Category: Journal

It’s my mother’s birthday this weekend, and while I’m not inclined to disclose her actual age, suffice to say that it’s one of the numbers where you generally get together and celebrate a little harder than usual. It also means that I’m back on the Gold Coast for 48 hours, although I made some smarter choices about coming down this time and I’m therefore somewhat more sanguine than I was last time I arrived down here. At the same time as I’m down here, my brain is mentally marking off the last days of my holiday from the dayjob. Part of me is really happy about this, ’cause I kinda miss catching up with my work colleagues by this point, but I’m also going to miss the writing time. In the two weeks I’ve had off, incorporating both Xmas, New Years, and at least one birthday celebration thus far, I’ve managed to clock up over 8000 words of short fiction

On the Gold Coast visiting my parents (and heading off to see The Hobbit with my dad and my sister). It would have all the makings of an awesome day, were it not for the fact that: a) I really want to settle down and have a solid writing day after all the distractions of the holiday period (which, realistically speaking, goes on through to the end of Jan or Feb given the timing of birthdays among my family and friends), and the inability to do that is making me tetchy; and b) I’m on the Gold Coast. I know plenty of people who love the Coast. My parents fricken’ adore it here, which is probably one of the reasons I lived here from ages twelve to twenty-three or so. I always feel bad that I don’t come down here and visit them more often, but then I come down here and visit them, and I realize the one important problem. I

6:25 on a Saturday evening. Listening to Joy Division. Thinking about writing something and deciding to blog instead. And, ye gods, man, I’d forgotten how much I love Joy Division. Love Will Tear Us Apart rattles around my head all the time, appearing on all sorts of play-lists and compilation CDs I listen to with regularity, but it’s been years since I sat down and went through Unknown Pleasures in its entirety. It makes me wonder: when, exactly, did I stop being a Joy Division fan? The things that I find myself wondering when I’m not really paying attention. Especially when there were things I actually intended to talk about. I’m sitting here, nodding my head, and all I can think is for instance…for instance…for instance… For instance – plots are afoot regarding the QWC bake-off and my various commitments post-victory. I’m still awaiting the hat of awesome, which may take another week or so given that I’m on holidays at

I did not post yesterday ’cause I was off drinking beer. Forgive me, it was cold And delicious.

8:02 in the morning and I’ve snuck into work early to get some writing done. This has become a particularly well-worn part of my routine of late – so much so that I’ve come into work early on days when I wasn’t planning on writing, simply ’cause my morning habit is largely this: wake up, noodle around on the smart phone for a couple of minutes, shower, breakfast, drive to work, buy a cup of coffee, write 500 words. Most days, that 500 words is fiction. Today, its blogging stuff, ’cause I’m prepping for November when I run a genre writer’s convention in Parramatta. I seem very calm on the surface, but underneath I’m thrashing around like a shark that smells blood. Or I’m kidding myself about how calm I seem, ’cause the crazy is very close to the surface these days, and it doesn’t take much to let it out. I know this feeling. I’ve felt it a couple