Thursday, May 27, 2004

So, blogger's had a facelift. And very nice it is too. Verrrry functional. I filled in the new Profile, I am so gullible for this sorta shit. Uploaded my goofy 1.5face picture, the blue one, goes with my literary bile. Then I noticed. Those favourite movies and favourite books and stuff I'd filled in had active links. I clicked one...

...there are literally tens of people per active favourite. This is not a surprise, I guess. There are a lot of bloggers out there with a lot of favourite things. Someone had to tally at some point. Apart from this one link, say REQUIEM FOR A DREAM, FEAR FACTORY or HANNIBAL. There were even a gallon of bloggers resident in my home town of Oxford.

imagine all those folks linking up?

Tuesday, May 25, 2004

What are you talking about? Hertzan Chimera's a surrealist. Always has been, essentially. Always will be, or so he says. Then, why are there four abstract paintings littering the living room of the self-confessed surrealist? "It's a series of four paintings. Two male. Two female. The surface of each looks like a starfield with a horizon line across the bottom. There's a big mummy one and a small daddy one. There's a small mummy one and a big daddy one. They're palettial opposite monochromes with distinctive coloured borders." the greasy little Chimperson was heard whispering into his bathroom mirror the other day, pouting and lifting his shirt to the spectres of the haunted bathroom.

and what's wrong wi' that? :)

Friday, May 21, 2004

Yup. All three parts of FREELANCER are now in the can. Daliville. Hoppertown. 555 Baconstrasse. It feels right to end it where it ended. I have no control over the narrative and content so why should I stick my nose in anyway and demand that it's "this" length with "these" happenings and "some other" conclusion.

let the story speak - and then listen.

Thursday, May 20, 2004

Yeah, it's true, I can't get enough of it. What you gonna do? I sit there in my lunchbreak after pounding another 3,000 words into FREELANCER. And there is it, making the veins in my eyeballs itch. CASH IN THE ATTIC - it's an auction programme. Celebrity junk riflers turn up at your house and spot potential antiques that would make a pretty penny at auction. You wanna renovate your crumbling house, you wanna buy a conservatory for your grandad, you wanna fix up your garden for your aged mother, you wanna marble worktop in your new kitchen. You gotta pay for it. Why not sell off those old heirlooms. CASH IN THE ATTIC is addictive watching, the thrill of the chase and the gory kill. The best episode (this one hasn't aired yet, but should) is the Junkie needing his latest fix. He'd have the valuers round to look at his rank collection of old Beatles albums and hitch-hiking socks. This crazed upper-head would be "flippin' the brochure" on his own dirty laundry bids and shouting and raving at the back of the auction hall until security came and dragged his shrieking hole out of there. Cut to a handheld shot in the carpark: the show's shifty-eyed presenters handing over the readies (sfx: police sirens roam about in the background suburban drone). Closing scene, we'd see the sad fucker race off down to the local park pursued by the camera crew for his 'meeting with the man'. An overdose scene would finish off the series perfectly.

if only....

Tuesday, May 18, 2004

That's what they call the sort of tan I've got, thanks to long walks in the woods and long bike rides down the canal; white chest, white upperarms, red neck. It's also known as a cyclist's tan, for obvious reasons. I am, as of this morning, 35,000 words into the FREELANCER book. I have reached novella three called 555 BACONSTRASSE - it's all going really smooth.

If it weren't for the fact that I feel utterly D.O.W.N. about being out of full-time employ, I'd say I was really enjoying the creative liberation. Actually, it's not the fact that I'm no longer in full-time employ that's dragging my spirits down, it's the fact that I'm not yet self-sufficient as a writer. I should be able to BRING HOME BACON. And steps are already underway, but it's a slow slog to grow a list of contacts. Still, I have a month of searching (theoretically) then I'll really have to knuckle down and look for MONEY WORK, be that freelance or permanent.

Good news is, I am on the fourth notch of my belt. A sure sign that fitness is my middle name. Hertzan (Mike) Fitness (Philbin) Chimera. That's one hell of a nomme de chaumage.

Here's a reminder to all you ChimeraFreaks (and I know there's a lot of you out there as I've been closely monitoring hits to the Hertzan Chimera website in recent weeks and boy are you guys busy) that you can sign up for the Official Hertzan Chimera Newsletter and have the chance to win ANIMAL INSTINCTS in fully-illustrated over-sized paperback format, illustrated by Mitch Phillips.

time to go eat a picnic with my lovely French wife - adieu.

Monday, May 17, 2004

Well, I spent that Saturday wandering round the East End of London galleries and let me say this I HATE ART. I just don't "get it". I actually heard a conversation in a gallery where someone was asking for a more,"green one." they were buying art to go with the room. Now that makes no sense to me. A painting is a painting. You like, you buy. I would never consider art a design thing. You can't just do a swoosh of colour to fit in with decor - for fuck's sake. Heathens. There was a generally sad feel to the whole of the London art scene. Poor little galleries with virtually no clients having to sell the LOWEST COMMON DENOMINATOR. They were selling not what the client wanted. They were selling what the corporation or the designer friend thought might go nice with where they work/live. This gave me even more determination to paint what I want to paint how I want to paint it. I will give the world art - my art. And fuck the consequences.

Christ, that trip really wound me up.

Friday, May 14, 2004

As soon as she looked at the painting, I knew she wasn't gonna bite. Damn, I hate that flinching look - you can see them trying to 'brave' the content, the style, the application of paint. The gallery owner was, however, very helpful and positive despite the fact that her clients would not touch this imagery with a barge pole. So, next week, I am on my first trip in ten years down to the East End of London.

so, wish me luck and blog ya soon.

Thursday, May 13, 2004

I was sat at home waiting for that full-size canvas to arrive at the art shop thinking,"What the hell am I waiting for a canvas from the art shop for?" I went to the art shop, got a slightly different sized canvas and started painting. This time I knew exactly what I wanted to paint. I had taken some pictures with my old camera, I gotta get a better camera. Something digital. I joined two images together as a sketch then flung right into the middle of the paint.

The first pass was awful. The second no better. Two days of struggle. I have to show this painting to a gallery on Friday (that's in 26 hours) and I am not convinced it's gonna impress. Usually, I am very positive about the work I do, or else I destroy it. Maybe my feeling of uncertainty about this piece are a good sign.

26 hours of nail-biting tension later...

Friday, May 07, 2004

This bit is only for those of you who believe in superstition and the magic number of the beast. I was in the local Co-op this morning as I'm still in between jobs buying some groceries or what have you. I put the items through the self-serve check-outs which I love and hate in equal measure - "Please place the item in the bag." - I got through the whole basket of items with no glitches, no computer crashes, no bent and twisted barcodes, no problems whatsoever. Beep. This is going well I thought, then I looked at the total.


Yes, the Number of the Beast. That was my first thought. Just a bit of random luck I thought, no harm in a bit of random luck every now and then, eh? I reached into my pocket to pay by cash. My pocket contained only £6.70 - that's a five pound note, a one pound coin, a fifty plence piece and a twenty pence piece.

That felt very odd such that I was looking around waiting for some supernatural happenstance to rip my livignflesh from my bones or something. Nothing has happened. Yet.

Today, I will take some photographs of NEVER BEFORE SEEN paintings, small-ish A1 sized gouaches from the mid nineties. I aim to get an exhibition of them. They're quite unlike my usual style.

25,000 words into FREELANCER, I'll put in another four hours on the second novella HOPPERTOWN after lunch to take me to 30,000 words.

I should hear back from the agent today about a couple of work opportunities in London - maybe this is where the Number of the Beast strikes his biggest hit. Let's see, eh?

that's yer lot fer noo

Thursday, May 06, 2004

Got my research material this morning from the library. And already there's 2,000 words of HOPPERTOWN on the page this morning. This should be rather an interesting twist on the imagery. Not using it as a background to a narrative as a set-desginer might use it, but more an aura, a personality alterer, a scarer.

I have no idea where this is going remember, tally ho!

Wednesday, May 05, 2004

Well, that was quite a surprise. After only a couple of weeks and 20,000 words, the DALIVILLE novella has come to a full stop - I have ended the "marriage of three" in fabulously gory style and moved the central character to the haunted locale of HOPPERTOWN. My main aim now is to ensure that HOPPERTOWN is pure paranoia to rival even P.K. Dick himself (I wanna win that P.K.D. award, goddammit). I don't know what really happened with DALIVILLE. And maybe that's the joy of writing on a wing and a prayer. So fucking what, was my first response. There was never any real plan, any real narrative, any real word count. So fuck it. I am gonna write until I am happy and I am gonna get three novellas out of the "FREELANCER" project. So what do I care if my plans for world domination fall at the first hurdle. 60,000 word books should become the norm, that's what I say, I just read both SLAPSTICK (or lonesome no more) and A CLOCKWORK ORANGE - both short books by modern standards.

I was never gonna write MASS MARKET 100,000 worders anyway, this final revelation just keeps me where I belong.