Sunday, 8 February 2009

My achievement (edited version!)

If anyone's wondering why the 'google news' link and 'edit me' links have appeared apparently randomly at the top of my blog screen, rest assured, this isn't the result of some random blog activity. No, it's my technological incompetence rearing its shaggy pretechnosapiens head once more. Yes, I tried to 'edit' the link to a link to my publisher's website and no, it didn't work. What is it with me and edits?

If you click on one (don't ask me which one, I can't be expected to remember everything - or even anything) it takes you via some miraculous virtual highway to the details of CUT SHORT - a short cut to Cut Short. The other one takes you to Crime Time magazine (article on page 14-15 I think - another memory lapse) I'd intended the links to be identifiably named and also to appear in the links section of the blog, not appear hovering weirdly in space. There's also a link on the profile page which calls itself a link to my webpage. It's not my webpage, but it is the webpage about Cut Short on my publisher's website.

So I've achieved something. I don't understand how I did it, and it's not what I intended, but it's something. Which is quite an accurate summary of my life as a writer. Sound familiar?

Wednesday, 4 February 2009


This evening I missed a lecture on forensics that I was particularly keen to attend. I couldn't find the venue and nor could about five different police officers I asked to help me. (By this time I'd become peripherally embroiled in a huge demonstration outside the Houses of Parliament - hence the significant police presence). Not a good evening.

Unusually, I read my horoscope in the paper on my train journey home. "Do you really need to go?" the horoscope asked. "Why do you put yourself through these things?" Why am I doing all this? I asked myself. What am I doing?

When I arrived home, I realised I hadn't found the venue because I'd looked up the wrong address. That didn't help my mood... Just as I was feeling really miserable, I found an email inviting me to talk about Cut Short at a literary festival.

So I can stop feeling sorry for myself - for this evening, at least.

Is writing a roller coaster for everyone, or am I just unhinged?