Journal

ONE: WRITING WHILE SLEEPY

So I missed a blog post yesterday, but in my defence I was squirrelled away writing a little over 4,000 words on various creative projects. That represents nearly a third of my wordcount for April thus far, so I’m feeling pretty happy about that.

Yesterday was also the point where I added the words “FUCK THE APNEA” to the top of my spreadsheet where I’m tracking my yearly wordcount. One of the reasons I feared admitting there was something wrong was the self-knowledge that I am a lazy, lazy writer. Give me a good reason to not write, and I’ll take it. I’ll happily prioritize other things ahead of writing goals.

(For all the people who mentioned CPAP machines when I first posted about the Apnea – after consulting with my doctor and talking over how serious things have gotten, I’ve been booked into a sleep clinic later this month to begin a home assessment. That should be the beginning of my doctor offering non-diet-and-exercise type solutions to help with the process. Thanks for the prod folks – I would have left that process a lot longer without our advice)

TWO: COME VISIT QWC AT SUPANOVA

If you’re at the Gold Coast Supanova this weekend, I’ll be working the Queensland Writers Centre’ booth in the publishers area for most of the day on Saturday. Feel free to drop by, say hello, and talk writing for a bit. Ask me questions about the upcoming GenreCon and how cool it will be. Admire the passing cosplayers, who form of geekdom I don’t truly get but am always impressed with.

Then go find my friend Allan’s booth, under the moniker of The Tardis Guy, and marvel at the props he’s been making.

THREE: CONGRATULATIONS ANGELA

So my friend Angela Slatter won three Aurealis Awards last weekend, which you’d think would be enough big news for one writer in the space of seven days. But no, not Angela, she thinks bigger than that and works three times harder than the other writers in her vicinity – and so the official announcement has been made over at the London Book Fair that Angela has signed a three-book deal with Jo Fletcher Books for her Verity Fassbinder series.

Can you say “Fucking kick-ass?”

‘Cause, believe me, this is fucking kick-ass. I’ve read the first book of this series in draft for and I say, with all due acknowledgement of my bias as Angela’s friend, that it’s a damn impressive book that’s going to catch people’s attention.

PART ONE: THE DEAR OLD HOUSE THAT I GREW UP IN

My parents are in the process of selling their house, so over Easter I went down to the Gold Coast to help move around some furniture, pick up the boxes of spare books I had stored there, and make some executive decisions about stuff like old books/games/toys that were shoved into the wardrobe of my old bedroom and never really looked at after I left.

When we were done, my mother mentioned that it may well be the last time I ever visit them there. At the time, I didn’t think that was a big deal. We moved into the house when I was twelve. I’d moved out by the time I was twenty-two. I’ve spent two thirds of my life living in places that were not that house. For the last third of my life, it’s actually been in a city I like, as opposed to my thoroughly problematic relationship with the Gold Coast.

I packed my books into the car, had dinner with my parents, and headed home, feeling pretty good about avoiding the potential nostalgia and angst inherent in the situation.

Then Amanda Palmer’s Dear Old House That I Grew Up In came on the stereo while I was driving and I ended up pulling the car over to the side of the road and bawling for a couple of minutes.

‘Cause, really, yes. All of that. Let’s be realistic – I’m a hoarder of memories. I got weepy when I had to sell of my first car. I moved around enough as a kid that I get attached to certain touchstones that seem permanent, even if they aren’t: certain books, certain toys, certain cars, certain houses. I have no problem getting rid of stuff, so long as it doesn’t have memories attached, and that decade I spent at my parents soon to be ex-house is about three times longer than I’ve typically lived anywhere.

PART TWO: THE APARTMENT I HAVE TO LEARN HOW TO BE AN ADULT IN NOW

My parents decision to move corresponds with me being in my own apartment – as in, an apartment I actually own rather than rent – for nearly a year. A place that is shiny and new and has never been inhabited by anyone other than me. A place that’s largely devoid of memories, except for those that I put in here, and it has to be said that I’m not really the memory-putter-inner type. I go do stuff at other people’s houses these days, rather than do things here.

The apartment is just a place I come to sleep, read, and type things into a computer. It’s where I store my books, and even then it doesn’t really feel like that, since the vast majority of my book collection is going to end up stored in boxes under my bed and in my wardrobe. It’s not a place I feel compelled to share, not yet, and sharing a place with others has always been one of the things that makes a place seem like home.

My sole real memory of note from the new apartment comes from sitting on the empty floor on that first night, eating Chinese take-away from a cardboard container, trying to figure out how the hell all this happened.

Experience says this will change, eventually. Memories accrete, whether you expect them to or not. Places you thought were temporary stops suddenly become something else. The Chinese place that seemed really significant when you first moved in gets overtaken by the thoroughly awesome Thai place that’s just that little bit closer. The configuration of furniture that seemed right when you first moved in gets replaced by something that’s better suited to how you actually use the space.

Time wins, in the end. Time always does.

ONE

I’m reading Courtney Milan’s Unraveled at the moment, picked up courtesy of this review over on Smart Bitches, Trashy Books, and thus far it’s proving to be every big as glorious as the review promised it would be. Highly recommended if you’re the kind of person whose into Historical romance.

TWO

I’m at the tail end of writing Crusade, the third off the Flotsam novellas I’m doing for Apocalypse Ink.My current estimate is that I’m about 85% of the way done, and I’ll officially be writing The END on the current draft sometime this week. This means I’m taking a serious look at what gets done next, since I’ll officially be done with all my contracted work for the year and I’ve got about two weeks of leave coming up in November where I plan on locking myself away in my house and writing.

THREE

I’m fighting off the tail end of a cold that’s been with me since Thursday afternoon, and generally caused me to sleep 20 hours out of every 24 over the weekend. I barely remember Saturday existing. I only know I woke up at some point because I apparently wrote 100 words on my work in progress so I could tick the calendar marking my consecutive writing days (current total: 50 days).

FOUR

I’m eating left-over shredded pork pizza.