Salvaging my short stories from the old website has begun; I’m digging up some gems. See the link on the sidebar to the right.
But the longer stuff, like Murton Passport and the gods, will have to wait. I’l complete Grendel this year, then go back to the others.
What do you do for your friends, when they need help?
They don’t ask (they never ask); I’ve never met anyone who hauled up a flag and yelled Help! Usually they just retire from view. Some disappear altogether. But then maybe they don’t want a shoulder to cry on, or a shared coffee table on which to set the world to rights.
Maybe they want someone to go to for a chat, about other stuff, ordinary things. A bit of light relief. I dunno, but I worry that sometimes it’s not enough to just watch.
My old Dell is dying hard.
I’ve super-glued back the Y and D keys, but have totally lost the O key. The battery doesn’t work so I have to run it off the mains.
And today the mains cable has broken, so I’m using a borrowed one.
I’m really torn. Heart or mind. Macbook or netbook. One is expensive, difficult to use, but really really lovely, and the other is small, cheap (a third of the price) anonymous and functional.
Actually, think I’ll go with the netbook.
No, the Mac.
Hold on …
Began the process of salvaging the stories from my now-defunct website (don’t bother searching for it, it fell down the cold stone steps of Rapunzel’s tower and disappeared into the abyss).
They’re currently living on my short stories page here Short Stories
Feel free to comment.
Sometimes I meet people who are just better human beings than me. They’re kinder, wiser, more forgiving. Gentler.
When I meet these people, I realise that I’m not in the top division when it comes to being good. Not even close.
Sometimes I’m humbled. The world is full of good people and I’m not one of them. And this writing business is no substitute.
Played another gig with Thelonious Punk last week, third instrument, and the third time I’ve had to learn the set, in as many gigs; I was on tenor sax this time and I told Ralphy I’m sticking with it; he’s such a brilliant mercurial soloist that I need to be on top of my game just to keep him in sight, and I can’t keep switching. It spreads me too thin.
So Bb* tenor saxophone it is.
The good news is the management of The Experience, where we have our fortnightly residency, has offered us an all-nighter on the bank holiday, plus free beer.
Are they insane??
As they say in the tabloids.
Me, I like the winter, for reasons I’ve explained earlier, the sort of fresh sunshine you get on cold December mornings. But it is pretty. Starlight has taken up a position in the shade, lying on a wall at the back of the house, and probably won’t move for the rest of the day.
I’m on my ninth migraine in as many weeks; and the little yellow pills, on top of a squally head cold, have left me feeling a tad groggy; last night, for the first time in memory I fell asleep fully clothed on the bed, and didn’t wake til morning.
Wonderful dreams though.
This all means that I haven’t been writing most of the last week, on top of nothing much at all for the previous month. But I’m making the effort to get out of the house this afternoon, and go find a cafe somewhere for an hour or two.
(one of those windows is mine).
Things are quite surreal right now. Some really good things are going on; some really not-so-good stuff too.
And in equal measures too, like some sort of ancient Greek torture myth.
Trick is, just to hang on ’til the storm’s blown out.
That’s my migraine, by the way. Eighth one in about six weeks.
Stopped writing for a month.
Walked every evening along the cliffs, an hour, two hours a night. It was lovely.
This is the coastal path near where I live.
Sat in the garden most evenings, reading novels and drinking red wine.
Meditated, within my limited gift for calm and introspection.
Silk dreams of flying and glittering eyes.
Didn’t meet friends for coffee.
Don’t know why.
Maybe I just needed to breathe.
Purdah’s nearly over.