Sorry: work ate me. Sorry, I haven’t managed to get edits done on a story, either, and my editors are glaring at me via email. Sorry, I have been too busy to draw, write, read, exercise, sew, cook anything interesting, rant, or do much apart from data entry, consumption of meals, and sleep. I have however somehow managed to spend a lot of time on Facebook shouting about James Dean’s sex life, which does rather suggest I might need to work out a better time management programme – then again, what better use is there of a life than contemplating the “Human Ashtray”?
Also, I went to White Mischief’s Halloween Ball again this year and had a spectacularly good time in the company of some very charming people while dressed as a murder victim.
I cannot possibly elaborate on the things I witnessed and make sense while doing it, but rest assured that when I say there was “unicycle stripping, ping-pong seduction, a song bout gerontophilia (which Google thinks is spelled ‘necrophilia’ – that’s the next step, Google, and has quite a different legal status), a werewolf in a merkin doing rope work, and a lot of people on fire”, I am in no way exaggerating for effect and am in fact leaving several things out.
NaNoWriMo begins anew on Saturday, when I hope to issue quotes, notes, and howls from the depths of frenzied writing (and will probably just go quiet for another month); yesterday was my 32nd birthday and was graced by a lot of cake and a stuffed goldfinch courtesy of the Resident Australian, and a bottle of whiskey called “Writers’ Tears” from my boyfriend. What more could anyone really ask for?
So please accept my shame-faced apology for failing to update for a million years in the spirit it is intended, and accept that unless I feel enormously moved to write about either Horns (viewing tonight) or the staging of Regeneration I plan to see in Oxford, there may yet be another patch of radio silence.