I hope this finds you well. I hope you’re living a pleasant life under quarantine, and that your biscuit tin is never empty.
Since your last letter, I completed another scene of Halo of Flies. It’s going fairly well, I’m building up a nice momentum that doesn’t feel too strenuous to maintain, and I’m enjoying the writing itself. I’ve always loved coming up with worlds for people to inhabit; I think that’s why fantasy has always appealed so strongly. I’ve been thinking about this world for so long that it’s good to have people to finally inhabit it. If I can maintain my current pace, I should have the first draft completed by the 22nd of June. Mark the date on your calendar and if I haven’t completed it by then, you’ve my permission to give me a good ticking off.
Continue reading “In which I write a letter”
I hesitate to write about politics. It makes people (including me), fairly angry, a lot of the time, and when you have strong opinions about something, it doesn’t necessarily engender good thinking or good writing. You have to be much more careful to reign yourself in and examine your assumptions. In the first draft of this I referred to a certain political appointee as a professional asshole, and while I think that’s true, I recognise that it’s an opinion. Opinions are like professionals assholes, in that politics is already rife with them. See? I did it again. I just can’t help myself.
Continue reading “In which I hesitate to write about politics”
“It’s all he can think about. That and the feeling of something under his skin, crawling, twitching, moving, biting.”
– Yellow Jacket (Work in progress)
I wasn’t sure how to open this. My inner British stereotype almost came out; I was going to talk about the weather. Instead, have a line I wrote today. Isn’t body horror fun?
Continue reading “In which I resist telling you about the weather”
I made chicken Provencal last night, based on this recipe from the New Yorker. I say based on, because like all recipes that you make over and over it’s had adjustments and alterations and general tinkering, based on convenience and preferences. The alterations are:
Continue reading “Drunken chicken provencal, cocktail thinking tangents”
Good lord, it’s the twenty-fourth of February, already. I hate it when people do that, ‘WOW! It’s [INSERT TODAY’S DATE] already!’ but I do it myself all the time – the passage of time might be linear but our experience of it is so relative that it sneaks up on me all the time. Days might pass slowly, but weeks seem to flood past. One day you’re starting university and someone sneezes and you’re close to a year away from your thirtieth birthday, wondering if you’re really not that bothered about all the things you ‘should’ have done by now. I always have taken my time with things. My mother’s name for me when I was a child was ‘Hurry up!’ and my middle names were ‘we’ll be late!’ What I’m saying is, thirty or forty or fifty, I’ll get there when I get there. ‘Whether it’s writing,’ he said, stroking an invisible, long, white beard, ‘or relationships, or self-actualization, it can take time, but it’s time worth taking.’
Continue reading “Old man climbs a mountain with the New Weird”