Pulled Molars

Blog of current wish-he-were, will-soon-be author, Boyd A. Harrod.

What’s going on with me.

So, I’ve been quite poor at updating this. To be honest, my computer is becoming more and more of an overly technical radio/typewriter/occasional television set and its functionality beyond that is starting to frighten me — nevermind the internet and all its gas-bagging, which sometimes seems like a bottomless pit of everything that makes me socially anxious built right in the middle of my own room. 

Because of this all I’ve given you is some little practice pieces (I’ll stop that, I promise) and a picture of a slothtronaut or astrosloth or three-toed astroslothonaut – whatever you want to call it – and I feel like I owe whoever (myself, maybe) a real update. So, without further ado, here’s what’s going on with me:

  • I’m studying Graphic Design. I don’t intend to use the certificate I receive from this study for anything in particular.
  • I’m having my wisdom teeth out on Thursday, which is great but doesn’t tide over well with my fear of teeth and anything tooth related (but get to take codeine in the mean time; ye! silver lining).
  • I’m reading Stephen King’s memoir, “On Writing”, and wondering why I haven’t until now.
  • Among others, I’m also reading Neil Gaiman’s “American Gods”. Out loud. To my girlfriend. 
  • I’m currently rewriting a boring manuscript and making it fun. I hope to send it off and get my rejection letter next week sometime.
  • I’m learning how to make trip hop. I’m probably pretty terrible at it.


What’s happening with you? 


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Do sloths have fingers? (Not a post about sloths or fingers.)

I’m aware we all have a soft spot for cuddly, furry animals. Well, supposedly. The internet is awash with cats, after all, and if we didn’t surely that space could be better used (or it could in a world without porn). Even while I type this my own dog, Hahn, is sitting on my bed, like he’s not meant to, with a shoe is his mouth, which he isn’t meant to have, staring at me, and I can’t help but just let him do it. I’m a push over, just because he’s covered in fur and I’m relatively hairless.

But what really gets me right in the cute-receptors are drawings of furry, cuddly animals in space suits.

This one is of a sloth.


In other news, I just printed an early draft of a story I’ve been working on for submission to an anthology (I have all the details written on my hand as a reminder, but I won’t tell you just yet) to get it proof read before I send it off.

I’m just warming my fingers, getting ready to cross them.

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101, 101

It’s 1:01 AM when it occurs to me I must be tired, because I have totally just noticed those numbers are a palindrome, and I’ve told myself time and time again that one shouldn’t make palindromes from digital clocks. That would make for fifty-seven palindromes per day (sixty-five if you’re the military type), and I think we could all agree that’s far too many to be watching out for.

A palindromist that excessive, obsessive, would never get anything done. Frightened to miss the next turn of the clock, presumably beading with sweat (or shouting some nonsense about Scheherazade).

I know I have to stop watching the clock when it displays 1:11. Did I really just wait for those consecutive Ones? I should get something done. A primary blog post, perhaps. To introduce myself.

(Arbitrary, really).

My name is Boyd A. Harrod, and I just didn’t want to leave this space blank. I’m an aspiring writer of mostly science and speculative fiction. I live in Brisbane, Australia.  As of 1:21, the day of this post, I am twenty-three years old.

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