If we were having coffee I’d tell you that I’m on a Neil Gaiman binge again. I’ve got Smoke and Mirrors out and on the desk because the short stories rattling around in my head keep ping-ponging past the exits and I’m not entirely sure what they’re trying to say. There’s two deadlines now instead of one and I think, I might, just send off Little Red because I’ve been told that you just have to keep submitting until you find the right judge.
If we were having coffee I’d tell you that I’m submitted for the Nantwich Words & Music Festival but I’m not sure how I’ll do and every time I think about those poems whizzing off to someone else this coil of dread pools in my gut and really, I don’t want to think about it at all.
If we were having coffee I’d tell you that Darkened Daughter is sat untouched and that Headquarters was the plan for today but I didn’t quite get round to it and Before, I Was Dead is nothing like it was because I suddenly realised that all my recent short stories are conversations in a cafe somewhere without any real sense of time or place and honestly! That’s just no that interesting.
If we were having coffee I’d tell you that I’m meant to be writing a Guest Post but I don’t know what on. I keep checking the same email, hoping for more detail and doing these other bits and bobs and watching YouTube videos and staring at unfinished stories as if they might finish themselves by sheer force or will alone.
If we were having coffee I’d tell you that for the first time in my life I’m starting to feel like a real writer. Like I might actually be able to do this with some sense of style. Despite the fact that things seem a little all over the place at this specific moment in time.