The gentleman burglar

So, a couple days ago, we were burgled. My partner sent me an email to work and said "Do you have an idea where my wallet and my bag is?" And I thought, how weird, he always puts them in the same place.

So, they'd vanished out of the house. Nothing else was disturbed. No traces. No noises. No broken anythings.

So he cancelled all the cards and makes do with whatever cash I had at that point so he could buy food at work. Then we get a message from the police (like a postcard). He calls them - it emerges his wallet and "man bag" (containing a Molekskine notebook, pens, assorted riff-raff and his expensive super-light glasses) were found in the park behind the house and handed in to the police station.

So the coppers arrived yesterday and we had a walk around the house for some security advice (in short: keep everything locked constantly and out of sight from the windows), and I'm currently in talks with a number of tradespeople to fit some big-ass searchlights in the garden and front (sorry, Mr Fox). Intruder alerts, the works.

The weirdest thing is - and that feels utterly bizarre - is that they must have done that when I was/we were asleep in the house. And the idea of a stranger just walking into my house is one that's not quite easy to stomach. I'm the type who flies into a rage and seriously injures somebody breaking into my house.

But now, the guy (or guys) is just a ghost, a weird type of invisible/unfeelable haunting.

I'm still getting those big lights. Next time might be worse. And the letterbox gets closed up and we'll get one fixed from the outside.

Funny, also, how I've never known anybody in Germany who was burgled, but almost all of my friends in the UK have such experiences. Crazy.

In funny news (kind of), dude just sent me an image to work. He DOES know how my mind works.

And in positive news, looks like I'll be visiting a friend in Ottawa over my birthday.

Real life stuff

I owe people a gazillion blog comments and emails. (I will get to it, just not right now, I'm all typed out.)

In any case, today I talked to a landscaper about the pretty pathetic mess that is my back garden, its potential, and the cost involved. And there's also the tiny detail of a huge pine that stands at the back of the garden and doesn't really fit there - I call it the "feral Christmas tree", because it looks a lot like somebody planted it there, oh, many years ago and now it dominates a part of the garden it has no reason and justification for dominating. Also, it ruins the soil in the back, killing everything around it. My partner wants it to stay, I want it to go. I foresee a direct conflict there (but, as long I get everything else I want, he can keep his tree, so at the very worst, it's a bargaining chip).

The landscaper walked around the garden with me and said that I was best off with a "clear canvas" approach. I totally agree. No plan or rhyme or reason to this garden as it currently stands, and I'm heartily sick of it, too.

The main issue is that I do have an expensive taste; this is a big project and will result in a really dramatic change, digging out soil, laying lots of natural stone, raised beds, all new flowers and plants, totally new grass and new fences all round. The plants will all be about the wildlife - I want something that feeds birds and butterflies and bees - so lots of flowers and probably an area for a bird feeder and stuff (I assume the grey squirrels will eat everything, but we can try).

I'm very intrigued by an option he brought up, that's a summer house - a self-sustained "shed" in the back of the garden we (I) could use as a second office. Ideally, it would have a reading/resting couch, a desk, a plug for a laptop, and no internet. This shit ain't cheap, but I want it. Mostly because the internet is a real drain on my productivity, and sitting outside surrounded by green stuff in the summer sounds like sheer heaven. And I can just see the possibilities for such a space. (Or something.)

We do have this really long garden we're not actually using - so placing a work-focused space out there seems like the way to go.

But with all the possibilities, I'm going for the Expensive Option. Considering that in the last six months, we had double glazing put in, replaced the boiler and remodelled the front garden, I think I just broke our budget with all my habitual (that is, habitat-related) ambition. So, err, stepping slowly back from the idea of having everything done up as I want it this year, and do it in steps.

Sandstone porch first (with bonsai display area, for which, obviously, I'll need to buy a few bonsais, too, but then, I've been dreaming about maple bonsais for a long, long time), new fences second, clearing some of the feral plants for the rest of our budget, and then crazy ideas like raised vegetable/flower beds and summer house and a total re-do of the vegetation next year. (And those involve camellias and climbing roses EVERYWHERE - bring on the flowers and colours and LIFE!) Also, we'll need garden furniture... which, holy hell, expensive.

I know it's going to be absolutely awesome, but I'm not going to bankrupt myself over a garden. As long as I get my porch soon-ish, I'll be still happy. I do want to spend part of the summer sitting in the garden, editing manuscripts. Step by step, this is becoming *mine*.

(Photos as it happens...)

Real life changes & update

A few of you know that I've changed jobs recently - so I went to interviews in December and January, and got the one job I wanted. With my skill set, I'd have been able to return to financial journalism or attempt to stay in financials.

While media companies were hiring (and I got a couple interesting interviews), the few I went to visit can be described as "young and hungry", and "hungry" tends to mean extremely hard work, and "young" tends to mean shit benefits, and, anyway, I didn't "click" with any of them.

With thousands of banking jobs (like mine) cut across the financial sector in late 2011 (and ongoing), I moved "sideways" and secured a copy editor job at a rating agency. I started work on Monday, and so far, I'm really enjoying it. Biggest challenge right now: To learn their house style as soon as possible. It's very different to my old team, but not necessarily in a bad way. Just different. It did mean I had a lot of time off, and that's now gone. But: good riddance. I do need structure in my day, and I like interacting with flesh-and-blood people. And this job will enable me to get some qualifications and bullet points on my CV, which should position me well to go back into banking, if I should so desire. Also, I'm now officially "comma police", which is quite amusing in many ways. The company itself is awesome--pretty good benefits, holidays, fantastic offices (with cheap and good catering), very nice team. I'm a lucky bastard when it comes to jobs and companies.

Also, I got a new boiler installed last week--two days of dirt, dust and noise (and extremely low productivity on my end), and not one day too early. The "Siberian" cold in London is absolutely biting. I'm so glad my heating's way more efficient now (and two rooms are noticeably warmer, thanks to new radiators - or "rads" as the boiler boys called them).

Also, just before I had to start work on Monday, I finished "Dark Soul" on Sunday night, and since then have been tweaking the fifth and last installment to make the most of it. I need to do an outline for a friend's novel, and edit a co-project, and fine-comb "Dark Soul 5", and all those should keep me pretty busy during February, apart, of course, from getting all the paperwork squared away (a gazillion background checks for the new job, paperwork for the job I left).

So, yep, busy. It's a good kind of busy.

On the writing front, that space opera is demanding face time, and there's a couple sexy shorts that I want to write about Silvio and Gianbattista, but I'll see if I can't push these away a bit longer. They'll attack me and bite me in the throat when I'm not expecting it, so I'm not too worried. I also need to get back into the research groove for the birds books.

And I'm keeping all my fingers crossed for a friend who's sent her 120k novel to a literary agent on Monday. Since I did a proofing check on that piece, I'm really nervous and excited on her behalf.

Next step is to do some more improvements around the house--the front garden could be fixed up to look less ugly, for example. I have plans for roses and tea bushes, and we need to remove some weird bush thing, a juvenile ash tree, a rickety fence and an ugly 1960ies concrete walkway up to the door. Now that I have a new job, I can even afford to have that done. It's been an eyesore for more than a year now.

Now, back to editing.

Out of touch for a while

I'll be a little scarcer (read: really scarce) for a while. A close writer friend of mine has been diagnosed with a very aggressive disease, and I'm going to stay with her for a few days (going incommunicado). That it's November doesn't help, or that it's pretty close to the anniversary of my mother's death, sixteen years ago. The Big C really puts everything into perspective - writing, legacy, life and death.

I'm behind on everything

I'm behind on everything and will never catch up - but at least the heat and humidity have given way to - much more pleasant - grey and cold and wet outside. At least I can now focus a bit more after barely getting any sleep last night.

The Paris novel is eating my brain. I don't actually care much about anything else right now - even though I should, and I want to. Maybe what I really want is two weeks of holiday to completely devote to my book (and the secret project).

I'm just no good

My last update was more than a week ago. Now, received wisdom is to blog every day - and most people expect to see at least 3 or 4 updates a week. I'm seemingly incapable of it. My life's not *that* interesting. Sometimes, big things go on behind the scenes that I can't talk about because they are dirty laundry, or are in the process of getting resolved, or just very emotional, and I rather wait and calm down and think things through before I go on record with anything.

Also, the last week has been spent "promoting" Scorpion. Reviews so far are looking good. I'm still in the stage where I check my reviews every day, but I know that once the next brain parasite book takes hold, I'll stop caring. I sometimes make fun of people who run around like excited chicken, squawking "I LAID AN EGG! OMG, IT'S AN EGG! IT'S ROUND AND WHITE/BROWN AND IT'S HARD ON THE OUTSIDE AND SOFT ON THE INSIDE! I'M THE GREATEST CHICKEN EVER! I LAID AN EGG!"

You know, that's what chicken do. We lay eggs. I deeply care about the current book, and I probably am like any other author in that I love to talk about my work, but at the end of the day, the process is natural and perfectly normal. Writers write. Chicken lay eggs. It's nothing special. And I much rather invest the energy and passion into the next one rather than running around telling people "BUY MY BOOK!", because firstly, that doesn't work, and secondly, I much rather write another book.

The proof of the writer is in the writing, not in the marketing, the blog schedule or how excited we're getting about what we're doing. The excitement is a given, but I'm a workman, I write one after the other, loving every one of them (of course, otherwise I wouldn't sacrifice every free minute to a pursuit that pays less per hour than slinging lattes at a coffee shop), but really, the worst part of writing is NOT writing. (The one thing worse that NOT writing is that gut-wrenching feeling of "it's no good, it won't come together, the whole thing is doomed to fail!" - that terrible, terrible angst I'm getting about 40% into a book. EVERY book.)

Compared to the Mid-Book Crisis and the I'll Never Write Again angst, nothing any reviewer can say can hurt me. To get a book out, I have had to overcome both. Reviews don't figure on my list of things I'm scared of. Sure, it's a bummer if a reviewer who is clearly intelligent and insightful ends up hating my book, but, really, by the point reviews roll in, I'm already two books ahead. Getting criticized for a book that has just come out feels a bit like reading your assessments from Middle school. ("Alex is a clever kid, but he loves getting distracted".)

For example, I started "Scorpion" in June 2010. To me, it's a very special book, because it's the only thing I wrote while getting my soul eaten by financial journalism for six months, working long hours every day and most weekends, travelling a lot and freaking out over learning an industry that could just as well have been happening on an alien planet, with my career (and mortgage) depending on providing insightful commentary that the practitioners would want to read.

Scorpion is my "fuck this, I WILL write!" book. Defiance in the face of exploitation - if having a cushy, high-profile white collar job can be called "exploitation" (well, certainly how THAT company did it). "Scorpion" happened despite everything. It's the book that lived, even though I tried to kill it a few times, even though it hit the brick walls so hard I could feel my teeth rattle.

These are the "book" stories few authors share, because every book teaches us something different about writing and about ourselves. And saying "hey, I was nearing burn-out, I realized I'm not a journalist despite more than four years in the field and all my scoops and features and all the hard work I put in, I realized that I'd hit the wall of my own lofty ideals and expectations and I was about to be eaten alive and have the joy of everything - writing, living, breathing - sucked right out of me" is not sexy. It's not even very interesting for anybody out there. I'm not holding a pity party. The book has to stand on its own, and so far, a fair amount of people like it and enjoyed it. So, yeah. for me, it's going to be a special book because of the stuff I was going through and still wrote.

But that doesn't matter, either. Once the book's out there, it's out there. The egg's done. Hopefully, I've learnt in the process how to lay better eggs. I've written another novel in the meantime.

Right now, I'm in the "post-book slump", which is one of the two phases of writing that I hate. While I have ideas, they really struggle to get on the page. Low energy, low drive, my famous discipline is faltering a little. I work, but at the end of the day, I have 650 words, which is almost nothing for a whole weekend.

Doesn't matter, though. All that matters is that there's a new book at the end of it. And all the little crises that happen in a writer's life are just seasoning to keep things interesting.

Finding sea shells and running dogs

I'm in the happy place. The place they call "Flow". It's a mystical place where words just appear on the screen, and you write 3,100 words a day (like I did yesterday). My brain's vision has narrowed to the world of Nathaniel and Brook, and no excuses.

I don't see anything else, I don't really care about anything else (what, they are talking openly about assassinating Quaddafi - who cares?). I'm swept up in the irresistible force that is a New Book in Full Swing. This - when the book just flows through you from somewhere and goes somewhere, leaving traces of black on white as it passes, it the Best Thing Ever. It's the closest to a mystical experience I ever get. Minus a few creepy moments...but that might be for a different blog post.

Authors love sharing. I do. I love talking about the new book, I love sending people my various WIPs. There are some people that think that I do so to show off. ("Look how awesome I am, I've written MORE WORDS THAN YOU YESTERDAY!") Others don't know how to respond. If I send them the current WIP - what do I want from them? Feedback? Praise?

The thing is, none of these are true. I share with other writers because they are my friends (and it's not a competition - anybody entering a competition with me is like a kid racing a dog to "win". The dog just runs for the fun of it, which is exactly why I write. I write to write, not to compete).

I share with my friends and some readers because I'm all excited myself. I'm walking along this beach and there's this beautiful seashell. It's unique, and it's all mine, and I'm full of a sense of wonder and I'm like "wow, look what I found". It's not about my ego, it is, really, about that sea shell. I used to need the praise and ego-stroking, but I'm big now, and I get my self worth from myself. I've gotten most of my ego out of the way, really. I still read my reviews, maybe twice a month, and a good review is great, but none of that has any bearings on looking for and finding the sea shells.

No feedback, no one-star review, no snide remark can get to me when I hit the Flow (or rather, it hits me). The story demands it's written. Nobody can pay me to write, nobody can pay me not to write. No amount of praise or jiggling will get me to write anything long if I'm not feeling it.

So, yeah, the boxer story has reached that critical momentum now at 26k where nothing I could do would stop it. Where I'm racing time because I'll have the LASIK procedure on Friday and fully expect to be blind all weekend and in pain, and part of me wants to push the story out before I lose my sight, if even for a few hours. Getting interrupted in my Flow is really tough. But there's no way I can write the remaining 20k in three days.

As to LASIK itself, I'll just face in head-on. I'm nervous about it, but by comparison, I assume going to the dentist for something major is by far worse. And then it's sorted for the rest of my life.

Meanwhile, I'm "eating miles", as the adapted German expression goes. Just getting out as many words as I can, while I can. Work at work is slow again today, so I may at least manage another thousand words or so.

On towards the weekend

I did show up for work on Thursday, which was also the busiest day of the week. Editing back-to-back for eight hours while kept upright (mostly) by Lemsip and a box of cough sweets is an interesting experience. Don't ask me what I edited - I'm sure I could find out, but I don't remember.

I was invited to attend a "focus group" of one of the military museums in London tomorrow. I *assume* they invite carefully-chosen "members of the public" to ask them questions about the collection and presentation. I'm selling myself as an "expert" on military stuff (which I guess is not overselling), and I fit into the categories they were looking for. I'll get paid for my time, too, but I'd feel weird accepting cash from a museum, so I'll likely invest that in a "friends of the National Army Museum" membership and donate the rest. I'd feel too weird having *them* pay *me*. Museums, libraries and all other noble causes can have my services for free.

The cough has broken, and after a pretty rotten day yesterday, I'm actually a lot more lively today and more together. I can also breathe deeply, which is nice. You take too many things for granted. My voice is husky, though, so my partner addressed me all day as "hey, Croaker", which is funny in a Black Company kinda way.

My team in the bank keeps digging about my writing. The geek factor in the team is much higher than I'd have expected. They know a fair amount, but I'm still keeping the pseudonym under wraps. However, it might be the first workplace I come out to while still working for the place. (I tend to tell my chosen few friends in any team after I've left.) It's not like they can fire me for it - it doesn't affect my work performance and I have three levels of superiors who are extremely reasonably, human and simply *nice*. I've rarely worked for a more grown-up, mature and pleasant place. No back-stabbing - if there are any politics, it's us against the research analysts - and only the assholes there (of which there are very few. But those that are unpleasant, all regard us like a utility... somewhere on the same level as the toilets. Mildly distasteful, a bit of a hassle and generally not something you'd respect.) However, 97% of all analysts are nice, and we have ways of dealing with those that aren't.

I shall meditate on the risks and boons associated with it. I'm not ashamed of what I'm doing, and they know about the genre and even that I'm a sex writer (when the situation calls for it, anyway). It might be interesting to see how they react. Maybe I'll come out with "Iron Cross", which may be the most respectable of all my books. I'll see. Or, as I keep telling people when they ask what the attraction of London is, "it's very hard to be a freak in London."

The boxer story is at 12k.

Egypt

I followed the Iranian uprisings with hope and trepidation. Now, I've been remiss in my news watching. Getting out of journalism meant no m,ore constant monitoring of a million news sources. I went on a diet, lived in my little bubble, de-stressed from the world.

But what's going on in Egypt is incredibly beautiful. It's not a country I understand (I can tell you more about the pharaohs than Mubarak), not one I have ties to, but if I were the praying type, I'd be praying for the Egyptians, who are out on the street, fighting for their rights right now, protecting their nation, their neighborhoods, their museums. I'm not sure I've seen anything as beautiful as the human chain around the National Museum for years.

And this? "We will have our rights, one way or the other - and we will not be silenced!"



More as it develops here on Al-Jazeera.

I do hope the western world does what it can to help free the Egyptians from their military dictatorship. The moral right is very very clearly with the people. 

Yet more good news

My partner just got the offer from an investment bank, which means a 30% salary increase. He's pretty chuffed. So am I. Making grandiose plans of taking over the world after London, too. But in the end, it's all going towards the house and the pension. We're already doing nicely, everything extra is now for financial  planning. I did not plan to work until I'm 70 or whatever the age will be at that time.

Thanks to uneven workload (feast or famine, at the moment it's famine), I'm done with my first major research book for Iron Cross (covering German history from 1870 to 1933) and have gathered some ideas for the characters' background. Questions such as "when did the American press began to report on Nazi atrocities commited against Jews" and "where could Richard have attended university" are answered. The answers are: as early as Jan/Feb 1933 and "Heidelberg or Marburg" (personally I tend towards Marburg, since I know that city). There are also many details I hadn't considered, and things like "un-Germanic art" and the bookburnings are put into perspective.

I do like reading those sweeping histories and start tell before my book's set. To write Vadim in "Special Forces", I read a 600-700 pages history of the Soviet Union, starting well, well before 1979, when "Special Forces" starts. The idea is to understand what issues and events shaped the characters growing up and getting to where they are. In Vadim's case, the relationship with his father and the way the totalitarian system twisted his character, even though, strictly speaking, 1979 was not in the teeth of the red terror. Nevertheless, people living in 1979 would remember - or have friends/family that would remember - the terror and the purges and the enforced uniformity. Fascinating stuff.

In Richard's case, the book burnings would have an impact. He'd notice the drop in quality of literature. He'd agree that Expressionism is ugly, but I think he likes modern literature and some of the discourses playing out in the twenties and thirties would have made an impact. He'd agree that the Communists need to be suppressed as they were clearly going to overturn the Weimar Republic. But if it had been for Richard, he'd have opted for a proper military dictatorship under Hindenburg. He'd largely agree with Kurt vom Hammerstein, for example. Very interesting - that'll give me enough of a foundation to not make the mistake of making the "good guy" into a democrat, because for all intents and purposes with his background and class, there's just no way he could have been.

If I've learnt anything about "Iron Cross" it's that it, like "Special Forces", very much dictates its own terms on which I can approach it. And that's really how historical novels should be, I think.

Das Eiserne Kreuz

Whenever I'm silent on my own blog, it means I'm super-stressed (well, that state is in the past, but accounted for most of my silences over the last 6 months), depressed/blocked (whining in public is an indulgence I try to stay away from - nobody cares to hear a writer whining) or busy writing.

I'm happy to inform you guys that I'm busy writing. Enforcing bank house style on analysts while powered with free coffee and a remarkably sane, pleasant environment is fifteen kinds of good for my writing. My Spotify subscription keeps feeding me new music (I need a certain type of music to fall into the page) and generally, I enjoy hanging out with writer friends.

Me, I've been busy learning the new house style and rewriting the nonsense some financial people rush out of the door (and keep from laughing at German-isms in some reports - sometimes I want to call the people and tell them "this doesn't mean what you think it means", but that would be gloating). But I've always enjoyed working on texts (mine are harder to fiddle with), and dealing with non-fiction leaves the brain fresh to work on fiction. Everybody wins. Me most of all.

So. What am I writing? Saturday I completed my developmental edits of "Father of all Things", which is now with Rhianon to get checked before it goes back to Carina. Sunday I built that website (and badgered Gileonnen into helping me with the bits I couldn't do - I'm graphically challenged). And both Saturday and Sunday, I wrote "Iron Cross". One scene came out absolutely beautifully. I'm really in tune with the characters now. I know them, deeply, closely, and I love them both, deeply, truly. I even connect with the supporting cast and the evil guy/s. This is a straight from the heart book. The book I want to write if I only had two weeks left to live. And I don't care if anybody buys it. I've already pulled it from one publisher (as I needed more time), and this one I'll polish like a fire opal to get all colors out of the dull stone.

So, yeah, 600 words here and 1,200 words there. Slow by my standards, but I really can't rush this one. I'll have to go the full 90-100k with this one, and this means measured steps, every single one deliberate like Tai Chi movements. The main struggle is to make it flow, so self-consciousness makes stuff harder than it has to be.

But I read those 1,200 words and they are really, really good. Sometimes my literary delusions are rearing their funny little heads again, sprouting every now and then when my ego's close to bursting, but those words were exactly how I wanted them to come out. Unity of intention and result in writing is so unbelievably rare that the words ring extremely loud in my inner ear when it's exactly, exactly what I wanted to say. There on the page. Not a dream. Real. Tangible. Frozen for eternity. There are few bigger thrills to a writer. It's when you strike gold. When the singer hits the note so clear and strong the energy soars right through every vein in pure light. Nothing in the world is better.

So, I'm going to reward myself for getting back into the book and get myself a replica of the medal that plays such a big role in the book. I think it might help keep me focused as it's sitting on my desk. And keep me grounded in the more somber facts behind the book.

Am Working and liking it

It's the weekend after the first week at the new job. I do enjoy working in a bank as opposed to a business media publisher - the coffee's free and much better quality, for one, and I've never had such a shiny office. I can also go home when I'm finished - there's quite a bit more flexibility there. And I enjoy being the primary breadwinner - at least until my partner has signed up with *his* investment bank, then we should be bringing home the same kinda money.

Talking about money, there's a good article on e-piracy at dailyfinance. Since all my titles get stolen somewhere on the internet (lovely when you wake up first thing in the morning and see somebody so very eager to share your book with a few ten thousand of her closest friends - that sets you up nicely for a productive writing day /sarcasm), it's topical reading. And means, incidentally, that I'll be working a day job for the rest of my life. I simply cannot rely on making enough money to retire and write full-time.

I'm currently editing "Father of All Things" and am pushing the total edits to around 40% of the total book right now (that's chapter 13 and counting, of 27).

I'm also having a reviewing crisis of faith. I get so much negative backlash about reviewing (and I use the full range of 1 to 5 stars) that I am rethinking how I review and for what ends. I'm thinking I'll use a reviewing pseudonym from now on. I don't want to spend half my writing time in fights with other authors or publishers. It's that simple. I'm a writer, first and foremost. I'll publish positive reviews (3-5 stars) under this name, and 1-2 star reviews under a different name - if I feel the urge to review.

I'll make 2011 the Year of the Novel. I have a crapload of novels in the drawer, and I want to kick them all out into the world. Deal with old stuff. Baggage removal. Time to draw a line under a certain period in my life - and the best way to do that is to throw out the books I wrote during that time.

Right, back to editing chapter 13.

Sleepy weekend

As of today, all Christmas presents are bought and sent, and the ones that aren't sent are ready to be wrapped. I still think they are lame - this year I just didn't have any inspiration. That's when I get to the point of "Christmas shopping sucks anyway", and all the things that seemed interesting are just "stuff" that you drag home. Better save the money. I'm just not getting excited about "stuff" anymore.

Maybe books - but I have piles of books that I might never find the time to read. There's a more adult version of gifts creeping in, too. Useful stuff. Household stuff. Gifts like mixers and new toasters and such.

On a positive note, my tax return has arrived - the tax I have to pay on my creative writing endeavours amounts to pocket money. Next year will be "worse". I better rack up some serious expenses to put against that.

I've written around 1,000 words on "Scorpion 2", which I'll call "Lying with Scorpions". I have no idea where things are going there, and it's moving very slowly, but at least I have written and might be able to write some more today.

Otherwise, I caught up with what felt like an enormous sleep deficit. I can't wait for the days to get longer again.

Leaving drinks was emotional. I'm always ill at ease during such social work get-togethers that involve alcohol. I managed to bow out due to the snow. There was a possibility that trains might not run if the snow got worse in Kent, so I made my escape. Tomorrow starts the last week on the job. Then about ten days of doing nothing (aka: writing), and then I'm off to the bank. And then I'll look into investing quite seriously.

I come bearing gifts

I'm now a regular blogger at Savvy Authors - my first column went online today. I wrote that real quickly after watching season one of "Burn Notice".

Then - "Speak Its Name" is starting its Advent Calendar. My turn's on the 9th. Last year was great, so I'm honored to have been invited again. I'll be giving a book away, too.

Britain is in the grip of an implacable foe: snow. Love the white stuff, the way it makes everything bright and quiet, but my commute was interesting today. There were points during the three hour trek where I thought I wouldn't make it. I think I'll stash a bag of survival kit in the office next time for next winter. An hour later, I can even feel my hands again. Bonus. My best estimate is that not even the Blitz created as much mayhem as a couple inches of snow. I think I'll test the theory against some eye-witness accounts of WWII.

Otherwise, deadline at work. Tech issues at work (inefficiencies galore in the system...). Awaiting the contract and package for the new job - job agent says it's only a matter of days now.

Come January/mid-January, I won't be a journalist. I'll be a proper Sith Lord. Awesome. Sith Lords are better paid and have more time for writing.

Awaiting the offer

I had two very good interviews at the Major European Bank, first with other editors (my future bosses) and then with the head dudes and HR person and the job agent reckons they'll make an offer, they just need to get the salary signed off by Head Dude who's currently travelling.

Then I have a leaving period of four weeks. So, anywhere between now and maybe 8 weeks, I'll have a new job that pays somewhere between 50 and 70 percent more than I make right now. I've talked to somebody in the department I trust and she feels I should try and get a similar raise here and that it's entirely possible they'll even pay it. Quote "they'd be fools to let you go." I agree. Few things in life I'm sure off, but I'm the exact right kinda person for the job, and in the last five months, I went above and beyond the call of duty. To the point where the writing, the real life, the exercise, friends, and everything else suffered.

I@ll have to give it all some serious considerations. Do I want to be an editor or do I want to be a journalist/networker. The decision is not as easy as it sounds. Work/life balance re-balanced, much more holiday, a job with an earnings potential only limited by the coffers of a bank (hey, come on! Banking/financial institutions pay a lot more generally than business media).

Working for a bank with a German heritage means - holidays, less overtime, clear, efficient approaches and procedures (the place I work now at has some inefficiencies that drive me up the wall). It's exciting since it's growing, and might be a step into actual financial services (I could go into compliance... which would serve my anal German side very much) - with the huge earnings potential. They are supportive of training and acquiring further qualifications, while here, I teach myself and follow the example of my legend-sized boss.

At the moment, I don't quite know. The chat with my colleague made the idea of leaving much harder. On the other hand, pushing the mag the way I've been doing exhausts and drains me. That's when I keep realising I'm an INFJ - I'm good with people, but I do need a lot of time to recharge my batteries after continued exposure to them. Editing for the bank means far more one-on-one, talking a lot to "huge egoes" (their words, not mine), possibly moving into an analyst/compliance role inside the bank rather than busting my ass to break stories and meet deadlines on editing magazines.

But it's comforting to think that, whatever I do, as long as it supports the writing, I get paid enough to wear tailored suits, have some security (Taurus there) and am rewarded for hard work, I'm good. I work to live, not the other way round. In my case, I work to write. So, more holidays, more writing time, less stress, sounds about right for me.

But yeah, I spent yesterday staring at the screen, absolutely nauseous with guilt and worry over the magazine when/if I leave. My boss has been very good to me. I've learnt an awful lot. It's going to be tough.

Now with more coherence

I missed home. I was frantically busy and had a ball, but now I'm back and feeling the love. Dirty, grimy UK with its small buildings and small food portions is pretty much home.

That said, I wouldn't mind living in Chicago for a couple months a year. It's definitely a place I want to see more of. Too bad my company doesn't send any correspondents out.

Honeymoon with my company is over, too. There were a few things that rubbed me the wrong way, and these things are turning into stones in my shoes. Very hard to ignore, at least for the long distance. Granted, I chatted to some Major News Wire guys, and they have it a lot worse, so I'm not complaining. I'm not sure when I'll be joining the "dark side" (that's what we hacks call PR work or corporate work), but just like Jedi/Sith, the Dark Side is definitely a temptation.

Talking of which - a headhunter was in touch and got me an interview at Major European Bank. They are looking for an editor in their research department. I wasn't planning to leave my current job - which I love, despite the small stones in my shoes - but they pay double what I'm making now.

Yeah, that's my price. The dark side might happen very soon, actually.

Writing-wise, there's a reincarnation story that has knocked on my brain. I have a couple very good ideas there, but it still needs a plotline beyond "they meet, they fuck, something's terribly, terribly wrong".

And, of course, while I was gone, "Transit" came out.

Check my website (or the buy link) for an excerpt.

It's time for thinky time

It's that time again - when I switch from extrovert to introvert. We've been through this before. Every now and then, I need to pull back and gather my forces. It's usually not a rout, but more taking stock of what I've done, what I'm doing now and with what priorities, and what I want to do, or where I'm going.

I'm moving through that cycle several times a year, so it's nothing new and I'm upfront about it because it can be worrying for outsiders (outsiders = everybody not living in my head).

Looking back over the last ten months, I've achieved what I set out to do. I've had a solid number of releases, I've seen publications go into print, I've published with a large publisher, I have found some important closure and even made peace with some issues.

I upgraded my job, my financial situation and my living arrangements. I have, generally, written my little black heart out, got to a new level in terms of writing, learnt some very important things in terms of writing. I got better at plotting. As a writer, I put my name on the map.

Now it's time to retrench and look at some other big issues, and I'll end up doing those on my own. There is a kind of thinking I can't do in public, so some of that thinking will happen on my closed, private blog, and some of that thinking will happen exclusively in my head and discussing matters with close friends, face to face or by email.

There are some big issues hanging over me, some are about what kind of writing I'll do from now on, and what part of my life writing will take. That includes "marketing" or "promo", so for the moment, I'm going on an online diet. Less social networking, less blogging, less emails, less forums, less internet. A lot more time spent in the gym, and in the library minus internet access. A lot more time spent reading and writing by myself.

What kind of writing is up in the air. I don't know yet. I'll listen to what the muse has to say and in what language and take it from there.

Towards the great within

I think I stole that headline from a Dead Can Dance album. Doesn't matter. I'm working hard to get through to the end of the year. Biggest issue is to make it until 6 December, because then the industry slows down as we all take our measly holiday allowance and will be gone over the holidays - then the rat race starts again.

Ain't media fun?

All the work at work is on track - don't ask me what it costs me, I do pay the price in less online time, less writing time and generally less time overall. But it's getting better, I'm getting more efficient (even more efficient), and I do enjoy my job a great deal. And being a journalist in specialist media may not be the booze-filled, lazy time it used to be, but compared to pretty much every other job I've ever held down, this is still pure heaven. Heaven at war with the demons from hell, but at least we're a united front.

Now, enough apocalyptic talk. I've hit 64k on "Scorpion", which has claimed pretty much all the free time I have at the moment. I have discovered I can write wherever, whenever, even just before meetings, or scribble a few sentences while on the go. Do I love my iPhone? Yes I do. Where there's a muse there's a way.

I'm making a list of things I need to fix, making comments in the text. There's probably another 4-6k in my outline to write, so 3-4 good writing days should do it.

While I hold down the fort (or a cloud, or whatever), my partner's job hunting. The CVs and job descriptions he's getting make me painfully aware that I'm in the wrong industry. Mental note: apply that in the next life.

Scorpion is going really well, though. I think it's going to be an awesome book. The kind of fantasy novel I always wanted to write - I just had to grow the skills for it. Only took me, what, ten years.

I do look forward to my long holiday and Christmas/New Year. During that time, I'll fix TCaS and write Iron Cross. Scorpion should be edited and submitted by then. Lots of work, but momentum keeps me going.

Mostly done

I spent the last days working nonstop, but it's paid off. The big technical feature is written. Tomorrow I'll do a some nip and tuck on it (okay, more than "some", I have to cut around 40%... but I already trimmed it by a third, so... yeah, I can do this), so heading off to work early again, but after that, the worst part is done.

I also finished the line-edit of "First Blood" and now have four days to do the fact checking about some details. Four days sounds like a *lot* after the amount of stuff I did recently.

I'm also flying out to Germany for a few days over bank holiday weekend, meeting friends and hopefully not working at all. While I've "done" it, and I think it's a good result and will be even better after the final cutting - I've learnt a lot about pacing myself and how much I can work on how little sleep. Getting there. I'm way more positive about the next bits and pieces. Boss seems happy, too. Overall, it's all looking good.

But right now, my brain's hurting from too much work. I'll enjoy sleeping for eight hours and relaxing, and tomorrow is the last "Kraftanstrengung" (which translates as "expenditure of strength", but the English expression isn't nearly as poignant) - stuff will be finished then, and I can book my flights.

Life's good, but pretty hard work.

Autumn and quote

On the way to the post office (to post "Soldiers I and II" to the winner of the charity auction) I realised summer's over. It's a certain chill in the air, a feeling of having gotten past the peak. Summer may linger a little, and might even come back with heat, but there's an insistence to the rain, a vague chill when it's cool. The colours are paling, gently, the South-East is segueing into that grey non-weather that precedes autumn. The roses have moved on - the flowers lost their strength a week ago, the fruit are closed and begin to swell to red. Nature calms, readies to preserve strength.

I've taken a pile of work home. I usually don't do that. I like my life/work balance well, balanced. But in this case I don't mind. It's a pretty awesome job, I'm working with and for awesome people (at least first level up, I don't know the powers beyond that much, yet). Then again, like a soldier, the NCO is way more important to me than the general, anyway. Rarely have I worked in such a disciplined, hard-working company. After the other places, here's a sense of "purpose" which really beats the crap out of the "I show up and collect my paycheque" attitude at the other places I've worked for.

So, that's what I'll do. In addition, Dreamspinner sent us the edits of "First Blood", which need to be returned by 23rd. I'll be frantically busy to hit the deadline at work and for the publisher, but I'll do my best. Consequently, everything else is on hold (that's editing TCaS and SF).

A couple weeks ago I found this quote by Mario Vargas Llosa:

"That is one thing I am sure of amid my many uncertainties regarding
the literary vocation: deep inside, a writer feels that writing is the
best thing that ever happened to him, or could ever happen to him,
because as far as he is concerned, writing is the best possible way of
life, never mind the social, political, or financial rewards of what
he might achieve through it."

It's from "Letters to a young Novellist", a slim little book that so far is 100% true.