31st October

With today we are 5/6ths of the way through 2015.

Which is a fact about nothing and for no purpose. This is something I have been pondering recently. In writing I like digressions, I like nuggets that stand out from the main story and give you something to chew on, a bit like raisins and nuts in a bar of chocolate. For stories I submit I have to work hard to strip them out, try and offer up just the pure chocolate, unadorned.

That makes me sad.

I was sitting last night with some unexpected free time (id est insomnia) and found myself at a loose end. What to write? Should I get going on NaNoWriMo? That felt like cheating – which is weird considering I’m going into it with a quarter written story. What about one of my other projects? Epecuén is still languishing in an incomplete state. I ended up doing a flash piece inspired by a title that popped into my head a few weeks ago – 4 Cocktails That Saved Me From The Watery Apocalypse – I generally despair with titles, they do not come easy. But that one just walked in, dropped its bag down, collapsed to the couch and stuck its feet up on the coffee table. It’s been sitting their demanding attention for over a week and so last night, I attended. Part of which meant tweaking the said title to: 4 Drinks That Got Me Through The Apocalypse

What came out was a maudlin little 752 words about the aftermath of an alien invasion. So, not really an apocalypse, though I suppose the existence of intelligent extra terrestrial life would be a revelation to most.

Yesterday was also a day of high excitement (possibly the cause of the insomnia). We received confirmation about the house we’re moving to in Cornwall. This was expected, but it was still nice to have that conversation with the estate agent to know things are nailed down. Presently we are living in a house of chaos. Boxes, clothes, papers, et.al. are strewn about all over the place as we look at things and try to decide if it’s needed or not. I have a feeling that a lot of stuff that comes with us will end up being thrown out.

Lastly, and my apologies for this being so bitty. two and a half hours of sleep are not conducive to coherence in my experience,I came across a new site that may be of interest to self-publishers. Pronoun. It’s still in development, but if it comes of as it advertises, I will definitely utilize it. But as one new thing appears, another disappears. This week word was received that Quarterreads was coming to an end – though there may be a reprieve if discussions go well. This little site has been great for putting short stories on and, for twenty-five cents, getting to read some of the best writers int he short story market. Ian has done a great job, and I hope that he pulls through whatever difficulties have beset him.

23rd October

I’m on a double countdown.

Nine days until NaNoWrimo starts

Seventeen days until we move to the other end of the country.

Nothing really happening then…

Well, I have some stories out for consideration – one of them is about to hit the 120 day mark, so I’ll query that next week. The house is looking a like a combined storehouse/refuse tip. Amazingly, I still haven’t boxed all of our books – There is discussion of opening a bookshop… (I typoed that as bookship – I like that idea).

I’ve been trying to write, and edit, and plot, and well, everything. Without much success. The plan is to hit NaNoWrimo. Ignore everything else, edit some stories for my US States series for self-pub, then restart again in January.

16th October

It’s been a strange few weeks.

My holiday was great for the weather and swimming in the sea aspects of things. We saw dolphins, seals, and otters. The otters were at arms length, which was so awesome. On a less great side my brother has been subjected to some extremely nasty crap – accusations that are obscene (and proven false). We spent a lot of time drinking, sauna-ing, walking on the beach, and talking. The poor guy dos not deserve it.

We are also moving to the other end of the country – the house currently is in a state of semi-boxification. Most of them at this point are filled with books – sooooo many books.

This has made writing problematic. As has the worry that I just can’t tell a story in a way that sells. Or maybe I need to find a sympathetic editor who likes one of the stories enough to guide it into landing. Or I can just get better. Much better. So much better.

Course, for that, I need to be writing. Am I writing? Nearly. Very, Very, Nearly.