Fossils

I’ve never been a career chaser.  I’ve worked in post rooms, telesales, technical departments, shops and kitchens, but none of those jobs have ever been about earning a pension.  Nope, I’ve always been there to pay some bills and make my bank account look a little healthier.  The carrot the world tied to the end of the stick it chose for me was never a gold watch.  Which is why, every so often, I find myself in a room full of people having a meeting where the best I can hope to do is look interested.  During those meetings, I always catch myself looking around the rest of my fellow captives, trying to spot anyone else doing the same as me.  Sadly, it seems we’re a dying breed.

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Of pumpkins and boxes

Hey, Internet, it’s good to be back amongst you.  After a couple of chaotic weeks and some incredibly painful days without any sort of signal that belongs in the 21st century, The Blank Page is up and running again.  I’d call it 2.0, but let’s not fool ourselves.  We’re in for more of the same here.  The overly long posts and occasional reveries that don’t quite add up to a bigger pay cheque.  Still, that’s hardly the attitude to start on.  The Longs have moved finally moved house.  Let’s begin there.  

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The Disconnect

The house move that's been consuming our live since we started looking at locations back in March has finally locked into place.  Over the space of a rapid Tuesday afternoon we went from feeling like we were never going to actually move to finding out it was happening in a week’s time.  It was pretty dizzying.  A happy flavour of panic.

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Plateau 2: Plateau Harder

 Another plateau.  Sorry, folks.  I normally like to come here with something planned, but I got distracted by my new short story this morning.  I sat down with a plan of changes I wanted to make to the current draft and totally forgot about I had this blog to tackle first.  True, it’s a rod I made for my own back, but I’m no quitter.  I can figure this out.  I just probably shouldn’t be doing that in front of you.  You’re going to need to bear with me.  This week has pretty much reduced to me to doing all my thinking out loud.

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Hyper Bowl

Expectation is a tricky thing.  We generate it ourselves, but we don’t have a lot of control over it.  We merely light the fuse.  Our subconscious does the rest.  It fans the flames and spreads the fire.  It makes us crave what lies ahead.  Before we know it, we’ve taken something we’re interested in and turned it into something so much bigger.  Something that feels bizarrely pivotal to our happiness.  Sadly, this process doesn’t always work out well for us or the thing we’re waiting for.

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Out Loud

I’ve been writing stories, in one form or another, since I was about six or seven.  It’s hard to be sure exactly when I started.  It’s all become a bit of a blur thanks to, well, getting old.  I know I was definitely small enough that older relatives thought it was adorable.  I guess it was at the age where it’s socially acceptable to patronise a child for trying to do something you associate with grown-ups.  

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The Beggar's Wheel

My apologies, it’s going to be a fast big of blogging this week. Which is annoying, as there’s a really a lot I should be talking about. I could talk about going to my first night of live readings on Monday and the wonderfully odd index of authors I met there. Let alone something strange I picked up about the mechanics of live storytelling and recital. I could talk about the fact I’ve been off work all week and I’ve spent a lot of that time wrestling with final rewrite of my second novel. Which, for the record, can either be going really well or really badly depending on which way the wind’s blowing.

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Mirror Mirror 2 : Man's Best Friend

Here at The Blank Page, we like to try and keep our offerings to a fairly high standard.  Sadly, this is yet another week which found your erstwhile blogger stuck in the middle of some self-inflicted existential crisis.  He’s got a lot on his mind at the moment, so he’s locked himself in the bathroom with a bottle of a rum, a bread and butter pudding and some old Spawn comics.  We figured it’s probably best to leave him there until he drinks himself out cold.  Don’t worry, it won’t take long.  He’s not getting any younger.

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