Marvel of marvels. Two blog posts in one day. I had to let people know I wasn't killed beneath an avalanche of books.
No, I'm not counting the financial cost of a bookcase. In my last post, which I wrote a million years ago earlier today, I mentioned three or four hundred books.
As these books migrated to the new big eff-off bookcase, the numbers grew clearer. Stacks behind stacks, ahead of or to the side of other obscured stacks, were hard to count. Until they landed on the new big eff-off bookcase.
I added. And added. Added some more.
Worth blogging about. I'd carried 610 books into the house, and dumped them on the floor. Gradually, these tomes clambered into position on the shelves.
Six hu...
What the eff was I thinking? They aren't staying. For sheer convenience, I threw books on shelves. In time, I'll weed out the duplicates. That calls for checking against the rest of the bookcases.
And I'll eliminate obscure books destined to see recycling in charity shops. For the first time ever, I've gathered a few books destined for a harsher form of recycling.
But, for now, they'll do as they are on the shelves. For I have a mind to make use of this unexpected library, photographically.
Stay tuned.
Monday, 24 August 2015
NO MORE NO MORE BOOKS: A REPORT FROM A FUGITIVE.
Weather turns on a shadow.
An unfeasibly hot summer's day ended without thundery incident, though it was a close-run thing. I stared into the misty rain, savouring the midnight chill sweeping in on the air.
And with that before me, I closed the door, knowing a pile of some three to four hundred books, squatting to my left, would linger on a new bookcase come the next day.
Well, it is the next day. Up earlier than I cared for, not knowing the hour, not wishing to know, my stomach wrestled with an item I'd eaten in haste.
Returning to bed glad I hadn't vomited the problem free, I studiously avoided catching sight of any and all clocks. Fevered dreams of famous people haunted the
Pardon the interruption. Haunted the night. Then the alarm I'd set for 6.30 alarmed me. Luckily, the mechanical contrivance frightened no horses.
I was ready and waiting for a delivery of a new bookcase, one I knew I could just about squeeze in beside all the other cases, cabinets of curiosities, and caskets.
No bookcase came. I busied myself shifting books upstairs to a staging-post inside my library. The bookcase, destined for the other room, requires assembly-space in that other room.
Books begat books.
The morning weather is decidedly autumnal. Scottish summer weather generally is. While waiting for the bookcase, I was ambushed by the arrival of yet more books.
Why does a digital author, living and working in the digital age, buy hardbacks? Durability. I like reading them. Storing them is a puzzle, a challenge, and a danger.
At this rate, my autumnal purchasing of Folio Society books will fill the top layer of my bookcases in a decade. No, not the top shelves. Above that layer.
It's the mix of mass market paperbacks and assorted misfits of hardbacks, plaguing the living room floor and other staging-posts right now, that I must worry over.
Not for long. The interruption to this blog was caused by the arrival of a text message. That new bookcase was packed by gnomes, pixies, or leprechauns.
I take delivery from noon onwards.
Though I am not currently blogging weekly, I am, to my surprise, still blogging. And I had the time, away from arranging a business letter, away from shifting and stacking books, away from taking delivery of yet more tomes, to waffle in this blog.
Letter? Occasionally, e-mail won't cut it.
I know I won't write of an author's library again. For there'll be no more books, hell, no more bookcases.
And every time I think this, I know I'll write of an author's library again. That there'll be more books. It's hard to imagine more bookcases sneaking in, after today's behemoth lies installed. I've measured the stacks, and know that truth down to a decimal point.
An unfeasibly hot summer's day ended without thundery incident, though it was a close-run thing. I stared into the misty rain, savouring the midnight chill sweeping in on the air.
And with that before me, I closed the door, knowing a pile of some three to four hundred books, squatting to my left, would linger on a new bookcase come the next day.
*
Well, it is the next day. Up earlier than I cared for, not knowing the hour, not wishing to know, my stomach wrestled with an item I'd eaten in haste.
Returning to bed glad I hadn't vomited the problem free, I studiously avoided catching sight of any and all clocks. Fevered dreams of famous people haunted the
*
Pardon the interruption. Haunted the night. Then the alarm I'd set for 6.30 alarmed me. Luckily, the mechanical contrivance frightened no horses.
I was ready and waiting for a delivery of a new bookcase, one I knew I could just about squeeze in beside all the other cases, cabinets of curiosities, and caskets.
No bookcase came. I busied myself shifting books upstairs to a staging-post inside my library. The bookcase, destined for the other room, requires assembly-space in that other room.
Books begat books.
*
The morning weather is decidedly autumnal. Scottish summer weather generally is. While waiting for the bookcase, I was ambushed by the arrival of yet more books.
Why does a digital author, living and working in the digital age, buy hardbacks? Durability. I like reading them. Storing them is a puzzle, a challenge, and a danger.
At this rate, my autumnal purchasing of Folio Society books will fill the top layer of my bookcases in a decade. No, not the top shelves. Above that layer.
It's the mix of mass market paperbacks and assorted misfits of hardbacks, plaguing the living room floor and other staging-posts right now, that I must worry over.
Not for long. The interruption to this blog was caused by the arrival of a text message. That new bookcase was packed by gnomes, pixies, or leprechauns.
I take delivery from noon onwards.
*
Though I am not currently blogging weekly, I am, to my surprise, still blogging. And I had the time, away from arranging a business letter, away from shifting and stacking books, away from taking delivery of yet more tomes, to waffle in this blog.
Letter? Occasionally, e-mail won't cut it.
I know I won't write of an author's library again. For there'll be no more books, hell, no more bookcases.
And every time I think this, I know I'll write of an author's library again. That there'll be more books. It's hard to imagine more bookcases sneaking in, after today's behemoth lies installed. I've measured the stacks, and know that truth down to a decimal point.
Friday, 21 August 2015
WHAT-THE-SHIT?!-LEVELS-OF-FUCKBUGGERY?! A REPORT FROM A FUGITIVE.
I am struggling to write.
Not because I am struggling to write. Fuck, no. I'd blogged that I would do a follow-up blog post after the conclusion of a court case. And I will blog about that, before year's end.
If you missed this, GO RIGHT AHEAD AND CLICK.
It's just that I keep seeing...
What-the-Shit?!-Levels-of-Fuckbuggery?!
And I find it hard to write about harsh things in publishing without, er, publishing. But I am forced to hold off until a court case concludes.
So, yes, I have a lot to say in a long writing piece. But legal reasons prevent publication at this time. I am struggling to write. Oh. There'll be a volcanic eruption, come the revolution.
You will fear for the seams of this blog, as they strain to contain the ever-expanding universe-sized rant that's lodged in the vaults as I type.
I speak of...
What-the-Shit?!-Levels-of-Fuckbuggery?!
And tonight I saw more of the same, and I felt that I had to blog. But I can't blog with specific detail. The court case comes first.
I stress that I am not involved in a court case myself. Yes, I can sit back and say nothing when the time comes. But that's not the way of things.
For I am involved in humankind. Therefore, send not to know for whom the blog tolls. It tolls for thee.
It amused me to see, that, in typing John Donne into the blog post's labels, I was called on to hit DONE after I'd added Donne. This blog post was a vent of steam. But quiet quirky moments in writing vent steam better than any rant ever could.
Stay tuned.
Next blog post in this series - guilty verdicts, awaiting sentencing: INTERIM REPORT.
Not because I am struggling to write. Fuck, no. I'd blogged that I would do a follow-up blog post after the conclusion of a court case. And I will blog about that, before year's end.
*
If you missed this, GO RIGHT AHEAD AND CLICK.
*
It's just that I keep seeing...
What-the-Shit?!-Levels-of-Fuckbuggery?!
And I find it hard to write about harsh things in publishing without, er, publishing. But I am forced to hold off until a court case concludes.
So, yes, I have a lot to say in a long writing piece. But legal reasons prevent publication at this time. I am struggling to write. Oh. There'll be a volcanic eruption, come the revolution.
You will fear for the seams of this blog, as they strain to contain the ever-expanding universe-sized rant that's lodged in the vaults as I type.
I speak of...
What-the-Shit?!-Levels-of-Fuckbuggery?!
And tonight I saw more of the same, and I felt that I had to blog. But I can't blog with specific detail. The court case comes first.
*
I stress that I am not involved in a court case myself. Yes, I can sit back and say nothing when the time comes. But that's not the way of things.
For I am involved in humankind. Therefore, send not to know for whom the blog tolls. It tolls for thee.
*
It amused me to see, that, in typing John Donne into the blog post's labels, I was called on to hit DONE after I'd added Donne. This blog post was a vent of steam. But quiet quirky moments in writing vent steam better than any rant ever could.
Stay tuned.
*
Next blog post in this series - guilty verdicts, awaiting sentencing: INTERIM REPORT.
Monday, 3 August 2015
DINORAGE! A REPORT FROM A FUGITIVE.
All is not well in Writerland, but I persevere. There are many files with half-stories in them. I do what I can to finish those tales.
Not all is bad in Writerland. Ideas slip into files and they grow, slowly, into stories. I publish these tales.
Or reorganise. Sometimes I run favours. And so. A recap of activity, visible and invisible...
I stripped blog posts from MIRA E. Reorganisation from hybrid product to standalone novel. Trickier than I thought it'd be, even though I thought it'd be trickier than I thought it'd be.
And I bundled FICTION FACTORY tales into an OMNIBUS collection.
For that, I changed notes at the end of five stories, revamped all blurb, and revised back matter in all my Kindle books.
Details drifted a little inside the Amazon bookshelf, and I squelched things in the name of consistency. One isolated work lied to me, listed as a series. WTF?! If you accidentally mislead yourself, think of the women and children! Or, at least, the customers.
This year I went from ten products on Amazon to eleven products on Amazon. I published once. And that was an omnibus. But I republished my bookshelf items 95 times, so the e-mail trail tells me.
Amazon changes. And what wasn't a glitch before suddenly becomes a glitch now. Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?! Better fix that. Fix that, I did. Yoda, I am not.
I looked at JAPANESE MONSTERS, half-written and in sore need of finishing. And I looked at DOUG CHAMBERS: ZOMBIE! Also half-finished. Easier to finish, too.
Invisible work? I decided to roast away all those blog posts about the zombie story. That tale goes to KDP Select when released, so it runs exclusively. No lengthy excerpts on the blog.
It's all reorganisation. Invisible mending.
As a favour, I finished editing the Kindle version of Lady Injury by Melissa C. Water. She sneaked into the top ten on a paid-for chart on this side of the Atlantic. Guess we did something right.
All of this stuff takes time, effort, energy, and coffee.
I look at the Ghost of Blog Posts Past, and I see projects still unpublished. Now I'm in the business of busying myself over unfinished business.
That meant scrapping things. The blogging-plus-novel format croaked. No regrets. MIRA E. survived the divorce. You try a mad experiment. It bites the dust. You stand up, dust down, and plod on.
Major reorganisation of Neon Gods was a good thing. Other stories in that series are now easier to write up. Occasionally, writers manage to type stuff - but, hell, we don't make it easier on ourselves.
I made it easier on myself.
What the hell is DINORAGE! when it's at home? Just another FICTION FACTORY story sitting on the shelf. Unfinished business. Time to dust that off. Soon. There'll be dinosaurs. And rage. In a toyshop. Toy Story, it ain't.
Not all is bad in Writerland. Ideas slip into files and they grow, slowly, into stories. I publish these tales.
Or reorganise. Sometimes I run favours. And so. A recap of activity, visible and invisible...
*
I stripped blog posts from MIRA E. Reorganisation from hybrid product to standalone novel. Trickier than I thought it'd be, even though I thought it'd be trickier than I thought it'd be.
And I bundled FICTION FACTORY tales into an OMNIBUS collection.
For that, I changed notes at the end of five stories, revamped all blurb, and revised back matter in all my Kindle books.
Details drifted a little inside the Amazon bookshelf, and I squelched things in the name of consistency. One isolated work lied to me, listed as a series. WTF?! If you accidentally mislead yourself, think of the women and children! Or, at least, the customers.
This year I went from ten products on Amazon to eleven products on Amazon. I published once. And that was an omnibus. But I republished my bookshelf items 95 times, so the e-mail trail tells me.
Amazon changes. And what wasn't a glitch before suddenly becomes a glitch now. Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?! Better fix that. Fix that, I did. Yoda, I am not.
*
I looked at JAPANESE MONSTERS, half-written and in sore need of finishing. And I looked at DOUG CHAMBERS: ZOMBIE! Also half-finished. Easier to finish, too.
Invisible work? I decided to roast away all those blog posts about the zombie story. That tale goes to KDP Select when released, so it runs exclusively. No lengthy excerpts on the blog.
It's all reorganisation. Invisible mending.
As a favour, I finished editing the Kindle version of Lady Injury by Melissa C. Water. She sneaked into the top ten on a paid-for chart on this side of the Atlantic. Guess we did something right.
*
All of this stuff takes time, effort, energy, and coffee.
I look at the Ghost of Blog Posts Past, and I see projects still unpublished. Now I'm in the business of busying myself over unfinished business.
That meant scrapping things. The blogging-plus-novel format croaked. No regrets. MIRA E. survived the divorce. You try a mad experiment. It bites the dust. You stand up, dust down, and plod on.
Major reorganisation of Neon Gods was a good thing. Other stories in that series are now easier to write up. Occasionally, writers manage to type stuff - but, hell, we don't make it easier on ourselves.
I made it easier on myself.
*
What the hell is DINORAGE! when it's at home? Just another FICTION FACTORY story sitting on the shelf. Unfinished business. Time to dust that off. Soon. There'll be dinosaurs. And rage. In a toyshop. Toy Story, it ain't.
Monday, 13 July 2015
MELISSA C. WATER AND LADY INJURY VIDEO: A REPORT FROM A FUGITIVE.
Okay. I am away from the blog. What does that mean? It means the weekly blog is a thing of the past. Lately, I've been on a blog holiday. No blogging.
But wait a bit. I've been blogging.
Calm down, calm down. It's not as if I am typing with a broken armchair.
Blog break. Things didn't work out that way. I've still found something to blog about every month. Hell, I know for a fact that I'll be blogging tomorrow. This is my second blog post today.
I have to arrange supper. Talk amongst yourselves while I brew up a coffee.
Had to use that archive shot. A picture of black coffee in a black mug on a black desk wouldn't really convey the subtle flavours at play.
Then again...
Non-emergency. I wondered why the kitchen was so effing hot. I left the oven on. Nothing inside it. Just invented an expensive method of heating the kitchen.
I've really lost the thread of this post. You'd think needles would lose thread, and not posts. Now the coffee is behind me. I even detoured into a video on YouTube, all about the preparation of Turkish coffee.
What did I learn? The Turkish word for breakfast means before coffee. I must cease the blog and leave for Turkey immediately.
Ah, yes. YouTube. Which brings me back to...
Imagine leaving the
What the hell was that?! Some strange tiny white thing just pinged off my face. A weird fly or...I don't know. Spontaneous non-cold micro-hailstone.
But I'm going with the idea of a tiny albino fly.
Imagine leaving the oven on for GASP hours. What a toasty kitchen. Where the hell was I? Not in the kitchen, obviously, as I left it behind to swelter in its own inferno.
Back to YouTube.
Here's Melissa C. Water, holding up a copy of her book. Click the photo for a link to her channel.
I always duck to avoid bullets whenever people say nice things about me on the internet. Or, indeed, off the internet. I try to explain that I am a Silent Movie Villain of the worst kind.
Can't pass a railway without the urge to foreclose on an old lady's mortgage and tie her daughter to the tracks. Is that just me?
Just me, then.
But no. People don't believe me. I stand accused of good deeds and right-doing and swearing a lot. Yes, okay, there's a lot of effing swearing. Just dredge through this blog or my stories.
Hell, hang out in my kitchen as I discover the aberrant source of heat. Oven warms room in shocking plot-twist.
I've been on a long road tonight. As I type, I am publishing a book. But that's for tomorrow's blog post, not today's.
This blog is about discovering someone being nice to me by linking to my blog in a video on the YouTube. I deny it all. My top hat, cane, gladstone bag, twirly moustache, and cape all attest to my wicked fire-raising ways.
Well, not fire-raising. I reached the oven in time.
One thing I can deny. I had no part in Melissa's book - for that's the paperback version she waves about. Well, it is harder to show the Kindle version on a video. But I have seen that done.
To me, it's strange to see all those pages. I hyperlinked her diary entries for some strange magical mystical electronic creature that has no pages.
We worked on the Kindle version. Her memoir about self-harm, and her time in the psychiatric ward, is a thin volume the depth of a Kindle reading device.
Whatever that device is. And the book went onto Kindle without much fanfare. Melissa has no advertising budget, but the e-book cracked the top ten in the medical memoir sub-category that her readers found her in.
Again, it just feels strange to see her heft that mighty paperback in her video. The Kindle version has some advantages. Here's one. If you want to read about her struggle, but don't want people to know what you are reading, the Kindle is its own hiding-place.
You don't need a Kindle to read an e-book. The Kindle app is available for all sorts of electronic devices. And you can password-protect it, to stop prying eyes catching sight of your reading-list.
So, yes, the Kindle version of Melissa's memoir comes with its own camouflage, if you, as a reader, want to talk to friends or family about your problems...but you don't feel ready yet.
And also if you don't want people finding that paperback hidden, rather unoriginally, under your bed. Not just yet.
Of course, yes, it's good to talk and to share. And you should. But explosive confrontation as a result of melodramatic discovery of a self-harm-themed memoir...well, that's avoidable.
Leave explosive confrontation and melodramatic discovery to the Silent Movie Villains of the World. (We have a Secret Society. And, naturally, we let the world know that we have a secret society. Mwa-ha-ha.)
There are always going to be people out there who want a hefty paperback in their hands. (And rarer fiends like me, who must have shelves crammed with hardback doorstops.)
Melissa turned a corner with the fresh publication of her books. She's off to Montreal, planning a support group for people with Tourette's, and, it goes without saying but say it anyway, more videos to help people on the YouTube.
Hmmm. The electronic dictionary doesn't like Tourette's. Now the dictionary is trying to get me to accept courgettes. I had ratatouille once. Preferred the movie.
By that, I mean cartoon. And by that, I mean animated feature. Now I am going to have coffee. And by that, I mean perfection in a cup.
You'll find Lady Injury on Amazon. I'll find coffee in the kitchen. And with that, adieu. By that, I mean my coffee is long over-adieu and a long long while before breakfast. And that's before coffee.
No, I didn't get much sleep last night. I was up late working on a book. But that's a story about another story, for another time. Tomorrow, after coffee.
Images of Melissa used by kind persimmons. Copyright Melissa C. Water, 2015.
But wait a bit. I've been blogging.
Calm down, calm down. It's not as if I am typing with a broken armchair.
Blog break. Things didn't work out that way. I've still found something to blog about every month. Hell, I know for a fact that I'll be blogging tomorrow. This is my second blog post today.
I have to arrange supper. Talk amongst yourselves while I brew up a coffee.
Had to use that archive shot. A picture of black coffee in a black mug on a black desk wouldn't really convey the subtle flavours at play.
Then again...
*
Non-emergency. I wondered why the kitchen was so effing hot. I left the oven on. Nothing inside it. Just invented an expensive method of heating the kitchen.
I've really lost the thread of this post. You'd think needles would lose thread, and not posts. Now the coffee is behind me. I even detoured into a video on YouTube, all about the preparation of Turkish coffee.
What did I learn? The Turkish word for breakfast means before coffee. I must cease the blog and leave for Turkey immediately.
Ah, yes. YouTube. Which brings me back to...
*
Imagine leaving the
What the hell was that?! Some strange tiny white thing just pinged off my face. A weird fly or...I don't know. Spontaneous non-cold micro-hailstone.
But I'm going with the idea of a tiny albino fly.
Imagine leaving the oven on for GASP hours. What a toasty kitchen. Where the hell was I? Not in the kitchen, obviously, as I left it behind to swelter in its own inferno.
*
Back to YouTube.
Here's Melissa C. Water, holding up a copy of her book. Click the photo for a link to her channel.
I always duck to avoid bullets whenever people say nice things about me on the internet. Or, indeed, off the internet. I try to explain that I am a Silent Movie Villain of the worst kind.
Can't pass a railway without the urge to foreclose on an old lady's mortgage and tie her daughter to the tracks. Is that just me?
Just me, then.
But no. People don't believe me. I stand accused of good deeds and right-doing and swearing a lot. Yes, okay, there's a lot of effing swearing. Just dredge through this blog or my stories.
Hell, hang out in my kitchen as I discover the aberrant source of heat. Oven warms room in shocking plot-twist.
I've been on a long road tonight. As I type, I am publishing a book. But that's for tomorrow's blog post, not today's.
This blog is about discovering someone being nice to me by linking to my blog in a video on the YouTube. I deny it all. My top hat, cane, gladstone bag, twirly moustache, and cape all attest to my wicked fire-raising ways.
Well, not fire-raising. I reached the oven in time.
One thing I can deny. I had no part in Melissa's book - for that's the paperback version she waves about. Well, it is harder to show the Kindle version on a video. But I have seen that done.
To me, it's strange to see all those pages. I hyperlinked her diary entries for some strange magical mystical electronic creature that has no pages.
We worked on the Kindle version. Her memoir about self-harm, and her time in the psychiatric ward, is a thin volume the depth of a Kindle reading device.
Whatever that device is. And the book went onto Kindle without much fanfare. Melissa has no advertising budget, but the e-book cracked the top ten in the medical memoir sub-category that her readers found her in.
Again, it just feels strange to see her heft that mighty paperback in her video. The Kindle version has some advantages. Here's one. If you want to read about her struggle, but don't want people to know what you are reading, the Kindle is its own hiding-place.
*
You don't need a Kindle to read an e-book. The Kindle app is available for all sorts of electronic devices. And you can password-protect it, to stop prying eyes catching sight of your reading-list.
So, yes, the Kindle version of Melissa's memoir comes with its own camouflage, if you, as a reader, want to talk to friends or family about your problems...but you don't feel ready yet.
And also if you don't want people finding that paperback hidden, rather unoriginally, under your bed. Not just yet.
Of course, yes, it's good to talk and to share. And you should. But explosive confrontation as a result of melodramatic discovery of a self-harm-themed memoir...well, that's avoidable.
Leave explosive confrontation and melodramatic discovery to the Silent Movie Villains of the World. (We have a Secret Society. And, naturally, we let the world know that we have a secret society. Mwa-ha-ha.)
*
There are always going to be people out there who want a hefty paperback in their hands. (And rarer fiends like me, who must have shelves crammed with hardback doorstops.)
*
Melissa turned a corner with the fresh publication of her books. She's off to Montreal, planning a support group for people with Tourette's, and, it goes without saying but say it anyway, more videos to help people on the YouTube.
Hmmm. The electronic dictionary doesn't like Tourette's. Now the dictionary is trying to get me to accept courgettes. I had ratatouille once. Preferred the movie.
By that, I mean cartoon. And by that, I mean animated feature. Now I am going to have coffee. And by that, I mean perfection in a cup.
You'll find Lady Injury on Amazon. I'll find coffee in the kitchen. And with that, adieu. By that, I mean my coffee is long over-adieu and a long long while before breakfast. And that's before coffee.
No, I didn't get much sleep last night. I was up late working on a book. But that's a story about another story, for another time. Tomorrow, after coffee.
Images of Melissa used by kind persimmons. Copyright Melissa C. Water, 2015.
Wednesday, 1 July 2015
LADY INJURY: SECOND EDITION FOR AMAZON KINDLE, BY MELISSA C. WATER.
Though I am away from the blog, I try to fulfil commitments. What the hell does that mean? If there's something to announce, I'll announce it. And so...
Melissa C. Water and I walked a long and twisty road to the publication of her memoir's second edition. A decently-priced Lady Injury is now out for Amazon Kindle.
*
Melissa C. Water and I walked a long and twisty road to the publication of her memoir's second edition. A decently-priced Lady Injury is now out for Amazon Kindle.
We ran over a few million things before publication. It's important to be sure. That stems from being unsure. And that's just the way things run in the world of the scribbler.
Details, details.
One Canadian-English dictionary came down firmly in favour of aluminium. Another fell against. Regular Canadians, it seems, have no truck with the word. Scientific Canadians, however, can't get enough of it.
Advice? Both spellings are acceptable. We decided to pick one and stick with it.
From escaping an evil publishing contract to venturing into self-publishing, with one long mighty leap, Melissa was free.
Yes, the road was long. Sometimes I wasn't there, and occasionally Melissa couldn't be on that road to publication either. Recently, with the finishing-line in sight, we appeared out of the misty rain and made a mad dash for the tape.
Now that's done, Melissa's turned her attention to putting out the paperback. She hopes to have that up and running soon.
Cover image © Melissa C. Water 2015. Used by kind persimmons.
Details, details.
One Canadian-English dictionary came down firmly in favour of aluminium. Another fell against. Regular Canadians, it seems, have no truck with the word. Scientific Canadians, however, can't get enough of it.
Advice? Both spellings are acceptable. We decided to pick one and stick with it.
From escaping an evil publishing contract to venturing into self-publishing, with one long mighty leap, Melissa was free.
Yes, the road was long. Sometimes I wasn't there, and occasionally Melissa couldn't be on that road to publication either. Recently, with the finishing-line in sight, we appeared out of the misty rain and made a mad dash for the tape.
*
Cover image © Melissa C. Water 2015. Used by kind persimmons.
Friday, 1 May 2015
ACCIDENTAL DAMAGE: A REPORT FROM A FUGITIVE.
Last month, I put the brakes on weekly blogging. The week before I called that halt, I blogged about blood on my toothbrush.
At a span of a few minutes after publication, I realised what I'd done. Yes, blog posts can be unmade. But I aim to stand by what I've written, unless I gradually change view on a topic or fresh evidence comes to light...
In this case, I stand by the two isolated blog posts I wrote. There was blood on the toothbrush. A week later, non-toothbrush events took me away from the blog. The goodbye for now blog post and the bloody toothbrush blog post were unconnected.
Writers who supported me backstage are thanked again. I'm okay. My dentist says so. Blogging about two unrelated incidents created accidental damage. Luckily, that damage was illusory. Long may it remain so.
At a span of a few minutes after publication, I realised what I'd done. Yes, blog posts can be unmade. But I aim to stand by what I've written, unless I gradually change view on a topic or fresh evidence comes to light...
In this case, I stand by the two isolated blog posts I wrote. There was blood on the toothbrush. A week later, non-toothbrush events took me away from the blog. The goodbye for now blog post and the bloody toothbrush blog post were unconnected.
Writers who supported me backstage are thanked again. I'm okay. My dentist says so. Blogging about two unrelated incidents created accidental damage. Luckily, that damage was illusory. Long may it remain so.
Friday, 3 April 2015
FINISHED WITH ENGINES: A REPORT FROM A FUGITIVE.
The deal I made with myself was simple. If I blog, I blog knowing I can shut the blog down at any time and for any reason - or no reason, if I so desire.
This deal kept my blog running. The notion that the blog could go at any moment.
That time has come. I am finished with engines.
What does this mean? An end to the blog? All remaining blogging commitments will be fulfilled. If I start the blog up again, I'll let you know. In a blog post.
Sometimes you have to go and deal with things. I have to go and deal with things. That's all anyone needs to hear.
Every writer I assisted, in turn, aided me. I'll thank the usual suspects for their help. They know who they are.
Advice for you, if you want to write? Write. Publish what you write. Just do it, but don't just do it. Do it with brains, with heart, with doubt, with coffee.
Write in the middle of the night because you can't sleep. Scribble across the darkness because writing until dawn is the right thing to do.
All authors should write through the night, at least once.
Don't write romance unless you've had your heart broken. Watch lunatics batter fuck out of each other with swords before you pen a swashbuckler.
You needn't murder people if you want to write up a serial killer tale, much as you'd like to eliminate victims on an ever-lengthening list.
Don't forget to write.
This deal kept my blog running. The notion that the blog could go at any moment.
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That time has come. I am finished with engines.
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What does this mean? An end to the blog? All remaining blogging commitments will be fulfilled. If I start the blog up again, I'll let you know. In a blog post.
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Sometimes you have to go and deal with things. I have to go and deal with things. That's all anyone needs to hear.
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Every writer I assisted, in turn, aided me. I'll thank the usual suspects for their help. They know who they are.
*
Advice for you, if you want to write? Write. Publish what you write. Just do it, but don't just do it. Do it with brains, with heart, with doubt, with coffee.
Write in the middle of the night because you can't sleep. Scribble across the darkness because writing until dawn is the right thing to do.
All authors should write through the night, at least once.
Don't write romance unless you've had your heart broken. Watch lunatics batter fuck out of each other with swords before you pen a swashbuckler.
You needn't murder people if you want to write up a serial killer tale, much as you'd like to eliminate victims on an ever-lengthening list.
*
Don't forget to write.
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