Oh dear, another iffy day... Still feeling off and odd. Still not feeling very focused on writing. I just can't get with the program, somehow, for all sorts of reasons. It's getting warm again today too. Too hot to work on the big PC in my office, so I'm writing this blog on my new lappie, whilst watching a bit of tennis in the bedroom. My lovely Andre Agassi [okay, Steffi's lovely Andre Agassi] and I feel I have to be here to support him.

I suppose this blog is a bit 'got up, brushed my teeth, watched the telly' at the moment, but do you know what, I'm not going to apologise for that. I'm not ashamed of not being 'intelligent and informative' and all that stuff all the time. There are plenty of other blogs around if you want that sort of thing... me, I'm just writing for myself, as a way of talking to myself, and maybe priming the writing engine a bit on a day when it bloody well needs it!

I'm still having plenty of doubts about Suite Seventeen. Mainly due to it not really having a proper outline that I should be following. It's pants all the way, in more ways than one. With Entertaining Mr Stone, I knew where I was going with the plot [a term I use very loosely], but with Suite, I'm wondering around in the wilderness a lot of the time, and I'm sure it'll show in the reading, and therefore, people will probably hate it. Portia Da Costa fans will probably be able to tolerate it, I guess, but a lot of others will give it a terrible panning... I'm sure it'll be another of those that US readers will be taking back to the shop for a refund in their droves. Especially those who were expecting a romance. It sure isn't one... at least by conventional standards. Although, despite my doubts, it is one by mine. But romance means something different to me, sometimes, I think. Yes, I like what's generally considered to be romance, but I like my version too. In my version of romance, a book like The Story of O is romantic. As are those books I'm always banging on about the three volumes of The Domino Trilogy. To me, romance is about a thrill, a way of growing, a sudden revelation, a stepping into a new and greater or simpy a different world. You can do it through the medium of love, whether for a man, a woman, or maybe even humankind itself... or you could have a romance with yourself, as a newer, more enlightened version of yourself. That feels like romance to me... or maybe 'romance' is just a label for something that doesn't have a label...

Does that make sense, or am I just talking a load of BS again? I'm not sure what's brought all this self analysis about... maybe stuff I've been reading here and there over the last couple of days, maybe it's been coming on for weeks as I wrestle with Suite Seventeen?

Anyway, after proudly proclaiming that I'm not into deep thought in my blog, I've ended up asking myself questions and trying to analyze my feelings about writing and romance... so I'd better knock off here, have some chocolate and a cup of tea, and settle back into my 'brain of a slug' mode, hadn't I?