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I seem to just want to write new stuff. It’s an extension of ‘do’, and in my world, ‘do’ has always been better than ‘not-do’. I guess I just like the unbridled possibility of the next sentence far more than the harsh constraints of the last one.   This bodes well for volume, but not brilliantly for quality. And, unfortunately for me, it is this last which everyone is seeking. It’s rare stuff, after all; like some sort of elixir for eternal youth. Perhaps, that is why everyone is chasing it. Eternal youth speaks to you of timelessness, durability. Rarity.

I’m aware that I tread close to the same quality ruminations that Robert Pirsig gave voice to in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. At least that’s what I can still recall from my last reading, circa 1993. I suspect that there were good reasons for his quality fixation — especially if you take into account the poor man’s diagnosis for schizophrenia and subsequent shock therapy treatment.   

But quality can a worthwhile obsession, since it is a concept which cuts to the quick of humanity. We always carry with us a notion of how good something is in relation to something else, and that something else is usually aligned with an abstract ideal which has the capacity to say more about us as people than a signature or a fingerprint.

Take India for example. Like me, it has little trouble with volume, but quality continues to be elusive.   I’m currently on my second set of bicycle tyres, fifth pair of inner tubes (and those are patched to within an inch of their lives) and second rear axel. The handlebar tape has gone, and the headset is already notched. That’s after a thousand kilometers. The cycle of purchase, fix, fix again, and replace is so short here it makes your head spin.

A mania for quality in the practical world means you have to be obsessed with two things: measurement and cost. In measurement I include objective-setting, testing and planning. In cost, I mean: you had better understand how much an improvement of X in quality is going to cost you in cash (and its close friend, Time). Then double it.

So, this is a roundabout way of saying I am writing (and now procrastinating over) a book that has a few quality issues. The raw materials seem good enough. Most sentences seem to stand up to stress testing, the characters have a third dimension – at least enough to be able to stand, in most cases, without the aid of strings – the premise is sound, but I guess it’s the joining that presents a problem. And this, to return to the bicycle metaphor, is a pretty crucial bit. The ratio of the tubing, and the quality of the brazing (if you’re talking steel frames – moulding if you’ve got carbon) completely sets your five thousand pound Serotta apart from your Halford’s Special (rather charmingly termed a Bike Shaped Object by my good friends at South Coast Bikes).

So, I guess there’s nothing for it but to extend the timeline, sharpen the pencil, and get ready to murder a few darlings.   The alternative — let fly with something shoddy and half-baked, or worse still, overwrought and ornamented — is only likely to frustrate and annoy those who have invested anything of themselves in following you this far. Maybe there won’t be many of those left by the time it’s all over. Wish me luck.