eep

Now she’s gone terrifyingly, unnaturally quiet. I’d like to say it’s because I’ve snapped and offed her with this tin model of Thunderbird 1 someone’s left on my desk, but she’s still breathing, far as I can tell.

Actually, looking around, whose desk have they put me on? Thunderbird 1, Captains White and Scarlet (was White a captain?), a cutout of Sean’s 007, and half a dozen little sponge pigs… Is this an office or some sick cult?

Oh, a toy Cartman. Let me have a closer look…

GRIEF! It talks! Loudly!

Oh, and now she’s off again

Smug grin… wavering…

OK. Today - today - the freelance thing is no fun. 1) There’s not enough to do; 2) I’ve had my abilities questioned by someone I wouldn’t let near anything I was in charge of; and 3) there is someone here who won’t shut up. And 4) it’s too hot in this office!

Still, I’m writing features when they’re not looking, and pitching things (one of which has been commissioned - just a feature, but one I’m really looking forward to writing) left, right and centre.

So, yes, it’s a bad day. But it will be over soon.

I have a bad memory…

But I actually forgot - until this moment - that I have a blog. Hello!

You may remember one of my stated intentions of this thing was a stretching of the writing muscles, and you may remember last week mention of finding myself writing a serialised Victorian novel spoof starring my friends. Well, focus on that is probably why I forgot the existence of falldog.com today, and focus on that is why any blogging I may attempt when I remember it is so sporadic.

Still, at least I’m getting something done.

But wait!

It looks like the war for Pluto’s planetary cojones isn’t quite over yet.

I love that it’s a “fierce backlash” on the part of these scientists, and that they’re busy “lambasting” away. For all that they’re often portrayed as cool, rational beings ruled by level-headed logic, when scientists go off on one, they really go off on one. And more power to them – it’s a ridiculous decision to strip Pluto of its planetary status, given the fluctuating mess that is astronomers’ reckoning of our solar system. Just be up front about it, and instead of saying eight, or nine, or twelve, planets, say, “Frankly, we don’t know. And if we gave you an answer it might change tomorrow. We’re pretty sure Jupiter is quite big, though…”

Very sad news

Poor Pluto.

Bad Nights

The glorious Deanna Hoak makes mention of something called Atlanta Nights this morning, making my day pretty much complete already. I’ve been following Deanna’s blog for a little while, as she has some brilliant things to say about the crafts of writing and copyediting, as well as being someone with their head admirably screwed on about many things. (You’ll get that from the briefest scan of her blog.) And I tuned in this morning to discover the existence of the worst of bad books, the full story of which you can find here:

Wikipedia Link

I must say I wholeheartedly support the writers’ efforts, given those shocking comments on the PublishAmerica site about science fiction and fantasy writers.

Also, kudos to Abi Sutherland for this wonderful binding job on the book itself.

In other news, I have found myself writing a daily, serialised Victorian-spoof novel for a group of friends. The cast is made up of said friends, in various states of transvestism, and I’d love to say more but would probably break many obscenity and decency laws by doing so.

WiFi on’t!

WiFi in this county is an unweeded garden, that grows to seed. If you ask me.

While we were in Seattle, we passed through whole neighbourhoods that were covered by a cloud of free WiFi. The US telecoms companies may not like it, but stuff like this is becoming more common by the day.

(I know that particular example is run by Google, and a lot of people don’t like Google, but you have to admire the initiative, no? And it’s by no means the only such cloud in the US, nor the largest, I’d wager.)

Picture Sunday morning in one of kooky Seattle’s kookier neighbourhoods. We were on our way to the zoo, and stopped for coffee in a smart little cafe on the way. We were about the only people there who didn’t have an open laptop on the table in front of us. Everyone was surfing away in the same way that people in a similar establishment over here would be leafing through the Sunday papers. And all, one could reasonably safely assume, for absolutely nothing.

But here in the UK? You’ll be lucky…

Case in point: recently, I was travelling on a GNER train from London to Durham, and noticed that they offered a WiFi service. I don’t think I had my laptop with me, but if I had I would have been tempted to idle some of the journey away with a quick surf. But for £3.50 for half an hour?! I’d already paid nearly £100 for my train ticket, and they were trying to stitch me – and countless businessmen with genuine uses for their WiFi service – for another uncomfortably large chunk of money.

More recently, we were at Gatwick airport, where a mobile phone operator proudly advertised its WiFi zone. Although I didn’t check it out, I also didn’t assume for a second it was free. I see stickers for WiFi availability in every Starbucks I pass, too, but again – that nagging thought that, if their lattes cost that much, well…

I know it’s rich to expect something for nothing, but those Americans who use free WiFi clouds have to pay at some point down the line, be that signing up for a Google account and being exposed to chillingly targetted advertising, or maybe paying a little more tax for the local government to fund the scheme. Privately funded or publicly funded, the user gives their chunk of flesh in one way or another. So why can’t it be the same here?

The internet, when used well, is a tremendously democratising force, informing and empowering with a speed and a grass-roots loveliness like nothing else for years. There will always be a discriminatory issue in how you get the internet into the hands of those too poor to afford a computer, but why not start pushing the issue of widespread, always-on usage by encouraging city-wide (or region-wide) free WiFi in the UK anyway? To my mind, there’s very little reason for London not to have it already.

Come on, coffee houses, start to make the move, then hopefully a wider change will follow. If a borough council could take up the banner – or an ISP take it up and offer to carry it for them – London could, bit by bit, be the kind of wired city I bet Tony Blair wet-dreams about.

Those who offer access at schools or colleges, or at public libraries, would also benefit. They’d no longer have to sort out their own internet provision – as their establishments would live under the borough-wide cloud – and so that would be one less (presumably quite costly) thing to worry about. And there would be, therefore, improved net access for the poor – along with those who might be able to scrape together enough money for a PC and a wireless adapter, who would have their own access to the always-on net supply.

Sorry. Am I banging a drum? It’s just that it annoys me so. All it would take is for one company or one council to make a move, and they would be the first domino. Soon everyone would live under a happy WiFi cloud, and we’d be one step closer to the purple-haired, silver-suited future that surely is long overdue by now.

Been there…

Does this happen to everyone? I’m scribbling down ideas for “the supernatural thriller about the man who gets off a plane” (hereafter: Hidden), and I find myself veering down narrative paths already well marked on the roadmap of popular culture.

Should our hero – Rhys, probably – be the only person to which this has happened? Or should there be a culture of similar ’survivors’, who stand outside the real world? No, wait – a little too much like The Matrix.

Is his misfortune just blind chance, or is there a malevolent force behind it all? If so, is that force Rhys’s* embittered ex-girlfriend? Urgh, no, that’s a ghastly idea – and it bound to have been used on Buffy or Charmed or something.

Does it happen to the barmaid, too? Does he have to fight to convince her of what has happened to her? And does an unlikely romance begin? Suddenly, it’s some weird Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan film…

I think the cheesiness of every done-before thing I stumble on is telling me something. I briefly outlined the idea behind the plot of Hidden to a friend at lunch yesterday, and he said, “You can see how that’s going to turn out – and it’s not well.” And I think he had a point; Hidden’s set-up does rather suggest a very downbeat ending, and every attempt to turn it into something more optimistic makes it so corny I want to squirm.

But, accepting that, I think there might be one way it may be granted at least a bittersweet ending… but then, that’s just like Ghost

* I will never, ever be happy with that possessive. Time to change Rhys’s (blech) name.

And…

I will shut up about “ooh, isn’t freelancing marvellous!”, but I’m still riding that wave. I’ll write about something else tomorrow.

Press day – and I don’t care

Ah, the life of a freelancer. Today is the press day of the magazine I’m working on, but there’s naff all I can do about it: if I don’t have the work, I can’t do the work, so why panic? This, of course, makes a hell of a change from even a month ago, when Wednesdays were fraught from dawn till dusk. A former colleague asked me yesterday, “But don’t you miss it, the responsibility? That kind of level of control?”

Er. No.

Give me a few more months, then maybe, but I’ve got five years’ worth of ‘Wednesday dread’ to get out of my system. And look at me now! Press day, but I’m sat at my desk, writing my blog: more evidence of the rediscovery of a lot of lost time. Monday night, too – more roleplaying, the best evening of gaming I’ve had in ages, and it’s proved to me again that reorganising my priorities by going freelance is one of the greatest things I’ve done in recent years.