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Tag Archives: getting somewhere

Brain_coralYes I have, so I have! My short story ‘The Garden Where We Go To Lump’ has appeared in the latest issue of Gone Lawn.

Please do go on over and enjoy this LAFF RIOT.

G

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time catI know, I know, this entry is a few days late. And I didn’t take a photograph this week either. So here’s one of the cat travelling through time to tide you over.

Another brief entry this, still in a festive, resty, mood. It’s been a good week. 2012 has shambled off and while it has been a good year on the whole, long and busy, I’ve felt the need for a new start and a new direction. The last couple of months of 2012 were a bit aimless and I was a bit down. (See previous entries for hilarious gloom) but I feel refreshed now and ready for new challenges and positive things like that.

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In which Christmas occurs and not much gets done.

This is going to be a short one, naturally enough, and I’m writing this a full day early as my good friend Adam is coming to stay for a couple of days which promises to be almost too much fun. Anyway, Christmas is over and done with for another year and I have taken time off from submissions, have received no rejections, have tried instead to have a lovely relaxing time. And I have, for the most part. I am mildly ashamed of my pessimism in the last post in this series (go read for some mawkish whinging, if that is your thing) but I feel much better after getting it all out. As a good friend of mine used to say, it does you no good keeping it inside– get it out, walk around it, see how small it really is. Maybe she was talking about gallstones or something but I think it applies to this situation as well.

So I am in a much better place to attempt an honest next week’s end-of-year retrospective thingy which you won’t want to miss! (Feel free to miss it. I won’t mind! I won’t even know!) Anyway, with the understanding that I have done very little this week, let’s still ask– what have I done this week?

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Who am I to share my grief with?In which a transcendental moment is revealed to be an infinity of piss, and other observations of a similarly bleak mien.

Apologies in advance. This is going to be a rather sloppy, rather mawkish entry.

The year is marching on and we’re almost at New Year. I am hip-deep in that period of introspection I always seem to go through in the weeks leading up to my birthday and the end of the year. I take stock of what I’ve achieved in the year and the direction I seem to be going in. (Summary: Professional — OK. Personal — Fucking abysmal.) I think I am a little bit depressed. Not too much, just a little bit. Like everything I see or do is tinged with a mild but pervasive pessimism.

First of all, there was that glorious moment late in the night of December 14th. It is recorded in my writing log as ‘MAD NIGHT OF CREATION.’ (Ah, the hubris) I filled page after page of my notebook with ideas and plot that I would soon turn into a beautiful, exciting novel. I didn’t fall asleep until 6 in the morning, a wide grin on my face, my fingers inky. I was so excited to start writing, I cut short my little walk towards Clontarf the next day and scurried home eager to write.

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20121208_214524In which there is little to report.

My birthday has come and gone and taken my youth away with it. Aieeee! I’m not a big fan of birthdays (see photo for evidence) I always find the lead up and the day itself to be excrutiating but once it’s over I am quickly back to my crazy extrovert wiseass ways (see photo for evidence) My lovely family brought me to Eatzen in Ashbourne (snazzy!) and put up with my moods for a good few hours. Well done to them.

Also, this week saw my triumphant return to the Dunshaughlin table quiz scene. Actually, ‘trumphant’ might be pushing it. Quiz-Team Aguilera, as we called ourselves, managed a mildly-respectable score of 47 out of a possible 80 and finished somewhere in the middle. Hey, there were only three of us on the team.

But in the raffle afterwards we cleaned up, yo– one bottle of wine, a voucher for dry cleaning and money off a beauty treatment in the village. Who were the real winners? I think we all know the answer to that.

It was us. I don’t think even the Glorious Dead of 1916 would argue with me.

Oh wait, this is supposed to be a blog about writing. Shit. I better put some stuff in about writing. So, Graham how have you been getting on this week?

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DSCF1006 recolourIn which there is some good news, some great news, some poor news, and some secret news.

I am, officially, still on holidays from writing. It is a bizarre feeling. I have voluntarily robbed myself of the primary way I engage with the world. I feel mildly useless, and unsure how I am supposed to be filling these short Winter days. I am a little bit on edge and rather grumpy. Compounding that it is my birthday this week, a time for reflection and oh Christ I’m not dealing with it well. As you can see from the picture, I am back home in The Town. A few days of hiding here and some delicious meals and come January I will be back writing and have some control over the world and All Will Be Well.

So, how have I been getting on this week?

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Cheer up, Graham!Week 1 of an exciting new picture-periodical!

On the 19th of November 2012, I finished my 150th short story “There is Nothing Now.” Over the course of thirty-one months I wrote 398,295 words, filled 1,603 pages with prose and got absolutely nowhere towards getting to the ultimate goal of getting a book published and my stories into the hands of the reading public.

I have printed off all 150 stories and have left the lump of useless work sit on my dresser. Not long ago, two or three years perhaps, I would have been content just to have written the work. The fact that I had made something new exist would have been enough. That is simply not the case any more. I need the work to be seen, to be read, to be enjoyed and absorbed. I have only myself to blame that this has not happened. I have not been trying hard enough.

I’ve gotten nowhere. I need to get somewhere.
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