Mumbling into the void



Went through some old folders and found this. Still perfect




Went through some old folders and found this. Still perfect


Jul 5

Your voice

Art is a way of emphasising your existence. Your perspective.

What is special about your own perspective? What can it offer that hasn’t been provided elsewhere? Perhaps nothing. But then, isn’t another purpose of art to spark kinship?

John Reed has a wonderful explanation of a writer’s audience. Obviously, there will be many who disagree with whatever opinion you express. Yet everyone can find friends if they are thrown in with a large group of people. At school, near everyone eventually coalesces into groups of people with shared qualities. Those few people you can always find in a broad group, who would have become your friends had you been pitched in with them. You think on the same wavelength as them. It is those people you are writing for. In your school they may number less than the digits on one hand. In the outer world they are in the millions.

Jul 3

Dear reader,

I am afraid of writing.

That is to say that I have an aversion to it. I have no expectation that something horrible will result if I actually do it. There is just the urge to avoid unpleasantness, and writing can certainly bring that.

Write one word at a time, that’s what Richard Rhodes advised. I’m not quite doing that now, not unless I get REALLY stuck. But I am doing it one thought at a time. I’d say one sentence but my thoughts aren’t usually so organised as to come in neat sentences. Do yours?

The obvious response to an aversion is to do something comforting. Playing a video game immediately volunteers itself, despite my trying to give the bloody things up. As diverting as they may be, I’m truly stuck when I think of anything rewarding that has come from playing them. Occasionally, you can have the kind of thought-provoking experience that all good storytelling can provide. But those are not really frequent enough to make the playing of games cost-effective. Especially when I’m measuring out my life in the wretched things.

Write a page per day, says Rhodes. It’s a nice thought, given that a year of such activity will result in a book’s worth of content. The only concern is that all the material in my brain will be exhausted within days. Perhaps it is the writing vocation that can turn people into tiresome opinion-spouters who seek to constantly impose their will on the world. If they don’t get into the mode of being perpetually ready to hold forth, what will they do when their next deadline looms?

I don’t mean to be nasty about the opinionated. Some of my heroes are opinionated, he said defensively. In fact, given the vast majority of my heroes are professional writers of varying stripes; they’re surely all opinionated. But arguing has never worked out for me. Aside not being opinionated, I’m not particularly angry either. Arguments aren’t worth the time, particularly since 99.999% are about trivialities.

Sam deBrito once philosophised that ‘every argument is the same argument’, at least when you’re trying to get on well with your fellow human beings. It’s ultimately your opinion versus someone else’s. Why can’t you just discuss it? If it happens to concern a matter with real world consequences, get heated is not going to be very persuasive.

As a forgettably-named wise man once said: ‘who ever changed their mind because they lost an argument?’ If that doesn’t work you’ll either have to walk away or resort to force, but that’s a subject for another missive.

See you tomorrow.


Nov 3

Cool childhood memories

Can’t start without turning the magnetos on. Two switches with orange flashing lights in them. Then, the Mixture lever fully forward.

There was only one part of the panel that I understood. The black button. Beneath a label marked Start. I lived to press that button. Dad often let me do the honours.

The way the cockpit threw itself left and right as the propeller spun. Windows rattling in their frames. The prop was a lot heavier than it looked.

One. Two. Three. 


The floor and walls had gaps in between. I realised that I’ll be pulled through the sky in a loose metal shell.

Waiting anxiously at the beginning of the strip, wondering for how much longer. I wasn’t privy to the mysterious language of the grown ups.

Suddenly, Dad threw the black lever forward, and the grass whipped by underneath us.

The plane leaned forward. A couple of seconds later, the ground dropped away.

Nov 1

You are going to die. Possibly in 50 years. Maybe when you’re 38. Tomorrow?

Nov 1

Relax. You’re not going to fix your life in a day.

Don’t let yourself get bogged down because things aren’t perfect.

One of the best ways to create unhappiness in yourself is to focus on it.


Every now and again I think of posting cultural commentary here, but it all amounts to this.


Every now and again I think of posting cultural commentary here, but it all amounts to this.

Sep 4

WIL WHEATON dot TUMBLR: I debated whether or not to share this story.


And then I debated whether or not to put it on Tumblr…but I decided it was important. Because in my own way, I can (unfortunately) point out exactly what is wrong with men when they don’t realize how hard it is to be a woman. How we do not have equal opportunities and freedoms in…