It's not possible, is it? Nobody could be on Saturn. If they were, they wouldn't be bored for very long as death would be immediate. Thirdly, who writes and has friends? Also the phrase is nonsense - an anagram of boundaries and frontiers - and so is arts on the underside of brain. I can't help playing dodge-ball with words. But no apologies. The boundaries and frontiers of words is where I want to go. You can stumble over the cliff-edge into nonsense, I know, but foxtrotting on the crumbly edge is fun. Is that what you do as a writer? Push at the door?
What I do is bang at several doors, at an entire corridor of doors, at once. There are the grammar books to be published in October; The Badgers of Beechen Cliff which might require the use of a megaphone; the rock lyrics calling out to the world in a tiny voice but with a driving bass line; as well as two adult novels half-finished, two children's stories complete and a picture book series. I'm also in the process of having my rights reverted on some long-forgotten children's books, published eons ago by Orion and Barefoot Books. What I will do with them then, I don't know yet. (Little Eagle Lots of Owls, The Emperor Who Hated Yellow, etc., etc.)
I never have writer's block. I don't know what that is. My displacement activity is to abandon one story until Jim, who lives in a parallel creative universe, sorts it our for me and whispers the new coordinates, while I get on with another story or a bit of illustration. Perfect set-up.
Jim, I can't thank you enough.
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