Hi there, old blog that I'm sure no one remembers is here anymore. It's nice to see you again. I kind of need a place to write stuff on that no one goes to, the stuff I don't write on my "official author site" (you know, that place where I'm supposed to be all professional and upbeat and what not).
I haven't been blogging much over there because I haven't had anything good to report on. Or anything, really. And it seems weird to talk about my life on something kids visit to look up things for book reports. Which is when I remembered this place, where I used to spew all kinds of unrelated things, good and bad.
It's been a long time since I've written on here. Years. It's 2015 now, which is amazingly bizarre. Remember Back to the Future? Yeah. That's now. And there are no hover boards.
I've written 4 books and had the good luck/fortune to see them get published. Moved to London. The little peanut has grown up to be almost 7 and there never was a truer, cooler geek in progress than my little man.
That's the good stuff. Way back when, if you'd told me I'd see (at least) four books (and hopefully more) of mine be published, I would've been all WOOT!!! But there's another side to that. Yeah, the side where you don't actually make a living from it. Actually, not only do you not make a living, you don't make, well, anything. Literally. Last calendar year I made exactly 0. Zero. Nada. Zilch. Nothing.
But anytime a new review gets posted or an award or whatever and people congratulate me on how well my career is going, etc. etc., I just smile and say thanks, etc. etc. Because what else can you do?
It kind of feels good to write that down, in a weird way. See, I generally feel like a complete failure but I don't think there's anyone else out there in the world that would look at me and say that's what they see. But there it is. I wonder every day why I keep writing. But I keep doing it because I have the stories in my head and people do seem to like to read them. People still write me.
But anyway, I thought I would resurrect this for myself. To write all that stuff I'm not supposed to write, somewhere that it is very doubtful anyone will read it. In fact, if I can figure out how to do it in this new too-many-options-blogger-interface, I'll set this so that it doesn't appear in search engines.
Besides which, I've been wanting to write some poetry again. Because angst. And fear. And beauty.
See you tomorrow. Or later. Some laundry is calling my name.