So, say you’ve gone to see the new Marvel movie; well, then you discuss that. You write your piece, tag it and put it out into the world. That would draw the, ahem, crowds. That would get people paying attention. You would not, for example, dump that idea at the last minute and decide to write about roughly the same topic you blogged about last week. That’d be crazy, right?
Read MoreWhenever I see a little, brightly coloured egg hidden almost out of sight in a park or garden so a kid can find it, I begin to wonder what sort of bird lays an egg like that. Or what comes out of it. Never mind picturing the bewitching cuckoo beast that leaves trails of unborn young out in the world, for children to follow. Possibly into the woods. Nothing good ever comes from going into The Woods. It’s the same as The Moors, The Cave or That Old Hospital.
Read More I always knew this day was coming. Ever since I started the blog. I knew, one day, I would hit the wall. The barrier. I’ve reached the blog plateau. I’ve got nothing to say and an allotted time I set myself to say it in.
What’s the proper etiquette here? Do I walk away and hope no one notices we went a week blog free? That feels very much against the aim of whatever this is. I want to keep a dialogue open with you. Because, you know, I’m Mr Needy.
I’m all too aware that there are people far worse off than me. I get it. I do. I’m not living in a war zone. I’m not a refugee or a soldier. I have clean water and food. I’m not consumed by poverty or addiction. I don’t have to fret about supporting a family. I understand that I’m a terrible person. Still, terrible or not, that knowledge doesn’t hold back the twitch in my right eye whenever work gets to me. If anything, it just slathers some guilt on top of the stress. A self-loathing cherry to go on top of my frustration cake? Yippee!
Read MoreHe was hunched over his keyboard. All too aware of the time. All too aware of how tired he was. Still, he couldn’t stop. He had to finish writing this damn thing. Well, it was worse than that actually. He had to start it first.
Read MoreI suppose that’s why, some Sunday mornings, I reach for another cup of coffee. Just to prolong the unnerving sensation of being out of sync with myself. What can I say? I write horror stories. I thrive on a little alienation, even from myself.
Read MoreFor all my artistic aims, I spend 5 days a week as a data monkey, battling the endless tyranny of spreadsheets and databases. Last Tuesday, amid spreadsheet, a stray thought popped into my head.
Read MoreNow, being a horror writer, I suppose I should have been fine with all of this. After all, there is plenty of scope for sickness in my world. Vampirism is a form of blood disorder. True, it’s often peppered with doomed romantic intentions or teenage angst, but it’s a disorder none the less.
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