In my line of work, people occasionally send me press releases about interesting booky things that are occurring. I received such a missive yesterday from the Edinburgh UNESCO City of Literature Trust on the subject of a season of events celebrating Iain Banks.
Last weekend I did some writing in a coffee shop, as is the style of Edinburgh based persons with an interest in penning fiction for children.
I was going through half finished word documents from last year (there are a fair few with beginnings of characters and ideas started then abandoned) and found this. It’s a poem I wrote for my brother in December which I considered making into a picture book before I got into the falcon idea. Maybe I’ll get it done this year, though. In fact, maybe I’ll do a collection of story-poems based on Edinburgh streets and illustrate the whole thing… if you think that idea has legs, please leave a comment!
The background to this one is that my brother and I were crossing Great King Street in Edinburgh and both slipped on a wee patch of black ice. However, the temperature was a balmy 6 or 7 degrees and there was no ice or snow or anything anywhere else – so naturally we got suspicious. Why was that bit icy, when everywhere else was fine? Clearly the answer was magic.
I haven’t drawn for a few days because life has gotten in the way. Things like catching up with friends and family, Chrismas shopping, and a whole lot of cleaning. On which subject, here is my list of fun things I found in or under the couch today:
- a pencil sharpener
- a door wedge
- a measuring tape
- a handkerchief
- a sock
- a copy of The Skinny from August
- a ticket from First Minister’s Questions
- 6 pence
- two party hats
- a button badge bearing the slogan ‘ordinary man in the street’.
Hopefully you can tell from that it was less deliberate procrastination and more in desperate need of being done…
This is one of the short stories I wrote last month for my horror compilation. It is dedicated to Jim Connick, who has a fear of going round a corner quickly and being impaled on a pointy thing, which he blames on the film Dog Soldiers.
I’m running for the last bus, slipping and sliding on wet concrete in old cons wi nae grips, hurdling knocked ower bins and homeless folk and piles of vomit, breathing hard as my tired lungs gasp in cold night air.
Today I present for your consideration another short story from last month. The inspiration came from a bit of graffiti I noticed one day on my walk home from work. I am a fan of graffiti, but I’ve got no idea what the deal is with this particular tag. You see it all the time around Edinburgh, though.
I can see the concentration in his shoulders as he marks the last letter of his tag on the door. He’s using silver marker pen to painstakingly write each letter, S-I-N-E.
In broad daylight. Near a busy train station.
Something tells me he’s not a seasoned pro.