Sigvald went to print today and I still can’t quite believe I managed to blag such a fantastic character. What a gift for an author – Byron, Jim Morrison and Caligula, wrapped up in golden armour, made immortal, filled with adrenaline and hurled into one of the most insane fantasy settings known to modern fiction. What a brief! I’m still waiting for my editor to burst out laughing and reveal that it’s all a joke at my expense, and Michael Moorcock is writing the real book. The story took a lot longer to write than I anticipated (six months in fact) but I wanted to make sure Sigvald was more than just an evil adrenaline junky with a large collection of mirrors. Strange as it may sound, I wanted the reader to feel genuine sympathy for him. He’s a tragic figure – always reaching for the most perfect, intense experience, but doomed to never find satisfaction in anything. I think there’s a little bit of Sigvald in all of us (or at least, that’s what he’d like).

I finished my novella at the weekend. Most of the beetles survived but I’m afraid it didn’t end well for the cuttlefish. To celebrate, I watched Roy Kinnear’s son play Hamlet and then went to see my new favourite Welsh surf band, Y Niwl. It was the least rock ‘n’ roll gig I’ve ever been to – I had a nice comfy chair and a cup of peppermint tea.

I’ve spent the day working on a tragic tale of doomed cuttlefish and misunderstood beetles. I still have seven thousand words to go, but things are already starting to get quite messy. The book’s not out until July (alongside Sigvald) but I need to have the first draft finished by the end of Feb, so I’ve had to lay off the camomile tea and listen to lots of exciting music.

Stewart Lupton to the rescue.