Late last night, or possibly very very early this morning, I finished the second pass at revisions on The Last Guest. As usual, the confidence in the book that I lost during the middle of the revisions (when everything I've written no longer resembles any Earthly language) returned by the final section and I think, kids, that it's a pretty good book.
I'm currently in the middle of Agatha Christie's The Mysterious Affair At Styles. Reading Agatha Christie was a big influence on me, one of the reasons I wrote my own detective novel. I look at what Ms Christie has written and I compare it to what I've written and I don't see a lot of similarity (except for the trope of a detective solving a murder, that is). That could worry me, but it doesn't. My book is a lot more clear about what's actually going on during the investigation than Ms Christie's is. Possibly I tip my hand too early, but I don't think my book is about "who did it" so much as it's about what the hell my detective thinks she's doing. There's too much Nabokov, Woolf and--possibly now--Murakami in my head to write a truly straightforward whodunit. Is that good or bad? I've no idea.
What is bad is that my next task is to sit down and type all of my changes into the master document. I really really really (really) hate that step. It's the sort of thing I enjoy not doing, and I will probably stretch the work out over at least a week. After that I get to read the whole book again, hurrah! My eyes are crossed in anticipation of yet another read through.
I'm also thinking about my interrupted work in progress, Go Home Miss America. I have a pretty good idea of what the next chapter will be like. The chapter after that is still vague. Somewhere I've got two or three sentences scribbled down about it, but that's not much help. I think there's a goat, and a trip to a village, and then some automatic weaponry. Maybe.
This is a very dull post, but I like to keep track of this stuff and a blog is, if nothing else, a handy sort of diary.