Time flies here in London; it's not that the speed of life moves any faster, it just seems there there is less time. I consistently feel like I'm missing two or three hours out of my weekdays. Running on a 21 hour a day clock is no fun at all.
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I made a wonderful discovery a few weeks ago: the Hammersmith library. I confess that I have not visited a library in years (other than the soulless library in UCD. I spent ages getting a library card, only to discover that it combined the worst 60's architect with all the personality of an uncomfortable plastic chair. I stepped foot in there once, and never again) but Ms. K. dragged me along one day (she found that they rent CDs for a pound, and have music sheets) and I immediately wandered into the sci-fi section, where I found an entire case of graphic novels.
I've since been busily working my way through Will Eisner's Spirit stories, and I have a long list of potential borrowings lined up that will keep me going for years. My shelf space and credit card are thus saved from Amazon and Waterstone's ... though I just bought the first volume of Absolute Sandman. Oh come on, that's a keeper!
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Ms. K. finally recorded A Taste of Life at 6 AM on Monday (the only time of the day where there's no ambient noise from the flat upstairs; they must wear size 12 shoes, or the ceiling is so thin they're going to come through one of these days) and it just has to pass her gruelling QA process and then I can edit and post. First podcast in months, and I'll stick the text on here as well.
I've started to post stories over at Baen's Bar, where many people post their sci-fi type tales for consumption and critique. The folks at Baen's Universe -- an online short story magazine -- use it as a testing ground to find new authors, and I am very happy with the positive and critical feedback I received for The Coyote. It is great to have someone else point out problems with the story that had always bothered me, and some surprising comments, some of which I agree with, and some I don't.
But there's nothing like some honest peer review to help hone a tale.
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And I ended up at the Notting Hill carnival a Sunday or so ago. For a place that had the reputation of theft, fights and muggings it was littered with uncountable policemen, many of whom sported garlands of flowers. Needless to say, there was no trouble and the palpable party atmosphere had everyone dancing in the streets. The customs ranged from elaborate to garishly colourful to very very little indeed.
I took loads of photos, and these are a few of my favourites.
