A lack of slack

Here’s something I wrote about what happens when you always work at capacity and don’t allow for the unexpected. Like putting your foot through the stairs or getting really rather poorly.

This is a post about the futility of giving and taking on writing advice. But the main point really hits home with me – that any scribbling, reading, editing, fettling, fiddling about or outright writing is a step forward.

I’m sure you’ll find something vaguely useful in this list, but honestly I’m still reeling from the absolute travesty that is the exclusion of this very newsletter. What were they thinking? What WERE they thinking?

I know exactly why I have previously avoided texts and any form of social media in my fiction – it really dates your work. But I am also learning to accept that it’s impossible to write contemporary fiction and ignore the fact we are all communicating via technology all day long.

“Addiction, physical and mental illness and its aftermath: a collection of stories and poetry from writers in recovery.” This is a project by an old writing pal of mine and I think it’s important. Please take a look.

I like two things about this post. First, the idea that it’s okay to have a day job that supports whatever you consider our art – they can be complementary. And second, the importance of having an audience.

Like newsletters? Wish they didn’t clog your inbox? Stoop is a neat app for iOS that lets you find subscribe to and read your newsletters in one place that is not your emails. Like a podcast app for newsletters.

There is a tendency to pit books against the internet, as if it isn’t possible to read and be enriched by both. I don’t agree with that, but I do like the ghosts analogy in this piece – the idea our Twitter feed haunts our thoughts long after we’ve put the screen down. That feel true and potentially harmful.

Timelines created from single frames taken at intervals in movies. There is no question films and TV shows have some sort of colour palette. It’s about mood, tone and voice. Books have them too, I think. They’re just invisible.