Other Scribbles

I’m not as productive as I’d like to be. Looking at the updates here, this is a trend, not a recent occurrence.

I need time to sort my thoughts. Enjoy the stories that are here, few as they are. We’ll see what comes up in the future. Right now, I need to engage in some serious thinkage. It might take a while.

Sometimes there are things about being a grown-up that kinda suck.

Sometimes there are bills that are big and paychecks that are a bit too small, and nights spent worrying about these ultimately inconsequential things.

Sometimes you realize that seeing the world means being very far away from home.

Sometimes there are people you miss, and sights and smells and tastes as well.

And then sometimes, you find out that your friends, from all over the world, have conspired to bring you a holiday that isn’t celebrated in the place that your currently hang your hat.

Sometimes your family has the same idea, and they all join forces to show you that they love you an awful lot.

Sometimes the family and the friends, with their powers combined, go to an awful lot of trouble to bring you those sights and smells and tastes you’ve been missing.

Sometimes, in a country far from the one you’ve always known, you get a proper Thanksgiving feast. And it’s then you realize just how much you have to be thankful for.

(Full Flickr set here if you’re not terribly bored by pictures of food and folks.)

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Speaking of things I am thankful for, a short scene I wrote is going to be included in tomorrow’s Words, Words, Words event at the Traverse Theatre. It’s free, it’s at 8:00 PM, and I would love to see you there if you can make it.

It has occurred to me that sometimes I want to share things that won’t fit into either stories or 140 characters. Sometimes there’s just things that happen in my day that I’d like to make note of. It has also occurred to me that I have a perfectly good place in which to do this, and should take advantage of it.

Lately I have been on a quest to hack my brain into being as optimally productive as possible. I am endeavoring to progress with my writing in a more disciplined manner, and I think that blogging regularly is a help. A few years back, when one of my best friends and I shared a modest (but mighty) geek culture blog, I was very productive with my creative writing in tandem. Granted, I was focused on writing for a joint project at the time, but I think it boosted my stamina to work on non-creative stuff as well.

So. That said. I have a big project that’s rattling around in my head, but it’s going to take time, patience, and a lot of hard work. So I need you, friends and internets, to give me a kick in the pants from time to time. One of my goals is to write a short story a month, to keep the wheels turning. I also have made myself a creative schedule to compliment my work schedule. Bug me about it. Ask how my writing’s going. If you see me online, be it gaming or on one of the squillion social networks I use, ask me what I’ve done that day. If you don’t see a story here each month, get on my case about it. And if you request my presence for whatever purpose, and I reply that I need to get some work done first, leave me to it. I get distracted easily enough without you lovely people contributing.

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These days, I’m earning my bread as a bartender. Like all jobs, its got its ups and downs, and I would like to be back in a creative workplace eventually. But, I do genuinely enjoy mixing drinks, and there are few jobs where you get to meet such a wide variety of people.

There is one of my regulars in particular that I have become notably fond of. For the sake of privacy, we’ll call him Jack. Jack is elderly, and is an alcoholic. I had never thought of him as an alcoholic until my boss casually referred to him as such. I suppose I had always associated that term with depression and malcontent. A misguided association, to be sure, but as Jack is well mannered and cheerful, it never occurred to me that he fit the bill, despite his penchant for lager with a splash of lime cordial.

Jack comes in several times a week to hang out with his buddy. They read the paper, bet endlessly on horse races, and laugh about everything. Jack has an accent thick as butter, and I often need him to repeat himself. He loves to give me a hard time about this, often blaming it on the fact that I’m a “bloody foreigner”. It’s good natured teasing, and if you know me at all, you know I respond very well to that sort of thing.

Last Tuesday, after several hours and several pints, he came up to the bar, and slipped a five-pound note into my hand, with the same kind of cheeky smile I imagine he’d have if he snuck a cookie to a grandkid before dinner. After a second, I realized he was not ordering another round, but rather giving me a substantial tip. Now, you have to realize, as a rule, people in this country don’t tip at all, so this is a rather big deal. I started to say something, and he waved his hand, Jedi like, to dispel any protesting from me.

“I like havin’ a cheery woman behind th’ bar,” he said with an infectious smile. He paused. “I used to have one o’ them meself, before, y’know, she snuffed it.”

“I’m really sorry to hear that, Jack,” I said, and meant it.

“So was I! She owed me a fiver when she went! I went to hospital, y’know, an’ they pulled the curtain back, an’ when I saw my missus lyin’ there, I just started wailin’, tears down me face. Everybody says, och, look at the state o’ Jack! An’ I said, is nae because she’s dead, I never got the bloody fiver back!”

Appropriately, I busted. Later, I went over to his table to clear the empty glasses. He beckoned me closer, as if to tell me a secret. He does this every time I come to his table.

“Becky, you know how I was tellin’ ye about old…ah, what’s her name…” He pulls a face and scratches his bald head, pretending like he can’t recall. “Oh yes, Morna! That’s it!” He winks, and continues, confidentially. “It was 2005 when she, y’know, when she owed me a fiver. An’ you know what? I still miss her.”

And that is how a tipsy old man broke my heart a little bit.

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In closing, I have been listening to the entire discography of Sigur Rós since about two o’clock, and am totally blissed out. I recommend you do the same, no matter what time it is.

Well, again, I have proved dishonest, as my new story has nothing to do with the picture I posted all too long ago. This story is about the Showdown At Hercules Ranch. Don’t know what that is? Then I suggest you read it. There’s swords and dead cows and all kinds of fun stuff. I haven’t uploaded a plain text version yet, because I honestly couldn’t be bothered. If you’d like one, shoot me an email, and I will happily oblige.

I have recently taken up a new job that will (hopefully) be leaving me with much more creative brainspace at the end of the day. The work I have been doing the last few years does rather suck the life out of me, so if all goes to plan, I henceforth will be able to both pay the bills and offer up stories in a more timely fashion. What madness!

I’m also very happy to announce that work on the audio version of About A Prince is well on its way. I’ve enlisted the talents of some friends for this one, all of whom have voices both pleasant and enjoyable. They, too, have bills to pay, so the release date is currently penciled in as “whenever it’s done”. But we’re working on it. I’ve been getting some delightful recordings sent to me from all over the world, and I can’t wait to share them with you.

As always, feel free to leave your thoughts in either the comments or my inbox. Thanks for reading!

Less than four hours ago, I was planning to sit down with a cup of tea and work on the few projects I’ve been tinkering with the last few weeks. I declared this intention on Twitter. I was then derailed by my friend Andy, who offered me the following challenge:

I do like a good challenge.

Since I had very little time to accomplish this task, I decided to stick with the old adage of “write what you know”. True to the challenge, I ceased all writing three minutes to midnight. So here it is. My eight pages of zombie apocalypse, featuring me and my real life friends. I’m fairly certain that if the world were to become zombified tomorrow, this is exactly how it would go down.

The very, very rough first ever draft is below the jump. I will edit it properly tomorrow when my brain is functional again. I have no idea if it’s any good. I haven’t even read it through yet. I don’t even know what I wrote at this point.  I do know that I am tentatively calling it “Breathes There The Man”.

So, if you’re down to read a possibly crap, likely misspelled story that was hacked out in a caffeine fueled trance, read on, friend. (more…)

So you know how I said I’d get something up here before the Festival started? I lied.

To be fair, I had every intention of it, but the Fringe has this magical way of sucking all semblance of normalcy from your life. I worked everyday for an entire month. I no longer have anything resembling a sleep cycle. I’ve lost a lot of weight I didn’t need to. I met wonderful people. I met maddening people. I developed a burning desire to go check out Australia. I saw drummers, acrobats, stand-up comics, variety acts, street performers, and even (gasp!) an honest-to-god play. It was the most exhausting thing I’ve ever done, and glad as I am that I did it, I’m equally glad to put it away for a year.

One of the main reasons I’m glad to have a normal schedule back is because it means I can yet again scribble (a term I stand by even though I am using a keyboard to make just about everything you read here). I’ve been hard at work today arranging words in a way that I hope you will like. I’ve also wrangled a few seriously creative comrades into some collaborations that I think will be fairly awesome.

Oh, what’s the new story about, I hear you ask? Not telling, but I’ll give you a hint.