With the support of some kindly folks at the Scottish Arts Council, my publishers at Luath Press are putting together a newsletter. Luath have asked me to provide them with some information on what I've been doing lately.

Shameless self-publicist that I am, I’m happy to oblige. Milk Treading is a novel set in a city of civilized cats and dogs, without all the tweeness that description promises. These are gritty kitties prowling mean streets, with hopes and fears and difficult relationships and all the kinds of things a human reader can relate to, whether they’re an animal lover or not.

Milk Treading has been available in the US for a while now, and I’ve received a favorable response to the book from everyone who’s read it (except for the lady who was disappointed with the lack of twee… and come to think of it, there was a gentleman who wished the story was longer, because he was enjoying it so much he didn’t want it to end).

There’s been a couple of backhanded comments from book reviewers, but being a member of their evil brethren myself I can understand why. Who wants to read a review where everything’s sweetness and light all the time?

In order to raise my profile (and ultimately, that of the book) I’ve been acting, directing and generally sticking my head out of my lowly writer’s garret and trying not to make a fool of myself. I won’t learn anything about life – and in the process, become a better writer – by sitting at home dreaming all day. It’s when I’m teaching and learning and working (not writing) that I pick up those life lessons that crop up in my stories.

So what have I been doing lately? I’ve been working hard and living life, the best things a writer can do. If a few people hear about my book along the way, my publishers will no doubt be very happy.

The Actors' Theatre of South Carolina's own Clarence Felder as big bad Goering. Clarence is a nice guy really. Honest.

Rumors abound that Goering will return to Charleston next year.

A Romulus Linney play about Hitler’s No. 2, called, practically enough, 2, might just be performed in November 2005. It was last here in 2001, always shocking and moving to the Pluffmudders who came to see it.

Romulus is Laura Linney’s dad and a sickeningly prolific writer, a lyrical creator of novels, short fiction and plays (including Shotgun and Songs of Love). But it’s 2: Goering at Nuremberg that he’s best known for in South Carolina.

Rom’s first crack at 2 was readied for the Humana Festival back in 1989/90, and produced by the Actors’ Theatre of Louisville. It was around 2 and a half hours long. Fair enough, Rom had a lot to pack in – the transcript of Goering’s post-war testimony runs to novel length – but after the first read-through everyone involved apparently felt sick to the gills. It was too slow, too ponderous.

‘Give me 3 days,’ said Rom, offering to fix it. He was good as his word, trimming some 50 minutes’ worth of drama from his baby. He returned with a very tight hour and 35 minutes, which can be performed in one sitting or as a 2-act play.

‘When you write dialogue,’ says Rom, ‘you're trying to make it spontaneous and interesting but you also must move the story forward, move the play, the situations forward. There's a lot of demand put on you because you can't indulge yourself; you've got to cut everything that does not move.’

Very few writers can be so ruthless but that’s what they should always be. The removal of anything redundant or repetitive can make all the difference, and it’s good to remember that nothing’s ever set in stone. Just because a line has been jotted down on paper, it doesn’t have to be used – even if the line’s a lovely one.

Now 2 will be remembered as a classic (would it have been so fondly remembered in its early, unwieldy form?) and has made an impact on the lives of some of the people who saw it. ‘At the premiere,’ Rom remembers, ‘when the play was over, maybe two-thirds of the audience was on its feet, clapping and cheering; and another third was sitting there in stony fury, furious at the play for screwing them up.’

Ghosts of the Citadel

A busy couple of weeks for me at this, one of my favorite times of the year. I was lucky enough to attend a ghostly evening at The Citadel, Charleston’s famed military academy. It was hosted by Professor Roy Freedman, dressed in Scottish garb (complete with kilt and sporran) on loan from Hokus Pokus, the local fancy dress shop. The event took place in the Daniel Library Courtyard, its pathway lined with paper lanterns.

As Tour Charleston founder Ed Macy regaled us with tales of hideous death, groans of Grunts echoed from the parade ground. Unfortunately Ed seemed more interested in telling the audience about his books and TV appearances than discussing the local walking dead.

He was followed up by the Weird Sisters from Macbeth, played by Boo Shephard, Christie Rhodes and Heather Gadol. They did a great job, performing all the main witch scenes from Macbeth and bringing them to life, using the sparse set (a tree and a cauldron) to the best possible effect. I’d helped them to put the scenes together into a coherent whole, and I admired the way they made the whole thing looked so slick after a very short rehearsal period.

The Scottish Play has a place close to my heart because of its historical background as well as its cool story and warped characters. Shakespeare wrote the play (about a plot on a king’s life) in 1605 for his patron King James, who’d just seen an attempt on his ownlife foiled. This "Gunpowder Plot" is commemorated every year in Britain, where we celebrate the time when Guy Fawkes tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament. Or maybe we celebrate him being stopped. Nobody knows for sure. But we dress up a dummy (a Guy) and chuck it on a bonfire, cheering as it burns to a crisp, and we let off fireworks. It’s our what-may-have-been Fourth of July celebration, and takes place on the Fifth of November. There's nothing better than huddling round a warm fire on a bitterly cold winter night.

Hopefully next year, I’ll be able to celebrate Bonfire Night right here (without the cold part) and burn some dummy to a frazzle.