Parish notices

Firstly, a correction: that Jeter bloke I was on about last time? That would be K W Jeter not (the possibly entirely fictional outside my own muddled head) J W Jeter. Apologies for any confusion caused there. Also, the next section I read in Noir did have the ‘F’ word in it. Apparently it is still used in his future, but only by old hippies, as ‘connect’ is more of a dirty word in a grim desperate world where no one connects with (or cares about) anyone else and to be seen to do so makes you prey, not predator. OK, I see the irony now, but it’s still a clumsy word to use as an expletive.

Now, scheduling: this time next week I’ll be heading for the Friday night of Sci-Fi London’s Octoberfest in Greenwich, where I’ll be appearing on what promises to be an interesting panel with Philip Palmer, Paul McAuley and Paul Graham Raven. I can’t help thinking that the four of us could address the question being put to us with a resounding, four-part-harmony ‘No!’ and then go find the bar, but I’m not sure the Royal Observatory has a bar and I am sure that such a spectacle would be quite annoying for anyone who’d paid good money to watch us actually discuss the matter. Of course, if that’s what the others want to do, I’ll go along with it. 

Finally, writing. Ah yes, writing. The good news is that the short story idea(s) did coalesce; the bad news is that the result is looking more like a novella than a short story. I’m writing it, albeit anyway slowly, with extensive self-bribes of chocolate or internet access to get up to a basic 1,000-words-a-day. God but I hate first drafts. I figure I may as well finish it though, if only to get those pesky ideas out my head. Plus all the existing shorts that are worth revising have been revised (and submitted) and novel-wise I’m still in a state of uncertainty that could remain unresolved for another month. Or to put it another way: Schrodinger’s author is still stuck in her box.

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