Day 1

Subbed four stories this week, sold one so far. So now, everything ‘in progress’ is now outbound and I am in novel mode. My brain can barely function. Those stories meant a lot to me, they took all I’ve got. I got nothing left. Maybe some yoga. Maybe run for a while. Something. Maybe a…

Portland here I come.

I am going to concentrate on getting ready for the conference today. It’s called Tin House and it’s in Portland, Oregon. And although I was born in Ca, I live in Sydney, Australia, and I haven’t been to the Northwest since I was a baby. It’s a big thing. Not just the travel, but also…

Tricky Truman

Truman Capote likened the finishing of a novel to taking your child into the back yard and shooting it. As a parent, I’m intrigued by the mind that could have created that sentence. Still, I take his point. I was all but undone by the completion of my previous novel, cried for days, became physically…

Jim Mickle’s Stake Land

I watched this at the Sydney Film Festival and I dug it. There was Ginger Snaps (2000) and Bigelow’s Near Dark before that, but U.S. indie offerings in the vampire genre have been somewhat wanting compared to what the British have been serving up for years:  zombies (28 Days Later), for instance, and werewolves (Dog…

Another first

Twenty years to the day after getting my first chunk of change for a piece of non-fiction (an article for the San Diego Herald-Tribune bizarrely titled, Home is Where the Art Is!), I just got my first check for a piece of fiction, and it is for the exact same dollar amount. Sweet…

A month of firsts

It has been a month of firsts in a year of firsts. Last week, I was interviewed for the first time ever, an out-of-body experience if there ever was one, so watch this space; I sent off my first collection of shorts to the sublime and savvy Le Zaparogue, got my first cover art, and…

A new post up on The Nervous Breakdown…

One of my favorite rejections to date came from an editor who knocked back my submission but told me by way of consolation that one of my colleagues—an enviable Irish wunderkind—got in instead, and how proud I must be. The editor went on to say that my story (which has since been published elsewhere) was ‘a little too dry, a little airless.’

‘She talking about your story,’ said a supportive friend, ‘or her vag?’