They don't much scare me, you know.
A lifetime ago, I made a habit of getting up early every morning and staring at a blank sheet of cheap paper loaded into an IBM "Electromatic" until my eyes bled and/or I had produced at least a page of semi-useful copy. There were better ways even then, but a used industrial-strength electric typewriter was the hot app for an aspiring writer on a budget.
I ain't skeered. I papered the walls with rejection slips, and then with nice notes from editors and then... Stopped.
I had a day job already.
I can write it. I don't know if you will read it. That part's your lookout, me bucko.
But I'm here now. Maybe later on I'll see about porting over an entry or two from the old place.
It's going to be about Whatever. My mind's a Notions counter in a forgotten hardware store, wrapped in an enigma (or at least an Enigma Machine ) and shrouded in live steam, Victorian hair ribbons and cordite smoke, so don't expect consistency in the subject matter.
And No Spitting! Geesh, guys...!
I'm going to do this. Adulation is unlikely.
There will be (she says with strident charm) no links to no bloggers nohow for the first few, other than one to/from the old place. I want to make my mistakes more-or-less quietly.
He Worked On A Starship
1 month ago