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Tag Archives: rejections

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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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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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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