The closer we get to October the happier I normally am. This year there have been interruptions to my growing happiness but I try to be wise about them. After all, many people real-life all the time and not only sporadically like me. It’s all fine, I’m sure and I will have the chance to settle into my usual routine sooner or later. Adulting is okay for a while but not constantly.
Of cars and cats
I never thought cats and cars had anything in common except perhaps both being pleasing on the eye but it turns out there’s more. When we got Vlad, there was a certain upfront cost to our ownership consisting of medical checkups, vaccines, anti-parasite treatment and, by the force of circumstances, microchipping.
When we got the new car (which is not in fact new) there were similar upfront costs only instead of vaccines, Borderline and checkups these consisted of, respectively, an oil and filter change, insurance, and the repair of a piece of metal that fell while I was driving, luckily near the house. Of course, there are also the regular petrol station visits that correspond to the supermarket load-ups on cat food so, essentially, cars are a kind of pet only more dangerous and/or practical.
I had heard about it but had never had it happen to me. Until this week. I finished the hopefully final edits of my ghost story this week and it happened. I glanced at the title and found I couldn’t stand it. It was bland, it lacked flavour, it was the opposite of attractive, it was dull, drab and I’m out of ways to say boring but I’m sure you got my meaning.
It was annoying but what made the title torture especially irritating was the fact that the story is funny. It’s my first humour novel and here I am out of any humourous title ideas. This, of course, goes to show that humour is serious work and also that just because you haven’t had much of a problem putting titles on books before doesn’t mean you will never have this sort of problem.
I actually remember now I had a bit of trouble titling the second lamiastriga story and a dear friend stepped in to help. Which is why I’m going to do the same now. I already complained on Twitter and a Twitter contact immediately gave me an idea, which I liked very much. I will probably complain some more so I get more ideas and then put them to the vote. Isn’t delegation great?
I’ve been baking for about fifteen years now. I started baking with particular enthusiasm after Little C. was born, envisioning a future in which my child was much healthier than other children because instead of the factory-made sweets, biscuits and cakes she ate only homemade baked goods. Obviously, this didn’t happen. Little C., who now refuses to be associated with anything little or young so let’s call her Growing C., would, with rare exceptions, rather go hungry than eat a slice of homemade cake.
Yet the other day I scored a huge victory. I made caramel cake and she devoured half of it in two days. I now have a winner. I’m long past the delusional phase of parenting and I’m sure she would soon enough get sick of caramel cake, which is why I won’t be making it all the time, but a victory is a victory however fleeting. Just wanted to share this as a motivational tip for never giving up.
That’s all the profundity I had time for this week and I sincerely and very deeply hope next week will be a lot duller than this one so I have more to write about. Yes, I know, it’s a paradox but there it is. I might elaborate on it.
As always, welcome to my book-peddling corner (because books won’t sell/download themselves much as I’d like them to and I will not stoop to flooding people on social networks with links to my books but this is my blog so I’ll do whatever I want here).
For a thriller wrapped in a dream made of smoke, death and destruction, with a filling of tragedy and atonement sprinkled with drama and served with a side of a relatable villain, press The Dreamer.
For random scary stories, here’s a complete list of my published shorter fiction.