Well, that was fun.

Many thanks to all those who read and helped to edit: Nat, Annie, Adrian, Rob, Sarah, Jayne, Chiara, Anood, Katie, Matthew, QE and Nerd Girl, whomever she may be.

It was actually a lot easier than I thought it would be- I still went out three nights a week and while I had to miss a few things I'd rather not have, spending my evenings writing was more interesting, and more fufilling, than watching TV. Plus I technically finished writing on Wednesday, which means I finished a whole week ahead of schedule!

So, what next for The Trusted Professions? At the moment I'm thinking fourfold:

1. Proofreading: I've already printed a bunch of copies of the manuscript and am distributing them to various clever clogs with highlighters attached to pick out all the typos and repeated words and various other written no-nos (want to volunteer?) In addition, I'll be going carefully over all the comments made during the process and re-writing sections of the novel accordingly. I'm not very happy with Chapters 1 and 2 and they'll probably be entirely transformed. I'll also try and make everyone sound less 'American', although really I'm not sure how to do that. I may try and fatten out other areas that were glossed over, particularly the 'rushed' ending.

   I should mention that I will not be updating the online version with these changes. The first draft will be trapped in the amber of the internet and the version on my desktop that I'll be making revisions to will be the master copy, and hopefully it'll be quite different (and better!) at the end of December.

2. Cover art: This is oddly one of the aspects that I'm most excited about, making a cover for the book. If Atomized taught us anything, it's that if you stick an attractive (and/or semiclad) young woman on the cover of your book, it'll sell millions even if it's your granny's laundry list. If you or somebody you know is a short-haired woman who wouldn't mind being on the cover of a novel, contact me.
3. Publishing: I've decided to go the Lulu route, not just because I really can't be bothered with the stress and expense of trying to go through an actual publishing house, but also because, like flickr, I think Lulu is an incredibly clever idea (it's the future of publishing, no doubt) and I want to reward the company with my patronage.

   It'll cost about £5 to actually print the book, plus then I'll add like a £2 commission on top of that, to which Lulu I think will add 50p. I'd have to pay them £75 to make the book internationally distributed, which I think I will do, so I'd have to sell like 37 copies to break even, which doesn't sound so hard. You'll buy one, right?

4. Podcasting: I love audiobooks and am very excited about the idea of making TTP into one and uploading it to iTunes, maybe even shopping it to the BBC. TTP particularly suits itself to the format because, unlike most audiobooks, it literally is someone talking. I've already cast someone as Dr. Fielding and she's excited about putting it together, and I'm currently searching high and low for someone who can convince me they are Dalent. If you know any British men with good speaking voices, let me know.

I suppose I should think about, uhm, copyrighting it, as well. How does one go about that, exactly?

Background: My flatmate works on Chris Evans' Radio show, which has a suprising number of trickle-down bonuses for me (signed copies of Stephen Fry's new book, backstage passes to Kaiser Chiefs, that sort of thing), but this is by far the greatest. Chris' guest tomorrow will be none other than Patrick Stewart.

From: Mark
To: Dan

Dude,

I want to use as one of my questions 'What was the last line uttered by Jean-Luc Picard in the Next Generation series'?where's the best place to find out?

Ta.

From: Dan

To: Mark

Dude, I know it off by heart:

?Five card stud, nothing wild?and the sky?s the limit.?

was the last line said in ?All Good Things?? The Next Generation television series finale- spoken by Picard, of course. Obviously if you are including the movies then the line would be different.

d

This was a pretty momentous occasion for me. I mean, not only did my encyclopaedic knowledge of Star Trek have a practical application for the first time ever, thus instantly justifying countless days of watching Star Trek. But on top of that, it has a practical application that has a direct impact on the life of Patrick Stewart! I mean, the synergy is undeniable. I'm in paroxysms of joy. All that remains to be seen is if Patrick gets the question right or wrong. I'll be tuning in tomorrow to find out.

d

The next thing I was aware of was my hands being roughly put together and plastic handcuffs being snapped around them.

I needed to find out where Colmes was, and fast. I paced rapidly back and forth across the marble hallway for a few moments, muttering to myself.

?Did they give you any clue where they were going?? I snapped at Gillette.

?No. Just that it was to dinner.?

?Damn.?

Y?know I read once that the brain, at least the conscious part of it, perceives time at a certain rate, like twelve moments a second or something. Not a huge amount, but the brain kind of ties events into a single coherent stream so that it seems like they all flow together. They reckon the mind gradually perceives less and less moments per second as you age, which is why every year seems to go slightly faster than the one before it. Ever noticed that? That?ll be scary, huh, when you?re only perceiving one moment per second, and everything just seems to fly past you at terrifying speed, and you can only respond in slow motion? No wonder old people seem so constantly alarmed.

I dumped the car outside Paddington and stumbled into the emergency room. Someone walks into a room wearing nothing but a blood-stained bathrobe, it gets a heck of a reaction, let me tell you. I was rushed to triage and the robe was cut away from me. As it turns out, the bullet had gone straight through my triceps and out the other side, completely missing any bones. A graze, as far as bullet-wounds go. An inch to the right and it would have missed me entirely. They stitched it up and put me on a plasma drip to replace my lost blood, in addition to putting me on some heavy-duty painkillers. I kind of dozed off during the stitch-up, and when I awoke there was a Police Constable sitting on a chair next to my bed.

If there?s one thing that really pains my soul, and there are many but this one stands out quite dramatically, it?s seeing a great girl with a horrible guy. Sure, you sometimes see great guys with horrid girls, but that doesn?t pain my soul quite so bad, for some reason. Maybe because I?m not attracted to men, I dunno.

Take my friend B. Not a great friend, in fact I don?t even know her last name now that I come to think of it, but we?ve met a few times at BBQ?s and clubs and things and always hit it off fantastically when we do. Her number?s in my cell, which at least qualifies her as a friend, right? Like a C-lvl friend. Still, some people you don?t have to talk to for very long before realizing that they?re awesome. B is like that ? funny, energetic, full of life. Just a good soul, you can generally tell these things. We all went out on Friday night for a BIG NIGHT OUT. I?m talking BIG. Revolution for pre-dancing vodkas then on to Turnmills for dancing till 7.30am. Sister Bliss was DJing, it was awesome. Great night, Shiny clothes, loads of good friends, loads of beautiful women on the dancefloor, loads of fun. Haven?t danced so madly for so long since?well, since beyond my recall.

B?s constantly talking about her bf, who I met for the first time that night. Seemed a nice enough guy at the club ? didn?t say much, but that?s not really a bad thing. DID take £5 off me to get me a drink at the bar and then denied all knowledge of it later, which was odd, but not exactly malign- I figured he was just drunk and forgot. I?m very forgiving, see. Other than that he just kind of sat in the corner looking surly. He wasn?t a dancer. Which makes no sense for me to mention now, but comes up later. So B spent a lot of time dancing with me, if that adds anything to the equation. One thing I should mention is that the guy was ENORMOUS. He?s a professional rugby player, and, no kidding, his arms looked like they weighed more than I do. Just a massive, solid, WALL of a guy. No problem crushing my skull with one fist.

After the club closed we were all still very much awake and, after playing some slip-and-slide on the frosty streets around Farringdon, all retired to B and B?s bf?s house to hang out. When I started to doze off, I was surrounded by mates. When I woke up again, they?d all fucked off to their respective rooms/flats/pubs/street corners, and I was alone with B and her bf. This was when I realized something a bit awful: B?s bf was a colossal fucking cunt that deserved the hatred of the ages, not the love of a great chick. I mean, for starters, he was an absolute frickin? moron whose knowledge of the world began and ended with rugby. He was everything I hated about the typical New Zealand bloke. Now, being a moron is not enough to earn my hatred. As Dr. Gillian Taylor says, one?s capacity for caring is not limited by one?s intelligence. I know plenty of sweet, caring people who I wouldn?t exactly call bright, but aren?t assholes. A stupid, cruel man is a brute, and this is what I found him to be.

He was also a racist pig. Lord knows I am not shy to use racial epithets in a humorous context, and that?s a failing and it?s one I am trying to correct. I really am trying to curb down walking into rooms and yelling: ?Where?s ma niggaz!?!? But I can proudly say I have never, not once in my life, used a racial epithet in a vicious or pejorative manner. As in: ?You look like a nigger.? as this fucker said. Right there, that kind of talk is enough to earn my hatred. But that?s not all! The list goes on!

He treated B like absolute shit. I am quoting directly here: ?Hon, there?s something in the kitchen for you. The dishes.?

He was also like, laying down the peer pressure BIG TIME to get her to take cocaine (and this is at like, ten in the frakkin morning, too). It was like watching an after-school special:

Her: ?I?ve told you a million times, I don?t use cocaine.?

Him: ?But I got it for US, honey, as a special treat!? (how romantic!)

?But you know I don?t like it, why did you get it??

(turning to me): ?See what she?s like? Every time I try to do something nice, she bitches.?

I cannot tell you how painful it is to watch an otherwise fantastic girl lay down in front of her guy and just let him treat her like human carpet. I feel uncomfortable enough when couples who are close personal friends of mine have fights in front of me- to watch these two going at each other was beyond painful. And YES I know I should have said something, stood up to the guy and told him to lay off B, but it was in his own damned house, AND he could crush me like a bug.

Plus, as much as I didn?t like him, I think it was slowly starting to filter through his whale-like nervous system that he didn?t like me too much, either. He spent a lot of time just STARING at me, like her couldn?t figure out what I was. Sample conversation whilst watching the new Gorillaz video:

Him: ?Do you like this kind of music??

Me: ?Yeah, I love it.?

At this he?d just STARE at me, like he couldn?t fit someone who (gasp!) liked a DIFFERENT KIND OF MUSIC couldn?t fit into his tiny world-view. And I mean really, he?d just stare at me for like, a minute, with this fucking uncomprehending dumb-as-shit look on his face.

Him: ?Did you catch the game last weekend??

Me: ?Nah. Don?t really follow the rugby, eh.?

Vicious Stare.

Then, and this is weird, a kind of bizarre game of brinkmanship between him and B began?over me. B was like, playing me off against him vicariously, and it was making me incredibly uncomfortable.

Her (to him): ?Did you know that Dan has two degrees AND a diploma of teaching??

Him (to me): ?Well have you ever taken down three guys as part of a forward offensive line??

Me: ?Uhm, no.?

Him (to her): ?I didn?t think so.?

Her (to him): ?Yeah, but he IS in the process of writing a novel. IN THIRTY DAYS.?

Him (to me): Vicious stare.

And on it went. The worst thing was, she KNEW he was a prick, because whenever he was in the kitchen or bathroom with his back turned, she?d APOLOGIZE for his behaviour. And all I could think was: ?Don?t fucking apologize to ME, DTMFA!!!? (I didn?t say anything, of course, because, well, I?m in the guy?s damned house. Plus the guy is as big as a damned house.)

It all came to a head when B went to have a shower, and I was left alone with the guy, and knew I couldn?t last another minute without getting my head punched in, the aggression in the room was so heavy. So I said thanks for letting me crash and headed home (we?re like, totally neighbours, as well). I shook the guys hand, and we made our pleasantries, but I think we both knew we were saying: ?Hope I never fucking see you again, mate.? as we did so. And I walked home with a terrible sense of melancholy, feeling sorry for B, and for the general ying-and-yang of the universe in general. I mean, if I had a girl like B, I?d do everything in my fucking power to make her happy. Because good souls like that deserve to be with someone who?ll not treat them like shit. And yet there she was, with this fucking oafish ogre who had NO FUCKING CLUE how lucky he was. And I see this all the time. My flatmate, an absolute knockout with not a bad bone in her body, said to me just the other day:

?My boyfriend really does treat me horribly ten percent of the time.?

?Dump his ass.?

?But he?s so NICE to me the OTHER ninety percent of the time!?

I mean, nine times out of ten? Is that what it takes? I don?t get it. I mean tell me straight girls- is being an asshole the answer? I know the question has been asked and answered, a resounding ?NO! Of COURSE not!? a million times, but that being the case: why does that answer conflict so awfully with the observation? What IS the answer? Why was she with him? Why would ANYONE put up with that shit?

All I could think of is that he must be damned good in bed to be so deficient in every other area. But then that can?t be true, because he didn?t dance. And people who are shit at dancing are shit in bed, as everyone knows.

Sigh.

You know much about dream interpretation, Doc?

Yes. Studying Freud is a prerequisite for Psych 101.

?Jesus man, are you alright?? Jez crouched over me as I spat the last bit of bile out onto the floor. ?What a fucking mess.?

?I can?t do it.? I managed to say through gasping breaths.