Pet Problems

Monday was a bit of a drama with our poor, ailing pooch, Fred. He seemed in quite a lot of discomfort and losing more blood than usual (usual being in the context of his illness). So off we went to the vet, completely expecting Fred to not be coming home with us. It was really quite traumatic.

However, the vet would not recommend putting him to sleep. The decision was in our hands. He suggested doubling the dose of Fred’s medication, and advised us to monitor his ‘quality of life’—that if he seemed in constant discomfort, that would be an indication that perhaps the time had come.

Well, as it has turned out, this was just a bad day, and the vet was right to be cautious. He’s seemed reasonably okay since then. We all know he won’t be around for too much longer, but it’s no joke to go through the experience of thinking it’s the end… and when it isn’t, knowing you’re going to go through it all again sometime.

Me, I’ve otherwise had a week that’s veered from being utterly miserable to being fairly involved in things. I’ve been writing again, a bit, and actually with a purpose for once. Around the middle of last year, I had a burst of writing that seemed quite productive at the time, but then I stood back from it and realised it was all a load of pooh. I have this idea called Hard Luck City, which I’ve fiddled around with for nine years now. I was doing short prose stories tenuously related to this, and they simply weren’t very good.

Now, I’m sort of going to the heart of the concepts and trying to work my ideas into a novel. I doubt I’ll sustain the flow with much discipline, but I think what I’m writing makes more sense than some of that previous rubbish. I have no illusions about making a best-seller, though: it’s an exercise for personal reward and, if it somehow attracted interest, that would be an unexpected bonus. I’ve had too many disappointments to be anything but pragmatic, in truth. As a writer, if I have any potential at all (my view on this alters from one day to the next), I am still searching for my ‘muse,’ really. What I seem to have learned so far… is that I need to ensure I have a strong idea behind the writing, and that I absolutely must avoid falling into excessive affectation and artificial mannerism. The last bunch of writings I produced were loaded with such things, and I mostly cringe at it now. I think my prose style, now, is at least settling down a bit more, so that even if it isn’t great ‘art,’ it isn’t trash either. That’s good.

I guess it helps if I keep my reading material broad. So reading Dostoyevsky is an excellent choice! 🙂 Funny thing is, I got inspired to read Crime and Punishment due to a very funny scene in a Father Ted repeat last week, wherein he makes a lame but hysterical attempt to pretend he’s read the thing. (That was a really wonderful show, in my opinion.) Odd how you make bizarre connections. I was in WHSmith, saw the book, and thought, ‘Oh, yeah, Father Ted!’ So I bought it. Oh, and it is a very great book, too, and maybe a lot less heavy-going than you’d expect (although it is kinda grim).

Right, I am going to be down in London again on Saturday, seeing my old friends Paul Gravett and Tim Bateman. I was a bit worried I might be too down to be decent company, but I think my mood is lifting a bit. I have to accept that on top of my problems, being an arty-farty type (pseudo or not!) means that swings up and down are just par for the course. If I was absolutely happy and completely successful, I think I would still find something wrong with it. Because there always is. Then again, I’m not trivialising my issues, and I really resent it when other people do. Perfectly logical contradictions lie therein.

I’ve said enough for now. Bye.