Today I asked the authors whether their pets were a help or a hindrance.
In the main Achille detracts available writing hours whilst adding
those available for thinking, plotting. So on balance he is probably a good
writer thing. Many readers would argue that I might be better off with a
surplus of dogs, and a complete absence of time to write. These people are
often of a type. They tend to be snotty graduates, that read proper books.
‘One finds oneself reading mainly classics’. They have often had a book
published in some rapidly reseeding past by the ‘friend’ they met at
Oxbridge, or have rubbed up against Prince Yalevard or some other well
connected publish toff. And off course, I didn’t write the ‘Mayor of
Casterbridge: The Life and Death of a Man of Character’, which is
incidentally a very fine book, but rather, low-brow speculative fiction.
That is seen by these educated readers as being rather more common than
writing pornography. After I have finished my book about spiders in space I
think I might write a book about a bionically re-built dog called Achille.
In the summer months I sit in the doghouse to write- the equivalent of the
studio at the bottom of the garden.
Sandy provides all my electronics and other writing tools with a generous coating of slobber and/or mucus. Though I haven’t found the benefit to it, her enthusiasm for the act of coating and her joy in doing so seem to indicate it must help somehow. If I want a distraction, she is always willing and waiting to supply one.
What effect does Stanley have on my work? Well, he would interrupt me and start moaning if he heard me laughing or saw me smiling at something. On the other hand, he’s very tolerant when I write about him and quite likes the notoriety it brings (as long as he doesn’t feel that people are actually enjoying reading). He also treats me as if I’m his pet.