So that’s what I’m going to do Jim Morrison, you leather-clad, long-haired woo’er of women. I’m going to break open the particles of my mind and get all mojo on it’s ass. Or some other saying that I am absolutely useless at doing a good impression of (although I have visions of Gloria the feisty hippo from Madagascar in my head now). The fantastic intro to LA Woman calls out to me. Looking at the rain outside, I just know that sun will be shining away over the pond.
My dabble into the deep and macabre waters of crime is on hold for the moment as I need to plan that ‘War & Peace’ one a little bit more thoroughly. The trick is to ensure my Unique Selling Point is rarin’ to go and not just falling slightly behind with lack of enthusiasm or looking for the nearest pub. I do feel if I sort out the dull grey matter linked to my criminal mind, I’m hoping the words will flow easier than they have been and I will procrastinate no more. It’s always at the back of my mind that I will end up writing in a similar style to my idols and I’m sure Ian (Rankin) and Tess (Gerritsen) would not appreciate the blatant pilfering. I call it The Awesomeness I Call Flattery. I doubt they would agree though. The Crystal Ship’s meandering prose accompany me on my short walk away from crime and into the world of mumbling words, spots and teenage angst.
Cuppa. Slurp (quietly, because I have some manners). Bliss. The tinkling of the rain in Riders On The Storm interrupt my thoughts and bring me back to the present.
YA writing is my theme for the day – I have an idea which won’t go away so I’m going to do what I normally do in this situation and do everything else but sit down and get it all on the hard disk with minimal fuss. ‘Keep your eyes on the road, your hands upon the wheel’…The Roadhouse guitar riffs continue as I contemplate the journey I need to take.
So, here I am. Standing at the threshold of a shiny new realm that I have yet to encounter. My mind whirring like a small machine ready to connect to all the other cogs in there (somewhere!) and create a masterpiece, a vision of literary beauty, a drop in the novel world. My new book for Young Adults. Backdoor Man’s growly notes appeal to my mood at this point.
So, really, what is the age of a Young Adult? Am I talking about over 13 years or under? My 8 and 6 year old are always telling me they are grown up but I find that hard to believe when I still get my kisses and cuddles at the school gates while the older pupils are shunning their bereft parents at the gates with ‘Looks That Could Kill’, brandishing invisible signs that only their parents can see that say ‘DO NOT TOUCH ME IN FRONT OF MY FRIENDS’. I sob inwardly in sympathy with them. ‘Come on, come on, come on and touch me babe’ rings out in sheer mockery of their plight. They are growing up and we have to let them go.
Literary clichés banter back and forth in my head, threatening to explode and weigh my wee shoulders down even more with ‘what if’s or try that’s’. What If I just get on with it and right the damn thing?
Yeah, that’s me told as I shuffle off to contemplate the young adult narrative burrowing a hole in my brain. Songs from Mr Morrison and his retro Doors float freely through my mind. Love Street’s gentle phrases and melodic tune soothe my worries as I take a deep breath.
The opening to ‘You’re lost little girl’ appears to be settling itself quite nicely in my train of thought. You read my mind Jim, I’m breaking on through to see what’s on the other side.