Monthly Archives: May 2005
Weight: 85kg. Cigarettes: 0. Still no call from Mark Darcy.
The following post will contain no transitive or intransitive verbs. Any resemblance to an extract from Bridget Jones' Diary is purely the result of massive holes in Helen Fielding's education.
Posted in editorial consultant, not writing, sloth Comments closed
One false move and the space-time continuum gets it
I've always wanted to start a post with a line that could have fallen from the mouth of Jane Eyre.
Posted in whiteboards, writing Comments closed
The Whiteboard Dungeon of Semi-Formed Ideas
And then, of course, in the second week the novelty wears off and the lazy blogger begins to post lacklustre material with decreasing punctuality, losing what few readers he had to the Herald Sun website, where Andrew Bolt can always be trusted to edify.
Fortunately for the reader, I am not that blogger.
Posted in not writing, severed heads, whiteboards Comments closed
Here be dust bunnies
I've reached an interesting point at the end of my first week of full-time writing. I've written much more than I thought, so much in fact that I've written myself out into unknown territory.
Posted in The Last Monk, whiteboards, writing Comments closed
Whatever’s about to happen, I was there
And then, in my mind, a guy walked past selling t-shirts. On the t-shirts was printed 'WHATEVER'S ABOUT TO HAPPEN, I WAS THERE'. From him came a flood of other ideas, from the outbreak of civil war in a marching band to the exquisite, liberating sensation of pushing a stilt-walking juggler off a pier.
Posted in The Last Monk, fairy-floss, writing Comments closed
Trench-coats. Trench coats. Trenchcoats?
Some days aren't that newsworthy: the most interesting thing to happen today was a ten-minute search of various reference texts to answer the question: 'trench-coats' or 'trench coats'? Although I found the answer, I think it's safe for me to leave you hanging over this one. You'll simply have to buy the book to find out.
Posted in The Last Monk, extracts, writing Comments closed
158 words — nobody panic
The more mathematically-inclined reader will have been performing some basic arithmetic during my opening panhandle and come to the ineluctable conclusion that my novel is now a mere 158 words longer than it was yesterday.
Posted in The Last Monk, writing Comments closed
Day Zero
There's a common misapprehension about writing that it is a modern form of alchemy. With the exception of the odd long, miserable day when it appears nothing will convert this lead to gold, writing resembles alchemy only as far as its practitioners enjoy making it seem arcane. Writing is less scientific, and tends to work something like this:
Posted in The Last Monk, sandwiches, whiteboards, writing Comments closed
New Extract — Fitzgerald House, Part One