Lanying is getting restless again. “When are you going to finish your novel? I can’t take any more of Edith Wharton or Somerset Maugham. I want something contemporary!”
I’ve been busy painting the house, throwing away years of clutter, shopping for a flat, writing to solicitors. How does she expect me to write a novel too?
So I bought her a present this week.
“Is it The Moon and Sixpence?” she asked eagerly.
“No, it’s the lastest novel by Candace Bushnell.”
According to Ms Bushnells’ website, her most-recent novel, One Fifth Avenue, is
a modern-day story of old and new money, the always combustible mix that Edith Wharton mastered in her novels about New York’s Gilded Age and that F. Scott Fitzgerald illuminated in his Jazz Age tales.
So I hope Lanying likes it.
If not I will have to put my nose to the grindstone and get busy.
“Just give me until December,” I told her, “and I’ll have a draft just about good enough for you to read.”
Last night we watched that old romantic comedy How to Murder your Wife starring the stunning Virna Lisi. Lanying was laughing her head off. She loves that kind of thing. She also loves the novel Wilt by Tom Sharpe which steals some ideas from the film.
But while Lanying was laughing, I was thoughtful. A novelist never rests. Well, not a novelist with a nagging wife anyway.