Sweet Nothings

Ah... that special first post. So important and yet so insignificant. It needs to be amazing, and yet, almost no one will read it...

And thus, I suppose, this nervousness, this tentative, almost palpable apprehension. I have before me a blank page, a blank slate and all that connotes. Every writer knows the fear of the blank page. That accusing emptiness.

Why am I here when I have a perfectly serviceable blog in Author's Commentary? Well, my blogging needs and attitudes have changed. I want to do more with the blog.

I could just change the title and address, but that would mean changing a whole heap of links. And it's not as if I have a whole bunch of readers to bring with me. So a fresh start. Something that is about what I'm currently writing as much as what I've just posted. Somewhere I can grumble about the length of time it's just taken me to write Orion and the Bear, first draft coming in at a shade under a thousand words.

Or where I can mention that having written that I am reminded of a longer short story I never quite finished called Thor vs. Angel that I should dig out and finish off.

Somewhere I can talk about the little things I live. Like a policeman asking for a bag on a rainy day and me glibly commenting, "there's nothing worse than a book and water...". True story. He's a policeman, I'm sure he sees far worse than wet books every other day...

Somewhere I can go: hey, there's this great range of new Mini Modern Classics from Penguin. If you like short fiction pop down to you local bookshop and check them out, it's a really great opening line-up.