“She’d yet to see a book in any Bigendian environment. He was a creature of screens, of bare expanses of desk or table, empty shelves. He owned, as far as she knew, no art. In some way, she suspected, he regarded it as competition, noise to his signal.”


It never fails to astonish me how differently a book project reads in galley proofs than in just a regular unformatted printout. Typos and clunky pieces of writing stand out in the proofs. I’ve wanted my Sydney Opera House book to be as dense as William Gibson’s Blue Ant trilogy, set in the present day but using his science fiction writer’s toolkit to describe the world. His descriptions of the designed world take you straight into the buildings.


“She opened the door. Saw white towels where she’d left them on the bed, the Blue Ant figurine on the built-in bedside table, big crazy gold fake Chinese scribbles on the blood-red walls. It was like stepping into a life-size Barbie’s Shanghai Brothel kit.”



Not having an editor to work with me through the writing of my book has made me a more critical reader. I read and re-read William Gibson’s Blue Ant trilogy. Every time I re-read these books by William Gibson I find something I hadn’t noticed before. This time I’m reading for structure and flow. And I read and re-read his interview with the Paris Review. I no longer know whether I innately identify with him, his interests and his methods, or I’ve unconsciously absorbed them through repetition.


This is where I am now, the state he describes, in being at the end of a book.


“Toward the end of a book, the state of composition feels like a complex, chemically altered state that will go away if I don’t continue to give it what it needs. What it needs is simply to write all the time. Downtime other than simply sleeping becomes problematic. I’m always glad to see the back of that.”


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