And now, in the interests of playing catch-up some more…

During my long silence, I received my contributor copies of The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 6, which contains my story ‘The Mercy of Strange Men’. Amazon reckons the cover looks like this:

Which is nice, but it’s not the cover I’ve got. I really like the cover I’ve got, mostly because it mentions my name on the back cover, not once but twice. Which is most likely a typographical error, but to be honest my ego doesn’t really care about that.
There’s also this:

Which, provided the problems mentioned in the last entry sort themselves out okay, should have two of my stories, “The Window” and “Wakeup Call”. I won’t grumble again about my stupid fucking computer losing its will to live, but understand that I will continue to feel bitter about it for some time. Are we sorted? Okay. Great.
Having pretty pictures to show of reminds me that I would be a fine thing to actually do some writing for once. Or rather, some fiction writing for once, as I seem to be all about the nonfiction recently. For the past several years, I’ve made it a yearly goal to have something to submit to Best Lesbian Erotica. I’ve managed to meet that goal less that 50% of the time, which is pretty lame. And considering that I started back at school today and I’m studying non-fiction this year, I doubt I’ll have the kick up the arse of duty to motivate me (although I will be starting work on a non-fiction project I’ve wanted to work on for over two years but have been too scared to start, so that’s something). So! Must! Make! Fake! Words! Happen!

Oh, and happy Valentine’s Day to those of you who celebrate it. I hope you had a good one. The most erotic thing I did today was smear Stuart’s chest with pesto, and it wasn’t even a sex thing, he just got in my way while I was trying to cook. I’m not sure if this means that the romance has fled our relationship, or if it’s just basil-flavoured now.

Update: I just found the cover I’ve got here. They mention me twice too, and manage spell my surname incorrectly both times. Not sure who that Aimee Nicoles chick is, but she’d better not be taking credit for my work.

Well.  Maybe not greatly.

I’m still alive and kicking, although I have been in something of a writing funk, which extends to this here blog.  I’ve been trying to decide what I want to do with the space I have here, and all the answers I can come up with point to making this less of a personal blog, because hey, the old liferoonie doesn’t offer up that much blogging fodder.  But, thanks to some serendipitous events, I’ve got a bit more focus happening now, so I think I’ll aim things in that direction.  The direction?  Books, and sex.  And books about sex.  So we’ll see how that goes.  Best to follow your interests, I find.  I’ve been thinking for a while about doing some sort of writing page for my erotic fiction - not necessarily posting it (although maybe?), but having a place to sound out ideas about sex and sex writing.  This idea has crystallised somewhat in the last few weeks, since I got a gig as the new sex columnist for Voiceworks magazine.  My first column, on the joys and shittiness of bisexuality (everyone’s favourite trendy sexuality!) will appear in the forthcoming issue, Rat Race, which should be out soon.

In personal news, I am now happily living in sin.  Stuart moved in to my little house at the end of 2006, and has not stopped whingeing about how inconvenient it is to be living in a suburb, rather than smack-bang in the centre of the CBD.  Viz:

Stuart: God, I can’t believe how long it takes me to get to work now.  Nearly half an hour!

Me: Oh, you poor baby.  But surely the benefits of shacking up with me outweigh the commute?

Stuart: Yeah, I suppose so.

Me: Thank you darling.  I feel so very treasured.

And this from someone who grew up in the heart of suburbia anyway.  Pfffft.

We have been adopted by two neighbourhood cats, one of whom is a gorgeous but grumpy old thing called Cecil, who hates nearly everybody and talks too much.  I have found my soulmate.

In other news, I’ve got a couple of stories appearing in Got a Minute?  Sixty Second Erotica, edited by the lovely and scarily prolific Alison Tyler, provided my contract got to her in time.  You see, I also lost Beastie, the crotchety old laptop that liked to pretend it didn’t have a hard drive, in mid-December, and lost access to Thunderbird.  For some reason, Horde decided to only receive some of my emails, so the first I knew of the contract was a polite email from Ms Tyler asking if I’d sent it back yet.  Gulp.  Oh well, fingers crossed I suppose.

Back to school next week for more writingy goodness, which reminds me that I should probably decide on some subjects quick-smart.  Oops.  Hopefully this year will involve less drinking and crying (or maybe more drinking, but without the crying) than last. 

So, tumbleweeds blowing through here, what’s new with you?