I had a surprise email email from Blogger overnight, reminding me I had a blog once. It was called Cheeseburger Gothic.
Huh?
I rashly followed the link and found the single entry I made on that site lo those many years ago. An emergency broadcast following the crash/death of… wait for it… Journalspace!
Some of you will go ‘Huh’ again at that.
Others will simply feel very old.
I’ve been meaning for a while to start writing short stories and publishing them here at the Burger. One a month, so that over, say, two years, I’d build up a publishable collection.
This bold plan ran headfirst into my complete ignorance of how short stories even work. But I’ve started to figure it out, so in the next day or so there’ll be a mail out here with a 3000-word piece called The Fixers. It’s not for Nanowrino, but it is about Nanowrimo.
I’ve been reading a lot this week. Not the usual shower of shit. Twitter lists, Facebook drama, clickbait on the Apple News reader. Nope. I got me the new Stephen King and I am, of course, loving it. My Netflix stack o’ shame grows every day while I progress through Holly, the King’s latest horror/crime mash up.
I loved the story of the HBO boss who was so angry with a TV reviewer’s snarking on Perry Mason that he spooled up a ‘secret army’ of Tweeters to fire back at her.
He got caught, of course, and had to do the full apology tour.
I was really, really really hoping this story would be about a bunch of idiot techbros who raised a couple of million from idiot vulture capital funds to ‘disrupt’ the smoothie market and ended up selling AI-designed faecal milkshakes.
Alas, it just looks like a poorly planned gift.
