Well, no, not really. Karin's been in and out of hospital like someone with a bit part on Casualty and I've been obsessing about something corporate that may or may not pay some of the bills that our very first royalty cheque (due in 7 days) won't cover. I plan to frame mine.
On the other hand we have been playing with one of those games on facebook. Instead of actually sitting down and writing our next novel we've been copying and pasting parts of it into an “analysis machine” that claims to tell you whom you write like. (And I thought I'd spent 30 years finding my own voice).
Still, there is some good news. Apparently, Karin's chapters are like Raymond Chandler and mine are like Kurt Vonnegut. Now that's a novel I'd buy.
To check this wasn't some fluke, some pointless social media diversion, we put a number of excerpts from Farewell Trip into the machine. And our words were crunched and cogitated and deliberated and we were unveiled as HP Lovecraft, Margaret Atwood, Chuck Palahunik and William fucking Shakespeare. Um, and Dan Brown. But, hey you need to keep turning the pages, right?
Now, come on, are you really telling me such a book should be outside the top 100,000...