WHAT I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS

There seem to be a few Christmas wish list posts popping up here and there: I want this, get me that, validate me in this way.....

So, because, you know, I combine sheep and ego in equal measure:

I want an agent, and I want all my children, blood & bonus, with me for one day of peace and happiness. I want the world to leave us alone for one day.

That's it.

IT WON'T MAKE ME READ ANY MORE OF HER BLOODY AWFUL BOOKS

But it might make me rent the movie.....


Song of the moment: The Equestrian Statue The Bonzo the Dog Doo Dah Band
Reading: Still on that Marquez-edited gathering of fantastical ephemera. Odd little thing that it is.

LEE LAUGHS AT THE UNIVERSE

What Dinosaurs think about when time slows

Christmas' even God would boycott

Stephen Dedman turns all fanboy, doo-dah, doo-dah......

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BEAUTIFUL BOY

Connor turned 2 yesterday. He wasn't with us: it was his weekend with his grandmother, and he doesn't get them overly often. But we made sure to have cake with dinner when he came home, and he's sharing a party with Erin next weekend (it's her 5th birthday in a fortnight) which we're going to make a big, fun, special occasion.

I've talked before about what a miracle Connor is: how hard it was for me to agree to have another child in the wake of Erin's birth; how we almost lost him a couple of times during the preganancy; the pain Lyn experienced carrying him to term. And the problems he's encountered since his birth have been a constant source of fear: he's undergone an operation to correct a crossed eye; he's suffered language problems and a multitude of serious fevers. His health is not the heartiest. He suffers periods of interrupted sleep, and night terrors are regular visitors.

And yet, he's fearless, which simply increases mine-- how to explain the nervousness when he engages in his favourite game of climb onto the back of the couch and see where the full blooded leap takes me? Or when his begging to be lifted up succeeds, and his first act upon reaching your chest is to throw himself backwards, laughing, full of trust that you'll catch him before he crashes upside-down into the floor?

How to explain the delight of rolling around the bed with him in a big hug, laughing and nuzzling his neck? Or playing fingerpistols? (point finger, make shooting noise, fall down dramatically, laughing) Or the giggle that rises unbidden when chasing his squealing form around the living room in an impromptu game of chasey? Singing the chorus to "We will rock you" together, complete with clapping and dancing? Or watching him watching the finches in their cage as if each fluttering movement was the most exciting event in the world?

Every moment with him is a burst of emotional extremes. He makes my heart pulse. so happy birthday, my darling, beautiful boy. And thank you, because you do not know what it is you have changed in me.

Moments after birth. So hard to get here, so much to come.

2 years old today. My little boy.

With his Mum. Cheeeeeeeessseeeee!

WHOOSH, SWISH, NEEEEE-OOOOWWWWMMMMMMMMM..........

Broadband has been connected. Don't things move more quickly? :)

The only down side is that, now we can use the phone and internet connection at the same time, we have to answer the damn phone when it rings instead of using the answering service to screen calls.

Oh well, it's a small price to pay. Whooooooosssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhh....................

I AM ARTMAN!

Hard work all weekend to get things ready for the birthdays party. Part of which involved a project I've been leading up to for some time: the conversion of our second shed into a cubby house for the kids. They had a beautiful big wooden one at the old house, which we had to leave behind, and I've been determined to offer a replacement as soon as I could.

So much of yesterday involved cleaning the shed out, de-crawlyfying the space, adding the necessary garden bench, blackboards, toy chest and posters. And then, because there is no punishment I will not inflict upon myself, the painting, humphing about, and placement of 8 concrete slabs into a path to the door.

900-mill square concrete slabs are heavy.

But Artman must have his day. And I'm quietly pleased at the result (quiet: adj. talking about it on a public weblog with a potential audience in the millions.)

Weeee're off to see the wizard....

Satisfaction is cleaning up the patio in the evening and hearing the kids shouting "Onnne, twoooo, threeee..." from the cubby house end of the garden.

AND INTRODUCING MY FAITHFUL SIDEKICK, CRAFTBOY!

Not to be outdone, Aiden threw himself into a science project this week that involved presenting a paper on a dinosaur of his choice, as well as building a visual aid.

Casting aside all offers of aid (because, sometimes, dinosaurs are too cool to share), he disappeared into his room with the deadline looming, and returned with this: presenting (from left to right) Ornithochirus Marks II and I.

I hope he gets them back when they've been marked. We can hang them over the patio :)

Pssst: your frame is showing...

Song of the moment: I'm The Urban Spaceman The Bonzo The Dog Doo Dah Band
Reading: The Book of Fantasy Jorge Luis Borges (ed), Take The Joy Jane Yolen

connor birthday Aiden broadband dinosaurs garden

AND A VERY LONG POST IS FOLLOWED BY A VERY SHORT ONE

Short hiatus. Back soon.

A GIANT IS LOST

Ferenc Puskas is dead.

For those not in the know, Puskas is a footballing legend. "The Galloping Major" was the inspirational leader and talisman of the all-conquering Mighty Magyars, the Hungarian footnall team of the 1950s (How good were they? They did England 6-3. At Wembley. England's first ever defeat at home. They still talk about it.) . He was the rock behind which the all-conquering Real Madrid of the 1960s stood when they won 5 consecutive La Liga titles and 3 European Cups, a record that stands unequalled today.

How good was he? Puskas was a striker. For a striker, a return of one goal in every three games is considered pretty damn good. The really great ones, they might score once every couple of games over the course of their career.

In 529 games for Real, Puskas scored 512 times. His 84 games in a Hungarian shirt yielded 83 goals.

I have some footage of him in action from his Real days. He is nothing short of mesmerising.

He is, unarguably, one of the 3 or 4 greatest players ever to have lived. He is easily the greatest European ever to play the game.

Football is lessened by his loss.

HANDED IN:

The second draft of The Memory of Breathing, to Producermatt. Now to wait for his Producer's Notes, and research animal liberationists in preparation for draft number three.

And finally get on to some short stories again!

AS COOL AS PRESENTS GET

Earlier this week, Aiden presented me with a belated birthday present. He'd warned me it would be late-- he had to hand it in to his teacher and get it marked first.

If there's anything cooler than getting something handmade from your kids, I don't know what it is.

So how great was it to be given this weird and wonderful handmade clay head? Very great indeed.

You talkin' ta me? You talkin' ta me?

As befits a present so froody, it was made an immediate addition to my Corner of Cool, that section of the office where I keep all my bits-n-trinkets that capture my imagination. As a Bonus Parent, to receive a gift that a Bonus Child has made specially for me is deeply touching. It's a sign that, to Aiden, I'm a genuine parent. Pride of place on the corner of the desk for this baby, let me tells ya!

Head and friends


BEING A GRANDFATHER IS HARD WORK

One of the finches escaped on the weekend: I was trying to get their water dish out of the cage, and the little bugger flew straight over my shoulder. We've promised Aiden a new one (what else could we do?), and thanks to a trip into Joondalup on Sunday, we know where to get it.

There's a pet shop next door to Bunnings. And it's open on Sunday.

And I'm not revelaing who it was that suggested we pop in and do some Christmas shopping. For the Finches.

But it wasn't me.

All I did was choose the ladder with the rough steps to help them groom their claws. And the straw nesting box. That's all.

I have no emotional attachment to these birds whatsoever.

CAROLE KING IS NORMAL, HUZZAH!

The ABC's Articulate column contains an interview with Carole King, who is touring Australia for the first time. I don't know any of M s King's music, except for a sneaking memory that she was the one responsible for the inane soundtrack to one of the Winnie The Pooh movies my darling daughter has made me watch over and over and over and over......

However, what pissed me off upon reading the column was that Ms King notes that "her greatest achievements include having a 'normal life'."

What the hell? I mean, mad as I may be, surely if you want to live a normal life, why become a fucking artist? It's not like the lifestyle, or the demands of creativity, are unknown. I mean, surely it doesn't come as any sort of surprise.

And what is so damn special about a normal life? It's the norm. It's the base template from which you deviate to add spice to your existence. As if the ability to get up in the morning, wallow in mundanity, and go to sleep at night is cause for applause.

Jesus. Fuck normal. Celebrate anything but normal. Be a bird and fly.

Of course, not having sold umpty-million albums and not having had a way to avoid a day job since the age of 14, I may be missing the vital ingredient in this argument...

MYSPACE?

A serious question: what's the attraction with MySpace? A lot of people seem to be signing up, and seem very happy at having done so. I've looked at the Home/About pages, and I'm not sure I'm not missing something.

Anyone have a MySpace page? Want to tell me about it? Head to the Message Board so we can have a group back and forth on the subject.

MOOFIES

A quick note regarding some movies Luscious and I have watched recently, in lieu of taking the time to think up proper reviews:

Children of Men: Astonishing SF of a type that rarely makes it screen these days- literate, intelligent, thoughtful, and genuinely moving. The performances are routinely excellent, with the usual exception of Julianne Moore, who is as stagey as ever. See it at the cinema so that the sheer scale and noise of the final third is at its most effective.

Serenity: So, in the aftermath of the Civil War, a disillusioned Confederate Captain leads his ragtag group in a guerilla war against the agents of the Union, having to make a run through vicious tribes of Red Injuns and back to deliver an escaped pair of zzzzzzzzzzzz...... unlikeable characters, nonsensical plotting, cartoon performances.... maybe I had to watch the TV series Firefly to get the full gist of this movie adaptation, but then, if I have to do that just to watch a movie, it's failed before I even hand over my money. The sort of bad SF I have to keep telling people I don't write.

Lord of War: A sublime black comedy, unrepentantly amoral, with a sense of irony so thick you could serve it with sauce. As surprised as I was by Keanu Reeves in Constantine, I am more so by the normally terrible Nicholas Cage in the lead role here, although, like Reeves, I shouldn't have been-- if you want oily, insincere, and slick as teflon-coated shit, who better than Cage? It's a comedy about arms dealers, and the blacker it got, the more I laughed.

Hotel Rwanda: Good God. A movie to watch if you feel like hating everybody, especially your leaders. By turns horrifying and heartbreaking, and the usually underrated and ignored Don Cheadle turns in a performance of astonishing range. An amazing filmic triumph, with performances that mesmerised me, and a level of violence and helplessness I would not have believed if I did not remember the real life footage of the Rwandan conflict.

We're currently in the middle of Battlestar Galactica Season One, an SF series that surprises me with the solidity of its plotting and intelligence. The original was cheesy fun for a pre-teen in the late 70s, and I really didn't expect much from this remake/extension, despite the fannish over-excitement from the same people who told me how great Babylon 5 and Serenity were. It's heights aren't brilliantly high, but at no stage in the first season does it ever drop to the depths of the first season of Star Trek: TNG. A pleasant surprise, so far.

Song of the moment: Museum of Idiots They Might Be Giants

Reading: Officially between books, as I finished the current one this afternoon.

IT'S A MAN FROM THE VILLAGE. HE'S HERE ABOUT THE REAPING?

Five minutes of quoting later, Lyn manages to ask: "Have you actually read what it signifies?"

You are Death

Change, Transformation, Alteration.

People fear this card, but if you want to change your life, this is one of the
best indicators for it. Whatever happens, life will be different. Yes, the Death card can signal a death in the right circumstances (a question about a very sick or old relative, for example), but unlike its dramatic presentation in the movies, the Death card is far more likely to signal transformation, passage, change. Scorpio, the sign of this card, has three forms: scorpion, serpent, eagle. The Death card indicates this transition from lower to higher to highest. This is a card of humility, and it may mean you have been brought low, but only so that you can then go higher than ever before. Death "humbles" all, but it also "exults." Always keep in mind that on this card of darkness there is featured a sunrise as well. You could be ready for a change.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

I FEEL ILL

Now, you know me. I'm not one of those anti-freedom of speech, book-burning, righteous hatred types. I've even heard you say it. "That Lee, he's not one of those anti-freedom of speech, book-burning, righteous hatred types," I've heard you say. "Complete fuck-knuckle, but not an anti-freedom of speech, book burning, righteous hatred type."

The thought of this book being published, people buying it, and this man making money from it all makes me so angry I feel ill.

It's a small gesture, but as long as I see this book on a bookshop's shelves, I will not be spending my money in that store.

And it appears that I'm not the only one to react with disgust:

Here

And here.

WEBCOMICAL

This amuses me more than it should

IF TIME SAYS SO, IT MUST BE TRUE...... SNURK

So apparently Time have issued a list of the most significant SF/F novels from 1953 to 2006. Uh huh. Because Time are definitely who I choose to stream the cultural definers of my lifetime through....

I can't say for sure that it's the whole list, or what the criteria for choosing them was, because I've only seen this list on other people LJs. As one poster noted: a list with Brooks but no Leiber fails.

Still, to add to the fun, people have memed it: the idea is to bold the ones you have read, strike through the ones you read and hated, italicize those you started but never finished and put a star next to the ones you love. I might just do the first three, methinks. Read them yourselves, and find out whether you love them. That's much more rewarding than taking my word for it. Do this thing, and I shall link to two comics at the end of this post to reward you.

1. The Lord of the Rings, J.R.R. Tolkien
2. The Foundation Trilogy, Isaac Asimov
3. Dune, Frank Herbert
4. Stranger in a Strange Land, Robert A. Heinlein
5. A Wizard of Earthsea, Ursula K. Le Guin
6. Neuromancer, William Gibson
7. Childhood's End, Arthur C. Clarke
8. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, Philip K. Dick
9. The Mists of Avalon, Marion Zimmer Bradley
10. Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury
11. The Book of the New Sun, Gene Wolfe
12. A Canticle for Leibowitz, Walter M. Miller, Jr.
13. The Caves of Steel, Isaac Asimov
14. Children of the Atom, Wilmar Shiras
15. Cities in Flight, James Blish
16. The Colour of Magic, Terry Pratchett
17. Dangerous Visions, edited by Harlan Ellison
18. Deathbird Stories, Harlan Ellison
19. The Demolished Man, Alfred Bester
20. Dhalgren, Samuel R. Delany
21. Dragonflight, Anne McCaffrey
22. Ender's Game, Orson Scott Card
23. The First Chronicles of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever, Stephen R. Donaldson
24. The Forever War, Joe Haldeman
25. Gateway, Frederik Pohl
26. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, J.K. Rowling
27. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams
28. I Am Legend, Richard Matheson
29. Interview with the Vampire, Anne Rice
30. The Left Hand of Darkness, Ursula K. Le Guin
31. Little, Big, John Crowley
32. Lord of Light, Roger Zelazny
33. The Man in the High Castle, Philip K. Dick
34. Mission of Gravity, Hal Clement
35. More Than Human, Theodore Sturgeon
36. The Rediscovery of Man, Cordwainer Smith
37. On the Beach, Nevil Shute
38. Rendezvous with Rama, Arthur C. Clarke
39. Ringworld, Larry Niven
40. Rogue Moon, Algis Budrys
41. The Silmarillion, J.R.R. Tolkien
42. Slaughterhouse-5, Kurt Vonnegut
43. Snow Crash, Neal Stephenson
44. Stand on Zanzibar, John Brunner
45. The Stars My Destination, Alfred Bester
46. Starship Trooper, Robert A. Heinlein
47. Stormbringer, Michael Moorcock
48. The Sword of Shannara, Terry Brooks
49. Timescape, Gregory Benford
50. To Your Scattered Bodies Go, Philip Jose Farmer


Now, because you've all been so patient, the links I promised:

The way they should have filmed The Postman

He can duplicate Dudes!

books comics

ISP KERFUFFLE OVER............................. HOPEFULLY

Thanks to everyone who offered advice and outrage at our treatment by our current ISP. The good news is that we've signed a broadband deal with another company, one who comes highly recommended by peers and colleagues who know about these things, and our current ISP has apologised, cancelled the deal, and is refunding the money.

In the meantime, we've caved into the Google World and changed our email addresses. You can now reach us at llbatt@gmail.com or if you wish to converse with me about writing business or Supersekritstuff, I have one at leebattersby@gmail.com

Reading: The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen Vol 2 Moore & O'Neill
Songs of the Moment: Songs From the Labyrinth Sting w. Edin Karamazov

ISP email

IT'S ALL ABOUT THE BOOTY

Birthday weekend is over (Awwwwwww....) and it's back to the real world this morning.

I did very well, thanks for asking :) The kids made me breakfast in bed to start the day, and apart from the external hard drive I'd purchased a few days before, gifts bestowed included: A Hellboy bookmark with a little bit of film stock embedded in the body; It's Goodnight From Him: An Autobiography of The Two Ronnies by Ronnie Corbett; The Best of Dave Allen DVD, and a box set DVD containing a history of the UEFA European Championships and a highlights package from the same competition, totalling almost 3 hours of non-stop football!

I was formally removed from the necessity to do any housework for the day, and generally made to feel just a bit special. Aiden looked after the kids while Lyn took me out to lunch, and we spent the afternoon watching Dave Allen (and being pleasantly surprised at just how watchable he remains, 30 years since his height) and reading: the Corbett book was fantastic, very readable in style and treading the fine line between reminiscence and twee-ish nicety with a sure step, which made for a touching and heartfelt look at a warm friendship. I fell into the book and finished it yesterday bfore bed, which says something about how much reading time everybody allowed me :)

So now I'm 36. Next, Connor's 2nd and Erin's 5th!

VALE JACK

Sad news on the weekend: Jack Williamson died at the age of 98. One of the genuine pioneers of SF, first publishing it way back in the days when it was still scientifiction, he was still writing, still publishing, and still in love with the genre up until he died.

Williamson was one of the true fathers of our genre, and we're a little poorer for his passing.

Song(s) of the moment: Songs From the Labyrinth Sting

birthday death

SHAFTED BY MY ISP

Note to my ISP: when you ring us and pimp your broadband services, "Yes, we might be interested" does not mean "Yes please, sign us up, book the guys to come and fit it on Monday, take the first payment from our credit card and most importantly, please don't tell us you've done all this until we receive the email from you a week later telling us you're doing so. Oh, and when we ring to ask what the hell is going on, abuse and accusations should be your customer service options of choice."

Fuckers.

So whilst we scream at them and threaten them with the ombudsman on the way to pulling the plug and fighting to get our money back, we've set up a gmail account to deal with emails.

Until we find ourselves a new ISP, you can get hold of us at llbatt@gmail.com or if you want to get hold of me alone for business or whatnot, I have one at leebattersby@gmail.com

I shan't tell you which ISP it is, because I don't think it's ethical, but I will tell you this: those birds became extinct for a reason.

email ISP

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

To Zara, who turns 4 today!

As Erin will tell you, 4 is the coolest age ever, at least until you realise you're about to turn 5.....

Hope you have a great day, sweetie, and a brilliant birthday party tomorrow.

OFFER A SHOULDER

A couple of good pals have had hard times in recent days.

Alisa Krasnostein, editor of New Ceres ezine and big banana behind Australian Specfic in Focus, lost her grandmother during the week. Alisa comes from a tight-knit Jewish family, and the loss has hit her hard.

And Ben Payne, Potato Monkey boy, former Aurealis & ASIM editor, and writer of durned good stories, lost his father yesterday. Having lost my mother 3 years ago, I know something of his pain, but can only imagine how it's hitting every moment of his days right now.

If you know Ben and/or Alisa, or their work, or just have been through similar loss, drop in on them and offer a few words. People need their community: the support and love I received after Sharon died were a huge factor in my ability to keep going through the grief and torment that followed. Alisa and Ben are two of the good guys: it'll help them to know that people care.

FATHER MUERTE AND THE SALE!

Good news in the inbox this morning: Stephen Higgins, incoming (re-coming?) editor of Aurealis has accepted the fourth Father Muerte story, Father Muerte & the Joy of Warfare, for an upcoming issue.

It's been a while since I sold a story. I was beginning to wonder if it was going to happen again.

Suppose this means I should start work on the next one....

I GUESS I SHOULD BUY A NEW PAIR OF THONGS TO MARK THE OCCASION

Tomorrow is my 36th birthday. And it only occured to me this morning that it marks another important occasion.

I was naturalised on my 11th birthday. So tomorrow will be the 25th anniversary of my becoming an Australian citizen.

I really ought to do something to commemorate that. I'm thinking I'll drink 25 cartons, eat 25 pies, play 25 test matches, shear 25 sheep, and throw up in the backyard 25 times....


Song of the moment: You And the Clouds Will Still be Beautiful XTC
Reading: On Writing Stephen King

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

To my brother Scott, who turns 33 today, and is therefore now the left foot of the number of the beast, and for tomorrow to my darling neice Zara, who is substantially younger and cuter.

NOTHING TO REPORT

Just words tonight: another 637. Not quite at the Luscious rate of progression, but moving along nonetheless.

11,689 / 90,000 (12.0%)

Off to watch Harvey Birdman: Attorney At Law with Lyn and Aiden now.

novel writing

MY VISUAL IS NOT YOUR VISUAL

It's a funny kind of synchronicity, working on an adaptation of a story written by your wife. Last night, for example, I was talking about who I visualised in the main roles, in an effort to explain to Lyn some of the changes I'd made to her story. Which led to her explaining who she had visualised. Which led to a whole lot of laughter.

So for your entertainment, the different people we visualised for the writing of our different versions of The Memory of Breathing:

COMMANDER JANSSEN: The nominal 'hero'and protagonist of the piece. Commander of the camp wherein the reanimated corpses are housed. Me: Bob Hoskins. Lyn: Jon Hamblin from Play School.

REBEKAH HOLYOAKE: The 9 year old re-animated Corpse whose peril drives the narrative. Me: Dakota Fanning. Lyn: Jenny from Hey Dad

LADY MCAULIFFE: The rich, elderly spinster who shelters Rebekah and provides a humanising mother figure. Me: Maggie Smith. Lyn: Esme from A Country Practice

(Note: In Lyn's original story, Lady McAuliffe is named Lady McMahon. Producer Matt thinks we should change it, just to avoid a possible role-confusion with the real-life Lady Sonia McMahon. (In actuality, Lyn named the character with my mother's maiden name) Naturally, Lyn and I are both of the opinion that Lady Sonia should be given a chance to read for the role...)

PARKER: The young, ambitious offsider to Janssen who doesn't remember the pre-apocalypse world. Me: Matt Day. Lyn: Matt Damon.

THE PROTESTOR: A black clad religious zealot whose denunciations and proclamations of hellfire provide a counter-current to the main characters' attempts to save Rebekah. Me: Ben Peek Lyn: Ben Peek

So there you go.

THE MEMORY OF CORPSE-RAT

Another 411 words last night. Marius is stuck in a tiny room, with only a still filled with potato liquor for company, and the fire that is consumign the building is coming towards the only door.

I've no idea how he gets out of this, but it's going to be fun finding out.

11,046 / 90,000 (11.0%)

The Memory of Breathing proceeds nicely as well. I've finished the per-scene edits the producer asked for, and added a bunch of pages and a couple of new scenes into the bargain. There are some general world-building questions Producer Matt wants answered, which will take up a few days, and then I'll see where we stand time-wise. There are still 12 days before the draft is due, so I'm reasonably okay for time, but I'll be working right up to the deadline on this one.

novel screenplay writing

THE WORDS, THEY FLOW

Added another 1007 words to The Corpse-Rat King over the weekend, breaking the magical 10K barrier and the magical 10% barrier all at the same time. On the Lee Writing Scale, I've now reached T2, which airline nuts (there must be one or two of you out there) will know as the point along the runway after which you have no choice: you have to take off. So there's no turning back: my hero Marius, his compatriot Gerd, the dead King of Scorby and I are together for the next 80K+ words whether we like it or not.

Work also continued apace on the secodn draft of the The Memory of Breathing script. I've rejigged four of the eleven scenes that need reworking, and added probably another ten minutes or so to the running time. Producer Matt (and it occurs to me that I've never linked to Enchanter Films, the production company that we're working with, so here you go) has set a deadline of the 19th November to get the draft back to him, so it's both lobes to the grindstone at the moment. once I've got the scenes rewritten I have a pile of character and plot notes to incorporate, so the next two weeks will be busy. Busy busy busy.....

So, words to date on the novel:

10,635 / 90,000 (11.0%)

THE WORDS, THEY FLOW NOT SO EASILY

Anybody trying to get hold of me via email: please be patient. For reasons unknown to me, my Outlook and Norton programs aren't speaking to each other and so Outlook is refusing to work at all. I can still get to new emails via the ISP website, but it's clunky and annoying, so replies may not be as quick as usual (which is saying something, I know).

There seems to be an internal problem with Norton, but if I simply delete it and reboot from the disc I'll lose my upgrade subscription. So it'll be a few days while I contact Symantec and wait for them to tell me they don't know how to fix it, and I gather up the courage to delete everythind anyway and then abuse them until they gave me my subscription back. At least, that's today's plan... :)

THE FINCHES HAVE LANDED

So, thanks to Aiden, Lyn and I became grandparents over the weekend.

Don't panic: we're a liberal family, but we're not that liberal. Aiden finally organised to move his five finches from his Dad's house, is all. So we now have an aviary and occupants on our patio, much to the fascination of Erin and Connor. Indeed, television has been abandoned in favour of the live show.

I'm not sure how much attachment to give to these little birds, given their Daddy calls them (and I quote): "Whitecap, Big One, Little One, Birdy, and the other female."

And I thought it took us ages to come up with 'Connor'.....

YOU ARE NOT A UNIQUE SNOWFLAKE

It's my birthday on Saturday. I've treated myself to an external hard drive for the computer: when music and video files take up 70% of your memory, it's time to think about alternative storage solutions. For $150 I picked up a tiny little box that has twice the memory of the big, state-of-the-art computer I had made from scratch three eyars ago. Heh. I am Obsolete Man!

Anyway, I've always been the only person I know to be born on the 11th of November. It's just one of those days that seems to set you apart.

But would you believe it, I've discovered that not only am I not unique in regards to people I know, I'm not even unique in regards to Perth SF writers.

So Happy Birthday for Saturday to fellow 11/11 SF writer guy alumni: Perth-based Simon Haynes, and over-east based Chris Barnes.

I'm not my fucking khakis, either.....

Song of the Moment: Eleanor Rigby The Beatles

Reading: The Invisibles- the Invisible Kingdom Grant Morrison and friends

writing novel screenplay family birthday finches email