I Hate the Booker Prize

And with good reason. Just take a look at the judges. These people look like the judging committee of a village fete. Can anybody say ‘White upper middle class conspiracy theory’.

The rumour is that the Booker Prize rewards the best literary fiction. What utter arse. If it did I would still loathe it, but my hatred would be irrational. The Booker is a clarion call of cultural elitism and I do not exaggerate when I say I would be happy to see all involved horrificaly mutilated and left for dead. (OK, I exagerate. But only slightly).

The Guardianista’s are speculating who will make the longlist. I’m going to join them by specualting about who defintely won’t be on the longlist…

M John Harrison, Iain Banks, John Courtenay Grimwood, China Mievile, Ian McDonald, Charles Stross, Alan Moore, oh soddit this could be a really, really long list…

…lets just say whatever wins it will almost certainly represent the antithesis of everything I find wonderful in the written word.

Weeks 10 and 11 Round-Up

Is depressingly brief.

Progress on novel – none.

Progress on short story – limited.

I think its time to come clean with myself and admit I’m stuck. Bottom line is I’m very not happy with what I’ve written so far and don’t want to carry on with it, which is making me feel guilty and negative hence not wanting to write at all. To review:

Bike Wheel – stolen.

Laptop – broken.

Novel – crashed.

Nope, not my best ever week. Heres hoping I can find a constructive way forward in Week 12.

Death of a Laptop

After two years of hard slog my laptop burned out yesterday. Its currently completely dead and I don’t hold out much hope that the trip to Laptop Hospital tommorow will do anything more than incite yet more terrible grief.  Consequentialy posts to the blog will be limited for the foreseeable future (or until I crack and buy the Macbook Pro).