Lazy Sunday Service

I've spent the day messing in the garden and reading a draft of one of my novels.  I haven't read it in quite a while and actually enjoyed the story.  I even laughed at a couple of my lame jokes.  Quite an odd experience in many ways. What I'd really like to be able to do is to read it completely fresh, as if someone else had penned it and I hadn't got a clue as to how the plot unfolds.  I'd be able to get a proper sense of it then.  A few weeks ago, I re-read a paper I'd written over a decade ago. That did kind of feel as if someone else had written it and I had forgotten quite a bit of the detail of the argument presented, though not the broad thrust.  I guess time helps, but what I really need is a magic blanking button.  In the absence of such a button, there's something unsettling about reading something you've written; an odd-sense of familiarity and alienation. 


My posts this week:
Review of Restless by William Boyd
Death in the Clouds, kind of
Liverpool crime fiction?
NoirCon blues
The Wrong Man