Writing and Whatnot

So I wrote something for an online publication recently.  It was about gyms in Japan and how to navigate them, should you find yourself over here.

Check it out here.

It's a way less formal thing than I normally write which is fine by me, it feels more like a blog than an advertisment or article for a newspaper - just like this!

The only problem is the picture they used for the header.  I have literally no idea where they found it, what it's supposed to show, or what it has to do with the article itself.  I don't know what the thought process on that one is really.

Feel free to check it out, leave a comment and so on.  I'm sure my next writing job with them will rely on pageviews and comments and whatnot, so it would really help if you clicked on the link, even if you don't read it!

That's all for now.  Bye!

Fun is Dead

So as we all know, fun is dead.  No one is allowed to have any fun anymore, what with the news shoving constant drudgery down our necks (I haven't watched, read or listened to the news in a very, very long time, with the eception of what makes its way to my facebook page.  Regardless, I am confident that I am correct in this assertion, and that the news is still a parade of misery) and everything being just the worst at all times.


On a more personal note, Summer Holidays (tm) have ended, so I'm back at work.


That is the real tragedy.


Also, my school has bought in a new load of laptops which have, after close inspection with a ruler, 12 inch screens.  12 inches.  In a laptop.  They're fully laptops too, the screen doesn't unclip like a tablet, all the connectors are in the base.  And they have touchscreens.


What on earth.


Someone at the municipal service for education was scammed (see: bribed) into buying these shit sandwiches.


The keyboard is miniscule.  I can cover half the keyboard with two fingers which makes typing a nightmare.  The screen is god knows what resolution because who can tell as everything is tiny.  WHO WOULD USE TOUCHSCREEN ON A LAPTOP WHEN THE MOUSE IS RIGHT THERE?


The whole thing is a terrible piece of deign.


So now you're thinking, 'what's the point of this little rant?'  To be honest I haven't thought that far yet.


Anyway.  My second book is coming along nicely.  This one might actually see a release.  Once I'm at the final editing stage I'll start looking for an illustrator to do the covers (I draw like a four year old) and I'll start the self-publishing process.


Unfortunately I have a pretty solid idea of what I want out of the whole thing, which might make the self-pub system somewhat more annoying and substantially less accommodating.


My big target, my life goal, is to sell a hundred copies.  I want to sell a hundred books in my lifetime.  That is my aim.  If it takes me writing fifty books and getting my mum and dad to buy a single copy each then so be it.


Digital or physical doesn't matter, just one hundred books.


Is there any way a touchscreen laptop with miniscule keys could help me in writing?  I'm struggling to find a connection...  No, I really can't think of one.




Anyway, in other news, I went to the same festival I went to last year.  You might say I'm a regular, now that I've been twice.  Last year was incredibly disappointing in terms of pictures and this year was only marginally better.  I've started the process of editing them and have found a couple I like so far.  I don't know whether they'll go into the 'best of,' folder I keep, but they're decent enough to stick on here at the very least.  (Truth be told one or two of them might go onto the Japanese calendars I make for Christmas, but don't tell anyone).


Those updates will come about when I get home and don't immediately fall asleep on the sofa.  We've just installed new aircon and it's glorious.  It also uses 3.2kw/h at peak load, so it's very much a luxury that should not be used every day, but almost always is.


Frugality is not my strong suit.


On an entirely unrelated note, I really, really need a new PC now.  This one is huffing and puffing and often refuses to boot.  It's being a real pain in the derriere which wouldn't matter if I were a millionaire, but I'm not, so it is.


Hey, when I sell those 100 books though...

Tokyo Weekender Magazine

So I got back from Vietnam yesterday, around midnight.  I've spent today doing work stuff, uploading/downloading/reloading/side-loading photographs, going to the gym (I lost 4 kg's!) and generally catching up on all the stuff I should have been doing instead of eating frogs.

When I got back I had this magazine on my doorstep:

I didn't take the pictures this time.

 It's an article I wrote for Tokyo Weekender magazine last month, you can check it out by clicking here.

I've not read it since I sent it in, nor have I looked too carefully at the pages in the book - if I look at it and find a phrase I don't like or a spelling mistake then there's no changing it.  It's better to have the image of what I've written in my head be my truth, there's just no way I won't find something wrong with it if I do have another look.  Ignorance is bliss.

On an unrelated note I'll get the photographs done and put on here soon.  The computer is working on archiving, resizing and converting about 80 gigs worth of pictures and videos, and that's going to a NAS over the world slowest network connection so it's taking a while.  The jpg's will be ready by tomorrow (I accidentally off-loaded all the storage to the NAS, so every picture has to be pulled back onto the PC, edited, then saved back to the NAS which is monumentally innefficient) at which point I'll have a look through and decide which ones I want to work on and which ones can be stored away, never to be seen again.

I think I'll probably used about 200gigs by the end, with video editing (video editing is a black hole of storage usage, the space is gone before you even realise you needed it) and image manipulation (I think that's what the cool kids call photoshop these days).

Anyway, the pics will come slow and steady over the coming days/weeks (read: months).

The Outgoing

I can't remember a time when I've written a retrospective post about the prior year, or something looking forwards, so I thought I'd double down on new experiences and try for both.

The logical place to start is back, (not that time has a 'back,' or 'front,' but you know what I mean) so let's start there.

In terms of job, nothing changed.  I'm with the same company, doing the same work.  The only difference is location.  This year I ended up working with a fun group of teachers, so that's a bonus I didn't have last year.  I'm working closer to home, which means I'm not waking up at six in the morning, I'm sleeping longer every day which in turn led to me being happier overall.  It turns out sleep is pretty important, guys!

I'm still with the same rugby team.  I joined last year and there was a noticeable changing of the guard (I say noticeable, I wasn't there the year prior, so I don't have a frame of reference beyond what people have told me) that ensured we had a decent amount of energy going into the season.  We staved off any mention of the word relegation, and ended the season with two or three wins (I forget).

This year we were forced to play two relegation playoffs, of which I played one (I was busy for the other and could not play).  In all, this year has been incredibly disappointing.  Almost all our points were scored through the forwards, our attack had no flow, we made very few opportunities and made hundreds of mistakes.  Up to the playoffs I had played four or five games (I also had surgery on my ankle this year, which meant an enforced absence for the first few games) and only scored once.  The other wingers on the team had scored once or twice.  The fullback scored once.  I can't remember any of the centres scoring.  We probably scored more points in any two games last year than the whole of this year.

Our defence was not much better.  We were disorganised and, frankly, unfit, so we bled points even during the games we won.

On a personal note I made mistakes and struggled to find form.  It was difficult coming into a team that was already established, after a personal injury, and I will have to put in  a lot of effort next year to retain my position.  Try scoring is an important statistic for wingers, and I did not do enough of it.  The result was my often coming off the wing and working the inside channels like an extra flanker, not exactly conducive to scoring and also an excellent indication of the dysfunction of our attack.

No individual wins a game of rugby, but I will definitely hold myself to higher standards next year in order to try and drag us upwards, particularly in defence where I will suggest using an aggressive pattern (and of course be rebuffed because I'm a foreigner who doesn't know anything).

It's evident that no one else is going to step up to the plate on the pitch, so I will.




Machismo and bravado aside, this year I started a number of personal projects.  The first is a book.  I've been writing a sci-fi (yes, I know, hardly an inspired genre choice) novel that's reached the end of alpha testing.  That is to say, in literary terms, that I've written a hundred thousand words, and that I need to now beat and wrestle those words into a story.

I've seen people talk about their writing as if they were sculptors, finding a story hidden inside a block of imagination, much like an artist chisels away at wood or stone to find the naked Greek man underneath.

Writing, for me, is more like punching a bear in the gonads.  At many points I sat down and fought like a madman, foregoing food and drink (and occasionally sleep) to hammer away at the keys in front of me, thinking I was making headway in felling the beast.  Occasionally it would get angry and fight back, knocking me for six and causing me to seriously reconsider the endeavour.  During these low points I would peruse the internet and look to others who are writing for the creative outlet (as opposed to those looking for financial gain) and see a literal world of people who are better at it than me.  That's always a fairly dispiriting realisation, no matter how times you are forced to reflect on it.

Like punching a bear, this project serves no real purpose.  I'm never going to be a professional author (not smart enough), nor am I ever going to be published (no personal connections).  Despite being willing to go toe to toe with any number of Carnivora for the chance to have a Dream Job (tm) I'm realistic.  Sad face.

As such, I have some modest goals for my book.  They are as follows:

Goal the first, sell one hundred copies.  This is the big one.  The goal that means, in my mind if nothing else, that I'm an author.  I will note it on my CV.  This, for me, will be the fulfilment of a lifelong dream to 'be an author,' and to 'write a book.'  This is a dream I assumed I would target when I was forty and in the midst of a life crisis.

Goal the second, sell ten physical copies of my book.  Possibly with signatures.

Let's get down to brass tacks.  This is a vanity endeavour driven by ego.  The idea that someone might want to read whatever drivel I write, and that I am interesting or important enough for another human being to be entertained, is entirely self indulgent.  I am essentially saying that I am cool, and you are not.  That I matter in some way.  A physical book can last thousands of years and thus secures my legacy as a human of note.

Now that I think about it, maybe I'm having my mid-life crisis early.

Anyway, with the advent of on-demand vanity presses I can sell enormously expensive single copies of the book, instead of bulk buying thousands at a time.  My aim is to sell ten physical copies, each of which will count towards my hundred total.

The third, have a real ISBN number.  This one is probably the easiest to fulfil, but is likely to be the most expensive.  Anyone can purchase an ISBN number, but they're very expensive.  If you go through Amazon or other popular self-publishing services, they can give you numbers and bar codes that look like ISBN numbers, but are only recognised by their respective services, so are not true ISBN's at all.  Sneaky buggers. 

The point of this is to ensure I can take my phone, scan the code, and have it direct to a recognised storefront.  Should I ever meet someone who is interested in my book (an unlikely premise, granted) I want to be able to whip out my phone, scan the barcode of the copy I will carry around with me literally everywhere, and have it direct to a storefront with my name on it.  Did I mention I have an enormous ego?

Fourthly, I want a pucker cover.  I want a cover that is art.  I want it to be a self-contained story that is good enough to go toe to toe with the huge publishing houses and their artists.  This has potential to be the most expensive aspect of the project, but will almost certainly make or break it.  The cover is the first thing you see and most people will judge it thusly.  To get my hundred sales this needs to be perfect.

The fifth and the final, I want a review.  Not a review from the Times, or an online blog.  An amazon review.  I want someone to have read it and felt strongly enough to have left a review.  I don't care what the content of the review is, I just want one.

Notice how none of these goals have anything to do with the quality of the writing or how it is received.  Don't take that to mean I'm assured of my own genius, but rather the opposite.  It is not Discworld, nor will I ever be Pratchett.

It is also my first book.  The first is always a learning experience.  Who knows.  Where I will end up in the future?  One day I might even be adequate.  Now there's a long-term goal.

The rest of my top-secret projects will be revealed at a later date, that's enough writing for one day.

As Busy Days Go

So today I sent seven letters into the ether.  One was quite literally into the ether, as I had to e-mail a copy of the various university forms I must fill in every day.  I am honestly surprised it's so difficult to sign up at university, everyone is so cash-light at the moment that I half expected that I fill in credit card details first.

The other letters are winging their way to England and Korea.  My old boss is getting a letter, I started off at odds with her, but when nan died she did quadruple back-flips to ensure I got back to England in time for the funeral - from this point I realised that her heart was in the right place (I'll put the earlier disagreements down to cultural differences.)  Family will get the rest.

The only problem is that I wrote half a dozen messages over the course of six weeks, all failing to adhere to typical chronological structures.  They were a nightmare to piece together, and none of them read like a logical, coherent being wrote them.  They look like the beginning of a P.K.Dick novel.  In essence, indecipherable.

More embarrassing, I'm pretty sure I wrote about une fille charmant (my old housemate taught me how to say that around three years ago, thanks Josh.  Just remembered it for some reason) who is rather endearing, as they tend to be.  Alas, if that letter ends up with the wrong recipient, I will simply die of shock (in a desperate housewives voice).

However, in general, when I write letters I set out with an agenda, and then abandon it three lines in.

Much the same as this blog, if I'm honest.

If you're reading this Ria, this is both how to write a blog, and most certainly how not to write one.  Take inspiration/heed from the messages within!

So today was busy because I had to rush out at lunch to dispatch letters on a combined journey of around 20,000 miles, madness when you think about it.  50 pence each.  Utterly bonkers, but I imagine you can fit a large number of letter in a 747.

I also bid farewell to a pair of pants in the mail, but that is most certainly a story for another time!

My lunchtime finally over, I worked the final two lessons of the day, afterwards heading off to pay my insurance bill - only to find that they close at 4pm.  Bearing in mind no one works after 9 am, or finishes before 5 here; just as in England.  Opening at 9 am and closing at 4 pm is like driving an ice-cream van in front of a fat kid, just fast enough that he will never reach the infinite bounties held within.  Needless to say, as I was the fat kid in this scenario I was not amused.

I am that kid.  That poor, poor child.  As the expert commentator says, 'Ice Cream Denied.'

I'll have to think of something tomorrow.  Fat kids are devious, after all.

Talking of fat kids.  In a month or so, one of the teachers at the mountain school is having an open day for parents and teachers alike (it really is the smallest school) involving ice cream and fruits.  While I'm not too keen on the fruit idea, I'm all over the ice-cream.  Alas, it's being held on a Wednesday, which would require rejigging my schedule.  Now, obviously speaking, I'm all for that; and there is a precedent with such events.  The teacher at the middle school who proposes such matters is part of the anti-fun league, Japan chapter.  To be frank, he probably founded the organisation.  He's so typically Japanese in that sense, and his general demeanour, and his look, and his habits, that he's basically a racist stereotype of Japanese office workers.  Therefore, I doubt he'll grant leave, just for fun.  Being the devious fat-kid-at-heart that I am, I will think of something.  ICE CREAM, YES.  Fruit, meh.

That's all I can think of for now.  If you're family, expect some mail.  It (probably) won't be lethal, it's okay.

Four Thousand Page Views and....

Well my little page counter is telling me that this little blog has had four thousand visits so far.  These are not unique individuals of course, and the vast majority are myself, editing and re-uploading pages.

The other little secret to this number, is that I have reason to suspect some kind of attack on blogspot, (the page counter went up 1,000 overnight early in this blogs' history, and again midway through) therefore the actual number of hits is actually uncountable, and because of the idiot-friendly nature, and closed systems of blogspot, I cannot trace traffic; basically, no one will ever know how many views these pages have had.

In unrelated news I've started writing my autobiography!  I've always threatened to write about myself, (my own ego dictated that this be the first port of call in any attempts at writing) and now seemed a logical time to start.  I have an inordinate amount of time to myself, and reflection is almost inevitable in such circumstances.  To show the pre-empted nature of such writing, I even took a module in autobiographical studies at university.  Autobiography is an overlooked form, but pre-existing works outline any number of ways approaching such writing.  As usual I've just conglomerated every 'style,' creating a bastardised English that is actually rather difficult to follow.

I'm still debating whether to keep what I've written, as it realistically reflects me, but will (probably) make very little sense to anyone else.  It's also extremely interesting to find myself reading what is already committed to page and thinking; christ, this is difficult to read.  I've often criticised other writers for having styles that are almost impossible to read fluently, requiring an adept cipher inside ones' mind, rather than a curious mind.  They are essentially the kind of books that egoists and pretentious prattlers love so much - apparently I secretly fall among their ranks.  Of course the egotistical nature of my personality is not surprising, anyone who writes about themselves at any length has an ego measurable on the richter scale; but I've always tried to avoid pretence in everything I do, or write.  Except within my family and close friends, maybe.

On another tangent, christmas beckons.  No jobs as of yet, some presents purchased, the dole beckons, and tensions are (as always) frayed within all family departments.  This is pretty much par, for the circumstances I find myself in.  JET scheme (an ephemeral shadow organisation, spear-headed by God or the devil, depending on whether you've been accepted or not) has recieved my application and is now reviewing it.

And that, as they say, is that.