Huzzah – the first draft of my book is officially complete! Its fate is completely unknown – it may live in the confines of my hard drive for eternity, or it may see the big wide world of published words – but I can do my victory dance knowing I wrote the beginning, middle and end of a rock n roll love story uniquely my own.
Cue the 18 inch Stonehenge megalith – I shall hire some little people to dance a gig around it!
All Spinal Tap joking aside, I think I have created a mythical rock star as lovable as Nigel Tufnel, as hardheaded as David St. Hubbins, and with as much cock-rock swagger as Derek Smalls. Now of course there is the disclaimer every author must place on their verso or copyright page stating that any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Which is true of Adrian “Digger” Graves – I will go to my own grave swearing that he is 100% figment of my imagination. But I won’t deny that he embodies every NWOBHM rock star I ever fell in love with, from their mugs in music magazines to their struts through my living room via MTV to their live appearances on the stages throughout my life. And to the occasional bumping shoulders with them in Irish bars and Starbucks. British rock stars love their Irish bars and their Starbucks. Two constants no matter where in the world they are!
In order to precisely and believably create my hero, I needed the expertise of some very real life British men. Kevin, John and Jason – thank you for allowing me to consult you at whim and affirming that my use of certain idioms, vocab and slang were appropriate. I raise my Newcastle to you from the safe confines of my home (and not from those dodgy pubs we frequented in Sheffield and in Newcastle-Upon-Tyne)!