Began the day by proof-reading a submission. Slightly upset to find said submission contained a number of errors in the areas of: subject / object agreement, syntax, verb conjugation, and repetition. Filled with horror at the amount of work said story still required. Had a little cry.
Continued the days' work by searching hard drive for a synopsis. It was a good synopsis, that synopsis; I spent 2 hours on it on Christmas Eve. Synopsis nowhere to be found. Realise must have accidentally deleted synopsis in my haste to get to the sherry. Had another little cry.
Left library to go to bus stop. Searched purse for bus ticket. Could not find bus ticket. Chin wobbled like Claire Danes' chin in every episode of Homeland. Had a little cry. Find bus ticket between coffee shop loyalty card (two stamps) and card reading It's OK, I'm An Anarchist (never used). Had stern word with self re: crying in public. Felt very ashamed of self.
In summary: hormones.
Currently reading
The Long Run Mishka Shubaly
In The Country of Last Things Paul Auster
McSweeney's 38 (A Christmas present, well done, boyfriend)
My Friend Dahmer Derf Backderf
Short story writer & novelist. K Blundell Trust award-winning Author, Saboteur Award winning editor (Remembering Oluwale), fiction editor at Strix Magazine. Director of the Northern Short Story Festival.
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