New work for 2010
So 2010 has only just begun, and I have a handful of new publications that I need to mention. They’ve all been out for at least a week (or a fortnight or even a month), but I haven’t mentioned them yet.
This is because I thought to myself “The next blog post I make will be a review of 2009, so I can’t update about anything else until I have reviewed 2009″. And then I never got around to thinking about 2009 because it’s 2010 already and I don’t want to be thinking about last year when it’s been snowing for weeks and my toes are always numb and the pipes keep freezing and I have to wear fingerless gloves just to type and this is supposed to be Scotland not bloody Svalbard.
So that’s my excuse. Now here are the new things.
- An untitled piece at Mud Luscious inspired by John Everett Millais’ painting ‘Cymon and Iphigenia’ and that blonde Aussie DJ called Ladyhawke.
- A little piece of sci-fi smut in the beautifully-designed Forest Book of Bedtime Stories.
- Some queer epistolary historical vampire erotica (seriously) at Reflection’s Edge.
4, 5, 6. And some other bits and pieces like an album review at Wears the Trousers (which was far harder to write than I expected), some NaNoWriMo chat on student radio show News Empire (you should listen to the whole show, but if time is short I’m on at 12 minutes in), and an honourable mention for the Cheshire Prize for Literature (including a mention in a Chester newspaper – a town I left at 12 and have not seen since).
I like to make promises I’ll only break, so I hereby GUARANTEE that my review of 2009 will appear any day now. Hopefully before 2011.
What do Neil Gaiman, Ali Smith, Nick Cave, and Margaret Atwood have in common? Stolen Stories!
Stolen Stories is a 10-week evening class at Glasgow University on using mythology, fairy tales, history, and classic literature to create original fiction.
Classes begin on the 14th of January, and run 7pm-9pm on Thursdays. The cost is £75 for the 10-week course. If you have any questions, please email me.
Towards the end of December, the pages of my day-planner are whiter than the 4am snow. Every other week of the year is full of black scribbles, crossings-out, and attempts to do three different things in three different places during one Wednesday lunchtime.
But those December days! Blank and free; perfect for writing. I can finish my novel, write some new poems, start that screenplay I keep boring people with. I’ll get to it, right after I eat my turkey dinner and visit my parents and watch the latest Austen adaptation and have another nap and eat my Chocolate Orange and crunch my way through the park and read all those trashy-fun novels I received.
And then it’s January, and my belly is full of meat and sugar, and my days are full of black scrawls again.
Now it’s time for an early night, hot chocolate, and a trashy crime thriller. Damn, I’m so rock ‘n’ roll.
I’ve been very quiet lately, I know; blame NaNoWriMo. I was doing pretty well with my typing (at this speed I wouldn’t dare to call it ‘writing’), but then I got an upper respiratory tract infection and spent three days in bed. There’s still time!