December 13th, 2011


The Year of 2011

Around this time in the year, everyone is writing about the things they liked in the year, and for some reason, when I look back over the year, I struggle to remember what I read, what I heard, what I saw. I mean, there was a fair bit, but there could always be more. I read some Asimov for the first time. I read some more Shirley Jackson. I read Iain Pears for the first time. I read more Borges. I read Steven Erikson's series, well, at least four books of it. That was like reading eight or nine novels, I guess. I read some Zane Grey for the first time. There was Michael Ondaatje. And Lydia Millet. I am currently reading Haruki Murakami's new novel and feeling underwhelmed.

After that, it's all a bit hazy.

What was this year?

What was the last?

Writing wise, Above/Below was published, I lost an agent, I sold a short story collection, a couple of short stories were published, and I worked quietly on my novel. It felt like the first year since 2009 that I was getting myself back onto track, though I have been aware that I am becoming more and more quiet in the writing scene and I need to do a bit more work on that side so I don't become a complete hermit. But there feels like there is only so many hours in the day, sometimes, and teaching and writing take up a lot, and my past with the local scene is a mixed bag, while the start of this year burnt me a bit, but what can you do, huh?

In other news, my girlfriend moved in last week, and we have been busy building a darkroom and re-organising. It's really quite surprising the things you accumulate when you live by yourself, and the things you have ignored, and which your partner spots right away.

Life: it moves along, regardless of whatever you intend.

Next year, more of everything.