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of DOOM index < | > I've got my special hangover-cure mp3 mix going this afternoon as I feebly putter around in the wake of the launch of Going Down Swinging #22, which teed off at the Old Colonial in Fitzroy last night. It was a good night, despite some last-minute issues that needed to be resolved, most noteworthy of which was the loss of our MC to a killer migraine and then the subsequent loss of our Plan B MC to three free tickets to Brian Wilson. Our final ring-in MC, Mister Michael Nolan, was a gem, a gentleman and a scholar, as well as being a brilliant MC in his own right: charismatic, self-deprecating, witty and efficient. All of our performers were great, and the feature event where we had two poets competing to see who would be the first to putt a golfball into an ugly shell-shaped ashtray, and thus be awarded the right to read their poems first, didn't fuck up or drag on too long or anything. In fact, it was even funny and entertaining. Praise be to Allah. I'll be writing up a full Jimmy Olsen-style report for the GDS news pages, complete with photos, in the next week or so, so stay tuned. Anna and I got to be the official launchers of the issue, so that we could say thanks to everyone and publicly announce that the two of us are stepping down as editors of GDS. I've been editing the bugger for six years now, and Anna's been doing it for three, and we both independently decided that it was time to pass the stewardship on to others, which is an important thing in terms of keeping things like GDS fresh and interesting and new. We also want to be able to devote more time to our own writing, and moving on from GDS will allow us to do that. So yay. I got to make five issues of GDS and now I can get back to making my novel after a two year hiatus. It's a win-win situation. I've spent the last three mornings tip-tapping away on this keyboard, getting a feel for the old nov', remembering what it feels like to work on a longform piece of writing, slowly eking out x-hundred words each day and flexing those novel-writing muscles in the hope that they haven't totally atrophied. |
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