Month: December 2007


Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker: A quick update

So, 4am and a total write off of a day, all told.

A lot of dicking about on Facebook, some cooking (I made cottage pie for one. It was, as they say, bad ass) and very little else. I did get to read the first half of Ruth’s screenplay though, which is really good. I won’t break a confidence by telling you anything about it, except to say that there’s a killer joke on page three. I’ll read the second half tomorrow.

For now though, I’m writing this and planning to fall asleep watching a video on the TV/video combo thing that Maggie gave me. She was throwing it away. Throwing it away! I have a ton of videos that I haven’t been able to watch for a thousand years. My decision tonight was between The Usual Suspects or Die Hard. So I’m in bed, fastforwarding through the trailers, about to watch Die Hard. I’m definitely in a Die Hard place.

Night night.


A numbers game

This is my 100th post on here. Which means an average of about one post every four days, a number I’m quite happy with. The only slightly annoying this is that I’m too tired to write anything appropriately momentous to mark the occasion.

I got up at six this morning, having gone to bed at four (I fucked up my bodyclock over the weekend and needed to kick it back into early starts if I have a hope in hell of getting the book finished without missing out on upcoming Christmas events). My day today has been spent basically restructuring the whole damn thing; the result of a lot of dithering over the past few weeks on structure and focus. I told myself I couldn’t go to sleep until I’d not only got the narrative back on track, but cut out the fat and crap.

As I sit here in bed at 2:12am, I’m pretty sure I’ve done it. Which makes me happy because at midnight I was pretty fucking far from sure. But for tonight, at least, I think everything’s going to be OK.

Until tomorrow, then.

Night night.


What’s another year?

I just – and I mean just – managed to recover from my horrible man flu in time for my birthday. By just, I mean in the cab at 10pm on my way to a party. I was still sucking a lozenge when I got out of the lift.

I don’t normally get too involved in birthdays. My own, I mean. This is going to sound ridiculous coming from me, but there’s something about everyone feeling like they have to make a fuss of some kind over me, or just somehow behave differently, that makes me uncomfortable. Yeah, really.

Thing is, with Christmas and other shared holidays we’re all in it together; there’s a sense of empathy and shared experience that takes the edge off the discomfort – no one is being fussed over more than anyone else (well, no one aside from Him) which somehow makes the whole thing more honest and heart-felt. Birthday greetings on the other hand, unless the birthday person has survived another year of leukemia or is 109, smack more of affectation than affection.

But this year, I decided to lap up the good wishes. Even from those who were basically prompted to say something by Facebook (which, by the way, is a fucking lifesaver for men like me who have a memory for people’s birthdates like David Irving has for the Holocaust). I got lots of nice messages, and texts and wall posts and emails and they Made Me Happy. Thank you.

The really nice thing though was that a couple of people who have known me for a looooong time and aren’t normally given to acts of sincerity sent me nice private emails to say nice things they wouldn’t normally be given to say. But because it was my birthday, and because they knew this might be one birthday that I’d appreciate it, they did. And I did. So thank you again. You know who you are.

(Also – an additional shout to Michelle for saying on my Facebook Wall that she loves me more than Prada. The fact that I know that to be untrue, doesn’t weaken the sentiment or the sly motive behind it. Kudos.)

Also thank you, Purple Sky people, for the fun and the Champagne. I may not have started til nearly 11, but it made for a hell of a birthday hour and a post birthday few hours.

Right – nothing else to say this weekend. I promise I’ll try to get the self-indulgence levels back down to their normal elevated level next week. I also hope to write more than a couple of thousands words a day on the book, otherwise I’m starting to panic. It’d be quite nice not to have to be still editing on New Years’ Eve.

One final thing: for those following the Writers’ Strike, and who haven’t already seen them, may I strongly recommend…

Speechless (start with this one)

and

Writer Boi.

Night night.

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