One of the nice things about the internet is that occasionally a friend will be all “dude, you have to check this out” and I’ll be all “dude! WTF? LOLS!” Today is one of those days. I give you the Call of Cthulhu, summarised in two minutes or less in fluent Valley Girl. For real, dude. Total WTF? LOLS
– There’s a bit of this going on this morning, for I’ve had my second short story acceptance for the year. Details to come once I’ve signed contracts and such, but it looks like this one might see publication sooner rather than later. – If you’re not following the Drive-By Interviewsover at Angela Slatter’s blog, well, you really should. – Ditto The Coode Street Podcastfeaturing Jonothan Stahan and Gary K. Wolfe. There’s something immeasurably pleasurable about getting to hear two very knowledgeable people talk about the history of SF, publishing, reviewing, and (perhaps most importantly) the BOOKS YOU DON’T NEED TO READ in order to understand out field. After listening to one of their earlier episodes, I feel myself utterly absolved of having to finish the rather dire Princess of Mars. – And, hell, lets throw out the rather fine fortnightly podcast from the Galactic Suburbia crew, for I’m a fan of that too. – Also, if you’re interested in scoring a free copy of the rather fine zombie novella, After the World: Gravesend, you might try the zombie haiku contest that author Jason Fischer is running at the moment. Entries close this Thursday. – Right, okay, so I’ve got the pimp hat firmly on at the moment. What can I say – the internet is full of peeps doing interesting things of late.
The dreaded paperbaghat is one of my many bad habits; I seriously end up wearing the damn things for a half-hour every time I leave one laying around the house, largely because it’s the only way I remember to throw them out. It’s one of those things that you can do when you live alone. Or that you end up doing when you live alone. I’m not sure which is the chicken and which is the egg in this situation. In any case, most days I remember to take the dreaded paperbaghat off and depositing it in the bin *before* I answer the door. Unlike, say, today when I forget I was wearing the dreaded paperbaghat and answered the door to chat with the nice missionary types who were trying to convince me that I should fear the forthcoming apocalypse or something. -facepalm- Stupid paperbaghat.
And so I have hit the point where I need to tackle that debacle that is my writing desk, which has been looking like this since I got back from my cat-sitting adventure: The irony of this is that I rarely spend much time writing at said desk, even when it is cleared off. I can chug along quite happily for weeks, writing in bed and on the couch and at the computer set up on the computer desk. Cleaning off the desk is a mindset thing more than anything else – having the dedicated space where I can retreat where’s there’s no internet or television or, well, sleeping to be done is a large part of doing more than the bare minimum of writing. ________________________________________________ Current Writing Metrics Consecutive Days Writing (500+ words): 4 New Short Stories Sent Into the Wild: 9/30 Rejections in 2010: 15/100 Black Candy Word Count (Finish Date: 31st August)
So this morning my phone beeped away to remind me that there’s but three weeks to Worldcon, which triggers a metric buttload of anxiety in me because I’m so not ready for Worldcon to be three weeks away yet. Especially since it marks the imminent arrival of house-guests in two weeks, my parents return to the country in one week, and the attendance of the most excellent Trent Jameison’s book launch in twenty-four hours. The hours, they are running away from me, and it is only be checking the calender twice daily that I remember what I’m meant to be doing at any given time. In any case, today’s entry on the calender demands I remind of two things you may wish to swing by the dealer’s room and pick up at Worldcon (if you’re in attendance) or pre-order for the home-delivery goodness (if you’re not). Item the First: Bleed So that unicorn book I wrote? A bunch of people were all “more please” and I was all “What? For reals? Well, okay” and now Miriam Aster is on the case again. There’s less unicorn this time (possibly, like, none) but there is a talking cat and a boogie-men and dapper ex-cop mentors and a considerable amount of, well, bleeding. And as the blog title says – bugger subtlety. And modesty. Buy my new book people, for I am rather proud of it and I have rent that needs paying (and ’cause I really want to write the third book, and sales mean
1) There’s is nothing quite so pleasant as heading out to one of your favorite bookstores on a rainy night and having someone read to you, but it’s doubly awesome when the topic du-jour is the Art of the Reading. The irony is that this totally wasn’t my idea – my sister e-mailed a few days back and asked if I’d be interested, and I was all “sick now, whatever, yeah? Put me down as a yes and leave me alone.” And so I was put down for a yes and Tuesday night rolled around and after I remembered I needed to be somewhere at somewhen there was much confused flailing and wondering what the hell I’d gotten into and then…then…then there was a pleasant night of awesomeness. And Nando’s chicken for afters, ’cause nothing says “pleasant night of literary discussion” like following things up with fast food. 2) I’m finally starting to find my routine again after nearly two weeks of being knocked about by allergies and the flu. The Spokesbear is pleased, although that may have more to do with the fact that my first resposne to bad news ceases to be curling up in ball and whimpering pitiously. The Spokebear has no pity. 3) Due to the pharmaceutical-induced cold-and-flu insomnia I happened to be up late enough to see episodes of Brad Garrett’s dire post-Everybody-Loves-Raymond sitcom, ‘Til Death. And it’s truly dire, not least of which because it’s falling back on the increasingly familiar trope of portraying
Peter wakes up to find the Spokesbear sitting on his chest, staring him in the face. Spokesbear: Time to work. Peter: Fuck off. Spokesbear: You’re not sick anymore. Peter: I feel like someone’s taken a razor blade to the inside of my oesophagus. Spokesbear: Yes, but you can *stare at a screen without bleeding from the eyes*. That means it’s time to work. Peter: You’re mean. Spokesbear: It’s what you pay me for. Peter: I pay you? Spokesbear: Yes. Peter: You’re an anthropomorphised fraction of my own subconscious guilt, why do you get paid? The Spokesbear punches Peter in the throat with a padded paw. Spokesbear: That’s why. Next time you ask a stupid question, I’m going after a kneecap. Peter: I kill you. The Spokesbear makes a cute face. Peter: Okay, I don’t kill you. Spokesbear: I don’t do this for free, dude. Time to work. Peter: Sadist. Spokesbear: Wuss. Peter: Crazy bear. Spokesbear: Slacker. Peter: Tyrant. Spokesbear: Slug. Peter: How long are we going to do this? Spokesbear: We’re done the moment you start writing. Peter: I hate you. Spokesbear: Fair enough. Consider it payback for all the times you made me listen to your rants about Avatar. Current Writing Metrics Consecutive Days Writing (500+ words): 0 New Short Stories Sent Into the Wild: 9/30 Rejections in 2010: 15/100 Black Candy Word Count (Finish Date: 31st August)
So I followed my week of almost dying of cat allergies with a week of being mildly inconvenienced by a cold, which would have been fine were it not one of those strains of the common cold that makes your eyes blurry and sore every time you looked at a computer screen. Not being able to look at a computer screen is a fairly dire state of affairs in my world, especially when electronic proofs start appearing (one can type with one’s eyes closed, after all, but one cannot correct what one cannot read). On the plus side, I was apparently shortlisted for some Ditmar awards while I was away, which is kind of cool. Plus there’s a seemingly endless parade of friends on the short-list as well, which is always a good thing. ________________________________________________ Current Writing Metrics Consecutive Days Writing (500+ words): 2 New Short Stories Sent Into the Wild: 9/30 Rejections in 2010: 14/100 Black Candy Word Count (Finish Date: 31st August)
This morning I woke up in the pre-dawn hours to hie myself over to the airport and pick up the globetrotting pair of friends whose house I’ve been living at for the last month. They’re now safely ensconced in their house and I am, officially, FREE OF THE DAMN CAT. Unfortunate news for those of you who’ve enjoyed the cat-posts for the last few weeks, but not a moment too soon for me – I ran out of antihistamines five days ago and decided against restocking under the hopes that I may have acclimatised to the cats presence. Turns out I hadn’t, so much of the last week was spent flaked out on the couch with a running nose, eyes so red you’d think they were bleeding, and a severe headache that defied the raw power of codeine. Some things that happened while I was away 1. I was the victim of a Drive-Byover on Angela Slatter’s blog. 2. I stopped writing (this gets rectified today). I did edit, though. The first chapter of the novel almost looks like a first chapter now. 3. Jason Fischer built himself a website and announced the opening of submissions for the “SF Horror” issue of Midnight Echo he’s co-editing with David Conyers. 4. The Cat found itself a supply of wet paint to roll in. I’m really, really happy this idiot feline isn’t my problem anymore. 5. Someone pointed out that the Scott Pilgrim movie is going to hit Australia in less than
Since it came up in comments on in the livejournal feed, I’m going to make quick mention of this. I can understand the desire to make fun of country music, because much of it isn’t my thing and there are far too many examples of bad country music out there (especially in Australian, where the genre deserves to be razed to the ground merely for the existence of Slim Dusty). But it’s worth remembering that for every ten or eleven bad examples there is at least one good, often lurking in the background, that wouldn’t exist if we put up with the genre as a whole. I mean, country music gave us the genre of rockabilly (which was good) which in turn gave us The Living End (which was not). It gave us Johnny Cash covering Nine Inch Nails tunes and giving them a tenderness they never would have had in their original incarnation. I will argue tooth and nail that Country Music as a genre should be allowed to stick around for bit without being mocked. I mean, if we eliminate the scourge of country music, we eliminate the possibility of Neko Case: And honestly, there are some prices that just aren’t worth paying. ________________________________________ Current Writing Metrics Consecutive Days Writing (500+ words): 4 New Short Stories Sent Into the Wild: 9/30 Rejections in 2010: 12/100 Black Candy Word Count (Finish Date: 31st August)
My friend Jason Fischer has expressed his consternation regarding author bios that mention cats in the past, so I feel obligated to mention this in the interests of scientific research: People love them some cats. I mean, seriously, the spike in visitors once I started blogging about the cat-sitting scares me a little (and that was *before* Angela linked to them). I find myself thinking of the motivational poster that went up on John Scalzi’s site a few days after he taped bacon to his cat. People love cat-related stories, Mister Fischer. They like knowing the cats exist and that you have them. Give it up, mate. The Cats win. ________________________________________ Current Writing Metrics Consecutive Days Writing (500+ words): 3 New Short Stories Sent Into the Wild: 9/30 Rejections in 2010: 12/100 Black Candy Word Count (Finish Date: 31st August)
Part the first The Cat: Feed Me! Peter: There’s food in your bowl. The Cat: FEED ME! Peter: There’s food in your bowl. I just put it there. The Cat: FEED MEEEEEEE! Peter: For fucks sake. Peter picks up the cat, puts it next to the bowl. The Cat: FEEEEED M– The Cat notices the presence of food. The Cat: Oh, right. Peter: You’re an idiot, you know that? The Cat, speaking with its mouth full: FEED ME! Peter: … Peter: Ten days to go. Part the Two Peter hears a comotion outside and goes to look. Finds The Cat engaged in deadly war with a dragonfly. The Cat: Is deadly beast! I save you! Peter: Whatever floats your boat, cat, just don’t bring it in and eat it on my feet. The Cat: Die! Die! Die! The Cat whacks the dragonfly with its paw over and over. The dragonfly waits this out and flies towards the fence. The Cat: Noooooo. The Cat chases the dragonfly. Peter shakes his head. Peter: This will not end well. The Cat runs headfirst into the fenceline. The Dragonfly flees accross the road, laughing to itself. The Cat: What? Who put that there? Peter shakes his head. Peter: Cat, please be aware that I do not like you enough to have you bleed in my car should you need to go to the vet.. _____________________________________________________ Current Writing Metrics Consecutive Days Writing (500+ words): 2 New Short Stories Sent Into the Wild: 9/30 Rejections in
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