There's No Burger Like Cheese Burger

I’ve been working too much – stretching too far to manage the anxieties of a garden variety bozo, all out of fear of missing a mortgage payment. Or, when that seems imminent anyway, stretching even further so I can milk two cows at once. It’s difficult to choose between being somebody who pays my bills on time but exists as a husk of a man, or being somebody more like myself. It shouldn’t be difficult to choose, but it is. My family always needs stuff so it’s hard to refuse money. Money is a little sexy devil.

On the other hand, responsible people are boring.

I’ve been devoting too much mental elsewhere to the pursuit of more perfect products. You know, synergizing my core values and so on. I craved smooth reviews and incremental cost-of-living increases. Weathering the money’s unprecedented global economic downturn seemed a matter of hunkering down and forelock tugging, of glad-handing and grinning at poor jokes from powerful people (contextually speaking, that is – I seldom have the chance to impress a figure of real renown like Lord Black or Justin Bieber or Zombie Trudeau).

So where’s my unprecedented global economic recovery at? Continuing to skulk in the wings, that’s where. Shy, I reckon. Held in check by Illuminati. Ever o’er the horizon.

But playing it safe is wearing on me. More than that: it’s rubbing parts off. And I’m increasingly sure I don’t want to be winnowed that way.

I therefore resolve to be less responsible. I pledge to be less grown up. I release myself from being too serious. Money will try to make me ashamed, but I won’t care.

I’ve been a very diligent employee, but I think I’d rather go back to being the sort of employee who spends most of his time hiding the fact that he’s writing stories about robots and spaceships instead of working. I think I’m a genuinely happier person that way – poorer, less accomplished, but more ticklish.

Earning bonuses is for the birds. The output isn’t worth the input. Why sweat for the fleeting praise of schmucks? Breadcrumbs it is. Just stinking breadcrumbs.

Among the first steps in breaking free from this rut of responsibility is regular blogging. Thus, you can expect the unexpected content-wise for a while: I’ll be blogging about what occurs to me, posting the stories I’m working on as they ripen and posting whatever else in the meanwhile. All pretense of theme is hereby suspended.

Henceforth, I will be more random and vital. Read it or don’t.

That being said, it wouldn’t be real blog re-launching if I didn’t send out to sail at least one vessel of on-mission content. You can’t call yourself a wallah if you haven’t any wares. I am therefore pleased to present my newest dose of single-serving science-fiction storytelling, “Copy Error” (HTML|PDF).

Several more stories are also in the works for the comings weeks, including a fresh chapter for my infamously longest ailing serial. As mentioned above, between these bouts of new fiction will come fresh blogging on a variety of non-fiction subjects – rants, editorializing and selected scraps of ongoing life (often mirrored from my other channels of output like Hulver’s Site, Footprints or Wetmachine).

I will also be drawing whatever I like and posting it here for no very good reason. Consider, for example, this sketch from the series “Robots with Moustaches” which features a classic handlebar job (left).

Alternatively, here is another sketch from the series, this time depicting a hairdressing unit with a slick Fu Manchu (right).

Finally, I’d like to invite your feedback with regard to how you prefer to consume the fiction offerings. Given whatever eReader you may make use of, do PDFs cut the mustard? The fact is there’s a dizzying array of formats and I can’t serve every kind – at least not without a professional secretary. I use an iPad and I find PDFs quite reasonable, but I don’t know what the limitations or irritations may be on other platforms. Please do chime in if you have input on this subject.

Thank you for the patience of your eyeballs. Mad creativity resumes.