Journal Archives - Page 53 of 130

And now we are thirty-seven…

PETERMBALL Journal March 18, 2014Birthday Portraits

As has become traditional, I’m posting the once-a-year Birthday selfie, because no birthday is complete until my parents ring me and complain about the things I put up on the internet. Except I’ve been doing this for seven years now, so I may have broken them of the habit. We’ll see.

And with that, my birthday celebrations are done for the year. Most of today will be spent at work, doing worky things, and starting the price negotiation process on an apartment I’m trying to buy so I can move and unpack all my books.

I forgot to mention it a few weeks back, but my story, The Seventeen Executions of Signore Don Vashta, is live over at the Daily Science Fiction website. You can go read it for free and stuff, if you’re so inclined.

Restlessness

PETERMBALL Journal January 30, 2014Non-Fiction

I’m trying to buy an apartment this year. I’m not terribly good at it.

I can find places I quite like in locations I’d enjoy living, but the response I get when consulting with expert is basically the equivalent of a warning siren and the robot from Lost in Space flailing its arms in a panic.

When I find places that are really quite solid investments, well made and reasonably priced, I look at their location and the streets that surround them and realise, should I live in this place alone, my future will involve unacceptable levels of boredom and self-loathing.

There have been suggestions, in Australian media of late, that we’re far too hard on suburbia. Perhaps this is true. I grew up in the suburbs. I live in Brisbane, which is mostly a sprawling suburban expanse that goes on forever and ever, amen.

I’m not good at that. I like the idea that there are people around, people I can go engage with. I like the idea that I can leave my house and there will be things to do within walking distance, regardless of the hour.

This limits my options, in Brisbane. It limits my options quite a bit.

I started this process expecting to be renting, trying to find a place to move before Christmas. When I realised I could afford a mortgage, the plans changed but I stayed packed, ready to move at a moment’s notice.

All the advice I’ve been given about buying a house suggests taking your time is the best option. Find the place that’s right, rather than the place that’ll do.

It’s been two years since I last had a place, since I gave up my flat and moved into a friend’s spare room. It’s been two good years, but I’m anxious to move on. To have a space that’s mine again, to unpack all the books.

To think, I’d like to read the opening scene of Less Than Zero again, just to see how Ellis uses the language in that bit, and know that I can find the book on a shelf instead of realising its sitting in a random box and it’ll be impossible to find it.

I’ve had the opening line stuck in my head for days now. People are afraid to merge on freeways in Los Angeles. It isn’t in a hurry to go away.

My irritation at being nowhere is infecting other parts of my life. You can’t build without a foundation, and right now I’m on shifting sands. Work bugs me. Writing bugs me. I’m sick of being around other people.

And so Thursday comes, and I go look at apartments. Saturday comes, and I do it all again. Slowly, inevitably, my standards get lower, ’cause eventually the need to be somewhere will outweigh good sense.

2014 is Going to Hurt

PETERMBALL Journal January 6, 2014

I saw my flatmate in the kitchen this morning.

For many people, this isn’t really notable. They probably see their flatmates every morning. For me, it’s a rarity. My flatmate gets up early. Seriously early. He’s usually on his way to work by the time I roll out of bed at 7:30 AM and start thinking about having a shower. Usually, if we cross paths in the morning, it’s ’cause I’m catching a flight scheduled to leave before rush hour.

So he wasn’t entirely out of line when he looked at me, making coffee, around 7 in the morning, and asked: “who are you and what have you done with Peter?”

“This is nothing,” I said. “I’ve been up since 5:30.”

It’s a work day. It’s a writing day. It’s the year of the novellapocalypse. When these things meet, I have to get up early.

2014 is going to hurt.

Not in a bad way, necessarily, but in the way that running a marathon when you’re not completely prepared will hurt. The kind of hurt where you’ll ache and you’ll moan, but ultimately there’s a sense of satisfaction behind it. Only, instead of running, I’ll be writing a few things. I’ve got a list somewhere, broken down month by month. I know what I need to have achieved by end of January in order to keep pace with deadlines and expectations. I know how many words I need to write every day, just to keep my head above water.

It works out at 1602.739.

My average daily wordcount for 2013 was closer to 98.2.

I hate getting up early, but I know it’s necessary.When my alarm went off at 5:30 AM, my first instinct was to mute the damn thing and make up the writing time later tonight. I didn’t, because that’s a bad precedent to start. Once work is done at five o’clock, there’s a multitude of things that compete for my time. At five-thirty in the morning, the only thing writing competes with is the dire need for a cup of coffee.

I’m going to fail at some point this year. For six days now, I’ve kept the forward momentum, hit my word-count and gone a little over. I’m ahead of the curve when it comes to the timeline for my current project. I clocked up a thousand words before I had to go to work, which is about two hundred more than I wanted to achieve this morning.

Right now things are looking good, but a year is a long time. I’ve got shit going on that isn’t writing. I’m going to Adelaide for a week, to hang out at the Fringe. I’m looking for apartment so I can be one of those home-owner types. I’m going to have to move, eventually, once I find a place to own. Work will get crazy. Life will get crazy. It’s just going to happen.

The system is going to fall over at some point. That’s going to be okay.

The important part is setting it up again, and making sure all the things get done.