Been quiet on the blog front in the last few weeks, with my time-wasting Internet antics being aimed at a number of other elements. Not least Cassandra's release, which has kept me floating over a dozen or so forums watching and respoding to people's comments, questions and insults as best I can (I now have a subfolder in my Favourites called "Paranoid Thread Watching). It's gone down as well as can be expected. Most seem to enjoy it. The problems are, mostly, ones we knew about anyway. And a handful of people really fucking get it.
Which was always the point.
So - been busy, and not posting. Also, I've felt like a pretty fucking terrible excuse for a writer, having to force every sentence out. Which is why writing is a job. Any fucker can write when they're on fire - the skill is creating something presentable when you're not feeling anything. However, I think the worst of it has passed. The little voices are coming back and saying interesting things again.
I will turn these thoughts into money, via the medium of journalism.
Abstractly, this is my Work blog. It really exists to point people in the direction of things I’ve written and involved with. The big one starts tomorrow: DIGIWORLD. I’m going to have to write a bit more explaining what’s actually going on for those not actually familiar with infamous Digitiser Ceefax program.
Essentially, it’s a games website which shouldn’t be like anything else.
Trailer’s up tonight. Starts proper tomorrow. Updated daily.
Also worth mentioning:
I wrote the cover feature for this Month’s Edge magazine. It’s ten pages of absolutely straight, painstakingly researched journalism with barely any of my stylistic quirks visible. It’s the sort of thing which people don’t actually believe I can write. But – y’know – fuck ‘em.
Also worth mentioning Mrk 2:
New issue of Careless Talk out. Barely anything from me in it – two reviews – but probably the best one ever. Every part of the machine is firing beautifully now and I’m proud to be involved with it.
Currently on the Gillen MP3 player is Alanis Morisette’s terrible stadium-filler “You Learn”, due to a conversation I was sharing with my Poet Friend Chrissy on Friday. It’s one of those songs which you find yourself editing in your head and critiquing for the sake of it, fighting the urge to hunt anyone who the song speaks to and tell them…
Well, tell them what my mental edit says.
You don’t learn. You never learn.
So fuck it: Daisy Chainsaw’s Love Your Money at max volume, then Bristol.
Kieron Gillen's Workblog, foo'.