Improviser, please One of the ticks of the writing community I loathe is the use of “pantser” (for seat-of-the-pants-er) to describe people who don’t outline. Pantser brings to mind a middle school boy who yanks down other people’s trousers. Not exactly the kind of person I want to be associated …
This is my current reading list: It is almost certain this list will change, but of those titles, only the last is a Young Adult (YA) novel—and it was originally published as an adult novel in Australia. Given my aspirations as a writer, this list is all wrong. I should …
But juicy prizes are juicy prizes and taking some time to distill my plot to a skull, clavicle and hip bone isn’t necessarily a bad project. So today I introduce the Official Tweet-sized Pitch™ of The Forty-Seven Words of the Broken Girl
“Gosh, London, I’m just super angry. Yesterday was π day and you didn’t write about it one bit! Don’t you know how important π is?” Indeed, Jinxx, I was lax. Today, however, I had an adorable little girl encounter. Not with a little girl as clever as you, but she …
you’re probably wondering why this blog exists: does it have a purpose other than somebody yammering about random stuff nobody cares about; is it a way of passing covert information to deep agents waiting for orders from the East German Premier and wondering why their bones go weary without a mission to give their life purpose; or simply a promotional tool for somebody who has yet to actually issue any content, paid or free, for you to sate your consumer urges on?