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Category Archives: seagulls

Dreaming of an end

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

I had a dream where I pitched my novel as a series of author-based equations. Which I don’t think is the done thing, dear boy.

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Ritting routine

Thursday, October 29, 2009

On feeling almost a writer. Or at least being someone with a writing routine. A ritting routine.

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Telling Tell Tales

Monday, July 6, 2009

On finding inspiration from listening to other writers. And tea. And occasionally, from intergalatic itinerant bees that have flown through Will Self’s brain and discovered at least two new forms of mucus and confectionery previously unknown to man. Or ear.

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The past is a dangerous place

Monday, June 15, 2009

Some days are doggerel days. And this is one of them. Join me on a trip down memory lane, and laugh in the face of pentametre.

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Hiatus

Friday, May 1, 2009

I’ve been quiet on the non-running stuff of late. I’ve run over 450 miles this year already and would dearly love to trade them for words on the novel. But things have been, well, sticky. And like most sticky things sometimes you need to spend some time cleaning up.
So I’ve been quiet. [...]

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Emotional chord sequins

Saturday, December 20, 2008

I’m sitting here listening to Glasvegas.  As I have been for about six weeks, give or take the odd bit of manflu, work-hatred, non-running (still injured) and experiments in Nigella-worship.
And it’s simply not good for me.  The huge sweeping guitars, the nursery rhyme lyrics, the Motown percussion bits, the thickly accented home truths.  It makes [...]

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Unproductive

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Work.  Frustration.  Work.  Frustration.  Work.  Frustration.  Work.  Frustration.  Work.  Frustration.  Typing.  Not copying.  Not pasting.  Sick of it.
And I’m really too old for this feeling sorry for myself lark.  Larks.  Singing.  Spring.  Or Autumn as it happens.
SIgh.  Anyway.  No writing.  No excuses.  I’ve been given time and space to do it.  And I haven’t.  For [...]

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The God of Onions

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Aha.  My nemesis.  I have returned.  The God of Onions is laid bare in all his phallacies.  Or something.  My wife has just returned from a night out to accuse me of being drunk in charge of a word processor.  As if!  As if the word processor does not have a mind, and even a [...]

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A start is still a start, no matter how many pigeons are involved

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

And so, the merry dance begins again.  1,100 words today.  Mostly old, but some new.  But at least I like most of them.
In other news, I dreamt last night that I could remember the plot of No Country for Old Men, but instead I was dreaming some kind of survivalist horror with the Bardem character, [...]

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Piedgnancy

Thursday, August 7, 2008

Two very contrasting experiences this morning.  Two or three doors down there must have had an argument, because there were a series of messages written in coloured chalks on the pavement leading around the corner to the high street.  Part apology, part skit, part relationship warrant, it ended with a plea to meet in the [...]

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