Oh dear, lame Cliff Richard references – it must be stress. So, I’ve been away a while (some of you may even have noticed) and I’ve done a few things, nothing that exciting: listened to a lot of Iron Maiden, as indeed I am at the moment (hey look, I can write and listen to music at the same time again!); finished the Kim Stanley Robinson trilogy which began with Forty Signs of Rain (most enjoyable, mostly believable, sadly over-optimistic); watched more of my Beiderbecke DVD set (I really must write about Alan Plater and his writings celebrating the north and jazz and detectives – maybe I could do a kind of heavy metal version someday); waited impatiently for printing orders for Thought Bubble; agonised over a synopsis for the novel (Wasted Years).
But what about this anthology, I hear you mutter in a vaguely interested way. And who’s ‘we’? Well, a friend of mine has a story in a children’s anthology due out for Christmas (I know no details, however, so I can’t plug it), and some of my twitter fiction is in an anthology called On a Narrow Windowsill: Fiction and Poetry Folded onto Twitter which apparently should be out by the end of the month.