Another few months with nothing, and I’m beginning to hear the cries of the literally nobody who reads thig blog crying out for some update as to my progress.
Or rather, vastly more accurately, I’m not sure what my own progress has been, so I’m clarifying it by paying to host a website and typing it up for nobody in the 21st century to read, but to be found as a fragmented curiosity in the space year 8999, as a relic of that time humanity got collectively baffled enough to print out the entire internet onto stone slabs as part of its ongoing global effort to put its fingers in its ears and pretend to be several centuries earlier.
As I type, various rounds of submissions of Airborne Empire have been shot across the internet, thankfully for the moment still electron-based (stone slabs are expensive to post), and a few form rejections aside, most have simply ignored it. Which is about right for the modern era, but holy hell is it depressing.
Meanwhile, my new project sits at a third of the way to completion, largely because I’m struggling to think of way to stop the remaining, tournament-based two-thirds from seeming circular and repetative, but to no avail. Answers on a postslab.
So the new students have moved in, the streets of Fallowfield are once again carpeted in vomit and broken glass, and the bus and pub schedules have returned to normal. But hell, we’re at the end of September already?
My plan was to have my latest project, conceived and tentatively played with as it was at the end of 2017, all done and dusted and ready to be sent out to prospective publishers by the end of 2018. Seeing as I am now somewhat less than a quarter of the way through the first draft, that does appear not to have happened.
Nor, indeed, does any further work on Airborne Empire, due to a supreme difficulty in getting folk to actually return feedback which might allow me to do another editing/polishing pass.
Not as easy as it looks, this writing thing, is it?
Get out your pasty, pasty legs! Britain is in the midst of a heatwave, taking even Manchester to temperatures as high as 32°C, which is fully double the temperature that anyone was expecting. It’s even got so high that at times we’ve been hotter than most of the Mediterranian nations where we usually go to get some sunshine and out of the drizzle. And now Manchester is actually in the midst of a wildfire, without even a sniff of rainfall on the horizon.
The trouble is… Britain’s just not deisgned for this. We don’t have air-conditioning in our homes (or in many workplaces), there is virtually nothing to do outdoors on nice days aside from pub beergardens, and all the buildings are designed to stop heat from leaving. The result? All productivity in the country stops dead, because honestly, who can work when they’re an exhausted ball of sweat?
Naturally, I’m no exception. Fresh back from a trip to the Czech Republic, where I watched many bands and enjoyed many beers, and suddenly I’m thrust into an upside down world where Britain is gloriously sunny! So much for cracking on with the dozen lots of work I’ve got to be getting on with. I’ve basically melted.
Translation? I’ve not managed to write anything new in a while.
Still, can’t stick around here typing all day. There’s basking to be done.
I see my blogging has been as regular as ever.
Since I see I haven’t updated anything since the beginning of the year, I’ll preface this by pointing out that I haven’t exactly done much of interest since then. More running exams, more writing work that pays the shells off peanuts, and the occasional stint of making cushions and curtains, because life is occasionally bloody strange. See, the most interesting thing that’s happened lately is that my girlfriend has opened a shop in Manchester’s alternative marketplace, Affleck’s. Add that to her pub job, and we’ve not been getting to spend a great deal of time together lately, excluding when I’m hanging around the goth shop looking like the bloke sent down from maintenance to put up some shelves.
Thing is, up until yesterday, my laptop was in a bit of a state, and would overheat and shut itself down with any movement whatsoever, which is not what you’d call ideal for a piece of technology whose main selling point is portability. Regardless, it has meant that for some months now, I’ve not been able to get out of the house and take my work with me in the way that I would like, and have in fact been confined to a cold house so that my laptop doesn’t burn itself out half way through whatever work I was doing. But this week, the trusty thing finally gave up, and I was forced to buy a new one with the money I definitely don’t have. However, since my livelihood is almost solely dependent on being able to type… yeah, that was something of a necessary expenditure.
But it does mean that I can now venture out of the house with my laptop again the way it was meant to be – and as the days start to get warmer again, that means getting to work in pub beergardens again! Huzzah!
A new year, and already I’m ill with whatever it is that seems to be going around lately. It would have to be just when I’m busier than I’ve been in quite some time, wouldn’t it?
One of the things I’ve been loaning my corporeal form to is exam invigilation, which is an unusual job as these things go, whose main required skill is the ability to keep oneself occupied for long periods of time without succumbing to any form of existential anxiety and screaming your soul out as you claw the flesh from your face. Thankfully I’m rather more stable than that.
That aside, the most important skill is the ability to remain silent for three hours at a time. Which, thanks to the aforementioned illness, is proving to be the most difficult part of the job. Generally, I consider myself one of the very best at sitting in a quiet room and keeping myself occupied with a book and phone/tablet for long periods of time – unfortunately at the moment that’s been requiring tag-teaming with someone else while I quietly nip out into the corridor and cough up several of my major organs, and then make my eighth lemsip-or-brew of the day.
Irritatingly, it is this very coughing-myself-into-an-early-grave issue that’s also getting in the way of me actually doing anything with the large amounts of time that I’m spending sat alone. I could easily be planning a project, working on my social media presence or similar – and actually getting paid for it! – but instead I’m forever rushing out into the corridor to attempt to turn myself inside-out instead of doing anything that is in any way useful.
Tellingly, the most significant writing milestone thus far in 2018 has been a rejection email for a short story I submitted over two years ago. I did vaguely wonder if they had simply not bothered to read it – that is a bloody long turnaround, after all! – but in the end it turns out that they just didn’t like it very much. I’m not sure whether that’s reassuring, or just damning.
Still, with the year getting off to this kind of start, it can only get better, right?
So I’ve had this site for a few years now, and yet it feels like I’ve been neglecting the actual “blog” portion of it.
That’s largely because blogging isn’t actually as fun or interesting to write as fiction, and so I tend to skip over it. For someone like me, for whom a “schedule” is something that the rest of the world obeys and I tend to just drift straight past, the idea of knocking out a few paragraphs of something every week sounds perfectly sensible and easy in principle, but in practice it’s something that I’ll just plain forget to do.
But I’m making the effort. With liberal use of various reminders, alarms and scheduling tools, I’m actually going to make this blog a regular weekly blog. Who knows, I might even get around to writing some more Stories Behind Stories content as well.
The big issue that arises then is, well, what the hell do I blog about? Who cares about what I’m doing with my time? (Hint: it’s not much) Who cares what some unpublished writer on the internet reckons about writing?
Still, even if it’s a case of slamming my head on the keyboard a few times until some vague, half-formed stream of consciousness dribble falls out of it and forms some vaguely word-looking shapes on a screen near you, it’s more than I was doing previously.
I can’t promise you it’ll be good – but I can promise you it’ll be here.
So, here’s the latest hiccough in my productivity:
Can you, uh, can you see the problem here? I can type, but it is one of the world’s slowest things trying to type with only my left hand. Not to mention how astonishingly uncomfortable it is to sit at a keyboard with the strange angle my right arm has to be (and don’t even get me started on trying to capitalise or use punctuation!).
So why is my entire arm bandaged up and near unusable? Would you believe a minor fracture in my little finger? No? Neither would I, but that’s what it is. Unfortunately, the fracture is so close to the joint that my wrist needs to be immobilised too.
Apparently, the unofficial name is a “boxer’s fracture”, since the usual way that part of the hand gets broken is by punching something damn hard with improper technique.
But that makes me sound a lot cooler than I am, because I just tripped over a cycle path kerb.
Fracture clinic appointment in just over a week. Let’s hope I can take this bloody thing off by then and get back to work.