life « deborahb

December! 2010!

What. A. Year.

It’s pretty much done: one more day of day-job, several weeks of resting AND writing, and then back for another round in 2011. January seems so long ago I can’t even remember what I wanted to get out of this year. Of course, I *should* have written myself a message at futureme.org, but that ritual, like so many, fell by the wayside this year. It’s always interesting when the things you think you need turn out not to be that. I found myself reading my stars twice this year. I read my stars when I’m depressed & looking to engage in that crazy-delicious magical thinking, the kind that astrology brings. Jonathan Cainer is my favourite, ‘cos he’s so darn upbeat & ‘cos he clearly receives a lot of aggro, mocking emails which he always answers so politely. It cheers me. Like watching a battle of equals. Speaking of cheer, how excellent is it that Cap’n Wacky’s Boatload of Fun still exists? Especially Cap’n Wacky’s Unfortunates page. The Cap’n's website was one of the first I ever discovered on the inter-tubes & I love it’s actually stuck around. AND I don’t think it’s ever updated its design! Now, that’s staying power.

(Remember that guy who used to count how many times actors from the eighties appeared on Murder She Wrote? Man, I miss that website).

GoodReads.com tells me I read only about 21 books this year, but since one of them was THE PASSAGE and one of them was A GAME OF THRONES, I think I should that number should be doubled.

Look at me, linking to all my favourite things. What am I, Oprah?

In other 2010 reflections, A Book of Endings turned 1 year old. Overall, the Book earned 2 DITMAR noms, an Aurealis nom, WON an Aust Shadows award, was shortlisted for a Crawford award, and one of the stories is now appearing in Prime’s Year’s Best Dark Fantasy & Horror. It also went into its second print-run BUT, srsly, we need to sell that print run out!! Buy it cheap, right now & for the next 24 hours during Twelfth Planet Press’s Xmas Silly Season Special.

Rjurick Davidson reviews the BOOK for Overland, which is awesomely cool, and even says nice things about inviting me to Xmas dinner (which, you should. Only: I’m busy that day). Stephen Hunt also reviews the Book for SF Crows Nest & finds something to like & some other things which he’s too polite to say he doesn’t like.

In new news, editor Danel Olson got our gothic baby to Scarecrow Press & it looks amazing. You can see it here, and you can read an interview with the inimitable Danel over here. This is an awesome book: check out the ToC for some familiar names, like Graham Joyce, Robert Hood, Leigh Blackmore — and about 50 others.

As for me? I’m working out the kinks in teh Novel & yes, it begins to look like a novel (“it LIVES!”). Which is nice. And stories for BAD POWER, my next, much shorter collection from TPP: a story suite of what it means to have a power that just … doesn’t … do much good.

And what have YOU been doing this year, my precious-ez??

a book of endings, life, reading, writing

19Oct

Because it’s just been that kind of year

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It started with the ~~life-threatening~~ cut to the wrist that covered my kitchen in blood, but successfully missed all major arteries. (Wouldn’t think it to see the bloody mess we cleaned up at 3am.)

It continued, with the home break-in that resulted in one smashed window ($400+, thank-you very much) & the loss of … nothing. (Yes, we did replace our toothbrushes.)

AND now, third & hopefully final in the list of 2009 Near Misses, we bring you the paramedics who came to save Helen — but had the wrong house.

As we rolled into the street, the ambulance was obvious. Out in the middle of the road, parked straight as if forgotten, not askew as if abandoned.

“Hahahah,” I said, “if it’s in front of our place we know the cat’s been making prank phone calls again.”
“Ahaha,” agreed the boyfriend.

But, alas, it WAS in front of our house, & I leapt out of the car in somewhat of a panic to find out what on earth they were doing at my front door.

“That’s my house,” I stammered, “are you looking for something specific?”
“Is there a Helen at home?” the bored-looking paramedic asked.
He had bleached hair and looked like he wasn’t used to sleeping, or that he slept all the time on his feet. His partner was shorter, rounder, just as tired-looking.
“There’s no one home at all,” I said, leaving out the detail of the cat.
“Ah, well,” said the bleach-job.
I found myself apologising and the paramedics — rightly — pointed out it wasn’t my fault.
They wandered away. Wandered, not in a straight line. Like people filling time. And I stood still with my hand to my mouth, thinking that if I’d forgotten there was a Helen in the street, I was taking away her chance at life. And didn’t the paramedics want a chance to save her?! Wherever she was.

A minute or so later the ambulance drove away and the boyfriend returned from parking the car and the cat re-appeared from whatever corner she’d been in & you could swear Helen had never darkened my door with her misguided minions or lost saviours.

life