dead through lack of care and consideration for his surroundings and the people in it – you know, us! He died, yes, that’s sad, but he nearly took all of us with him. We nearly lost this thing before it got started, and why? ‘Cos he couldn’t . . . well, you know.

Tell me about the magic.

What? Did I say that? Not supposed to. No one supposed to know about that. If I lose that, I’m not a person of the People anymore, not a member of the elders or the lorists or the singers. Don’t tell anyone I said that, for crying out loud! Besides, I didn’t say . . . yes, I did – he broke my magic. Well, he did. I had the protection up – the best I could do – and what happened? Snapped at the edges, at the centre, at the points of begin and end – and that thing got in and got him – because he broke it and I was protecting him.

And her?

Yeah, and her as well – even if she don’t know nothing about this sort of stuff. It was supposed to protect her, too. She’s here – I don’t know why she’s here, she’s not one of us – but if she was here, she was part of the protection, so yes, I had the protection over her as well.

Why did it work for her and not for him?

Are you a person of magic?

No.

Then you don’t need to know. To be a holder of the lore of magic, you get trained. If you’re not trained, you can’t be told any of it, not for any reason. It’s danger to you, and death to the person who flaps the lips. Get it?

Is there any other reason for the anger?

We can’t win, you know. We can’t win. That was the best I could do, and I’m the strongest in that magic – not just here, but in the world – and it broke like a piece of rotten fruit. I felt it, the way it cracked and shattered and burst – and the same thing happened inside me. You don’t think magic can be broken and not have consequences?

I’m sorry, I should have realised the pain it would cause.

Yep, you should’ve. It hurt, all right. In any normal mortal person, it would’ve killed the caller. Good thing I’m not the normal mortal person, isn’t it?

But you are, aren’t you? Normal, mortal, magic-dreamer?

Yeah, and don’t you forget it. And, smarty, I’m a secondary character, not a minor one. Okay. I go now.

 

Now I can go back to work knowing how she feels about what I did to her, and why she wouldn’t stand still for it.

copyright CS Dunn 2016 (from The Third Moment character interviews).

 

 

 

Writing Tip (No. 1001)

The Author Hard at Work

 

Do a full plan and a backup plan and a strategic directions plan.

Why? When things go awry, twist up into directions unknown, when characters stamp that foot and pout, when it works here and here but not there or there – you (writerly person) can step back and see what happened. Why did things go out of whack at that point? Ah, I see – I didn’t consider . . . Or, when the characters do the tanty, you look into their profile and interview and finally, finally, understand that she doesn’t like to be a wuss and she does like to swear and she doesn’t eat ‘that’ stuff – but really, she doesn’t like her name and it is inappropriate for this story.

And the big one, the saggy, bendy middle bit (this is the first time for me, usually it’s the end I delete, or the entire back 50% of the story). When this fails, there’s nothing for it – go back to the outline, see where the vagueness or misdirection or lack of understanding crept in – and FIX it. How? Well, I have this habit (bad or good or no meaning at all – just a habit), if I don’t like it by the end of the first (or second) draft – delete, delete, delete (versioning, of course, in case I decide to undelete, undelete, undelete at a later stage) and refocus on the direction that plays out in a more satisfying plump and play of words.

Have a plan, any old plan, so when the nasties come out to destroy the work, all it takes is to go back to that point, look with fresh eyes and new knowledge (’cause you’ve written more and know more now) of the world you’re working on, and restrategise. Have several plans, one that goes this way, one that goes that way. Consider it like a street directory – it can be in visual layout (hard copy) or digi-format (more usual these days) or a construct made up of obscure (or obtuse) or abstract angles and numbers and structures (three-D plans (think world building) or art pieces to imply meaning). Look at the plan and see if you can get where you need to be by following a different path, taking a less direct route (or more, depending on how you got to this place in the beginning), or even by being in a different locale altogether! Bit dramatic, that one, so consider carefully – the old adage ‘baby out with the bathwater’ comes to mind. Live in the world for a while, and see what it lacks – or if it doesn’t, why are you at this point? (Have no fear, you can continue from any point at any time because this is your world.)

But, whatever happens, if you want to save your sanity and continue writing, have a plan (or six) and be prepared for the plans to be flexible and malleable, and for the characters to come out and have their own way of viewing that plan, that structure – be prepared for the life that comes from the words that create worlds – and they will want to have their say (just like most people in ‘real’ communities want to have their say, and some of them louder than others) – and you need to listen and show them the plan you have for their path. Keep them satisfied and contributing to their world. That’s all it takes (great roars and wails of laughter and tears and ripping out of hair).

Yes, this all comes because I’m on a new project (The Third Moment) and finished the second draft – hey, guess what? I like the start, and I like the end – very much, in fact – but I don’t like the middle (50% again), so here goes: delete, delete, delete (post revisioning, of course).

Now, back to work – where’s that most recent plan I drew up?

Unknown Sins

An Excerpt (copyright Cage Dunn 2016)

 “The final solution – that’s where they’re up to. The end. For us. For humans and animals and this world. The end.”

Tears slid down her face. A crack of sound burst from her chest up to the throat, choked its way out. She had to finish. Now. There wasn’t time to . . .

“Narwa – the ‘retirement’ island? That’s a death camp. People die, are turned into Nutri-Brix, salted with DezDruz, fed back to the reduced population.

“Three city-states – that’s it! That’s all of humanity! Boralla, Mullewa, and Narowii. Narowii, our home, scheduled for sanitisation today. Re-ionised. Radiated out of . . .” Her words tailed off. Stopped. Her mouth closed.

Two big drips plipped from her lips to the floor. A loud plop as they landed. A second plip as they bounced up and re-fell into the drip-pond.

Nothing moved. Aren’s pupils slowly dilated, bigger and bigger. Nothing else stirred. No sounds but the echoes of her words. No sensations of air touched her skin.

A long moment. Issi moved one wing, whispered his way out, sang a song of sadness and endings. Aisa lowered one eyelid, lifted her head, closed the eye, snorted.

The spell broke with a roar. Aren leaned heavily on the benchtop as he stood up. Blood dripped down his face.

“I knew it was DezDruz – I knew it!”

Tiera wouldn’t say anything – his problem, to deal with in his own way. Deal with it however he needed, when he had time for it. Not now. There were other things to do.

“Aren – who? Who can get there? Who can stop them?” Make him focus on a task, get him to move and act and do something. “How?”

She grabbed what remained of the bandages and manipulated her fingers over his skin, found the flap of skin under his hair and sealed it with a tenix-clip and wrapped the bandage around his forehead. That would have to do. He could live with the bruise that ran down the left side of his face and jaw.

“Aren?”

A flash of gold in the outer iris; the eyelids closed, slowly; it sat there a few seconds, opened. He smiled.

“I know what to do – but we need to get out and find a vehicle.” He stopped. “Did that thing – that blast you did – knock out the magnetos? Can we still use vehicles?”

Tiera smiled. One word should answer that.

“Thrum.”

He grabbed her hand and they ran from the room, Aisa in front, head down, tail straight back. They didn’t have time to discuss anything. This time they had to trust implicitly, totally, or . . .

 

The thrum vehicle was there, under the overhang, covered in dust and tarps and dead sticks. And a lot of spiders. And a variety of poos – large and small, soft and hard, pellets and plops. The empty space that recently held the other thrum vehicle, the smaller one, was taken over as a den. Some type of animal wrapped the detritus into a cosy shelter. Two sets of dark eyes glittered from deep within the dim entrance.

Tiera looked away. A parent would be close. Another being who’d protect her young. Like Issi.

“All pack, talla. All.”

 ***

If you enjoyed this, the book is available from SmashWords or Amazon, or your fav e-retailer.

Beasts and Dragons

And a discussion about the Shadow Serials.

Yes, it’s about those Titles.

Speculations of a Dark Nature, vol III, Beasts and Dragons, is going on the Free list at Smashwords for a few days (resets to normal price on Sunday [Australian time]), so get in while you can. It’s a collection of short stories (yes, some may very well become novel pieces at a later date – in discussion with musae at this very moment) about – you guessed it – beasts and dragons.

The new novel, Unknown Sins, is in pre-order release state, so you can order it now and get it on the day of release. Another pre-release is The Third Moment, so watch for that about Christmas.

And the serial: The Journey of Shadow – A week by week serial? The final version of that story is now:

The Narrung Sagas Book I – The Journey of Shadow (which is not free, at least not until Book II A Dragon Dream is released [March 2017?]).

The serial will be unpublished (oh, how I hate that word for some reason – can’t imagine why) on 1 December 2016 [once again, Australian date and time].

Why? It’s that ‘mask’ issue. I wanted to write under three of my names [oh, you want to know what they are: Cage Dunn, the darker side of life stories; CS Dunn, the younger world stories for YA and similar; and Cas Dunn, the softer and more romantic side of me], but it was not to be. If I want to use all my names (and these are some of me, but not all of me) I have to create a unique ‘user’ on each of the epublishing sites, OR, put myself up as a publisher. It looks and sounds easy to create a publisher profile, but when I looked into it, in a careful way, I found it a bit more scary than I want to deal with.

Register the name (in every country? or just the countries where I put the items up for sale? eeeeekkk!! scary – how do I know? I’m not the distributor) after ensuring the name doesn’t exist anywhere else in the world (very important, and it should be obvious why it is important). Next, and only after that little bit of work, do discovery on all the tax laws associated with being a non-individual entity within the countries (can I swear here?). This is the point where I stop.

I am happy to pay tax on money I earn. I’d like that process to be as simple as possible. However, if I am three entities within a holding entity, it becomes a nightmare just to do the secondary research, let alone the paperwork. I’d rather write.

So I leave it, until at some later stage, where I become brave enough (or stupid or desperate or crazy enough) to reconsider my position. First, of course, I might have to complete at least seven titles for each of those names – because in the eworld that drowns in titles, one name doesn’t get noticed until it has a good list of ebook titles attached to it. At least seven.

So, I continue to write, in all the hats and genres, and stick them all under the one mask, until . . . well, until I decide one way or another.

And now that I’ve explained the ‘why’ for un-publishing the serial – here’s the next kick: if I want to update the free serial with the ‘better edited’ versions, I have to change the name of the author, inside and out – frontmatter and cover! How many versions of the cover are there? 24, because it was serialised. How good am I with covers? Crap – it takes a whole day to do each one – and I don’t have the original ‘blanks’ I used to start the process!? Add a week or so. Crap!

So, see prev para – I continue to write (and dream of selling enough stories to get an assistant to do . . .) Big, deep, loud sigh!