You Can’t Win Them All, Dan Brown (2)

To follow You Can't Win Them All Dan Brown alone, hit the Dan Brown department on the right there...

Secondly, all great novelists drink. Until now, I have never really drunk on a daily basis. I’m no teetotaller – I can drink Budweiser with the best but that’s not quite enough. So with the assistance of Eleanor, I have settled on the queen of red wine. The Shiraz. I don’t really want to become a raging alcoholic but as with the facial hair, I feel this is something that needs to be a part of the journey.

Thirdly, notebooks. Both this and our potentially best selling novel must be handwritten. Old school is the law. Nobody can write a best seller of any worth slumped in front of a screen all day long with all the distractions that come with it. So this afternoon, I went out and bought 24 notebooks – all exactly the same (otherwise I would spend hours everyday deciding which one to write in) and they currently all sit in a line on a shelf waiting to be filled with words of wisdom and entertainment.

This is also good and proper.

I think this is all I need. Facial hair, red wine and some notebooks. I already have a great pen and a stack of ink cartridges (oh yes, it must be written using a fountain pen), so I hope there is nothing missing from the list as it seems to matter that I have all these things together before I begin rather than collect them as I go along. However, I reserve the right to add whatever paraphernalia I need as I go along. I love my iBook more than any other possession, but as my hand glides across this £1.50 notebook I get the essence of REAL WORK being done. My wrist is aching already but I shall continue until deep into the night because this is what must be done.

There also seems little point in dragging this out forever, so I have given myself a deadline of exactly one year to get the job done. The blockbuster must be written and I’m pretty sure it can be done. That said, I don’t think it would be much fun if I kept these ‘Dan Brown’ books under wraps until said blockbuster was finished. So I have planned to release one of these Dan Brown books once every two months or so for the duration of the project.

I love making lists, so here are the proposed titles of the coming onslaught:

Book 1: You Can’t Win Them All Dan Brown

Book 2: They’re Playing Your Song Dan Brown

Book 3: You’re A Good Sport Dan Brown

Book 4: Keep Up The Good Work Dan Brown

Book 5: You’re My Hero Dan Brown

Book 6: It’s Raining On Your Parade Dan Brown

All of these are indeed Charlie Brown books. For some reason, this amuses me a lot.

Finally for today, I am either going to call this killer blockbuster Turn The Lamp Down Low but I’m also toying with the very snappy DragonFly. I’ll explain why over the coming days, but for now, this is a good start.

Part 3 posting next Monday.

How to ride a train

Once you get something moving, it's probably best to use that force of nature to see them through to the end - in this case, momentum.

With Mr Downes on board with The Ballad of the Goat Faced Boy, it's beginning to come together a lot faster than I had planned. That's a good start to a new year.

As also promised (making two promises kept in a row) part 2 of the Dan Brown sequence is ready to roll this evening. Lovingly hand-written, it will take me an hour or so to type up and, well, let's see.

I thought it would be cool to start the new year off by unarchiving all of the material I'd written for Burn and Zero and making them available over at Rocks Back Pages which I have a soft spot for. This however is not to be, due to "having so many other writers vying for a space". I have interpreted this as "No - we don't want your stuff".

Now and again, I think that my writing may be genuinely shit, most times I think that they just don't get it because it doesn't conform to the soul-less way everybody else writes. Sack somebody who works for a major magazine and see the outcome. With very few exceptions, nobody will care. The next guy that comes along will write in just the same 'scholastic' way - which could go some way to explaining the decline of magazines. Sure, advertising is tough and the web is taking its toll but I'm thoroughly convinced that a lot of publications are going to the wall simply because they suck.

Anyway, I guess I should just concentrate on the now rather than the past. That's good advice to myself. If the past was so good, why isn't it still here?

As a useful finale to this post, if you're feeling metaphysical, why not try living backwards in time? I originally found the theory in a copy of Deepak Chopra's The Way of the Wizard but there's a simplified explanation here that will start you off...

That's all... until yesterday begins again tomorrow.

You Can’t Win Them All, Dan Brown

I was hanging out in a second hand bookstore when I saw this classic book shown here. As I caught it out of the corner of my eye, I could have sworn it said Dan Brown - obviously it didn't but it did give me a great idea. Let's see how it pans out...

1. Turning The Lamp Down Low

I know virtually next to nothing about writing a best-selling novel, but today I woke up and that very thought entered my head.

“Mr Smith, you should write a best-seller. Not a novel that shifts a couple of thousand copies, but one which the whole world cannot ignore.”

Thinking about this later today, I realised that this would mean propelling my name into the stratosphere currently occupied by Dan Brown and Stephanie Meyer.

Don’t get me wrong, I like writing a lot, but I like writing whatever I like, whenever I like and most of what I write could, at best, be termed as stream of consciousness. Whatever it is, best-seller probably isn’t it.

To write a best-seller – one that a publishing company would get behind and translate into dozens of languages – would take nerves of steel. It will take much dialogue with said publishers and agents – and yet, the most satisfying thing about (maybe) achieving this dream, will be this part. The honest, self-publishing, self-deprecating full on dirty story part.

Maybe it will happen, maybe not. It doesn’t really matter. The journey will absolutely be far superior than the destination, though I have to admit, the money wouldn’t go amiss right now, but then, is that not a beautiful way to begin a story such as this? Broke and stuck in a lousy day job? Of course it is. The story would seriously suck if I already had any money. That would not be a rags to riches tale at all. As it is, it may simply be a rags to rags story but the premise remains. This is a fine idea and worthy of more than just a little commitment.

As part of my guise as a best-selling novelist, I feel as though I need to take on some “extras” in my existence. After all, nobody wants a best-selling author to look like a jerk-off when they’re interviewed on TV. At least I don’t. Thus, this morning I once again began to fashion myself some suitable facial hair becoming of such an author.

I am no expert in facial hair and have no desire to look like a mad scientist, child molester or a grand-father. So it was with a satisfied grin that I decided Iron Man had the best facial hair on the block right now. It works for me and it feels comfortable. For some reason, I figure this is really important in the big scheme of things.

Tomorrow: Part 2.

2010 - A Space Odditty

So, here it is then. 2010. Bring it on.

After the death of Hammy a couple of weeks ago, I was hoping that would have filled the sacrificial quotient previously agreed with the Gods. This was not to be. A few days ago, Eleanor's Old Man Guinea Pig, Magnus, died in her lap. In spite of a trip to the vets, loading up on antibiotics and having the best food that money can buy, it was not to be. He now lies next to his favourite girlfriend...

Yesterday, we bought the fish a new filter to clean up the tank some more. I think it may have been a little strong for the size of the tank. My monster fish - Megalon - either became very excited and his heart gave out or he got sucked in to the new filter and never recovered.

He was not buried next to anybody and was given a proper traditional fish send off. The remaining fish - Avalon - appears to be very happy to have the tank to itself. I suspect foul play.

Three pets in three weeks?

Anyway, for those of you who pass by to check up on whether I've actually done any work lately, I stick my tongue out at you. Later this evening, I shall be posting the first of my mini-serial "You Can't Win Them All, Dan Brown". All will be revealed...

Blackout in the Red Room has finally - and I mean finally - gone to print for a first proof to come back to me. I don't think it will take much to set it right and that will be available sometime in the next two or three weeks - largely depending on how fast LuLu can turn things around for me.

The Ballad of The Goat Faced Boy is also shaping up. I'm about halfway through a first draft but as Mr Eastwood once said, "A man's got to know his limitations". Thus, despite a valiant effort, I am retiring my pencils forever. I cannot draw. Mr Downes - where are you! This is right up your street and I will sacrifice my back to your tattooing project if you help me!

...and yes, I would ask Charlotte but we must finish Too Hot For Dogs first. This is a huge priority.

(LIVE UPDATE): Mr Downes has agreed to illustrating The Ballad of the Goat Faced Boy. Ask. Receive. That should be the only goal any of us set for 2010. Let's get this Dan Brown post up...

The Blog of Dead Days

Fact: The days between Christmas and New Year are (in some circles) known as The Dead Days. It's the time of year when the veil between the living and the dead is at its thinnest. So be careful out there...

Yesterday, we went to check out the Holmes movie. I'll post a full review here later today but if you're giving your face wrinkles over whether to go or not, just go. It's great fun.

Christmas has been excellent this year. Top of my list of very cool things to get your hands on was a signed limited edition copy of The Owl Killers. As previously mentioned, I've had my eye on this for quite some time and am most pleased to report that it reads even better than it looks. If I said "Accusations of heresy and witchcraft run rife while the Owl Masters rain down hellfire and torment in a pagan world of terror and blackmail where sin is punishable by murder", those of you who know me well would no doubt say it had been written specifically for me. Nice work. Go buy yourself a copy here.

Equally worthy of note was this rather excellent Dalek cookie jar. Sadly, every time we fill it up with delicious cookies, the Dalek keeps exterminating them. I'm not sure why this happens but I could swear I filled it up yesterday and this morning when I went to check, it was empty again. Note to self: keep all night vigil to discover culprit. On which note, the Doctor Who Christmas special is shaping up rather well. So far, so good - and would also like to point a finger at Day of the Triffids which is dark, dark, dark. To say the least.

More later.

T'wasn't the night before Christmas...

Bugger. A few weeks back Rhiannon's pet hamster (Hammy) came to live with us in the cottage. I think she got fed up of cleaning him out and to be fair, he would have been three in March which is a good run for a hamster - but as you might guess from my use of the past tense here, Hammy is no longer. I went in to check on him last night and the poor little soul was stiff as a board.

I'm hoping he died of old age but I feel so damn guilty that he might have frozen to death.

But the story doesn't end there... for a little while, he was either just about breathing or convulsing. This was enough to convince Eleanor it was worth setting about him with a hot water bottle, a towel, a hair dryer and burning up the last of the logs we were saving for Christmas.

He was definitely with the Angels though. Sigh. I think I shall wait until after Christmas Day to tell her. We put him back in his cage and put the whole thing in the conservatory where it's currently -4,856 degrees so he should be quite well preserved.

And on the subject of animals dying, I see Arnold Strang also died yesterday, aged 91. Arnold gave the voice to my favourite cartoon character of all time - Top Cat. Thank you Sir. They certainly don't make 'em like they used to.

In light of Christmas Day events going a little pear-shaped here, Eleanor and I have decided to have a pre-Christmas dinner of our own on Christmas Eve. In our wisdom, we have decided to return to the Cafeteria de Nirvana and treat my face to another fine, fine bacon sandwich. Maybe this will go some way to convincing you guys of how good this sandwich really is.

Read it again: I'm going to eat a bacon, brie and spicy pear chutney toasted sandwich instead of a traditional turkey dinner.

A sublime act of paganism I think you'll find amongst all of this consumerism/christianity. To be honest, I can't tell the difference any more.

It will come as no surprise to anybody either that I am VERY EXCITED about Doctor Who on Christmas Day. It had better knock me out with the speed and velocity of a two ton heavy thing. I've been disappointed with all of the Christmas specials so far but with this being the swansong... one can but hope.

Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil

I think I may have the plague. I'm sure I can't stay feeling this bad for much longer without a) getting better or b) dying. I did a quick search on the web of my symptoms and apparently I have caught The Black Death. This I find hard to believe as it's last appearance around here was around 1350. Whatever it is, it appears to be immune to my usual medicinal applications of PG Tips and nicotine.

First point of order today: Given that I love wrestling and still enjoy it despite knowing that the outcome is most often pre-decided and given that I love the Kiss uber-brand despite knowing that underneath the greasepaint are men old enough to be my parents, I proudly give you this:

Apparently somebody has pegged this award winning photograph by José Luis Rodriguez as a "fake" (ie: using a trained domesticated wolf) and publicly rubbished it. I don't care if it's a fake or not. It's a great picture. Why can't some people accept the fact that life is all about interpretation? If this never happened, nobody cares. Neither you or I were there to witness it first hand (hereafter known as the Point of Origin) but if I choose to suspend my disbelief, I can enjoy this picture immensely. It is far better than the picture not existing at all and not having the enjoyment.

Don't lose the magic in life just because you can't see further than the end of your retarded nose. Gene Simmons once said that when you visit Disneyland, you really don't want to know that the guy in the Mickey Mouse suit sweeps up the trash when the gates close. He's right. I don't but there seem to be plenty of people out there who do.

In light of this, I would also like to present my submission to the competition that I took in the Zodiac Lung office about eight months ago. Again, there is no PhotoShop fakery going on here, but there will doubtless be those that think there is....

May the Gods have mercy on what's left of your soul...
Anyway, you can read the whole scandal at The Guardian here.

Second and all remaining points: Have just ordered myself a copy of Crazy Hair. I don't have many days when I think "I wish I'd written that" but yeah... I do.

...and talking of things I particularly need right now, Coheed and Cambria's Year of the Black Rainbow will be upon us in April. The press release in my inbox reveals: Year of the Black Rainbow will be made available in a a deluxe package including a 300+ page prose novel of the same name, co-written by Claudio Sanchez and New York Times bestselling author Peter David, which promises to "tell the origins of Coheed and Cambria, and much more." Presale information on the deluxe edition of Year of the Black Rainbow will be announced toward the end of December.

OK. Sounds pretty good to me. I think I might just put a pitch together for a nice little spread in Rolling Stone and then spend the summer on the road... stranger things have happened.

Out.

Currently listening to: Jet: Get Born
Currently reading: a list of presents I still haven't bought
Currently eating: a Bakewell Tart. I know how to live...

Cold? I'll show you bloody cold!

I know it's not really that cold. The day JJ and I flew into JFK airport back in '94 it was -15 degrees and a week later when we got of the train in Syracuse it was -37 degrees. Now that was cold... I swear, we watched a man die in the street that day.

When we moved here in the Summer, it was beautiful. It's still beautiful now but holy mother, it's hard to keep warm. To give you a quick overview, there is no central heating. We also have no hot water because the water tank takes at least four hours to get hand hot never mind bath hot. This we can live with because there's an electric shower and a dishwasher, so that's the basics taken care of. For the last few weeks though as the temperature has dropped, we've been using the log burner in the lounge simply because it's not nice coming home and watching your breath freeze in front of your eyes and fall into your mug of tea.

So today, when the temperature dropped even further, I thought it might be time to fire up the Rayburn in the kitchen. I've never used one before and was acutely unaware of exactly how long it would take to get warm. I started at 10 this morning. It's now 6 o'clock and it's just about warming up. Seriously, it's a real labour of love getting the old bugger going but I have managed to do lots of things in between pushing and pulling levers and poking the coals. I kind of appreciate now how neat it is to walk in your house and flick a switch for some heat but there's a part of me (the Robin Hood part of me) that also thinks this is great and that everybody should live like this. Hopefully we'll make it through to the spring without too many tears.

So, after loading her up with paper, coal, wood, firelighters and whatever else wasn't nailed down this morning, we went out for a walk to investigate some of the roads we'd not been up before, but first we went to check on the horses in the field across the road. All of the others in the field have a rug on, but this poor soul doesn't. I don't think this bothers him in the slightest especially since the hay wheel (seen in background) was installed in the field yesterday.

There's all sorts of stuff going on around here that I've never noticed before. Much to my own amusement, I found this run down old house (sign on the left). I must go back another day and take some pictures of it but today there were people milling about who might not have appreciated my Shirley Jackson humour. There are also sprouts growing in their thousands in the surrounding fields, sheep that look very happy despite the weather and we even found where the allotments are - about 100 yards from the house. A few hours later, we eventually came home armed with huge branches that found at the roadside for the wood burner and some stolen sprout leaves for the rabbits. I am absolutely convinced that we can live here almost for free. The key is in not getting caught stealing or dying of hypothermia before we master it.

Anyway - somebody looks happy enough...

The Rayburn has finally gotten a bit hotter while I have been writing this and I have almost finished the final draft of The Tuba Farm - exactly as I promised myself.

Onwards...

War. What is it really good for?

Quite a lot of things but I am no longer at war with Winstanley Bikes (consider yourselves named and shamed). I can't be bothered fighting anymore because they simply don't care about anything. Nothing. A quick search on the web reveals that almost everybody else who has done buisness with them online has had equal amounts of success.

Anyway, with payment duly returned, yesterday I got in the car, went to Halfords and five minutes later, there was a bike in the back of the car. Valuable lesson learned.

Back in the real world, The Fire Sermon got it's 1,000th read over at MyEbook this morning, which, while not setting the world on fire, it's 1,000 more people than read it a month ago. I also loaded it up to Hewlett Packard's MagCloud (which is a beta print on demand project). At 20 cents a page, it's pretty expensive when you get into a lot of pages say, for a magazine, but I figured I would load it up for $1.20 anyway and see what happened. It's another layer of visibility for it which is always good.

There's link over in the side bar straight to the Fire Sermon page if you're interested or have a similar project. The only downside with it is that they only do one size - and that's US Letter. Not the most convenient specification in the world but see what you think.

MUST get on with some more of these short graphics. It's a great format for shipping around the world at the drop of a hat.

I'm going to kill the new blog that I mentioned a couple of weeks ago (The Death of Paper). Despite my interest in the e-publishing model and e-readers I don't actually care that much about them to write often enough. I may consider briging it over here but I doubt it. Expect instead the odd mention when something happens that affects Zodiac Lung on a personal/e-business level. This will also reduce my project list which is never a bad thing. Time to get seriously selfish and focused.

In some other scraps, we expected to be snowed in like polar bears this morning but there wasn't a single flake. Not thirty miles north though, they have all but closed the county. Good job I don't have anything to do this evening apart from make Eleanor sit through The Wrestler.

There are some things in life that everybody should be exposed to no matter what their tastes are.

My new bicycle.

Advance warning: this post contains very abusive language.

I try unbelievably hard to keep really nasty stuff off my blog posts. I really do, but today I figure there's no point in having a blog which is read by over (at last count) 5,153 people if you can't sometimes say what you really want to.. and yeah, I was quite shocked by the readership figures as well.

Last week (on Monday 7th to be exact) I ordered a bike for Rhiannon for Christmas - by debit card which is, I believe as good as cash. I gave them until the 9th as requested to come back to me with confirmation - all good so far.

We now come to today which is the 15th and there is still no sign of a bike. I think I would be mildly cross at this point if it weren't for the fact that I emailed them the day before asking if the bike was in stock (which it was) only to be blatantly lied to thus: "I don't think the bike was in stock when you ordered it".

So, being as you nice people at ********** Bikes are able to read this as I sent you the link: I don't give a fucking toss about anybody else's bike order. I don't fucking care how busy you are. Christmas does not come as a fucking surprise to anybody. I want my fucking bike by Thursday. I shall move heaven and earth to virally shame you. I will sign you up - with the assistance of my lovely friends who have nothing better to do with their time - to every piece of junk email I can find. Then I shall sign you up to every scrap of telephone junk I can find and every piece of shit free brochure on the face of the planet.

This I believe is just, fair and true. Thursday, I reveal who you are because let's face it - I could have driven to Halfords, bought a bike for the same money and put the damn thing in the back of my car and not have to waste my fucking time chasing the fuck out of you.

I don't like being lied to but worse still, I have to answer to an eight year old on Christmas Day.

Bring it on. Fuckers.

The Beast

Here she is. The (birthday) sandwich to end all sandwiches. She may not look like much but I have to tell you, my second visit to the promised land did not disappoint.

Also worthy of note this weekend was the last in the current series of Californication. I cried. Not like I cried when the Doc left Rose on the beach, but it was close. For those of you unversed in the world of Hank Moody, you're missing one of the best shows to come out of the tail end of the 00's and it's something you should put straight immediately - there's probably still time before Lost kicks in again (early February).

I wish I had something great to tell but the world appears to have gone to sleep early for Christmas, so for the remainder of this week I shall be oiling my gears, filing the piles of stuff on my desktop (both literally and on the cloud) and trying to make sense of everything before I too begin to shut down for a two day hibernation in a couple of weeks. I don't know what it is about the start of a new year that makes me more motivated than usual but I've always found that it's best to ride the lightning while the lightning is actually striking.

2010 is going to be the one. I can feel it in my blood. Either that or the cholestrol has started to detach itself from my veins.

Train kept a rollin...

Before I start on the mysteries of the Orient Express, how on earth can you not notice if somebody has stolen your exhibition dinosaur?

I might have a look on ebay later and see if I can swag it up for Christmas. That would make an excellent present for myself.

The Orient Express:

My expectations for said trip were few, but particularly high, as follows:

1. It would be the epitome of upper class Victorian style travel.

2. Steam would billow past the window at regular intervals (and I would make a sound similar to "oooh!").

3. The food would leave me reeling like Beowulf at a banquet.

4. The other people on the train would be equally amazed by points 1 to 3.

5. There would be a murder.

Hmmm.

1. I think my expectation was far too high on this count. It is after all a train. A train that went around the southern regions of London for four hours. My thoughts on this may have been glossier if I had been in one of the private carriages rather than the kitchen car that I found myself in so yes, there's a bit of disappointement there. Could it have been better? Yes it could, but then what do I know...

2. Steam did indeed billow past the window. Twice that I recall. I did not make any noises.

3. You know those TV shows where they wheel out small items in the middle of large plate? When they asked about special dietary requirements, I should have said I wanted two bacon sandwiches on wholemeal bread with honey mayonnaise and lots of pepper. Cut in half across the diagonal.

4. Maybe other people have a different set of standards to me.

5. There was almost a murder. Imagine you're eating your (very small) lunch and suddely two blokes turn up with a saxophone and an acoustic guitar and begin playing very loudly in an enclosed space...

I might be being a little harsh here. It was very nice but it didn't blow the doors off, thus I very quickly rethought spending six grand on a three day trip to Vienna on it. Not that I have six grand, but if I did, then I wouldn't. That said, the company was excellent (good afternoon Norman) and it beats sitting at a desk any day of the week.

And then this morning I woke up with man-flu. Not man-flu like women say you have man-flu but proper man-flu.

Currently listening to: 30 Seconds to Mars | This Is War.
Currently: very busy working on something called BOOM and trying to hold my shit together and not go home to bed.

Zzzzzz

Very tired today. Normally the 300 miles just comes under the heading of "tiring" but today I feel like I've flown halfway around the world. In some part, that may be due to a stupid accident on the M1, the closure of a whole section of the M54, the A5 being stupidly busy and the M6 ferrying the good people of Birmingham from one end of "The Misery" to the other with their Christmas goodies. Oddly, the M25 was smooth as an omlette on the kitchen floor.

When you're travelling, you often see some weird stuff that's worth talking about and yesterday on the M1, there was a notification for a stretch of about 6 miles that said "Slow Down - Pedestrians In Road". I've never seen this one before and I was massively disappointed that there were actually no pedestrians at all. Not even a one. What I was hoping for was something like 20 to 30 people running around trying to avoid the cars but there was nothing. Shame.

Anyway, about 50 miles later on, there was an accident of nastiness culminating in four Range Rovers, four ambulances - and a lot of police with big brooms. The traffic was STACKED FOR MILES - yet somehow we found ourselves at the front of this queue and the nice copper with the biggest brush let us through but stopped everybody else - who no doubt then had to sit there for the best part of an hour while they cleaned up. Mr Copper - I salute you on your excellent judgement call.

I have about a weeks worth of posting from the weekend but here goes: did my honourable duty and went to see my Gran who is getting REALLY old now. She had no idea who I was but at the same time absolutely knew who I was. Very strange and a bit upsetting in some ways but time rolls on. She's 90 next year. That's not a bad life really...

My bro and his wife have some troubles, my sis and her boyfriend are fine and my ma is trooping along in the middle of all this like a er... trooper. Dropping them off for a shopping trip on Saturday afternoon, I bumped into none other than Charlotte. Spooky. Pleasantries exchanged, I then had about 2 seconds to spare before I jumped into JJs car for a meeting of "gigantic proportions" about a little project or two we have on the boil.

All in all, a most excellent, very pleasurable weekend. Much alchohol was consumed along with the traditional pagan feast Ma serves up when we all get together. Why, this time, she even remembered that eleanor doesn't eat meat - which was a bit of a bonus.

What wasn't so much of a bonus was my Ma rummaging out my old school reports - for all five of the years I was there. I didn't think they were quite as bad as they actually are but they're also quite funny considering they were written either by alcoholic swingers or complete educational failures themselves. I felt quite guilty that I was such a let down to them and hadn't realised that this was the case until yesterday.

My favourite comment is "Sion is a polite and popular member of the class but he must come to realise that this alone is not enough". That fair warms my heart. This I believe was written by form tutor who got nailed for shoplifting cheese in subsequent years.

Always on the lookout for ways of turning a negative into something useful, this gives me just what I need to fill in rather a lot blanks in those years of Almost Human and also provides quite a lot of insight into just how much I haven't changed in the last 25 years.

25 years. My how time flies. Some of those people that wrote crass things about me will be dead now. More on the school reports later this week. Sleep beckons.

Currently listening to: Guillermo del Toro/Chuck Hogan audiobook The Strain
Currently reading: Company of Liars (keeps getting better but boy, I'm taking my time with it).

Not quite serendipity and not quite coincidence...

Maybe more a stroke of good fortune - yeah, that makes a change around here.

A week or so ago, we were thinking of putting together something "truly great" that we could organise for the future - a trip, holiday or an event. Something along those lines... I couldn't think of a dman thing that meant that much to me and then later that evening, it hit me like a two ton heavy thing. The one thing I'd always wanted to do since I was a kid was go on The Orient Express.

From London to somewhere like Southern Italy will cost you around £6000 - one way (I guess you have to fly back or shell out another £6k to get home). Accordingly, this got filed in the "very far in the future" folder.

Anyway, a week or so ago, somebody I work with got offered a Christmas trip on said Express from London into Kent and then back to London again for the afternoon. Jealous? Me?

Might have been.

As the universe would have it, she can no longer go and an empty seat on a train is such a waste... so here I come. I don't do excited but I'll make an exception next Wednesday. Be prepared for a very sad fan-boy photo journal. It may not be Southern Italy, but it sure as hell beats the living daylights out of whatever else it was I was doing next Wednesday.

Note to self: increase size of M2 card in phone.

Looking forward to seeing my mum this weekend. Might even make an effort to catch up with some people but it really is a flying visit (if anyone is reading from back home - drop me a text if you're around Saturday afternoon, I'll try and make some holes).

Appendix to yesterday's post: I mailed the link to both Pizza Hut and Vue Cinema to see if they might have the guts/courtesy/vision/balls to respond in some fashion but all I got was a bunch of tumbleweed. I guess most big companies out there run along the following lines: the MD makes 100k+ a year and could care less what customers think or never actually gets to see any of the comments made, meanwhile those at the bottom left to deal with said things are paid minimum wage and could care less that you had to wait.

Kind of fair enough but if somebody told me here that there was something wrong (cue mail), I would want it fixed pretty damn fast - why the hell would anybody want to come back otherwise?

Currently listening to: Heart | Bad Animals, Dope | No Regrets & Conny Bloom | Psychonaut
Currently watching: Supernatural got bumped this week and we're two ep's away from the end of Californication. Bring me LOST. Now.
Currently (still) reading: Company of Liars. Awesome book... book of the year? Quite possible.

The Hierophant

I seem to veer between being either very excited about things or very down on them with no grey parts in between around here. Such has it always been and always will be.

Today, the big smiley face belongs to National Geographic magazine who despite running some articles of supreme dullness, always manage to knock it out of the ballpark where photography is concerned. Not suggesting that everybody take out a subscription to said tome, but if you're passing by a newsagents and see a copy this month, there's some aboslutely stunning photography in there.

Today also belongs to the person who thought it was a good idea to make the worlds first Maple Danish Pastry. Brilliant.

Today does not however belong to:
1: Pizza Hut who kept us waiting 15 minutes for a table when we could see there were at least 10 available, another half an hour for our food and then palmed us off with "sorry, there are only two of us on tonight". And this is my problem in which way Pizza Hut?

2: Vue Cinema: who depsite having half decent seats and good screens manage to piss everybody off by having the dumbest system in the world. Buying tickets? Buying popcorn? Buying Coke? Buying the smallest bag of sweets in the world? Everybody join the same queue please. Miss the beginning of your film because there was a fatty buying enough Coke and chocolate to feed this weeks escapees from Weight Watchers? Tough luck. It's the most stupid system in the universe.

Cineworld - I'm comin' home!

That's the beauty of a democratic society. There's always some competition around when you need to vote with your feet.

Anyway, last night I did absolutely NO WORK WHATSOEVER and I feel bad. I printed myself off a copy of Almost Human to see how much work needs doing to it to finish it up and just got pretty despondent over the quality of my first 50,000 words. Heart said throw it in the trash and forget about it forever. Head said not to be silly and come back to it later and fix what's wrong with it. Heart eventually agreed with Head but it didn't make Soul feel any better about it. Pah.

Does everybody have these moments of self doubt?

I think I promised a hook up to Ladies and Gentlemen a couple of days ago. Here we go:

Ladies and Gentlemen Video

Where The Wild Things Are

Things are hotting up. Today I upload The Fire Sermon to the Big Server where we are all storing our work pending a first proof of Salon des Refuses before we go into production. I think I shall jump into the swamp after the weekend and help out as this is where things are most likely to fall over if they are going to.

I also have the German translation for The Fire Sermon here which I'm quite excited about. As with the 'regular' English version, I shall be making it freely and widely available - and if I can master the mechanics of such an effort, will be allowing it to be used wherever and whenever it can be from those who are batching e-materials in the sale of e-readers.

This mostly means Sony and Cool-er but there are a stack of other opportunites available. My local bookstore here is selling the Sony Reader and wherever possible, when you order product from them online, they ask what format you would like it in - paperback, hardback or digital. There's certainly nothing to lose by giving it away here.

Anyway, following closely behind this should be the French, Welsh and then Japanese versions. Once I've established whether any of them are worth continuing with, I'll start filtering it out into Too Hot For Dogs as well.

I'm also aware that I promised to have some scripts with both Charlotte and Mr Downes (shocker!) to go into developement with some new four page shorts. It won't be a big surprise to either of them that I haven't done it yet - but I shall and it will turn up right when they least expect it -probably on Christmas Day morning.

On the writing front, there is still much to be done and with some luck (read: Christmas downtime), I'll be able to shift through some no small amount of thousand word chunks.

Le Fin.

The Real Thing - and a theme tune.

Back in 1992 - maybe 1993 - I bought a pair of Harley Davidson boots that cost me a few hundred quid. I thought this was pretty expensive at the time but must have had money for some reason as this was also the year I bought my ill-fated Triumph Spitfire.

That makes them at least 16 years old and I have pretty much worn them every single day of my life in some form or other. Today, I picked them up from being re-heeled (for just the fourth time I must add) only to have the cobbler (proper fixing!) say to me - "they look like a much loved old friend." He's right. I do love those boots. They've been with me for most of my adult life and have been used as ashtrays, carrying puppies and kittens, defending property, kickstarting lawnmowers and cars and probably a ton of other events that I have since forgotten about.

They're a bit battered and could do with a polish - which they will get tonight - but they keep on going and despite their batteredness, show no sign of giving up on me. Everything should be made like this - and it would be if we only ever bought things that deserved to have money spent on them.

Note to self: write to Harley Davidson.

I have also decided that I need a theme tune for 2010. I have deemed that it will be Ladies and Gentlemen by Saliva. Hunt it down, listen to the words of wisdom and roll in the mud folks.

In fact, I'm sure there's a video for it somewhere. Shall hunt it down later today and post accordingly.

My excellent and equally resilient friend, Lynne, also got back in touch today, not that we were out of touch but neither of us has really had much to say for the best part of a year. Amongst her multitude of projects is Recharged Radio - "Maybe I would like a show there?".

Maybe I would... maybe I would.

Big Dog is back in town.

Talking of trailers, which I'm sure I was earlier - check out this one for the Doctor Who Christmas Special. I'm going to cry like a girl... and so are you.

Road Trip!

I hanker for these moments sometimes. Taking a trip back to the desolate wasteland of North Wales this coming weekend as I probably won't get to see everybody before Christmas otherwise. Not likely to get back up there much before the end of February either, but that's OK. Going home once every couple of months is pretty good timing and certainly far better than once every two years as I have been known to do in the past. With some luck the sky won't disintegrate completely and stop us from going... or coming back for that matter.

The weekend seems to have passed me by with regards to writing - most of it has been spent trying to keep the damn cottage warm - it was so cold yesterday, we even went swimming just to get warmer and then spent the rest of the afternoon plugging up holes in the walls that we had never seen before with bits of the weekend Guardian because the smallest mouse in the world has found his way in. Could have been worse... it could have been one of those jurassic rats that lurk in the darkness... or even the Vashta Nerada.

Actually, I think I would prefer that to the rats.

Yesterday, I also finished that 'Major Tom' Bowie book I seem to have had on the bedside cab for far too long. Oddly, it reads like a mirror of Bowie's career - a real piece of work until just after Young Americans and then the author - like his hero - runs out of anything interesting to say for the remainder. Sad.

I know Monday's are notoriously dull for most of us but this lunchtime, I came across a Dalek cookie jar on the counter of a kids shoe shop. I want one. Now.

Finally for today, I do believe there are some very important dates milling about. To make a change and to avoid the grim reality of trying to get home from London, I shall be going to Milan or some similar European destination - maybe even Dublin. Anywhere has to be better than Wembley. Shit. Not going to see them at all has to be better than going to Wembley.

Currently listening to: The Black Angels | Directions To See A Ghost (Listener discretion advised: if you can get your head around The Tea Party drowning in Mars Volta, you shall be well served here).

Currently reading: Company of Liars which is shaping up rather well. This evening though, there's a night time visit planned to the bookstore as part of a Christmas shopping expedition. I don't fancy my chances much of escaping with an empty bag.

Paper and The Best Albums of the Decade

Last week I decided that I was interested enough in e-readers and all related e-paraphernalia to get involved on a much higher rung than the one I was then standing on.


Still in it's initial throes, The Death of Paper is serious look at the e-world with regards to how my beloved literary world is going. It's a weird place to be. As a publisher, the e-world knocks the spots off the current distribution model but as a reader, book collector and lover it sucks. Let's see what happens...


On a far more important note. I have finished my top 20 albums of the decade. It was spectacularly difficult. Assuming that nothing of any particular value will come out in the next 30 days or so that will shake my foundation to the ground, for your amusement I hereby present the Twenty Greatest Albums of the Decade (2000 - 2009):


1. Coheed and Cambria - Good Apollo, I'm Burning Star IV, Volume One: From Fear Through the Eyes of Madness
2. Finger Eleven - Finger Eleven
3. Sixx AM - The Heroin Diaries
4. Shinedown - The Sound of Madness
5. Papa Roach - Getting Away With Murder
6. 30 Seconds to Mars - A Beautiful Lie
7. My Chemical Romance - Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge
8. Nickelback - All The Right Reasons
9. Neurosonic - Die, Drama Queen, Die
10. Dope - American Apathy
11. The Dreaming - Etched in Blood
12. Rob Zombie - The Sinister Urge
13. Daughtry - Daughtry
14. Richie Kotzen - Into The Black
15. Hinder - Better Than Me
16. Velvet Revolver - Contraband
17. HIM - Love Metal
18. Paul Stanley - Live To Win
19. Kelly Clarkson - Breakaway
20. Monster Magnet - Monolithic Baby!


For better or worse, I am entirely comfortable with this list. My music taste has changed dramatically in the last ten years.

My milkshakes bring all the boys to the yard.

Over the last three months, my hands have begun to shake quite badly.

The most popular opinion is that either I drink too much coffee or not enough. This is a shame because about four years ago I weaned myself off both coffee and tea and moved to water. It wasn't easy but it lasted for a good couple of years until I began subconciously drifting into random Starbucks and so the habit began once more.

Alternatively, I suppose my nerves may be shot away or I have something wrong with me that I don't want to know about. I'm going to commit to the coffee explanation and come Monday, start weaning myself off it again. It will be tough but not as tough as the cigarettes that I really need to walk away from.

It's funny how a good scare - like the chest pains earlier in the year - can be forgotten so quickly. When the scare was over, I rather easily drifted into all the same habits that I was doing before. Am I alone in this behaviour? No, of course I'm not but the fact that I know I am performing the behaviour means I should address it. Death tends to come on swift wings these days and I have far too many things still to achieve to be reduced to ash just yet.

All of which reminds me - whatever happened to the Bullworker? (There is a train of thought here but it's more fun to leave it out). For those of you who are devoid of culture, the Bullworker was a tube of metal about three feet long that had eleasticised wire cables down either side and Hulk type green handles at either end. You could push it, pull it, stretch it - and it even had - if memory serves correctly - a plastic scale on it in order to measure your progress. It was basically the seventies version of a home gym. With Christmas fast approaching, I thought I might try and find one in good condition for Mr Downes. My mum still has my old mans in a cupboard but it appears to have gone rusty from being left on a shelf in the garage for the best part of 30 years.

Anyway, time to start pulliing my top ten album list together of 2009. That will be hard. Much easier will be the ten best albums of the decade... at least I think it will be. I might have to change the rules a bit and make it 20. All will be posted here to argue the crap out of it...