Kthaahthikha
One man, a word-processor, and too much free time.
10 October, 2005
Keel-scraping
So it was time to fire the old blog up for a quick delve into remeniscence. He sat himself down by his computer, glancing nervously at the clock from time to time. He had better things to be doing - or if not better than more pressing. His unfinished painting mocked him from the bedroom, every passing moment reminding him that he was drawing ever closer to the deadline two weeks away.
But he sat at the computer, and he began to type, certain that he would think of something worth saying that was not merely a pointless critique of a film which he had recently seen. he had many filed away - his partial intention at one point had been to write a detailed review of The Proposition - a gritty and surreal tale of bushrangers in the Australian outback that had moved him with its intelligent use of violence and stunning technical merit. But instead he froze, staring at the monitor, his fingers dipping down only once or twice a minute to scatter a hurried stream of characters into the aether. It was perhaps for the best that he was uninspired, that the best that he could do was to ramble. Perhaps if he retained a cap on his typing, the pent-up ideas would unleash like a dam-burst when he sat to engage in NanNoWriMo in November.
But then perhaps not.
He wondered if people came here very often. he had possessed a hit-counter on an earlier blog but found it confusing, often recording his own passage as he frantically checked to see if anyone had commented on his comics and ramblings. Nonetheless he had enjoyed the experience - the maintaining of the site and not the seeking - and so it was that he had moved-on to produce a variety of different web-comics. Even now he had just come from putting the finishing touches to a web-comic on an independent server, sitting tucked-away under an image banner on his home-site, waiting desperately for someone to go and read it - although he would nver know if they did.
He decided to get a drink, take a shower, and put his electric guitar away. The accoustic sounded better, and he didn't have a distortion pedal. He was tired, and the damned painting wouldn't leave him be.
But he sat at the computer, and he began to type, certain that he would think of something worth saying that was not merely a pointless critique of a film which he had recently seen. he had many filed away - his partial intention at one point had been to write a detailed review of The Proposition - a gritty and surreal tale of bushrangers in the Australian outback that had moved him with its intelligent use of violence and stunning technical merit. But instead he froze, staring at the monitor, his fingers dipping down only once or twice a minute to scatter a hurried stream of characters into the aether. It was perhaps for the best that he was uninspired, that the best that he could do was to ramble. Perhaps if he retained a cap on his typing, the pent-up ideas would unleash like a dam-burst when he sat to engage in NanNoWriMo in November.
But then perhaps not.
He wondered if people came here very often. he had possessed a hit-counter on an earlier blog but found it confusing, often recording his own passage as he frantically checked to see if anyone had commented on his comics and ramblings. Nonetheless he had enjoyed the experience - the maintaining of the site and not the seeking - and so it was that he had moved-on to produce a variety of different web-comics. Even now he had just come from putting the finishing touches to a web-comic on an independent server, sitting tucked-away under an image banner on his home-site, waiting desperately for someone to go and read it - although he would nver know if they did.
He decided to get a drink, take a shower, and put his electric guitar away. The accoustic sounded better, and he didn't have a distortion pedal. He was tired, and the damned painting wouldn't leave him be.
Tom Meade, 9:43 pm
2 Comments:
Don't worry, people do check your blog. Though I haven't caught up on your other web ventures.
That's strange - I know I certainly don't.
