Meh Fever

This is a blog so you’ll have to excuse it if it occasionally follows the rough contours of my mood. I got up today feeling like I have nothing interesting to say.

“Hmm, when has that ever stopped you?” I hear you ask. Yet I really don’t feel like writing. It could just be the hayfever. It’s bad today. My eyes are stinging. I also can’t believe it’s Wednesday already, or that I’m got so have to little time to myself before Friday. Thursday is pencilled in for a new podcast. We left it too long, but I think we both blame lockdown. It’s really easy to get inside your own head and forget the outside world.

Yesterday I took a look at that non-fiction book I’ve had on the back burner for the past year. I think I had a bit of a breakthrough with it. Problem is: today I’m not sure I have the self-belief to carry on with it. Without getting into my usual self-loathing schtick, I get really tired doing all these things with no success. I understand my short stories might not be most people’s cup of tea, but I find it hard to believe they can be nobody’s cup of tea. Not given the utter bilge I’m often sent by vanity press writers trying to promote their books. I mean, that stuff is unreadable. I know when my stuff is funny.

It’s probably a matter of promotion but I have no idea where I’d begin or if I have the energy. Today, I really want to be daft and do some drawings.

Last night I surprised myself by taking a break and watched a documentary called ‘Harmontown’. It’s about Dan Harmon, the creator of ‘Community’ and ‘Rick and Morty’, taking his podcast onto the road. I’m a fan, so I was entirely in the zone, watching a neurotic writer, with plenty of personal issues to riff about, dredge the dark corners of his mind for his humour. He normal in a world where normal people are made to feel abnormal.

Plan for today: cartoons and more Fiona Apple. Talking about neurotic writers with plenty of personal issues to riff about, two months later and this album is still on constant loop…

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It’s a cool domain name and it was available. Yes, I know. Available. Crazy, isn’t it?


Yes. It also helps that it’s also my favourite satire written by Alexander Pope, one of the most metrically pure English poets who also knew his way around a crude insult or two. If you’ve not read it, you should give it a try.

So this is satire, right?

Can’t deny it. There will be some. But it’s also an experiment in writing and drawing, giving work away for free in order to see how many people are willing to support a writer doing his thing. It’s the weird stuff that I wouldn’t get published elsewhere in this word of diminishing demands and cookie-cutter tastes.