Monday, October 26, 2009


I'm Paul Cornell, I write stuff. I'm currently adjusting to the fact that my wife is commuting to theological college (where she's training to be a vicar), so I see her for a few minutes in the very early morning ('gah,' I say to her as she hands me a cup of tea) and for long enough to watch one telefantasy show over dinner every evening. But the Jedi powers she's learning make up for my writerly loneliness. A mate popped over to fix my computer the other day, and he was a little freaked out by how attentive to him I was. 'You're people!' I said. 'Living, breathing, people!' 'Yes,' he replied, backing towards the door. 'I *am* people.'

So we're trying to sell the house to move nearer the college. It's a brilliant place, a home we've really loved, but nobody's buying. Which may be because we painted the lounge red and orange. (It really works in autumn. But only then. As we discovered in our first Spring.) I'm also waiting to hear about a rather lovely game-changing thing (and waiting, and waiting, until, this being the life of a freelancer, someone will say 'Oh, what, that thing? Not going to happen, we heard months ago. You should have said'). And about another thing, which has been in a horribly stressful sort of limbo for a while now. And there are several more things in a holding pattern, any of which could either make or break my life and career.

Basically, the only way things could get more pressurised is if we tried for a baby. 'What the hell,' I said to my wife. But she just shook her head. She does the wisdom for the both of us.

So in the face of all that, I've reacted in two different ways: I've getting insane amounts of work done. Neurotically. Because that will shore me up against all horror. And indeed, you know, actually does pay off. And I've also opted to support a stress-related skin disease which needed a home. (No, it's just on my forearms, I'm not turning into... some sort of... monster.)

Yes, I probably do need a holiday, but we just had one of those, and came home early because we were sitting there feeling that we should be doing stuff. And I kept falling out of boats.

So, anyway, what I meant to say was: I'm really glad to be part of this gang. I'm glad the name of the group has nothing to do with Steampunk. That was the deal breaker for me. And my future posts won't be as whiny.

What do we owe, as writers, to an audience? To open these curtains behind me, and show them something, and then close them again. And that's what I've just done. And that's it.


  1. Paul, if we accomplish nothing else here, I'll stand with you, arm in arm, as a human wall, a bastion if you will, against the insidious encroachment of Steampunk into these ticky tocky shores. In fact, anything that ends in 'punk' is anathema to me. Never liked punks of any stripe.

  2. Ah. Now, it's the 'steam' bit I don't like...