Posts in Overthinking
Dear 38

Dear 38 year old me,
   Hi, how’re you doing?  Well, I guess you’re resting right now.  If all things go to plan, then you’re due for a pretty big year ahead of you.  There’s the new book coming out, Fluff.  There’s another book to write.  You’ve got a massive new Avengers movie and the first female Doctor Who to look forward to as well.  I just wanted to take this opportunity to wish you luck and send on your way with a little advice.

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Little Grey Sells

I’m not what you’d label as faithful.  I loaded myself up with a heavy dose of cynicism as a kid and it stops me from comfortably believing most commonly accepted miracles.  Although there are some things in this world that can catch me off guard.  Things that appeared to have reached in from beyond the beige walls of our rather ready salted existence.  Great inventions.  Scientific breakthroughs.  Moments of hope or moments of true charity.  Great works of art or music that can grab you by the soul.

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Stampede

WARNING: The following blog was written by a sleep deprived horror writer.  There will be rambling and a certain lack of sense.  Also, there may be some typos and errors.  If you do find any, then cherish them.  Think of them like seeing the brushstrokes that make up the painting.  Apparently there are other typos on this website, but the exhausted author would like to point out this is all free.

MESSAGE ENDS

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On Hold

I used to write after work.  I’d get home from whatever office or shop I was working in, have something to eat and then try to write for an hour or two.  It worked to an extent, but the finished result always felt sluggish.  It suffered from a lack of energy as plot and characters became handy ciphers allowing me to moan about my day.  Back then, I was very much one of those people who spent a lot of time talking about writing, instead of actually writing.  Or, at least, writing happily.

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Normal Service

Sit down.  The show’s about to start.
   What’s that?  How am I? 
   We probably don’t have time for that.  I’m still rewriting the new novel.  Taking it apart.  Clearing out the problems and the pretentious ideas.  Rebuilding it into something that will hopefully attract more readers and sell better. 
   I mean, you’ve got to get your kicks somewhere, right? 

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How Little He Knows for Sure

 Last week the rewrite behaved itself.  Motivation was up.  Momentum was on my side.  Things went well.  This week, almost predictably, not so much.  The rewrite has turned on me.  Causing the Unwelcome Catholic in my head to say that’s what I get for feeling good about myself.  It’s been a week of steeper slopes and stupid problems.  
   So long motivation and momentum.  Hello, frustration, my old friend.

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