On September 24 2011, at the end of a post about sloe gin and marmalade, I note I had written 1423 words of Blest Redeemer. Today I finished it with the mileometer reading 155,328 words. Let's say that I started BR on September 1. That would be 16 months at a rate of nearly 10,000 words a month, about 350 words a day. Meaningless to anyone who isn't aware of their writing rate but in journalism it's a key issue.
In 1955, using shorthand notes as a basis and writing for a weekly newspaper (ie, long, long articles), I would have expected to hammer out prose on my Remington at the rate of 1000 words/hour. Notice I say nothing about the quality. Then or now it wasn't/isn't for me to say.
Nor does the word "finished" mean very much. Apart from being 40,000 words longer than Risen on Wings and nearly 50,000 more than Gorgon Times, BR is far more ambitious - a literary word meaning sprawling. Large chunks have already been rewritten following recommendations by Joe but without his being able to see how it ends. There'll be much more rewriting to come, but at least the story is laid bare.
What's it about? Success, horrible suffering, re-emergence. Secular redemption, the title taken from a CofE hymn: Our Blest Redeemer, 'ere he breathed. The hero is Judith.
GRANDDAUGHTER Ysabelle's "young man" (who has contributed to Tone Deaf under the blogonym Cool Kid) is soccer mad. Technically that should mean a gulf the size of Grand Canyon between us but I found him a Christmas present that pleased us both; a tee-shirt bearing this rubric:
In football everything is complicated by the presence of the opposite team. J-P Sartre.
Dispute it if you will