focus. yeah, i've heard of that.

Having your website wiped out is, once you get over the daunting prospect of reinstalling and redesigning everything, almost liberating. (Why, yes, I am being gaggingly positive, aren't I? Don't worry, it won't last long.) It's not so good for getting words done, however. I was going to be virtuous and worry about the website […]

all i have to do is hit quota, after all

I have a house full of people at the moment, all here to meet the new baby. The new baby is supremely unfazed by this, and feels sleep is the best course of action. I've heard him squall exactly once since he arrived a couple of days ago and, though he did put a scrap […]

on the q-word

Personally, I find queries to be nasty, brutish creatures. I will cook and clean in preference to writing a query. (Those who know my propensity for all things domestic are noisily choking to death right about now.) Theoretically, I must be capable of writing them. I pitched a story to Postscripts on a query, which […]

five random things make a post

a word you never expected your aunt to know: frottage. i had a haircut three whole days ago now. i still hate it. sign of a truly bad haircut. this one's gonna take a few months to undo. is leonard cohen's "hallelujah" the most covered song ever in the history of mankind? i have twenty-seven […]

i wish you would…

Is it the ever-growing stack of work I have to do which has produced my funk? Or has the funk created the looming pile of tasks? I am not sure which started first, but I know I don't particularly like it. My energy levels can return from wherever it was they ran and hid anytime […]

none too bright

Richard Steinberg at StoryTellersUnplugged has a great article on why writers write: The thirty-seven writers in my address book (along with me) are a pretty diverse bunch. We live in five countries spread across two hemispheres, to say nothing of a bunch of us scattered throughout AmeriCanada. The youngest is nineteen, the oldest ninety-three. Male […]

bad writer. no biscuit.

In all the excitement over agents and snakes, it occurs to me I never did let you all out of your misery. That's right: the bed has arrived, frame and mattress and linen1. Lookit! Yes, there are actual, honest to god, flowers on the new linen. Any day now they're going to issue me with […]

name that book! (please?)

Yesterday I was cursing myself and calling myself all kinds of stupid for not writing down the ending. Today I found the slips of paper on which I'd written down the ending. I'd only gone and slipped them inside my on-the-go notebook, so I could work on the novel at any convenient time, hadn't I. […]

i suppose i could call it an interesting day

After yet another storm last night which knocked the clocks out halfway through the night, there was a very real danger (of which, being asleep, I was blissfully unaware) that I would not in fact stumble out of bed in time to get to work. Thanks to my neighbour's distinctly glorious (and singularly extensive) bout […]

one, two, three and I'm safe

Bitch Ask, and ye shall receive. The clouds haven't cleared, but it's stopped raining. Briefly, anyway. The cicadas are taking advantage of the break to shriek at each other throughout the valley, and the bloodsuckers are having a field day. I am most definitely not stepping foot out of doors without shoes, because all this […]