Wait until next year

Putting off what could be done tomorrow, today

Sunday Reading

Right, a brief dispatch amongst all the fun and games of Real Life (some genuinely fun, some a little less so). In the absence of my awkward writing, why not read something worth reading? To wheel out the tired old saying, if you read one thing this week, read this:

The Ghost Writes Back

It is a longform essay from a former ghostwriter of the Sweet Valley High books. But bear with me here. It is not only a great insight into the dark art of ghostwriting, it is a meditation on authorship and ownership and a lovely memoir of a writer making compromises and being necessarily multifaceted to get on in life. Writing teen dramas sounds like fun too. Anyway, enough of my babbling, go and read it now. It is brilliant.

One of those annoying holding message posts

I’m aware that I promised myself that I would post at least once a week this year. I’m also aware that I haven’t managed that this week, not even a YouTube embed or a link to somewhere better than here. Apologies folks, but this placeholder is all I can manage this week – a very, very hectic week on which I’m sure I’ll blog about at some point. But right now I’m shattered, idea-less, and computer-less, tapping out this rubbish on my phone. Bear with me!

Sunday Reading

Woman eading by gaslight

More stuff I’ve been reading/plan to read. And yet another filler post from me. Enjoy.

Image from the US National Archives, via Flickr

Weekend

Happy Valentine’s Day folks

Man carrying huge heart across the road

I’m rather wary of Valentine’s Day, what with it being essentially a widespread capitalist scam designed to guilt us into buying terrible gifts, eating miserable overpriced meals in bad restaurants and generally seeing 14th February as the one day to be romantic (through commerce) rather than being romantic all year (through deed). However, I do love each and every one of my readers dearly, so I thought I’d share this great mix from Hudson Mohawke. I’m not entirely sure what slowjams are, but I like ’em.

Image from George Eastman House, via Flickr

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