Tag: Random Observations

Journal

Bookshelves

The internet is full of gloriously sexy photographs of beautiful, artfully messy bookshelves. This is not one of them.

Adventures in Lifestyle Hacking

Dear Google: Thank You

I try to be pretty sanguine about changes to the tools I use to access the internet. A lot of them are free, for certain values of free that translate to “we make money by getting you to come here and generate data,” which means I’m generally pretty low-key in my responses to, say, Facebook changing the layout of its feed. Various Google tools have always been the exception to this. For a few years there I worked from a suite of Google apps that pretty much ran my life: Gmail; Reader; iGoogle; GoogleDocs; Calendar; etc. They pretty much let me run my online life like a ninja, filtering everything I wanted to see through a single iGoogle page that was there when I loaded up my computer. Then the Gmail layout changed, and it bothered me. Fortunately, this was back when I was working for the dreaded day-job where I didn’t actually do anything, so I had the spare

Conspicuous Acts of Cultural Consumption

I’m Hot and I’m Sticky Sweet…

Some days need a bit of Def Leppard. Some days do not. Today, well, it’s one of the former. Weirdly, I missed the period when Def Leppard was actually a big deal. Hysteria came out in 1987, which means I was both 9 years old and living in the middle of nowhere, far from the pop cultural embrace of TV and cinema and popular radio. I was far more likely to be reading books back in those days, getting exposed to music through my dad’s LP collection (although I wasn’t yet allowed to play records on my own) or the soundtracks to the handful of movies we saw when we came to Brisbane for the holidays. Basically, I didn’t even really process that Def Leppard was a big deal until they became a lyrical riff in Bloodhound Gang’s Why is everyone picking on me in the mid-nineties. They weren’t a band by then, not really; they were a pop cultural reference that

Works in Progress

Coming Up

From what I’m hearing, my story for Eclipse Online is going to go live in February some time. I’ll post a link here when that happens, but right now I’m just looking at that sentence and thinking, yeah, motherfuckers, I can still do this. I can still write stories that get published. My interior monologue has a particular foul mouth. I’m usually all man of steel about my stories when in public. They get written, they get sent out, they get published and I get paid. In my ideal world that’s the way things happen and I’m already chasing the next thing by the time you’re reading. It’s easy to be like that once the story is out there, when it’s going to be read whether you like it or not. It’s the waiting before the story comes out that gets to me. The moments when you know a publication date is coming and you can pretend there’s still the

Journal

The Long Run

Ask most people who know me, and they’ll probably tell you I’m one pessimistic mother-fucker. Mostly, near as I can tell, this is ’cause I have opinions on things, and ’cause most folks aren’t willing to accept that “being critical of something” and “not liking something” aren’t the same thing. It’s also ’cause I’d rather watch something that’s poorly made, but ambitious than technically accomplished, but soulless. I like to see flaws. I like to see people trying, stretching themselves, aiming higher than they usually would. I’ve said it before, and I’ll keep saying it: every story is a mission statement; every climax is a world-view. But then, I’m me. I would think things like that. Truth is, like most pessimists, I’m actually fairly optimistic. I like to believe the world can change, even if it doesn’t. I like to believe that I can change it, even if it’s just a little at a time; blog post by blog post, story by

Big Thoughts

The Things I Think About On New Years Day

ONE It’s the first morning of 2013 and in the writing room, writing. Not even writing, really. More dragging myself back into a writing mindset after being not-a-writer for the bulk of last year. There are days – today is one of them – when the fact that I still do this amazes me. I figured I’d kick this year off by telling you a story (it is, after all, what I do). I want to start it with something like once upon a time I met a girl on a bus, but truthfully it’s not the kind of story you’d expect from that kind of opening. The way you starts a story sets up the ending, makes promises that need to be delivered, and I can’t deliver on that one. So instead I’ll start it like this: when I was twenty and still at university, I learned not to tell people that I wanted to be a writer. And

Conspicuous Acts of Cultural Consumption

Seven Notes on A Lover’s Discourse While Halfway Through the Book

One Habitual marking of quotes is one of those weird habits you pick up when you hang around universities for too long. I still do it, despite being out of the game for the better part of six years now, which means I frequently end up with shelves full of dog-eared books, notebooks filled with hastily scribbled details, and the occasional stray post-it with a quote scrawled across it with the bibliographic details on the back. Since I don’t really teach classes or write essays anymore, the vast majority of the quotes I mark tend to be because I truly adore the phrasing. There’s a great deal of beauty in theory and criticism, if you look for it. Exquisitely phrased ideas that sucker-punch you the same way a perfectly formed poetic line does, or well-turned phrase in a piece of prose. I’ve been reading Roland Barthes A Lover’s Discourse for the last two weeks. It started as a bit of

Big Thoughts

13 Notes for a Story That Won’t Get Written

I shouldn’t be trusted with the internet at the moment. It’s summer and I am maudlin, and these two things do not go well together. I find myself picking at old scabs and realising that the wounds beneath them never fully healed. I find myself creating drama, simply because drama is easier to handle. Inhabiting drama makes it easier to exist. It’s good for writing, I’ll give it that. Less good for everything else. # Two instincts wage war within me. The first demands silence because silence is my natural state, because what does not get said cannot be examined. # I’ve never hidden my heart. I’ve never placed my heart inside an egg, to be placed inside a duck, to be hidden in a well inside a secret courtyard, located in a keep on a distant isle far from charted waters. I’ve never done this, but I’ve been tempted. # Through it all there are words, ’cause writing is

Journal

5 Things I Know About Squid

1. Squid are cephalopods of the order Teuthida, which comprises around 300 species. Like all other cephalopods, squid have a distinct head, bilateral symmetry, a mantle, and arms. Squid, like cuttlefish, have eight arms arranged in pairs and two, usually longer, tentacles. Squid are strong swimmers and certain species can ‘fly’ for short distances out of the water. Admittedly, I didn’t know this, but in the age of the internet, it’s remarkably easy to find this stuff out. 2. If you haven’t read Kraken, in which a giant squid is stolen and the end of the world begins, you really should. It currently wages war with The City and the City as my favourite China Meiville novel. 3. I tried cooking with squid once. It didn’t go well. 4. “In her old firm they called her The Squid.” “The Squid?” “The only thing that can kill a shark.” Parker Posey’s run on Boston Legal was far too short. Although that can

Journal

Writing Prompts: What Did You Look Like At Age 5?

I assume I was a weird looking kid. I don’t remember for sure, but that would seem right. I should be the kind of person who looked weird as a kid, if only so it matched the way I generally felt around people. Weird looking avoids any undue and unbearable pressure that might seep up from my childhood and mug me as an adult. At five, if I can trust my memory, my family lived up in the northern parts of Queensland. Family lore suggests I already was pretty weird – telling pre-school teachers about imaginary pets, a menagerie of dogs and seals and mice that got treated like there were something real. I remember living next to the school where my dad worked, remember playing G-Force in the yard around our house. I remember someone finding the abandoned skins of carpet snakes beneath our house, in the days before such things would have sent me into spasms of ophidiaphobic paranoia

Writing Advice - Craft & Process

Why Count Words

It’s been about two weeks since the QWC Rabbit Hole, and you’re still reading blog posts that I drafted during the manic two-and-bit days of writing. This, it should be noted, is quite by design – I knew I was heading down to Melbourne, knew that the Continuum weekend wouldn’t give me enough time to write anything for the week that followed, and I knew that one of these days I wanted to get sufficiently ahead of the blog that I could have some posts in reserve. One of the more interesting conversations I had during the rabbit hole was with a participant who didn’t quite understand why we counted words. She was writing…well, to be honest, I don’t really know, but I’m guessing it was memoir…and the concept of hitting a set number of words every hour/day, even the concept of writing 30,000 words in a weekend, was utterly alien to her. We ended up discussing it during a

Works in Progress

12 Things

We’re mid-way through a long weekend here in Oz. This still catches me off-guard, since I’ve spent the majority of my adult life not really paying attention to long weekends, but the acquisition of a dayjob changes your relationship to such things. And so we’ve hit Sunday and I’m mooching around the new house, grooving to a mix of the Hilltop Hoods and the Beastie Boys (RIP, MCA), just kinda…randomly getting things together. And so, in that spirit, a random grab-bag of twelve things I felt like mentioning. 1. MOVING IS, LIKE, 90% DONE So my flatmate bought a new home and we moved into it. Most of the last two weeks has been spent getting stuff there, unpacking it, figuring out where it will live for the foreseeable future, and generally waiting for the internet to be turned on. You know, moving stuff. There’s a part of me that wants to just kick back and say “yup, we’re done