He always used to say he missed the sea

He Missed the Sea has gone live at Flash Me Magazine. Some good stories up this month. Take a look, it's flash so it won't take you very long to read.

Enjoy.

Later . . .

He always used to say 'Drugs are bad'

Alcohol Free November, Day 0:
Someone pointed out to me that as I haven't had a drink since the alumni came up last Saturday, I have in fact already started Alcohol Free November. Now if I was the kind of person that would cheat a challenge that was undertaken solely for personal betterment, I would say that I have already completed six days, and let myself finish six days early. I'm tempted, but in those last six days I've been drinking coffee like my life depended on it, and I'm supposed to be swearing off caffeine as well.

*sigh*

It's the full month or nothing, I guess.

Later . . .

He always used to say death metal kicked

I've got a new favourite band. I listened to Arch Enemy's Wages of Sin for the first time last night (Gilly was out so I took the opportunity to turn the television off for a couple of hours). It's pretty cool. I haven't listened to the bonus CD yet, but I have high hopes :)

Later . . .

He always used to say it was a night off

Night off last night, although I did think a bit more about the novel whilst I watched Mind of a Millionaire.

Since my resolution to turn November into 'Alcohol Free November' a couple of days ago, I've already had a couple of invites to events which would likely involve alcohol. Must be strong in my resolve :( One of them wants me to go Karting (altho, obviously the alcohol would come after), but after last year's performance I'm reluctant. The other was news that Harmsway is coming back to England, and wants to meet up with everyone.

Later . . .

He always used to say he was the fool

The Golden Fool by Robin Hobb

Oh my god, Robin Hobb just gets better and better. I could not put this book down, and even now, three days after finishing it, it's still running round the inside of my head. I still find myself wondering what will happen in the conclusion of the tawny man series (and the conclusion of the whole Fitz-Fool saga if the dust cover of Fool's End is to be believed). I still find myself marvelling at the complexity of this book; Fitz's relationships with those around him (both the old characters and those that are introduced or given bigger roles) are ever changing, and they all work together perfectly to shape the person that Fitz becomes and how he behaves.

There is a slight disappointment in the fact that not a lot seems to be resolved in the book. The purpose of the book seems mostly to set up for the action of the third, for the final conclusion, and at this the ending might be seen as unrewarding by some. Trick is, the book is so well written, so engaging that you don't really mind. It works well, I personally don't know if I can wait the year or so it's going to take for Fool's End to come out in paperback.

The involvement of some threads from The Liveship Traders is a surprise. I was quite impressed to see things that didn't appear to be related being tied together by Hobb in this book. For that reason, whilst I'm going to wholeheartedly recommend this book, I'm going to suggest that people not only read Fool's Errand first, but also The Farseer and The Liveship Traders series first, as I've a feeling this series is going to bring them all together.

Later . . .

He always used to say 'Oh fucking hell, I hate going that fucking way'

Grovesy misses his ferry, and arrives in Swin four hours late. We wait for him in the pub, and five pints later I feel a little drunk. It's five in the evening and Coops and Student With No Razor have made a game of pool last an hour.

Our taxi driver is an old Jamaican fella, who puts a liberal sprinkling of 'fuck's or 'fucking's into every sentence he speaks. He asks me which route we should take into town, and when I name one he tells me that he hates 'going that fucking way', and then goes into quite a long rant about how, because it's a narrow country road, you can't tell whether anything's coming your way until it's too late. He sounds like a petulant child, and I spend most of the journey fighting to hold back laughter. I almost succeed, until he overhears a conversation between my mates in the back, and adds his own views on the subject of pulling and sex: 'You should fuck what ever you fucking can, whenever you fucking get the chance, because one day you won't be able to fuck anything, and you'll fucking regret it. It doesn't matter if the water's dirty, it'll still cool the iron.' By this stage I'm almost crying with laughter.

We have a curry, and go to a few bars in the olde side of townne. This turns out to be a good choice, the women are better looking, the bars are better, and, whilst it is more expensive up here, the beer is well received. Student With No Razor drops a bottle, I fuck up a flaming sambuca, and everyone gets angry with the 'Weakest Link' machine.

The clocks go back tonight. We spend our extra hour listening to Student With No Razor talk, and watching some remarkably sex-free soft focus porn on L!ve TV.

We nervously watch England's rugby world cup match the following morning. The score is far too close for comfort, and whilst we eventually win, we probably don't deserve to. The others get trains and coaches and ferries home, and I return to the house and crash in front of the television.

He always used to say 'I watch too much television'.

Remarkably, I actually managed to work on my writing this weekend. I finished typing up the changes to Curiosity, rewriting the ending to that particular story for what will hopefully be the last time.

I continued plotting for Eclipse. All of the scenes for the first story are now detailed.

And, I've given some thought as to what I will do for NaNoWriMo. I've decided that I will actually take part. I'm beginning to think that doing this on the same month that I earlier decided I use to detox -- swearing off the alcohol and caffeine for thirty days -- is probably not a good idea. Neverwell.

Later . . .

He always used to say 'The sooner we get out of that bloody swing area, the better'

We moved back to our refurbished office this morning. It's good to be out of the temporary offices, as I was slowly being driven to a murderous rage. One more week, and you'd have likely been reading in the news about a crazed graduate engineer going on a killing spree armed only with a scale ruler and a yellow highlighter.

The new office smells of paint, but aside from the bright colours it doesn't look like a new office. This is because, in moving back in, we've moved all of those documents and files back that we don't really have storage space for. It just looks messy at the moment.

Later . . .

He always used to say he wanted revenge

Started typing up my changes to Curiosity. Going to finish that little job off and then let it sit for a week before I decide what to do with it.

Worked some more on Eclipse whilst I half-watched Guy Pearce struggle with time travel in The Time Machine. The nine stories are now loosely plotted, and next I'm going to try and get a more accurate scene-by-scene account of what happens, try and work out where the loose ends are and what doesn't work.

Toyed with the idea of taking part in NaNoWriMo next month. Late to jump on the bandwagon with this one, I know, but it would be nice if I was able to keep up a word count of 1700 words a day. There's still a week before it starts, so I've a bit of time to decide yet.

Later . . .

He always used to say it was a bad thing

Firestarter by Stephen King.

Finished this novel over the weekend, but haven't had a chance to write what I thought about it.

Well, I thought it was good. One of the more satisfying King novels I've read in recent times (although, I say that reluctantly because it's now less than two weeks until Dark Tower 5 comes out!). Nicely plotted, and the book had a nice momentum, never quite suffering from the prolonged directionless backstory that spoilt From a Buick 8 and Dreamcatcher. Andy and Charlie are great characters, and the father-daughter bond between is well-developed, and how that is affected by their flight is also nicely handled. Rainbird is an effective antagonist, a seemingly emotionless hitman who is deeper, more intelligent and more involved than anyone realises. All in all, very good.

He always used to say it looked stupid

I haven't shaved in a few days, and my stubble excites much comment in the office. The graphics monkey hasn't talked to me about anything else since my return. If I knew it was going to be this much of an event, I would have been lazy long before now. Work really is that boring at the moment. I shudder to think what the talk would be like if I did something drastic like get my haircut . . .

He always used to say 'chemistry . . . insurance . . . my bird, yeah . . .'

After months of failed organisation, we've finally got another reunion tour organised. I am playing host and three of my good friends from back in the sticks -- Coops, Student With No Razor, and Grovesy -- are coming to visit me. Don't know what we're going to do yet, but it'll be good to see everyone again.

Of course, this means I'm not going to get any work done this weekend.

Later . . .

She liked to publish flash fiction

WOOHOO!

Flash Me Magazine want to publish He Missed the Sea! It will appear in their next issue (end of the month). Happy news :)

Later . . .

She liked to give me money

Written on my little break:

-- 13 1o 2oo3
I'm walking down the hill from my Nan's when I receive a text from my brother, correcting me on a small misquote of a Darkness song on this page. Now normally you can go long stretches of time without hearing from him. Texts from him telling you when he's off work (so you can phone him and be sure he's free to talk) or telling you how he's getting on are few and far between, yet misquote a lyric from a song he likes and he can't get to his mobile phone fast enough.
Never mind the fact that what I wrote was actually what we, in our ignorance, were singing :)

-- 13 1o 2oo3
My dad and step-mother have gone on holiday, and I sit at the kitchen table, listening to Queen's Under Pressure and drinking tea. I'm trying to write, but Cookie, one of the manor's two cats, keeps sitting on the paper. I've told him he's not helping the process, but he's not listening.

-- 14 1o 2oo3
That's got to be the shortest holiday in the history of my family. My parent's are coming home early, only a day after they left. So much for peace and quiet.
I've finished revising Curiosity, so I'll be able to type up those changes when I get back to Swin. I'm going to see if I can work on something else before my parents get back and start making noise.

-- 16 1o 2oo3
I don't have a computer down here, so I resort to working on Eclipse, the story I've resolved to write by hand. Worked out a few details of plot and it looks like it will require nine stories in total.
Oh, and these quarterly reports I mentioned have actually been drafted. I'm a little scared :)

-- 17 1o 2oo3
Coke, not wishing to be outdone by Cookie, spends quarter of an hour batting the end of my pen as I write. He is responsive to my polite requests to stop as the other cat was.

She liked to plot

Legends of the Riftwar: Murder in LaMut by Raymond E. Feist and Joel Rosenberg.

I never really got into this book until about fifty pages from the end, and even then I don't think I really connected with any of the protagonists. The story centres around three mercenaries, long term companions whom I gather have been transplanted from Rosenberg's world into Feist's. They take a bit of bodyguarding duty after months of garrison duty, and gradually get drawn, much to their displeasure, into the politics of Yabon province (and the greater politics of the Kingdom of the Isles, that you'll probably only be familiar with if you've read Feist's Riftwar Saga).

I think one of the problems with this book is that it takes so long for it to really go anywhere. It's a long time before anytihng happens and you can begin to see where the plot is going. The three protagonists are reluctant to get involved in the politics of the earldom, and I was much in the same mindset. If I had wanted to get embroiled in all of that again, I would have reread Magician.

I'm going to stay away from the other collaborations unless there's nothing else on my list to read. These additions to the Riftwar Saga don't actually seem to add anything.

Later . . .

She liked to relax

I am going back to the sticks next week for a spot of dog-sitting. My dad and step-mother are going on holiday and they need someone to look after the animals and the house whilst they're away. It'll be a quiet week -- Limbo in the winter is pretty much a ghost town, except there is less happening -- but with any luck I'll be able to get some work done. I have some writing to do, and I really should make a start on my quarterly reports :(

Consequently I'm having a holiday from the internet until the 20th of the month.

She liked to make me jump

The trailer for The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen contains a warning of 'moderate violence and horror'. What the hell is moderate horror? People jumping out from behind sofas shouting 'Boo!'? Raised voices?

Later . . .

She liked to break the rules

In between bouts of sneezing, I scribble the title in big letters in the blank space at the top of the first page. It looks quite good and I remind myself that I am supposed to be writing, not drawing, tonight. My housemates spot it -- I'm pretty sure they've not otherwise looked at the murdered manuscript I've left lying around the lounge this past week -- and the word Curiosity becomes the joke of the evening, the answer to any question posed. I try to ignore them and get on with the revision.

The revision is nearly complete, and I hope that I can get it finished -- and the changes typed up -- before the end of the week. It's time I either let somebody review this story, or just send it out. It's been too long in the making.

Later . . .

She liked to keep dragons

Guards! Guards! by Terry Pratchett.

Terry Pratchett is always safe. I've long been a fan, and I don't think there's anything of his that I haven't liked. Sure, there have been the occassional books that I haven't enjoyed as much as the others, but I've still liked them. Even in those books there has been enough to draw me back for a second reading.

Guards! Guards! isn't my favourite of the Watch books -- and I've read them all apart from Night Watch -- as it seems to lack the complexity of the later ones. That said, it is very funny and still a pretty good book. It was nice, having already met the watch's core characters, to see how they met (how, for instance, Sam and Sybil get it on).

As I've said, the plot itself is relatively simple; without spoiling too much, a dragon is terrorizing the city and the watch, which has become rather redundant, has to work out what's going on. It's simpler than the later Watch books, but it's also funnier, and a good start to the series.

Later . . .

She liked to eat cake

I'm 24.

Doesn't feel any different to 23.

Can't say as I was expecting it to.

One noticeable difference; I start to recieve birthday cards that joke about being old. This is a worrying development. A card this morning (from my Dad, of all people) reads: 'Happy birthday, to a very young person . . . in a very old body'. Hilarious. I've never liked those cards -- 'Hehe, you're over the hill' -- but I like them even less now I'm starting to get them. 'Don't worry, you're still young at heart!'

Yes, that's because I'm still young!

But, it is a good day, despite being in work.

Later . . .

She liked to watch me grow old

Saturday morning is spent ironing whilst listening to BBC Radio Two.

I am so Rock and Roll it hurts.

Later . . .

She liked to look at the old man

I stand in the queue at Virgin, waiting to purchase my copy of Thirteenth Step. Twelve George Clooneys smile at me from the back of his 2004 calender. I'm a little scared. I feel sorry for the woman (or guy, I suppose) who has to spend a month with Tired George, let alone a month with Old Man George staring at them from the wall.

The Hollyoaks calender is too far away for jokes.

She liked to lie

Tweaked Curiosity a bit this weekend, although the rewrite isn't quite complete yet. Also tried out a new plotting aid over the weekend, typing out a few scenes from Dearest . . . and generally just playing around. Not sure quite what I think of it yet, but it seems to be okay. Certainly beats doing in Powerpoint (which was okay, but the file sizes became just too large).

Later . . .

She liked to keep me in the dark

Just found out our team came an impressive 9th.

Out of ten.

Oh well. My final position was =34th (altho' a few people who actually ran it slower than me got a time allowance, which pushed them ahead in the rankings).

Later . . .

She liked to collect curiosities

Pulled out Curiosity for the first time in a long time last night. Don't know why I never finished working on it, but there it was, halfway through a revision. I read through it, and rewrote the ending. Tonight, with luck I'll have a look at the smaller points that were raised -- showing and not telling with 'the rules', removing unneccesary action, purging the passive voice. I also want to download some stuff from the workshop ready to start reviewing again.

Update:
New Chapters -- 1;
Words -- 14400;
Stories in Circulation -- 2 (The Well, He Missed the Sea);
Rejections -- 6.

Later . . .

She liked to cheer me on

It's raining -- a light drizzle that eventually stops before the start of the race -- and the fifty or more of us huddle under the trees near to the start line. The air is cold and wet and the guy next to me complains of a sore throat. 'He said he'd call it off it rained,' says G-2. 'I'd like to hear his definition of rain.' He stalks off, complaining about the weather.

They don't call it off, and five minutes later we walk over to stand by the start line. I'm running the last lap, so I get to stand with all of the spectators, in their coats and umbrellas and 'told you so' grins, and wait for my turn.

The grass is slippery and I start too fast. I feel like I'm walking, as I'm getting overtaken every other step. The girls from my office alternate between calling me traitor (I run for the Coastal department) and cheering me on. When I get my breath back I find the woman with our clipboard, and I am over the fucking moon.

6'47"

It's not a great time in the scheme of things (one of the guys who overtook me got 5'15") but I'm more than pleased. I've only been running a month, I shaved about forty seconds off my PB, and (whisper it) I beat my ex and G-2.

Later . . .