Rejection

Today I got a rejection letter for The Unwanted Callers Of Cthulhu. I think that took about two months, which makes me worried that it could take the whole year to place it correctly; I'm not sure if two months to read an unsolicited story is par for the course or (worst case) that's actually prompt for the industry and rejections often take longer than that to hear about.

Haircut and a shave, 2 cents

I had three haircuts last year; it's not that I don't care about my hair, but because I don't have to look at it very often, it's not really a priority for me. However, I glanced at my reflection in a shop window the other day, and saw a mullet developing: this has happened before, but this time round I feel too old for it to be ironic. Time for the chop.

Raining on my parade

I went running this morning and went much faster than I expected; perhaps that was due to the fat-loading (last night's pizza overdose) or maybe getting more sleep (I struggled out of my pit at 7, an hour later than usual), or this being an easy week and so reaping the benefit of lower training load, or indeed just that I didn't run up any bridges today. Whatever the reason, I felt good, got home, hung out the laundry to dry, then went to the office to work on my novel. (Three screens are wonderful when you're doing a redraft.)

Another year of blogging

Well, a year and a day have passed since I last reviewed all the traffic this blog gets so on my birthday, it seems as good a time as any to take another look and see if anything's different.

Just like last year, I cack-handedly turned off Google Analytics tracking for part of February, which I suppose at least makes year-on-year comparisons a bit fairer. (Statistically speaking, this is like saying "Hey! Don't worry about breaking your ankle - you've broken your wrist too!")

En route to Bangkok

Going for a ride last night had unexpected good consequences: today was the first time in months that I've woken up without my back clenched up in a spasm of pain. On the other hand, I was blundering around the apartment semi-asleep, so it took me a while to notice this exciting development.

A year of blogging

Tomorrow will be the first anniversary of my attempt to write something every single day here, and although I don't like the idea of a blog that just continually discusses itself, it seems appropriate for one day of the year to look back at what I've created so far, and wonder what works, what doesn't work, and what it is people have wanted to read.

Finished!

Well, that was singularly unpleasant in its last stages.  After writing a heinous amount of prose on Sunday, and then rushing through the almost-mandatory 1,667 words today, I figured I might as well press on and write as much as I could, and once I was within a thousand words of the end, it seemed rude not to press on.

If nothing else, it's made me a more proficient typist.

Productive

Today I didn't manage to get much writing done, but after the streak of typing in the last couple of days, that wasn't so much of a problem; I'm still 800 words ahead of where I need to be, and I'm about to choreograph a punch-up in the toilets at Happy Valley Racecourse (this isn't a spoiler for the plot of my book, unless you assumed the plot was boy meets girl, boy takes girl to see the horses, punch-up in the toilets ensues).

Aftermath

The only problem with three hours of martial arts and then two hours of doing the chicken dance in a windy car park in Kowloon is that if you haven't accustomed your body to it via regular training, the day after can be punishing. The chicken dancing, that is.

Back to the gym, book in hand

This evening I had nothing better to do, so I went to the gym. Actually, that's not quite right: there were lots of things I could have done that were better than going to the gym.

I don't wanna miss a thing

There are times when I feel totally ashamed of myself.  There are other times, when I feel a kind of meta-shame - a nagging feeling that I should be filled with shame, yet I'm incapable of doing so.  Or I'm actually proud of what I'm doing.  Perhaps this actually evinces proof of growing maturity - that I can be pleased with what I do without worrying about what other people think of me, or of conforming to notions of proper behaviour should be.

But it's hard to hold to that view when the thing you should be ashamed of is listening to 'Don't Want To Miss A Thing' by Aerosmith.  Or rather, an American Idol cover version of that song.  On Youtube.  Played through the tinny speakers of my msi Wind netbook.  Which, coincidentally, provides the perfect sonic simulation of a crappy transistor radio, which is somehow the perfect way to enjoy this over-the-top, middle-of-the-road, straight-down-the-line guff.  Music it's hardly worth mixing cliches over, let alone metaphors.

But it's hardly my fault.  Before you criticise me, you read The Corner, and then tell me I don't need cheering up with the highest saturated fat comfort food for the soul that Steven Tyler could devise.

Libraries, identity cards and readability

On my birthday, I went to the library in Happy Valley to borrow a book for my girlfriend. While I was there, I had to provide my Hong Kong ID card as identification, and they tapped a few numbers into their computer, peered at my water bill to ensure I lived where I said I did, and then wished me a happy birthday. Which was nice. Now, possibly conveniently, I can use my ID card as a library card. This is a good thing, if you don't want to carry extraneous identification documents around with you, or possibly a bad thing, if you don't think governments should be able to easily track what books you have been borrowing.

Another year...

Yesterday I finished Nanowrimo, a initiative (a competition? An event?) To write a novel in 30 days. The only rule was that you had to produce at least 50,000 word in November.