Friday, 24 August 2012


“When you're a kid, if you watch 'The Jeffersons' with your family at seven o'clock, it seems like a natural phenomenon, like the sun setting. The universe is a strange, strange place when all of a sudden you can't use your glass with the Bionic Woman on it any more.” 

Our Man said to himself he would take August off, and he has. And it's been Hell -- he hasn't written a thing worth keeping. He's coming round to the view that far from being constraining, routine is vital to creativity. Or put it this way, if he doesn't force himself to sit down in front of the computer for at least an hour or two every day, he just doesn't write. Without that discipline to stick to the routine, the routine distractions of life take over.

So be it. 

From September, Our Man is gonna grab that work ethic like a Puritan in heat, and dust off a few projects that have been tugging at his heart, including:
  • An essay on Tokyo Disneyland. He can barely bring himself to write it as his feelings toward the place are as, how you say, conflicted as those he has toward the Olympics, Japanese school sports days and North Korea. But write it he must as the research involved will provide background fodder for...
  • The sequel to Hana Walker's Half-Life 2:46... codenamed Escape. Our Man has already written the bare bones of Chapter 1 -- as a 500-word short story for Kimie Cat's fiction contest; he knows how the book's gonna end and he's got the hang of using italics, so the rest is just about routine, aka putting-backside-in-chair-and-getting-off-twitter.
  • Inputting corrections to Half-Life and How to Write About Japan (notably confusion between a moose and a mousse) and exploring non-Amazon ways to get the books out, including...
  • Publishing a print version of Half-Life.
  • Start work on a long-term literary-ish project, so dastardly, so unlikely, so half-baked that it doesn't even have a code name yet.
BTW, Our Man took this pic late last night on the meander home in the tunnel under the tracks that Hana Walker ran barefoot through in her book, as Our Man is sure you all remember, ahem.

Carry on.

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