Blank Media Collective press launch for Blank Weekend today. I stood around showing my face, here it is, here’s my face, look at it, ate a pie, observed some people lifting my lovely little business cards, added to my collection of postcards and ephemera, and looked damn fine in my suit. I’m certain these networking events are massively important for anyone desiring creative or artistic gainful advance, but I’ve definitely not got the hang of them. Today I was the king of the awkward silence and the trailed off conversation. Someone get me a beer quick; how will I cope without it? I’d much rather be at home writing in bed, or scratching my arse on the sofa, than suited, squirming on sore feet. In other news, I found a tiny inside pocket in my favourite suit jacket that’s the perfect size for business cards. Everyone run down to Burton’s Menswear and get one for yourself. Quick.
I’ve been rather quiet about Blank Media and my new role as Blankpages Fiction Editor, but I don’t like to blow trumpets too early. I guess being appointed in the role is an achievement, but my first issue is yet to come out yet, and Blank Media is a many limbed beast. Blankpages is only one of those limbs, and Fiction Editor is just a finger. That one finger is wiggling about uncontrollably and I’ve yet to fully wrest conscious control of it. I’ll pop a ring on it, paint the nail with my own colour, crush the knuckles with a hammer, and end this tortured metaphor right here and now. Once I know what I’m doing and have got the hang of it, I’ll be telling you all about how amazing I am, don’t worry.
In the meantime I think I need a new bookshelf. The pile beside my bed now rises higher than the mattress and I am constantly waking myself up with the noise of crashing books as my flailing arms topple the literature tower. And that concludes the fascinating news of my furniture needs. Don’t know why I mentioned it really; the thought just popped into my head and before I knew it that shit was staring back at me from the screen.
Anyway, my stint as Fiction Editor begins publically next Monday (1st November 2010) with one of my own short stories; a very recent composition called Murphy and Moore. I’m the first to say it’s bloody good (as soon as I hit the final full-stop I said ‘that is bloody brilliant’, I really did), and I should know; I’m the Fiction Editor. That’s the way things work around here. So it’s a great story, but I shan’t go on about it too much; the End.
Tomorrow is for writing, nothing but writing. Unless the Richard Herring Hitler Moustache DVD I ordered arrives then I’ll feel obliged to watch that instead... and then I’ll have to eat, and there’s that bottle of whiskey in the kitchen, and...