I feel churlish right now. It’s a small thing, I’m going to go jump in a shower in a minute and it’ll rinse away with the water and the lovely almond Olay with creamy ribbons. But for now I’m a bit grr. There’s a writer I know online, we have worked together at times, exchanged comments and thoughts, congrats and commiserations, you know the kind of thing. I have been delighted at their successes in the past and may have even mentioned them here. I comment occasionally on their blog, I have them in my recommended list. I went to their blog a few minutes ago and happened to look at their own list. A number of familiar names there, shared writing chums. My blog wasn’t on the list though, and I thought, hmm, well fuck them then. I felt a frizz of anger, like, oh, I suppose s/he doesn’t think I am good enough to be on her/his list, or maybe s/he doesn’t like my stories, or me. It’s the sort of thing that happens often, that sudden irritation that flashes through an otherwise calm day, it’s the bloke in the post office who pushes in front, the woman in the garden who makes a stupid comment as you walk by, it’s anyone at any time. It’s people! Here online huge furores can storm through forums, blogs, groups. In the absence of the nuances of speech misinterpretations are rife, wilful or not. All boils down to the same thing, folk being folk. Let it wash away. Except for the bastard who has snubbed me. Wink. And if you can’t, if you are sure that you need to express your hurt, anger and so on, well then go for it, but try to be honest, plain, open. All the back stabby games are so fucking tiresome.
Anyway, in an antidote to churlishness I thought I’d send out some random link love.
I am truly jealous of Ravi Mangla’s imagination. Read “Jupiter” here at the always gorgeous Wigleaf.
I have just been kindly sent a copy of “The Bristol Short Story Prize Anthology 2” which I look forward to reading.
I also just received Hobart 10 which as always looks amazing and is chock full of good writing.