Andrew McEwan's Blog: Words Are the Gravy On the Mashed Potato of Life - Posts Tagged "thump"
SUBMISSION
I went to bed at 3.15 this morning and got up approx twelve hours later. Sons of Anarchy is partially to blame, a soap opera with a body count and more hilarity than a Benny Hill sketch from back in the day. And there's a sixth season! Geordie Jax must have better things to do...
I don't watch much TV as it happens. Seldom at all during the week. One reason is I get shoutly, especially at the BBC. So I'm mostly limited to downloads and Netflix at weekends, with beer. Lately, however, this routine has grown tiresome. Often I find Twitter more entertaining. I am beguiled by my computer monitor. In the past this meant endless eBay trawling; only eBay ain't what it used to be. I used to buy and sell Apple Macs on a regular basis but everything is overpriced these days and bargains are hard to come by. Then there's the fraud. This year I've been involved in half a dozen disputes, more than in the previous ten years. The result is money tied up in PayPal and lots of wasted time. Bonne nuit to that.
Right now I'm halfway through a second edit of THUMP, the book formerly known as Spare Parts For Spaceships. I hate it, or parts of it, but I reckon several further mutations may result in something original and worthy of a revisit. There is to be a second volume, although ultimately the two may merge. This is the first SF I've written in years, and whilst it's fun the genre throws up a whole new set of problems. Watch this space.
I've submitted the first three chapters along with a synopsis (Why can't I write a decent synopsis?) to an agent. My first submission anywhere for a while. It would be nice to have some agenting but I'm not holding my breath. Again. Watch this space.
Speaking of help I'm heading to the doctor's Tuesday. Hmmm. A pattern emerging here. Yes, it's years since I saw a doctor. There are clearly a lot of inexplicable gaps in my life. Anyway. To cut a long story short I'm tired. I need help. I need drugs. I've been fighting depression for over thirty years and I can't do it any more. Not alone. Because in space no-one can hear you scream.
Wish me luck.
I don't watch much TV as it happens. Seldom at all during the week. One reason is I get shoutly, especially at the BBC. So I'm mostly limited to downloads and Netflix at weekends, with beer. Lately, however, this routine has grown tiresome. Often I find Twitter more entertaining. I am beguiled by my computer monitor. In the past this meant endless eBay trawling; only eBay ain't what it used to be. I used to buy and sell Apple Macs on a regular basis but everything is overpriced these days and bargains are hard to come by. Then there's the fraud. This year I've been involved in half a dozen disputes, more than in the previous ten years. The result is money tied up in PayPal and lots of wasted time. Bonne nuit to that.
Right now I'm halfway through a second edit of THUMP, the book formerly known as Spare Parts For Spaceships. I hate it, or parts of it, but I reckon several further mutations may result in something original and worthy of a revisit. There is to be a second volume, although ultimately the two may merge. This is the first SF I've written in years, and whilst it's fun the genre throws up a whole new set of problems. Watch this space.
I've submitted the first three chapters along with a synopsis (Why can't I write a decent synopsis?) to an agent. My first submission anywhere for a while. It would be nice to have some agenting but I'm not holding my breath. Again. Watch this space.
Speaking of help I'm heading to the doctor's Tuesday. Hmmm. A pattern emerging here. Yes, it's years since I saw a doctor. There are clearly a lot of inexplicable gaps in my life. Anyway. To cut a long story short I'm tired. I need help. I need drugs. I've been fighting depression for over thirty years and I can't do it any more. Not alone. Because in space no-one can hear you scream.
Wish me luck.
Did I Say That?
Greetings, friends and aliens! How are you this fine day? It's been a while. I've been busy. Okay, sort of busy. In fact, I've been holding my breath.
After four months and a full MS request I got a rejection this morning. Pah. The book was THUMP, and the agent shall remain nameless; but now that's done and dusted I feel...liberated. My last post was in September. Wow, look what I was doing in September. Not pretty. The whole depression/medication business came to nothing. I'm pleased about this. Goes to prove you shouldn't listen to other people's ideas about your mental health. You should cut down your drinking instead.
Naturally, I've taken up whiskey. There is logic in this, believe me. In terms of units a glug of Scotch is higher on the sensible scale than three cans of strong lager. There're only 28 units of alcohol in a 750cl bottle. That's like ten day's worth of allowable units and a bottle lasts me a month.
My sanity aside (and I'm feeling chipper today, thanks) I have actually been doing a lot of writing. THUMP vol. 1 is out in paperback, too. The 2nd volume is a third written and I currently have a giveaway running on Goodreads whereby you can get your grubby digits on a signed copy of Armwrestling the Dead completely for nowt. I do need to work on my profile, however. Expose myself more, if you will. I'll never be everyone's mug of choice, but my audience is there, lurking. I just need to coax you forth.
So it's back to the literary anarchist's chalkboard. Me selling out is put on hold.
Remember, you kick ass, you never kiss it.
Happy, kittens?
After four months and a full MS request I got a rejection this morning. Pah. The book was THUMP, and the agent shall remain nameless; but now that's done and dusted I feel...liberated. My last post was in September. Wow, look what I was doing in September. Not pretty. The whole depression/medication business came to nothing. I'm pleased about this. Goes to prove you shouldn't listen to other people's ideas about your mental health. You should cut down your drinking instead.
Naturally, I've taken up whiskey. There is logic in this, believe me. In terms of units a glug of Scotch is higher on the sensible scale than three cans of strong lager. There're only 28 units of alcohol in a 750cl bottle. That's like ten day's worth of allowable units and a bottle lasts me a month.
My sanity aside (and I'm feeling chipper today, thanks) I have actually been doing a lot of writing. THUMP vol. 1 is out in paperback, too. The 2nd volume is a third written and I currently have a giveaway running on Goodreads whereby you can get your grubby digits on a signed copy of Armwrestling the Dead completely for nowt. I do need to work on my profile, however. Expose myself more, if you will. I'll never be everyone's mug of choice, but my audience is there, lurking. I just need to coax you forth.
So it's back to the literary anarchist's chalkboard. Me selling out is put on hold.
Remember, you kick ass, you never kiss it.
Happy, kittens?
The Paranoid Gibberings of An Erstwhile Celibate Cabbage
Not dead yet, in case you were wondering.
Two months and much ado with sharp objects, blood and dodgy chemicals later, and I'm back drinking wine and eating a Chinese. Chemotherapy is not recommended, especially if, like me, you have the veins of a princess.
On the plus side I sold a book on Amazon (a rare event) and a well known bank gave me a credit card (evil laugh).
So, THUMP. Taps foot. I gave away six copies a while back and NOT ONE review! I am heartbroken; worse, convinced of some terrible conspiracy. The forces of publishing are arrayed against me. Internet spiders are brandishing their pointy teeth at scared reader Hobbits who are quietly shuffling away. Or maybe I'm just rubbish. At marketing anyway, which I've long considered the Devil's business. Hmmm. Quandry. A little evil is perhaps necessary in the world, to which I'm giving BookViral (www.bookviral.com) a go. Eighty quid. Watch this space and all that.
THUMP, vol. 2 is two thirds done, currently majorly stalled. Ditto.
That's all for now. The remainder is scrawled on my living-room walls. I have girly ice cream sticks in the freezer and new bedding. I'm 49 next month and plotting a debauched coming decade. You know, if you're female, smiley and interested.
x
Two months and much ado with sharp objects, blood and dodgy chemicals later, and I'm back drinking wine and eating a Chinese. Chemotherapy is not recommended, especially if, like me, you have the veins of a princess.
On the plus side I sold a book on Amazon (a rare event) and a well known bank gave me a credit card (evil laugh).
So, THUMP. Taps foot. I gave away six copies a while back and NOT ONE review! I am heartbroken; worse, convinced of some terrible conspiracy. The forces of publishing are arrayed against me. Internet spiders are brandishing their pointy teeth at scared reader Hobbits who are quietly shuffling away. Or maybe I'm just rubbish. At marketing anyway, which I've long considered the Devil's business. Hmmm. Quandry. A little evil is perhaps necessary in the world, to which I'm giving BookViral (www.bookviral.com) a go. Eighty quid. Watch this space and all that.
THUMP, vol. 2 is two thirds done, currently majorly stalled. Ditto.
That's all for now. The remainder is scrawled on my living-room walls. I have girly ice cream sticks in the freezer and new bedding. I'm 49 next month and plotting a debauched coming decade. You know, if you're female, smiley and interested.
x
Words Are the Gravy On the Mashed Potato of Life
...there may be lumps in either or both.
- Andrew McEwan's profile
- 13 followers
