Kieron Gillen's workblog

 
             

   
 
 

9/27/2002

 
Don't spend much time blog-surfing: when they're not my own, I don't find self-obsessions particularly entertaining.

(I'll make an exception for Dan Emerson's Restate My Assumptions which I check at least once a day for the joy of seeing a seventeen year old version of me, minus the small protective shield of my arrogance, trying to come to an understanding with his own aesphetic responses to the universe. The fact I get namechecked constantly's another bonus.)

However, I found myself hitting Chris Lamb's Letterbox Format blog, as he posted in one of the many HIT 3 feedback threads, and I always make it a point to examine any of the works of people who reply to me on most forums. Adding a little colour to the straight prose, y'know.

And lo and behold, there's a whole entry about yours truly.

Now, I'm used to people not knowing me talking about me. You don't spend four years as kicking-boy/Living Icon for a major national videogames rag without getting used to people who you've had virtually no contact with chatting about you. However, I'd almost forgot what it was like to have people who really don't know what you're like at all talking about you: Chris doesn't know what my real name is, for example.

But he likes my stuff and writes about it entertainingly and with insight. Go read.

On a similar blog note, I like to keep track of any artists I've been working with, which is always made easier if they keep some kind of web-presence. Take Jeff "Apparently starting on his HIT next week" Coleman's Progressions forum, for instance. Or, Natalie's LiveJournal. I discover Natalie's pissed off about how the art for HIT 3's looked after it's been through the lettering process, and she's had some bad news about Devilchild's distribution. If you liked her stuff on HIT, drop her an e-mail. She's good people.

Final aside: Went out last night to Moles. Sober. Ended up guarding a passed out friend sleeping on a bench while a Finnish gentleman called Tony, slightly worse for wear after a thirteen hour drinkining spree, threatens to throw me through the second-floor window of a club if we don't get his band - who don't actually exist yet - a gig.

I love my life.


 

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