The Story So Far ...

I've just made a quick word count of the chapters in my burgeoning novel.

So far, I have written:

- Eleven chapters;

- 26 thousand words.

And I've barely scratched the surface of the story so far.

All I've done is introduce each of the players in this tale, and advance each of their stories a bit.

Admittedly, this was a long story when I originally began writing it, but with this current rewrite ... it's going to be a monster. 120 kilowords, at the very least.

Bah Humbug

Me and the Party Spirit aren't on the best of terms. Never have been.

I've never been fond of parties. If I live my life without attending a party, I'll be happy. I have other ways to enjoy myself, that don't involve ruining my liver, acting like an arse and getting rejected by women.

One particular Party Spirit I truly can't stand is the Christmas Spirit. It's like spam email. You have to tolerate it, no matter how much you despise it, because it's inevitable. However, unlike spam email, I can't just toss Christmas into a folder marked "Crapmail" and mark it as spam for the anti-spam software to deal with and block.

I have a strong aversion towards Christmas. It's the falsity of it all. It galls me, sickens me. It's hypocrisy, set to jaunty music with sleighbells and a school choir. Nauseating as piss flavoured castor oil.

The rest of the year, people whom I know to be lying, cheating, dishonest, backstabbing, devious and generally less than pleasant suddenly feel the urge to dress like lemons, smile a lot, act cheerful and jolly and listen to the same stupid Number One Christmas records, over and over. And it's an act, as phoney as their miserable lives the rest of the year.

Like the fictitious Ebenezer Scrooge, I'd rather keep the money and be healthy. I don't receive presents from people: why should I care about foisting cards and gifts on others? If I love a person, it's all the year around, and it shows in a million different ways, not just some dreadful, cheesy, tactless pieces of cardboard on birthdays, Vlentine's, Easter and Christmas.

I've got far greater imagination than that, and when it comes to showing someone that I love and care for them, I let the ideas my imagination and creativity come up with say far more about my love than a cheap bit of processed dead tree can ever do.

Bah. Given the chance, I'd disappear into my flat, pull the sheets over my head and hibernate until early February.

I despise Christmas.

Who Would I Be?

If I had all the power and wealth I wished for at my disposal?

Well, I think there'd have to be some sort of desk and a big chair. Minions in abundance. Well - paid, healthy, fit, intelligent minions with pension schemes and a purpose in their lives - to serve me.

My room would be brilliantly lit by an eastward - facing window during the day. My interviews would be held in the mornings, with that sun shining uninterrupted through that window into the faces of all who are summoned to my presence.

I would have a tendency to lean forwards, attentively listening, and steeple my hands thoughtfully.

A lot.

I would lose the ability to smile. Hells, I hardly use it anyways.

And oh, the music I would listen to!

You know, the music the villain always seems to have in the background when he leans forwards out of the shadows, so you see his face for the first time.

*ahem* I. Want. To. Be. A. Megalomaniac. Villain!

Thank you.

Interesting news ...

We'll start with this snippet found on the ITV News website: here.

There's also something about this on the BBC's news website here.

Please pay close attention to the line at the bottom of the ITV news item, which reads: "As many as 5,000 US soldiers are believed to have turned their backs on the army since the start of the war in Iraq."

Five thousand troops!

The funny thing is, the BBC's site does not mention the staggering number of US troop desertions.

The reason I bring this whole thing up is that ITV's news programme, which I just watched, described the situation as having "shades of Vietnam."

Of course, it also showed Bush in shirtsleeves, packing care packages to the troops and making merry, as you would expect from the Pentagon's vast PR Division: but the segment they showed also reprised that seminal moment when the soldier confronted Donald Rumsfeld with that impertinent little question about why US troops had to scavenge rubbish dumps to find armour to patch up their tanks with.

Oh, and there was one conscientious objector who movingly spoke of having to act in protest against being ordered to perform actions which were morally and ethically wrong.

Just thought I'd bring this whole thing up now, for all you beleaguered Usarians who might feel that the world has deserted you in your hour of need.

We haven't. We're still reporting the truth over here, despite Smiley Blair and his censorious cronies ...