The University of Huddersfield (damn their smiling and encouraging ways) have embroiled me in a PhD (by publication) in Creative Writing. ‘It’ll be quick and easy,’ they said. ‘Just give us one of your published novels and a 10,000-word description of why it might be any good, and the PhD is yours. Besides, without a PhD, you’ll never get a permanent position teaching Creative Writing, no matter how many books you’ve sold, so suck it up, Dalton. Be a man! Put your academic writing where your almighty gob is!’
So this morning, having done every household chore available to delay the inevitable, I sat down and wrote the word ‘The’. Argggh! I have begun the introduction! I feel ill. Might need to go and have a lie down. Or maybe go to the gym. Yes, don’t want those moobs getting too big.
Here’s another irony. I’m submitting Empire of the Saviours for the PhD, but I don’t remember the book very well, so I’m going to have to read the damn thing. Time to find out just how much my readers suffered. That’ll teach me, and it’s no less than I deserve. Sigh.