Trysting Fields

Stuff I Did This Year

This year was all about recovery. It started out in the absolute pits of hell, slowly got better, and - a few ickle problems here and there aside, but whatcha gonna do - ended all up in unmitigated gnarley.

Result.

As per last year I feel more like talking about people than doings or accomplishments. Specifically, and without wanting to get too gushy, all the people who've helped me in all their various ways to remember what love, awesomeness and the whole circus generally is about. Really forgot for a while there. Fucken' sucked.

So couldn't have done it without yiz.

Thanks. Seriously.

• Mum, Dad & Jess.
• Ben.
• Despite - and partly because of - some serious difficulties, Liv (and co).
• Henley.
• On an obscure tip: Martha, Dolly, Magnus, Tim, my secret admirer, and the other Barn*by Ev*ns on Facebook.
• Li.
• Nada A.
• Nada Z (nb not technically a person, but we'll let it slide).
• Em & co.
• Kav. Georgie. Twyllan. Kinkel. Vicwie. Sims. Brendan. Zanella. The Major. Freedman. 2003 & co. And all the countless other people at/from my thankfully now-former work who are fucking awesome. But most especially them.
• Relatedly: motorscooting Keith! Party and associates - most especially Bourkie, and Carol. We don't really know Trajstman yet - but you may rest assured we intend to.
• Cel.
• Freakley.
• Mr Ad*m F*rd (not the poet), and Mr D. Allan.
• Grimsey.
• Gab, obvs, and associates not previously mentioned, especially Pets & Dech (+ Scott, Ewan, Chirsp etc etc etc).
• And last, but the exact opposite of least: Ms M. F. "prog081" Evans and associates, esp. Kat, Hayley, Fran & co, Ange & Chloe.

The admittedly sometimes finite limitations of my resources notwithstanding, these people can - at any time, and to whatever extent they may deem necessary and/or desirable - stand the fuck under my umbrella.

I'd also like to extend a really colossal, biblical-epic-stylez "fuck you" to one or two other individuals whose selfish, infantile cuntishness and astonishing lack of Vision (tm), conversely, reeeallly hasn't helped. Anyone. But I won't. It won't help. We can only have faith that in time they will grow the hearts, brains, spines and souls they surprisingly appear to lack.

Having A Soul: It's Good.

:)

Happy new year.

Media Backlog

I blame Liv[*]. We're working on it. Life is good. That is all.

UPDATE: ION, read Ev's blog.

[*] I do not really blame Liv.

Seriously!

Ah, who am I kidding. It'll happen when it happens.

I am well, btw. Just not very blog-oriented right now, for whatever reason..

Rainbow Serpent (Part 2)

Mapped

As has been in the works for a while, Trysting Fields is now mapped to the domain blog.trystingfields.com.

If you link here you should totally, like, update.

In other news, we have very very nearly finished the cleaning.

Life is better.

If You're Happy And You Know It

Or alternately, if you're miserable and you know it - and it's just no good at all...

CLAP. YOUR. HANDS.

CLAP! CLAP!

If you're happy and you know it,
And you really wanna show it,
If you're happy and you know it... clap your hands!

CLAP! CLAP!

I feel better already.

Despite - he said, by way of explanation - the depressing fact that I have failed.

I am A Failure; one who has failed. That is What I Am.

CLAP! CLAP!

It's the last day of November. And despite my best intentions, I have failed to write a 50,000-word novel.

I gave it a good old Aussie go, though. Really, truly did!

But I didn't write 50,000 words - and I didn't finish it. And it's dead now. It doesn't want to be worked on any more. It has become a stinky moribund dead project that pains me and makes me annoyed at myself. And it's bad when you annoy yourself.

Winces, girds loins, drives a stake through its beloved heart.

It's dead. RIP, first attempt at writing a novel.

The silver lining is, I'm actually well pleased with the 37,566 words I did write. They came out great.

CLAP! CLAP!

Which was really the problem. They were too good. Consequently, somewhere along the line, I forgot to not take myself seriously. Which is the whole big-thing point of NaNoWriMo. You can write a stupid 50,000 word novel in a month. But unless you are a bona fide literary genius, you can't write a good one. Forget about it.

I'm tempted to quote Alanis Morrisette at this juncture. But for everyone's sake, I shall abstain.

The point is: I'm, like, trying to be philosophical and shit. I feel pain now, but I know the venture was far from a dead loss. In the end, I got more out of it than I would have if I hadn't undertaken it. And in any case, I've lost nothing. Just a ride. Etcetera.

CLAP! CLAP!

In other shittiness news, nobody but a handful of stalwarts - it seems - can come to our party.

Again, I don't feel too bad about it. It's getting towards That Time Of Year; everybody has lots of prior engagements. A bunch of people came to the last one - and most if not all appeared to genuinely have a good time. So it's not like this is a sign that all our friends secretly hate our guts, or think our parties suck.

CLAP! CLAP!

Finally, congratulations are in order to Mr Tripto Deluxe, who jumped on board my NaNo bandwagon and then kicked my ass right off the damn thing by actually finishing his book.

Kudos to you, my friend. Kudos to you. No, I wouldn't come to my party either. You have better things to do. Course you do. We're not really going to kill you. That was totally, like, an empty threat. Course it was.

Love your work.

CLAP! CLAP!

Oh, man - that's the shit, right there.

CLAP! CLAP!

Oh yeah. Oh yeah.

CLAP! CLAP!

Excuse me, I have to be alone with my hands for a while.

Hot Flash, Call The Papers etc

More Rushkoff linkage: In which it occurs to our protagonist that contemporary western democracy is eminently recognisable as - gasp - nothing but an elaborate con!! Who'd a thunk it?