For instance…for instance…for instance…

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 present, and the choice-of-song from the highest donator among my supporters (waves at Craig).

Once I’ve got those things, I’ll put together a rough timeline for when my humiliation will be made public and let everyone know. Monday, however, will be the day of tastiness when I post the Sri Lankan Love Cake recipe on the blog. I know my sister has been hanging out for this part (which largely tells me I’ve been even stingier with this recipe than I originally thought).

For instance – I recently sold a story, On the Arrival of the Paddle-Steamer on the Docks of V—, to Jonathan Strahan for his Eclipse Online project. That’ll be the second or third original story I have coming out next year, which means I’m actually starting to feel like a writer again. That’s been in pretty short supply this year, although it’s comforting to know that the burst of work that’s hit in the last few months has had some positive results.

For instance – hard-covers of The Aardvark and The Lion are out in the world, primarily in UK Bookshops according to the Stone Skin Press site. It contains the sole new story I’ve had published this year, a cyberpunk fable about gangs and minotaurs and railway tunnels, in addition to giving me the chance to work with a kick-ass editor I was really excited to work with.

For instance – there was a crit session with my writing group this morning, thanks to the wonder of skype. We went through a story I’d subbed to the group last month – On the Seventeen Executions of Signore Don Vashta – and it looks like it’ll be fixable and send-out-able within the next week or so given that I’m currently on leave from work. Slowly, slowly, I’m remembering how to write short stories.

For instance – I’m reading Michael Chabon’s Gentlemen of the Road at the moment, many years after the rest of the world, and I have to admit that I’m enjoying it far more than I expected to. Which is, all things considered, my reaction to pretty much every Chabon book I’ve ever read. Every time I pick up a new book there is fierce hesitation. Every time I actually start reading it, there is fierce adoration.

For instance – it’s 10:23  now, long after I started writing this post, having stopped halfway through and wandered off to do other things (including, it must be said, things I forgot needed to be done). It’s still hot, I’m settled in my study, I’m quietly working my way through the newly constructed Joy Division playlist on my computer. Dead Souls. Day of Lords. New Dawn Fades. She’s Lost Control. I’m remembering, to borrow the parlance that has become so prevalent on the social media’s of late, that this is my jam.

It’s Saturday night and my head is full of things. A December that’s largely without work spreads out before me and 2013 looks like a very different year than 2012. I’m still not sure what that’s going to mean, or what I’m going to do with it. Everything is possibilities.

It’s Saturday night and my brain is buzzing.

So tell me, dear internets, how the hell are you?