THE PEN IS MORE PORTABLE THAN THE SWORD
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:
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.
Road Trip!
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...
The Doctor is in
Bloody hell - the stuff that people give away. Over the last couple of days I've been keeping an eye out for a couple of 'disposable' board games in some of the charity shops here. Up until today, I was becoming worried that I was going into them far too often for my own good - and actually finding things that were pretty cool.
And then today, my mind was eased. On a shelf were a whole stack of Doctor Who videos (am I the only person left in the country with a VHS player?). Top drawer releases they are too from Hartnell, Troughton and Pertwee along with the McGann movie. Some of them are double box sets and some are even still shrink-wrapped. 40 pence each? Yes - I shall take the whole damn shooting match. Thank you Miss. Would I like a bag? Yes I would...
Seriously VHS is where it's at if you want to watch something and don't give a damn about dozens of boxes piling up around your TV. Last month we picked up the back end of the entire Inspector Morse series for 40 pence as well. VHS tapes are worth nothing at all these days... unless, like I say, you really want to simply watch something.
I still like that feeling of rebellion by not rewinding... I wonder if they ever released the whole series of The Sweeney.
Still lots going on here. So much so, that I think I'm actually going to have to create myself some kind of schedule and whilst doing so may take a lot of the fun out of it, will mean some more things get finished - as illustrated by being subject to competition deadlines over the last few months.
Currently reading: Still womping my way through Company of Liars (which is shaping up nicely)
Currently listening to: Our Lady Peace - Gravity
Currently looking forward to: finding an evening free for Mr Downes to drown my back in some ink from a tattoo gun. (Yeah - I know it's right to call it a gun anymore but it will always be a gun to me. And who thinks 'needle' is anymore of a positive image anyway?)
Remember, remember the 5th December...
It promises to be something special but to be honest, even if it's just the same as a normal Alice Cooper tour, it will still be better than 90% of the other tat paraded before my eyes. If you've never been to see The Master, waste not much more time. I'm sure he would be the first to agree he ain't getting any younger.
I got a bee in my bonnet this morning about the blog looking so very different to the site, so I flipped the coin and this came up as being the one to get a makeover. I spent about two hours building three column templates with all kinds of widgety things in when Eleanor came in and smacked me around the back of the head for being stupid.. and she was right.
Tales from doesn't need to be an all singing, all dancing kind of thing. It doesn't have to do anything but display what I type and keep anybody that might give a damn informed of such. So bear with me while I change all the background colours on the buttons and menus that were on the right - they'll be back soon with some new additions, otherwise, it's business as usual...
...and despite my saying that I wouldn't buy any more books, yesterday I spotted a nice looking graphic come short story called The Savage by David Almond (Skellig) and illustrated by Dave McKean (everything that was ever great). It's only a short read but fuck it's really good. Really, really good...
Lots to rattle on about from today but Supernatural is calling...
Big Thursday... and Bon Jovi
To say "it occurred to me today" is an out and out lie. The thought actually came from the Senior Detective In Charge Of Me Forgetting Things I Had Posted at Zodiac Lung And Really Should Have Cross Referenced From A Previous Post (that would be Eleanor then...).
So - it should have occurred to me that earlier this year, I prophecised that poetry would somehow drag its carcass kicking and screaming into the mainstream and that this is exactly what happened when I mentioned a few days ago that Stephen King was publishing that very same thing in Playboy this month. I think I need to make this purchase. (Incidentally, this will be the first time I have ever bought Playboy - although I did once buy a copy of Playgirl back in 1989/1990 because it had a great cover feature/interview with David Lee Roth).
I like poetry but in that arena more than any other, it takes a certain level of talent to make it work. A short story written badly is just a badly written short story but a bad poem has the tendency to be equivalent of a fat bloke wearing speedos at the pool. They tend to scream and shout about how wrong they are. I hope King has done a good job on it. More big-ass writers should get involved in poetry and then maybe, one day, it will become a joy to read again rather than something you think you should enjoy simply because it is poetry.
I think it's also coming up to that time of year when I know that any given moment, I'm going to be asked for my top ten albums of the year. It's going to be hard this year - I can't think of ten albums worth a damn this year let alone the best but it's always quite a cool exercise to spend an evening on. Number one is easy - Kiss' Sonic Boom has wiped the floor this year, Madina Lake will be in there somewhere too - possibly at number two which will make them happy. I can't remember if Chinese Democracy came out this year or last. 2009 has been kind of weird to say the least. Anyway, that will appear over at shakenstir.co.uk
Talking of albums, I came by the latest Bon Jovi album last week.
Yet again, I was expecting something more from one of the biggest bands in the world. Maybe I shouldn't have been so surprised that I didn't get it because that's what I was hoping for over the course of the last three studio albums and didn't get either.
I hate to say this - but having seen them live over 20 times, feel I am more than qualified to do so - Bon Jovi have become a one trick pony. Production values aside (which are sky high), The Circle is simply dull. More songs about keeping the faith, living your own way and sticking it to the man... I'm starting to wish Tommy would pull a gun on Gina's mom so there was something else for JBJ to write about.
Jon has gotten himself to that East Coast mentality that Stephen King ran into a few years back. Being self referrential is fine until you start referring to actually being self referrential. A more apt title for this album is surely not available - it's a dreadful thing to say, but it took being hit by a car for King to realise this is what was happening...
The Circle will sell millions and the faithful will not hear a bad word said against the saviour. Sadly, I've reached the point where I'm starting to question my faith.
Anyway, later this month - not that there's much of it left - I'll be taking a look at the best books of 2009 which is going to be really difficult. In the absence of the Big Guns (shame on all of you) it's going to a royal mash-up of titles...
Bring it on.
Books, books, books
Not quite so catchy as girls, girls, girls perhaps but I have so many books to read here that I might have to stop buying them - at least for the rest of the week.
I found a curio called to major tom this week. Written by Dave Thompson, it's simply a collection (a very large collection) of all the letters he has ever written to David Bowie since he was 12 years old - even though Bowie never once wrote back. Brilliantly simple in its premise, it had me hooked in the store... which was why it had to come home with me.
I also picked up Company of Liars by Karen Maitland - I kept seeing this in every single store I have been in for about three weeks now. I figured it was trying to tell me to read it come what may, so that ended up in the basket as well. Then, on my way to the counter, Eleanor proffered me a copy of Andrew Martin's The Last Train to Scarborough - A Jim Stringer Steam Detective mystery. In for a penny I guess, so that made the grade too.
With Christmas just around the corner, things can only get worse - especially when I have so much to write. It will all end in tears.
It's the little things:
What an excellent weekend. Seriously, despite the rain that flooded the garden and leaked through the conservatory roof, the wind that could take your head off and feeling like I should check myself into a hospital ward, it was damn fine
Took a trip over to Whitstable on Saturday morning - first port of call. Breakfast - or lunch as it was by the time we got there, which if you're a retard makes it 'brunch' I guess. We dropped into a cafe called Olivia's where I was most impressed with the two Ralph Steadman prints of Hunter S Thompson framed on the wall. But not nearly as impressed as I was with the sandwich I had put under my nose. "Sure... a sandwich is a sandwich". I hear what you're thinking, alas - this was no ordinary sandwich.
Bacon, brie and spicy pear chutney or toasted granary. Sounds good right? Let me tell you... I'm big on sandwiches. I know a good sandwich when I taste one and this one is right up there flaunting the number one slot on the "Top Ten Best Sandwiches Ever" list. Go. Check them out. You won't be disappointed.
Saturday also featured two new additions to the pet menagerie in the shape of two fish. They don't have names at the moment but in so far as fish have characters, they're funny. The naming of fish cannot be rushed otherwise you end up with things like Ben & Jerry (thanks Rhiannon) or Bill and Sylvia (Ellie's contribution) - both of which are highly unacceptable.
Then there was The Waters of Mars - the latest Doctor Who special. They're really playing with us over the fact that we know he is going and I love it. Roll on the remaining episodes. Oddly, I can't wait for him to go now..
Meanwhile, all of us writers and artists who didn't win the Jonathan Cape Graphic Short Competition decided to get together and release an anthology of our entries. It's early days yet but I think we're going to be looking at a nice 100 plus pages of full colour. Whether we keep it as a one off project or use it as a double barrel to make publishers sit up and beg, I don't know. I'm not sure it matters at the moment. The important thing is getting it done properly. More on this as the days go by.
Yesterday, I also got back on the music hoss by doing some pre-tour promo for the forthcoming Alice Cooper Theatre of Death tour. Nice. Coming up later today is a review of the new Bon Jovi album (if it's any good - I'm not reviewing the same album yet again) and I think I should probably do some work with Breed 77.
Finally, I started mocking up some panels for Mr Downes to do some work on Men Without Hats. Not fast enough for my liking and if I hadn't been spouting off about that damn sandwich all weekend, I might have gotten a bit further!
Currently reading: Nine Dragons | Michael Connolly
Currently listening to: Japan | Obscure Alternatives
Currently watching: Supernatural and Californication - Spooks is looking good too. Most looking forward to seeing if Paradox will be worth the paper it's written on.
Who Watches The Watchmen?
Quite a few people apparently. The blog police mailed me a link yesterday to an excellent post over at the Forbidden Planet regarding the Jonathan Cape competition. There's links and images of a whole stack of entries that went into the comp - and I have to say that I wouldn't have minded losing to any of them at all (just in case any of my American viewers missed the sarcasm in the post). The quality is sky high and highlights two pretty important issues. The first is that the quality of unpublished comic book writers and artists is as good as it ever was in this country. There's a gold mine just waiting to happen out there - which begs the question, why isn't anybody doing anything with it? Is it up to us as lone gunslingers to set the ball rolling and do it ourselves until we've done all the hard work before a development deal comes along? "More than likely" is the answer to that. I'd love to hear from any of you guys out there who entered with your thoughts on where you're going next with your talents.
Secondly - shit, I can't remember what I was going to say now... oh yeah: I'm mightily impressed that somebody had the mettle to pay attention to the other entries. The fact that it's a blogger at Forbidden Planet makes it more worthwhile too. Surely it would have been sensible of Cape to have posted all the entries online? It would have meant a lot more traffic to their site and as a company, they would surely have reaped the benefit of knowing what the public might actually buy off the shelf.
I'm not taking anything away from the winners but it's like finding a wallet with fifty ten pound notes in it, taking two out and then throwing it away. Go figure.
Just for the hell of it, I've made The Fire Sermon available for free download here or if you're reluctant to download direct or just to damned lazy, you can grab it from the official Zodiac Lung store at LuLu, or check it out at my new favourite online e-book store: myebook
Watching the Old Guard...
Hmm. Stephen King publishes a poem? In Playboy? News article from the Guardian here:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2009/nov/04/stephen-king-publishes-poem-playboy
...and then publishes a short story in the New Yorker (Nov 9th). Seems like somebody has time on their hands having once again found his mojo. After a string of drivel, the last three books from the King stable have actually been pretty good.
Talking of drivel... what the hell is taking Clive Barker so long to get his act together again? Too much reimaginating of movies people no longer care about? Too much paint spilt on canvas? Come on Mr B! You were the King of Kings - the man who could do no wrong! There are unfinished stories to be told out there - and I have run out of books to read.
Proper post later today... I have some time on my hands this evening.
Bitter? Who me?
So - finally, we found out who won the Jonathan Cape short graphic story competition. Was it Charlotte and I... no it wasn't. The first prize went to this entry here. The second prize went to this entry here. Those two links go to the first page of each. See what you think. For want of comparison, you can read our entry - The Fire Sermon - here.
Looking at these entries (the winner of which was published in the Observer today), they were obviously looking for something very different from what we could have ever delivered. I'm seriously not bitter at all because the deadline made me finish something faster than I would have normally.
...and that's probably all I should say about it lest my big mouth gets me into trouble in the future.
Still - if you've got the time to take a look at those winning entries and also The Fire Sermon, we would both be interested in any comment you may wish to leave.
In other news, I'm thinking about starting a competition of my own over at Zodiac Lung. It's a short story competition and all you have to do is submit some hand-drawn tat that you did in your lunch hour and one day, sometime in the future, we'll scoop random bits of paper out of a stove-pipe hat and give you some cash for your trouble. Sound good? Start drawing chumps!
The Ballad of the Goat Faced Boy
Whilst the lovely Charlotte is busy with some illustrations for We 3 Kings (well, she will be shortly when I email her this file lying around on my desktop), I don't so much find myself at a loose end but rather have a bee in my bonnet about finishing some projects that I started in the summer.
The biggest bee has turned out to be my million scraps of paper for The Ballad of the Goat Faced Boy... a Roald Dahl sort of affair about a boy (natch) with the face of a goat who finds solace in the arms of a travelling freakshow... all done in the best possible taste of course.
In my head, I knew exactly what I wanted all along and lo - a visit to flickr this evening revealed a talent I must work with. This is a stolen image from one of Angie's photo albums on there (thus very copyrighted) and I love it! End of story. So tomorrow looks like being a day of finding said million scraps of paper in order to tempt her into the Circle of Fear and producing some more killer work.
Some days (see previous post) I feel like hanging up the gloves but then something like this comes along and tells me not to be such a jerk...
Back to that sword...
I couldn't really leave this hanging after mentioning it earlier today, so one has returned to finish what one started - feeling slightly more buoyant from discovering that The Waters of Mars (next Doctor Who special) hits the screens on 15th November. Shallow? Hell yeah - it's the little things that keep me going!
So far here, I've never really discussed Eleanor at any great length - and how we met and all that private stuff is not up for grabs, but there's a part of our life that I've decided is worth sharing. She has Rheumatiod Arthritis pretty damn bad - which is a bit of kick in the head for somebody who's only 27. It's probably even more of a kick in the head than being with somebody who is 41. (I think I'm allowed to say things like that because if it's not treated in some kind of offhand manner, it will surely drive you insane). Some days are good, some days are bad and some days are notoriously hideous - thankfully, they are few and far between at the moment.
I'm not really sure what I'm trying to say now I've brought it up. The intricacies of it are easily found on the web but sometimes I feel like talking about it out loud. I guess I should state right up front here, that no sympathy is being sought but now and again, the day to day effects are worth mentioning because of the impact they have. They hit us in different ways - obviously. Some days, Eleanor can hardly function. Basically, it's all about your joints and how they work - or don't as the case may be. So far as I can gather, living with this for five minutes is the equivalent of sitting in the same airplane seat for about nine days solid. While that's bad enough, when your mind is alive and spinning its wheels, the stress kicks in that you are unable to do anything constructive. The stress brings about more joint pain and so the cycle spirals out of control - and it's a tough cookie to break.
For my part - may the Gods have mercy on my soul - I have so far escaped any serious disease. Stomach ulcers, chest pain, two busted knees, a knackered shoulder and a splinter of bone stuck in my elbow aside, these are nothing compared to this. I have to admit, sharing a house with this fucker is incredibly disabling. There is absolutely nothing you can do to help. Nothing. You can be around, fetch and carry stuff but all you can really do is watch and wait for it go into hiding for another few days and hope it stays gone for longer than it did last time.
There are more drugs on top of our fridge than we have a right to, but this isn't the answer. The doctors and specialists are pissing in the wind - anybody who has been or is stricken with a serious long term illness will know that you are little more than a guinea pig to these people. The painkillers help but that's not really addressing the problem - and is not my way at all.
Which brings me to the point of raising it here at all in the first place. I know I have a fair few readers here - if anybody has the slightest clue of how to make even a small but positive impact on this, it would be good to hear from you. Just leave a comment below. It could be in the form of diet, stupid stuff that shouldn't work (for some reason, anti-histamines help occasionally) - I don't really care what it is, I'd just like to hear from others in the same boat - sufferers or partners thereof - because watching the person you love being destroyed from the inside on an almost daily basis, frankly, sucks and I have to do something.
I caught a bullet in the ear a few weeks ago for telling somebody the truth in that life is too short to go fucking about with things you don't care about. It's true. On which note, it's about time I invited Mr Downes over to Dark Cottage with his new tattoo toys. Get some perspective - nobody gets out alive.
Nobody.
Joviality shall return tomorrow...
The double edged sword
Life is not shit but it's no walk in the park either. Life is... life. Only truly foolish people think they can get out alive with no strings attached. It gets us all in different ways eventually.
When I started this blog, it was going to very strictly be about the writing process, getting an agent and getting published. Friends and regular visitors will know that this lasted a week at best and is really about me, me, me - only a part of which is the writing bit. This sits OK with me but back to the point...
I want to introduce a new train of thought into zodiaclung - mostly because I hope it will prove useful. It won't take up every single post but some days - like today - I feel like writing about this because it's infinitely better than moaning about it. With some luck it may even prove to be constructive because for once in my life, I need some help!
However, this train of thought is not about me. It's about somebody very close to me (there ain't nobody closer!) and out of respect I have to ask if she minds me discussing it. I don't think she will but hey... respect where it's due. More on this later...
Still no word on these damned competition results, so come Monday, I'm going to post make The Fire Sermon available at zodiaclung for general and very public consumption - in a variety of languages, although not all at once.
In a moment of brilliance/weakness, I figured that one of the best ways to market yourself globally was to publish material in most of the worlds languages, so as soon as they come back from my troopers, The Fire Sermon will be available in French, German, Spanish, Japanese and er... Welsh. Don't knock it. Do you know how much press I can get back home just for acknowledging the Welsh language! The Welsh Development Agency will probably shower me with gold bullion!
Anyway, this is something that I want to pursue permanently - I think it will be interesting to see what happens in the long term. Will it be worth a damn? Will it make a difference? Who knows, it just sounded like a cool idea and I have the resources to actually get it done. If you're chomping for a look, the first ones out of the bag will be French and German... and maybe the Welsh.
In a jaw-dropping appendix to this post, I don't know anybody who actually watches Californication except me so I have nobody to share my excitement of the fact that RICK FUCKING SPRINGFIELD has shown up in the show. It's awesome. It's very big and it's very clever. I feel a Living In Oz post coming on...
Later people... the swimming pool is calling my name.
Under the influence.
I almost got the impression that nothing at all of value - or otherwise - had happened today. Then I realised all I had to do was look a little closer.
Let me see, this morning I parked the car in front of a mans house knowing full well that it annoys him... but he only ever comes out and has a dig at Eleanor when she's by herself. One day you old bastard... one day!
I also got a call today from the local bookshop where I've ordered the Ian Rankin authored Hellblazer novel Dark Entries. I've said before that I always like to buy occasionally at full price from indie stores - it's the right thing to do sometimes. Anyway, this call today was from the store saying that they couldn't get hold of it from the publisher and it probably wouldn't arrive for "a long time" - did I want to keep it on order?
Not particularly, no. I want to read the damn thing, so tomorrow I will invoke the universal law known as "supply and demand" and go pick it off the shelf at Waterstones - where, in spite of myself and my disdain for them lately - it is lovingly placed on a shelf where I can exchange money for it. Apparently.
Taking the girls swimming tonight which is always good for a few laughs, then, I may eat like I am King of the World... because that's always what you want to do the day before you get paid isn't it.
Patience...
Patience is not something I am very good at. It's not something I have ever been very good at and neither is it something I am likely to be good at in the future.
The dictionary describes patience thus: A particularly efficacious, good, or beneficial quality. That may be true for some but not for me. The results of the Jonathan Cape/Observer graphic short story competition are due out this week. It may be that I have not won. It may be that The Fire Sermon was consigned to the wastebasket and I will never hear. Most likely scenario is that at some point in the near future, I will read the name of the winner in some blog or other and sigh deeply that many late nights were spent lovingly creating a piece of work that nobody understood. Then again, as I know nothing at all either way right now, I still hold a flame - high!
Either way, patience would be a nice tool to have at my disposal. I shall substitute it with a carton of cigarettes instead which I have always found to be far more practical and enjoyable than 'patience'.
I find that more work can also act as a good blanket with which to cover a lack of patience and as luck would have it, We Three Kings is shaping up rather well. Will we be able to finish it by Christmas? I hope so. The premise is so neat it would be a shame to have to bury it until next year - some telepathic spy bitch will probably have stolen it out of my head by then anyway.
In the most brilliant news today The Times Online have published: Skull of huge sea monster that could have eaten T. Rex found in Dorset. How awesome - I'm a bit disappointed that they don't show the skull and have opted for a drawing of said creature but still... I shall be following this like a Spaniel and will keep you posted of further skull developments.
Currently reading: palms
Currently listening to: Nickelback's catalogue on shuffle.
Currently watching: More Supernatural, more Californication and wondering when the hell the next Doctor Who special kicks in.
Bond... James Bond
Came back from doing some bits this morning to find Live and Let Die on the TV. As is always traditional with James Bond, one must always ask - providing one had never asked before - who the best Bond is. A certain amount of leeway is allowed of course, but anybody who replies Roger Moore without a moments hesitation needs a good head examination.
The correct answer is of course, as follows:
Daniel Craig
Sean Connery
George Lazenby
Pierce Brosnan
Roger Moore
Timothy Dalton
There are no additional points awarded for trying to be clever and adding Peter Sellers, David Niven, Woody Allen or any other freakzoid franchise spinoffs, so don't go there.
Anyway, Eleanor says to me in a thoroughly offhand manner, "Did I ever tell you about the time my Dad went round to his house (Lazenby) and he answered the door in his dressing gown?"
Now, there isn't actually any more to the story than this at the moment - but I think that's quite neat. In fact, the story would be best of all if that was it.. he just went round to his house and knocked on his door for no reason at all. (I even managed to not retort with the expected "what was a tiger doing in your pyjamas" line - must be getting old!).
So - with extremely literary and important conversation of the day over, time for some more work. I have Charlotte busy chewing her bottom lip off over what to make of our new Christmas graphic short We Three Kings. The original movie script of Too Hot For Dogs has been re-opened and is, on this very day, being checked over and amended for submission to the BBC (more on that later), there's a poetry competition on the horizon with a pocket friendly swag of £5000 up for grabs and I also see that Big Village are looking for a new stage script to take to the Fringe in 2010, so it's time to get the gears in motion.
Beats the hell out of watching this joker think he's any good as 007.
