the bijou raconteur

stories at bedtime

2011-10-25T20:42:00.002+01:00

So I've been reading my most recent story aloud, listening for hicups, killing my darlings. I've always heard people talk about reading aloud and how much it helps, etc, but I always poo pooed it, because, well, to put it simply, I can't be told. Anyway, to cut a long story short, I've now come round and am finding it most useful (point to note, other things I heard were great and ignored and then realised I loved are; Harry Potter, Kindles, sushi, red wine, Mslexia).

I'm quite pleased with my new story. Continuing current trends it's written in the second person, but it's quite a departure for me because it's historical and has a happy-ish ending. It's also super short, which I like, 712 words to be exact. This is part on purpose and part because that's how long the story is. I'm going to enter it in the Ruth Rendell competition (which you can find by following this link here http://www.interactreading.org/content/ruth-rendell-short-story-competition-20112012) and I'm actually quite chuffed with my bad self because although most of my stories are earmarked for certain comps, not that many of them actually make it. This one will because I'm literally at that last "take a comma out, put a comma in, delete half a sentence, change a word" stage of editing and if someone put a gun to my head, I could actually send it now. But I won't, I'm going to send it on Thursday, when I've been paid.

Other things that have made me happy this week are the fact that I've been mentioned in a blog as a resource for writers, which I didn't think I was and which made me feel oh so important. You can check out the blog here

http://talking-in-the-library.blogspot.com/

she's worth a follow, she really is.

And I think that's just about it for bijou-news. November is nearly upon us and I am super-duper excited for NaNo, and my Arvon course, both of which are almost here. I've built Arvon up to mythical proportions in my head, so am a little bit scared that I'll be disappointed, that nothing can be as good as it is in my imagination, where it plays out a little something like this: go and meet lots of lovely writers and be the most inspired I've ever been and live in a lovely bubble of candy coloured prose and short stories that flow like a big flowy thing, and get really constructive - hang on, I'll be honest since it's my head - really AWESOME feedback about how wonderful I am and then come home and continue being inspired and keep in contact with people I've met for continued honest and constructive feedback and end up finding an agent and getting published and binning the day job and living happily ever after.

Sigh.

Sometimes, it is a bit of a curse, this imagination malarky...

I've started, so I'll finish

2011-09-25T18:28:00.002+01:00

Eeek, well my story is now published in Writers' Forum. It's really nice seeing something you've written in print, in an actual magazine which people actually pay for. Lovely, lovely, lovely.

In other news, I've found a home for my amazing title. It isn't for a story, but for a collection of stories (most of which are currently not in existence, or in some form of first draft limbo, or worse, incomplete first draft limbo). Anyway, I've formulated a plan. It goes a little something like this...

finish all the stories I've started

use NaNoWriMo to write more stories (I know it's technically a bit cheaty, but I figure that if I can write 50,000 words of short stories that I then look at and edit and do something with, it is better than writing 50,000 word of novel that is so jumbled and frightening that I don't know where to begin and therefore never look at it again)

pull all this together into some semblence of order and send it off to New Writing North for their Northern Writers Awards

send all stories off to competitions (with optional feedback) and make them the best they can be

enter the collection in the Scott Prize for short stories

So, if I follow this plan it gives me about a year to do all this, which is do-able. I need to think about the stories as an all-together and not just as stories, but I've had some ideas on how I can do this, which is nice.

I've been reading a lot of short stories recently (helped in no small part by the fact that Salt Publishing are selling collections of stories for 86p for the Kindle. Yes, that's right, eighty-six-freaking-pence. It's all kinds of awesome). So I've been reading a lot of short stories and have realised something - I really need to up my game. Like, seriously. So imagine an appendix to plan A...

practice, practice, practice

don't be too scared to do brave things with my writing

just be better, generally

One story that's stuck in my head is called Darling and it's by a lady called Padrika Tarrant and it's amazing. Absolutely make me feel a little bit sick with envy amazing. You should read it, it's very good.

Anyway, that's about it really. The husband has fixed it so I can now comment on my blog again, but the little icon where I can add a link and make it look like words has disappeared. I guess a girl can't have everything.

What's in a name?

2011-09-13T19:39:00.001+01:00

So I'm in the process of changing my name. I'm going from Miss Something to Mrs Something-Something (yes, I'm double barrelled now, I could have been triple barrelled if I'd kept my old name too but I decided that would be a bit too much). Anyway, it's weird. And there is a lot to do. I never thought about how many organisations have my details and now they keep popping into my head...tax office, TV license, Sky...do I have to tell everyone? Does it matter if I forget some?

On a slight tangent...I've realised recently that one of my areas for improvement is finding interesting titles for stories. I'm just not very good at it. I'm always The Something-to-do-with-the-story, which just aint disco, apparently. How do people think of good titles? Titles that are clever but relevant? I think this is the next thing I'm going to really work on and try to improve. Saying that, a brilliant title popped into my head the other day, so I now have a title that I love but no story to go with it. Apparently, this is how Ian Rankin writes, but its all new to me. My title is probably only so fantastic because it isn't attached to anything, like a really amazing photo where the subject has been caught at the only angle they look any good at, and when you see them in real life you think, oh. Was that you? Its a struggle at work too, as I have to give everything headlines and it is really hard - I wish I thought in witty captions, I really do...mind, when you're essentially writing the same stories over and over it is hard to be original. Ah, the dizzy heights of corporate journalism! Speaking of which, I must really get up and get ready to go to the office...bye!

Untitled

2011-09-07T23:06:00.000+01:00

You are still feeling a bit out of sorts since getting back from Vegas. Sleep is inconsistent. You didn't make any time to write whilst you were away and now have stories that you want to put on paper. Since your recent success, you have decided that you really like writing in the second person. You are going to write all stories in the second person from now on, although you are confident that this will just be a phase and you will return to third and first eventually. You are going to experiment, and push boundaries. It is somehow freeing, you like this. You are reading more widely now, reading books that make you gasp, make you cover your mouth because you can't believe how beautiful the words are, how clever. This is what you want, this is the dream.

Houston, we have a problem

2011-08-19T06:26:00.001+01:00

So for some reason, I can't comment on my own blog, or anyone else's. It won't let me. I don't know why, but it is very irritating. Not irritating enough for me to do anything about it, just irritating enough for me to be really irritated. But there you go.

Today is my last day at work before my holiday. I say holiday. I mean wedding. I'm oh so very excited. I'd be more excited if I wasn't full of cold, but I'm hoping that will pass before Thursday. My nephew, who gifted this cold to me, is well and truly off my Christmas card list, no trike for you, young man, oh no.

Well that was it really. I don't have anything interesting to say. I'm going to sit up in bed now and drink my vitamin drink and do some editing and then get up. Wooooohooooo!!!!

(That's how excited I am)

Fifth time lucky

2011-08-09T06:33:00.000+01:00

As some of you might know, one of my favourite competitions to enter is the Writers' Forum competition. I enter quite a lot. It's cheap. I've learnt an awful lot from the feedback they've given me. In short, I like it.

Anyway - wonderful, wonderful news. My story has come second, yes kids that's right, SECOND, in their competition. Happy, happy days. I am slightly elated.

The boyf (I can't call him that for much longer, I'll explain why in a bit) has forever been pestering me to write a story with a happy ending. I've been resistant. I like misery. My stories don't really have happy endings, but this one did. I didn't force it. It came to me that way. There was about half an hour where I toyed with some horrible things that could happen to the main character, but I opted not to go with them, and boy, am I glad I did.

The other reason this story is a bit of a departure is because it is written in the second person, which is very new to me, but something I actually felt really comfortable doing. Do you ever have a story that seems to write itself? Well this was one of those stories. Wooooohooooo! So I think it will be out at the end of August, I'll keep you posted.

This is the second success I've had this year. If you want to check out my other story, you can do so here...

http://www.gumbopress.co.uk/wordgumbo/wordgumbo1.pdf

I'm on page 19.

And in my last very exciting news? This time in two weeks I'll be on a plane to Las Vegas, on my way to get married. We're having a very traditional Elvis wedding.

So it's all go in the bijou household!

oh, so fickle

2011-05-29T16:30:00.000+01:00

A while ago, I wrote about why books are better than Kindles, about how I had no interest in Kindles, and would never, ever, ever even entertain the thought of buying one.

Last month, I bought a Kindle.

And I LOVE it.

I love that it is so light, and when I travel instead of having two (or more) paperbacks in my handbag, I only have to have one little Kindle.

I love the fact that it is linked to my Amazon account, so if I'm browsing and fancy a book, I can have it immediately (although that is quite dangerous).

I love the fact that there are hundreds of free books. Yes. Free books. Books that cost no money.

I love the fact that there are hundreds of cheap books.

So, I can't read it in the bath. So, I've heard a rumour that if you subscribe to a magazine, and end the subscription, all the back copies disappear. You can't share books (that is a bit sucky. I do love to find a good book and lend it to my friends) But...you know what? I don't care. I love it. Love, love, love it. I love it so much, I've bought one for my dad.

Will it stop me buying real books? No. There probably isn't anything in the world that would stop me buying books. But I'm getting quite a fine collection of unread books on my Kindle. Which is awesome. Next time I'm on a train, and I can't settle and I want to read something but I'm not sure what, I'll have a not-so-little library at my fingertips. What's not to love about that?

Happy Sunday

2011-05-22T16:59:00.000+01:00

Well I've had a story accepted for publication! What a lovely thing to wake up to! It's for Gumbo Press, and will be in the first edition of their Word Gumbo magazine. I'll post a link when it goes up at the end of the month, but until then, woooohoooooo!!!

It's one of my better stories, and one that has been doing the rounds for quite a while. I've sent it to Aesthetica (twice), Mslexia, Global Short Story Comp, Writer's Forum...and I'm sure there are some other ones that I've missed off. So it's nice to finally have it accepted somewhere, and (at the risk of sounding trite) it does just go to show that you just have to keep sending stuff. Someone will want it, somewhere!

Last week, I was feeling quite rubbishy about my writing. I thought it was crap and I might as well give up and the small successes of the past were just a fluke and blahblahblah. Today, I feel a bit more positive. So I'm going to give my story back-catalogue an overhaul, get more stories to the stage where I can send them out, and I'm going to send them. Because as a wise man once said to me, "if you throw enough balls at enough coconuts, sooner or later you're going to win a prize".

feedback and the art of making it better and knowing when you just don't know something (or anything)

2011-04-25T08:37:00.000+01:00

I like to enter competitions where I get feedback and a particular favourite is the Writers' Forum comp, because for the bargain price of £8 you can enter the competition and get feedback (if you're a subscriber, I think it's a bit more expensive if you're not).

This month, I sent in a story which I really like, but I was sure needed something doing to it but I wasn't sure what. I thought it needed perhaps some more conflict, or something else to drive the story forward but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. So I thought, I'll send it away and see what happens.

And do you know what happened? I got the best piece of feedback I've ever received from them.

Wooohoooooooo!

For the first time, they didn't pull me on the layout, thought the title was good, thought everything, overall, was well...good. Here, I'll let you see for yourself....

Hello Helen,

Landmines

Thanks for entering the Writers’ Forum competition.

Presentation: Manuscript layout is generally good.

Title: Very good. It’s apt for the story and works on more than one level.

Opening: Very good. This grabs the reader’s attention and takes us right into the heart of the story.

Dialogue: Generally good. The dialogue is minimal, but where used it does everything that good dialogue should.

Characterisation: Good, but your narrator’s age seems to fluctuate. I would suggest going through this with the age in mind and correcting the sections where the voice is too young or too old. Because of this fluctuation, I couldn’t quite grasp her age.

Overall: This is a well written and poignant story. It has lots going for it and your writing style carried me along to the end. However, you have a slight tendency to overwrite, almost as if you don’t quite trust your readers to get things. Often you explain something that your dialogue and narration has already made perfectly clear, for example: “But if he does wake up, he’ll know how much we love him and how much we’re going to miss him,” I said. This made her cry again [which was a bit confusing. I thought that was a nice thing to say]. You don’t need the words in brackets as they detract from what is already a well portrayed situation.

Commended - needs some work but has potential

Best wishes,

I have to admit, I was really quite pleased. I've tried really hard to follow all the (very confusing) rules in regards to layout, and I've taken on board advice from previous feedback about the title, and applied it and now my feedback is...good. Not great, but good. I feel like I'm getting there.

So I had a little think about what I needed to do and enlisted the help of a friend. The narrator for my story, Vivian, is six years old. I don't know any six year olds. We have a little downstairs neighbour who is three and a half and just adorable (quote of the day on the stairs yesterday "my daddy is sick of my mummy but he isn't sick of me") but she's really the only child we see on a regular basis, and even then she's only chatty sometimes.

So I asked my friend, who has three kids ranging from four to eleven, to go through the story for me and tell me what was working and what wasn't. She replied within a few hours with the most informative suggestions I've ever had. She hadn't just gone through the story, she'd written an introduction on her experiences with her children, the things they say and how they react in certain situations. I now feel like I can go through it and make the changes that I need. I now feel like I know what I need to do. Both of these are exciting feelings.

So this morning, I've been through the story. I've taken out my two favourite lines on Amy's advice as they weren't age appropriate and so far, it is going quite well. I'm glad I asked an expert as these aren't changes I would have made on my own (I loved those lines, but "kill your darlings" boohoo).

Right, ok, that's me done. I'm going back to my rewrite...bye!

writing courses for horses

2011-04-13T20:13:00.001+01:00

So I've just signed up for an online short story course, organised by the lovely Michelle at Winning Words. This is the third course I've signed up for this year. The first one is a massively scary Arvon course. The second is a series of workshops run by Kathleen Kenny, which will take place in the Lit and Phil, possibly one of my favouraite places in the whole world.

Three courses, ranging from cheap - relatively cheap - bloody expensive. And I'll start the second course first, the third course second and the first one is the last one waaaaaaaaay off in November.

I think I'm going to blog about what I'm doing, and how I'm finding them. Whether they're value for money, what I'm learning, etc. So I guess this blog post is a pre-emptive declaration of intent.

They start in May. Watch this space...

live from Greenock

2011-04-12T19:22:00.000+01:00

So my hotel looks like it's recently had a visit from the Hotel Inspector. I imagine she came back and took in the flock wallpaper, the little tray with a tea pot on it and incredibly modern shower and gave them ten out of ten for effort.

The hotel didn't look like this on the website. To be fair, when Claire (the lovely girl who organises all the travel and accomodation) emailed me the hotel details, she did so with a disclaimer that Greenock was a small place with not many hotels, so she hoped it was ok. You know it's bad crack when someone apologises before you've even got there. But no, I'll be fair, the Tontine Hotel is really quite nice.

I'm currently sat in the bar, enjoying a pint of Tenants (when in Scotland...) and utilising the free wifi. In a bit, I'm going to (wait for it) order room service and go and watch CSI in bed. In bed? With a proper meal, like you would eat in a proper restaurant? Crikey moses!

When I was away the other week, they didn't have room service in the first hotel, but I got chatting to the barmaid who was lovely so being in the restaurant on my own was ok. And the next night, I kind of thought my hotel room might be haunted, plus they only had five channels (oh! the horror!) so the restaurant was the better choice, but tonight, no, it's room service all the way. Well, I'll order in the bar and have them deliver to my room. But it still counts, right?

This week I'm out and about lots. I work for the Digital Switchover Help Scheme, and my job is to write the magazine that goes out to everyone who works on and with the Help Scheme. Basically, we're switching to digital TV and the Help Scheme is there for those who might struggle otherwise, mostly those over 75 and disabled, so they're still able to watch TV after the switchover. Part of this is getting out and about meeting the Networkers and Project Co-ordinators who deliver presentations to the public, which is what I'm doing tomorrow. I'll be attending a presentation to a macular degeneration group, so it will be interesting to see the Networkers in action (as opposed to being out and about on the bus, answering people's questions, which is what I did last time).

After that, I'll have a flying visit home and a night with the boyf (who has an infected insect bite, how horrible and how typical that it happens when I'm away), then I'm off to Huddersfield (first class, dontcha know), overnight at Ma Duffin's house and then to Birmingham. PHEW!

At least it's better than sitting at my desk, wishing for Friday...

submission Sunday

2011-04-10T18:10:00.000+01:00

so I've just sent two stories off. not bad, not bad

not as good as actual writing, but better than nothing. now I'm watching CSI and contemplating making jambalaya...oh, the excitement!

next week is another busy week in the life of your favourite roving reporter. I'm off to bonny Scotland on Tuesday, back Wednesday night then Thursday morning it's off to Huddersfield I go, stop over at my Mum's house and then Birmingham on Friday. busy trumps dull, every time.

anyway, must dash. I have some urgent chilling out, not writing to do.

when is a blog not a blog?

2011-03-29T21:04:00.000+01:00

When it is a line or two simply saying, I was going to blog, but I'm simply too exhausted.

I've been to Stevenage this morning, spent about seven hours on a train...that's a lot of hours. I've picked up a loyalty card for the coffee shop at the train station because I'm going to need it. Discovered that you can get a bacon roll for one shiny pound when you buy a cup of tea. How exciting. It's a good job I'm going back there tomorrow morning...

greetings from your roving reporter

2011-03-17T21:22:00.000Z

So I've started the job, and, so far, so good. There's a fair bit of writing, a fair bit of talking to people, some travel. The week before last, I was in Birkenhead. Week after next, I'm in Nottingham and Bury St Edmunds. Oh! The glitz! The glamour!

I'm becoming quite particular about capital letters, I'm learning all about brand identity (we are quite specific about shades of purple) and pantones and printing and mailing plans. I'm making contacts, writing copy, proof reading, working with the creative team.

It's all good. It's all new. I feel like this is something I can actually care about.

I haven't really be doing any writing. I should write in a bit, but instead I'm watching Choccywoccydoodah.

In other news, I had a minor victory which made my writing year so far. Check this out

http://slushpilehell.tumblr.com/

(It's all hilarious, but the important bit is the entry from March 1st)

Anyway...so long, fairwell, etc etc xx

new(ish) year, new job

2011-02-15T21:11:00.000Z

so I'm sat drinking peppermint tea and watching the Brits, thinking about what I can write and if it will be interesting. I've not been blogging too much so far this year because, well, I've had my stresshead on and I find it difficult to motivate myself to do anything other than lie on the couch when I'm feeling that way. but anyway, the exciting news of the year is...I have a new JOB

A WRITING JOB

yes, that's right. you heard me

A WRITING JOB

as of next Monday (if they bother themselves to get my contract to me, but that's another story and will just involve me whinging about how rubbish HR are, so I'll save us all some time and leave that bit out) I will officially be a Communications Executive. now, this is definitely one of those jobs where they didn't quite know what to call it, so they stuck "executive" on the end, but hey, it works for me.

so, as of next Monday, my duties will include writing and editing an in house magazine. I will have other things, writing marketing material, standard letters, blah blah blah, but the main bit of my job will be writing and editing.

how exciting is that?!?!?!?!

it's taken me a long time to get here, but it finally seems like I've alligned my writing and my working life. I hope.

so I only have two more days of old work left, then I'm off on Friday as they boyfriend and I are having a birthday and then I have the new job. and I might blog a bit more. because I'm in a bit of a better fettle.

new year, new things

2011-01-15T20:27:00.000Z

this morning, I did a new thing. I got up early (on a Saturday) and went to the GYM

yes, that's right, the gym. I went to a body pump class. for those of you who don't know, its like squats and lunges and general movement with weights. it hurts. and I feel ok now but tomorrow I imagine I will feel like I've been kicked down the stairs

yesterday, I did another new thing. I posted my story in a forum to get some feedback on it. I've never done that before and it was quite scary. scarier, even, than my writing group, but so worth it. so far I've received one critique but it is so thoughtful and so considered I've taken every little bit on board. a couple of the points I read thinking "you're so right". I guess that kind of objectivity comes from someone who doesn't know me, when comments don't have to be said out loud. anyway, so far, it has been an incredibly positive experience and one I definitely intend to repeat. the story will undergo a few more revisions and tomorrow it will be printed and read outloud a few times whilst the boyf is at the football (its the derby. last time Newcastle absolutely humped Sunderland but can they do it again?) and then it will be sent out. this will be the fourth time its gone out, but the first in it's most recent incarnation of being in the first person. fingers crossed it will fare better

the forum (should you wish to check it out) is part of Winning Words, a website maintained by the lovely Michelle, you can see it here

http://winningwords.org.uk/

ok, thats it from me. good night! xx

hello again, Happy New Year and all that jazz...

2011-01-05T10:14:00.000Z

So today I submitted the first short story of the New Year. Woohoo! Exciting times. I have plans to finish rewriting another two. One needs a lot of work. One, not so much. When you're rewriting, do you ever feel like it will never end? Like you don't have enough words in you to shape this little story into what it needs to be?

That's a bit how I feel. I just need to put my head down and actually work hard. It'll get there.

In other news, I may soon have nothing but time to work hard at my writing as I got told last month that I'm at risk of redundancy. I was a bit stressed, but then realised it was out of my control so have stopped being stressed about it. I have, however, found and applied for a job (inhouse) which is all about writing. I know. And had I not been at risk, I might not have checked the jobs board that day, so fingers crossed something will come from that.

Aside from that, I just have to keep writing. The devil makes work for idle hands, or in my case, he finds a remote control and puts it there and then I'm forever trapped in an endless cycle of rubbishy American crime dramas. I'm fast approaching the end of my two weeks off...right, must get a shower and WRITE.

Bye!

blogging from the bus (...or, pulling my socks up)

2010-12-09T07:34:00.001Z

I nearly fell over about 5 times on the way to the bus this morning. Boring, I know, but I felt the need to share. Now I'm blogging from the bus, the number 56 to Gosforth in fact. It was late but so was I so it worked well. To combat snowy conditions I've been getting up and getting public transport early. In inclement weather its only bearable when its quiet.
In other news, I've taken baby footsteps towards the rewrite. I haven't read it yet but I have decided where I want the action to start, so I've started. I want a couple of pages to take to my group on Sat. I'm quite nervous, but excited. Eeek! I've also bought a book on character. I struggle somewhat with character and its been a featured comment in some of my short story feedback so I'm hoping the book will help. Its by Holly Lisle if anyone wants to google it, and from what I can see it says you don't need to know everything about them (good, I don't know everything about anyone, doesn't mean they're not real to me) and just cos someone has a funny hat or an interesting walk it doesn't make them a good character. Anyway, watch this space. I hope it works.

Right, must go. Time to iceskate.

F.E.A.R

2010-12-05T14:25:00.000Z

Last week, I printed my NaNo story off. I nearly broke the printer (historically, I'm not good with silly things like printers and shredders), but, oh! how awesome it looks. It's a lot bigger than I thought it would be. It looks a lot more...booky than I thought it would. I bought a new folder especially and I've put it in there and I pick it up at least once a day and marvel at the weight of it.

However, I didn't print it just so I could oooh over it and congratulate myself. I printed it off so I could start to edit it. So I could begin what I imagine to be a very, very long process. So I can start to whip the opening chapters into shape for the Debut Dagger competition. I printed it off with very good intentions (not just to kill trees).

So what's stopping me? Well, I appear to have given myself the fear. Absolute, unmistakable, heavy hearted, want to take to my bed and lie in the dark fear. And for what? I've spent November knowing that it is rubbish. I've already established that I need to do character development, and that, in general, I'm better at re-writing than I am at writing. I've armed myself with new pens to write all over it. I have paper to write lists of plot holes, and research needed, and all the other stuff I know will need to be done. I'm ready for this re-write, but...I've also spent November thinking, maybe I'm on to something here? I have a half written synopsis where I haven't had to make it up as I go, it's all taken from the story. I have new scenes that I want to write. I think I'm just scared that if I start, my inner editor won't take kindly to a month of being exiled and will tell me it's rubbish. That the bad far, far outweighs any good that could ever come of it, that I was a fool to even think I could do this. Quite frankly, it scares the pants of me and makes me feel a little bit like crying.

Deep down I know that I should just get it over with, that its like being waxed or tattooed, a horrible thing that hurts loads but also only hurts for a very short time and then the end result is really worth it. So yes. I should start.

Or maybe I'll go and prepare the veg for dinner. And have a go at a short story. And drink some tea. Yes, definitely drink some tea. Perhaps tea will give me the courage I need to get this thing started, and once I've started, it won't be so bad...

hooray! hooray! hooray!

2010-11-28T20:04:00.000Z

well I've won. I've written just under eight thousand words today and I am exhausted. I honestly feel like I could sleep for a week but, sadly, I can only sleep for one night before getting up early and battling through mountains of snow to get to work. sigh. next year, I'm going to book the whole of December off.

until then, I'm going to work on my synopsis and get my first couple of thousand words ready for the Debut Dagger. oh, and I've entered a little Writers and Artists Yearbook competition, which really helped me focus.

I think that now I'm going to turn my brain off, watch an X Factor/I'm a Celeb double bill, drink some peppermint tea and try not to think about my story (which might be impossible). tomorrow, I'm getting a hair do and then I'm going to attempt some printing, although I fear that at a hundred and eighty pages (I double space) the printer may self destruct...right, I'm over typing. my fingers hurt. I wish I could gloat more, but I'm just...too...tired...zzzzzzzzzz...

and the weather outside is...

2010-11-27T22:32:00.001Z

snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow

it's almost like the end of the world, but whiter. much, much whiter. is it spring time yet?

the Universe wants me to win NaNoWriMo...

2010-11-20T08:33:00.001Z

...honestly, it does. I went to my paid-for-taken-by-a-real-writer writing group the other day, hoping to write something non Nanoey. We concentrated on scent. Kathleen gave us all a place to write about and mine was hospital. I'd known about the hospital scene in my story for about a week and a halF so ultimately, what I wrote was typed into the manuscript. I feel I can call it a manuscript now. Its over 32,000 words, over 100 pages (I double space, I can't write single spaced for more than a page, it makes me crazy).

So now, I have less than 18,000 words to go. My aim for Sunday is 40k. I'd like to finish by next weekend, that would be the dream. I've been worried that I don't have enough story but I think I do, even though it keeps going in different directions, and anyway, I read an interview in Writers News (which I can't decide whether I like or not) but this guy (child, he was a child) said that there was a point midway when he was just thinking "novella, novella, novella". I'm glad its not just me.

Right, I'm going to get up. I'm blogging from bed. Oh! The decadence! xx

goodbye, cruel world...hello, real one?

2010-11-16T19:50:00.000Z

Sometimes, when I’m feeling especially lazy or my fingers are tired of typing, I will write on my blackberry and email it to myself. This also works if inspiration strikes on the bus (and its too wobbly to get my notebook out). The other night, I was particularly inspired to write quite a morbid letter from one character to another. At the time, I thought it was a suicide note (turns out its not) but the content is very “woe is me” very “goodbye cruel world” etc etc. So, anyway, I sent it on to my bijou email address and…it didn’t arrive. Turns out, there is a problem with emailing bijou from blackberry but that’s a different (and probably very, very boring) story. But it got me thinking. What if it hadn’t been a technical glitch in the land of emails and computer voodoo? What if I’d sent it to the wrong address? What if some poor, unsuspecting bijou version 2.0 had received the most miserable of goodbye letters, and not known that it was part of a story? How strange and creepy would that be?

In other news, I’m just about breaking even on NaNo, but an exciting thing happened to me at lunchtime. I was typing away, describing the village where the action takes place (which is loosely based on the village I grew up in because that’s easier, but this one is in a valley and surrounded by woods because, rumour has it, that is the best place to hide a roving gun man) and all of a sudden, it started to look very real in my head. In addition to this, one of my characters has an accent and I can hear it when I think about him. It hasn’t happened for all of them yet (and I wonder whether it will) but this is all very exciting. It makes me think that perhaps this story is the one that I will like enough to re-write, that perhaps this is the first thing I’ll ever really finish…either way, its all very exciting.

Day Eight...

2010-11-08T22:28:00.000Z

...and I'm floundering. It was going so well. So, so well that I spent most of last week telling myself that it wouldn't last (whilst secretly hoping that it would). I wrote a lot, but more than that, I really felt like I knew where I was going. It felt like after every bit that I finished, the next bit would just pop into my head, and it was easy, and it was fun.

Now, I feel a little bit overwhelmed by it. I have 12036 words. This is a lot of words for me. Normally, I create my worlds in less than 3000, so I've got 4 times that and I know there is more to tell. I just feel like I'm losing it.

I have, however, learnt a lot from last year. Last year I took the whole no editing thing a bit too literally. I didn't even spell check, which meant that when I went to edit it, it was so messy I was disadvantaged from the start. This year, I've been spell checking. I have flashcards with my characters on them, and others with locations. I've been making a list of questions I need to research later. I just need to reclaim my confidence and take my story back.

So what if I've missed a day (Sunday) and the words I wrote on Saturday were pretty much just a big list. I tell more than I show in my first drafts, I know this. And so what if my characters aren't fully formed? I know I have too many characters, some of them will die (literally) and some of them will be written out, or amalgamated with others. I'm not going to know which ones are the most interesting and the best fun until later. The first draft will be like the first few dates, the re-draft is where the relationship begins. And so what if the chronology is all out of whack? I need to know what happens first and then I can worry about putting it in order.

Ok, so this is actually quite cathartic, writing it all down. Writing a novel in 30 days was never going to be easy. Writing a novel which retains some semblence of structure and sense was going to be harder still, but really, everything worth doing is difficult. And the Universe wants me to write this story. I read somewhere once that you have to learn how to read the signs in your life, and last week, my friend told me a story about how the police wouldn't let her boyfriend go back to his flat because there was a man with a gun in Percy Main (they don't just not let you back home, they check that you have somewhere to go and give you a number to call for updates. Oh, and they don't tell you it's because of a man with a gun unless they have to). Then, there was a link on BBC News website (I'm terrible for reading the news when I should be working) which was an article about gun laws and how incidents like the Whitehaven shootings could happen, and lastly, I received a Celebrity Death Beep informing me that Hall of Fame manger Sparky Anderson had died.

To put this in context...my story is called Sparky's War and is about a man who goes postal and starts shooting in his village. Coincidence? Hmmmm.

Anyway, so I think what I'll do tomorrow is work through chapter by chapter making notes of who is where and what they're doing. I can make sure I complete the story arcs, and I won't forget where people are. And I can write on and finish the little stories that I've started, and they can all knit together and become a first draft. That sounds like a plan...right...I'll get on it (tomorrow).

Day One and...

2010-11-01T19:05:00.002Z

...it's going well. So far (watch this space for future meltdowns)

Plus...check me out!

http://winningwords.wordpress.com/

how exciting!

what a character...

2010-10-31T08:31:00.001Z

The last two pieces of feedback I've received have mentioned my characters. Namely, that they aren't believable, or convincing enough. So I've been doing some thinking about that. I don't want my writing to fall down over something that I should have such control over. And they're probably right, I don't know my characters well enough. So the beautiful notebook has become my character notebook. Last night I started writing about Sparky (my main character). There were lots of things I already knew, but it was still nice to get them down on paper, and there were lots of things I didn't know. Like the fact that he likes cooking and has secret aspirations to be on MasterChef.

Now whether this will make it into the story or not, well, I doubt that. But I don't think it's even something that anyone knows about him (apart from maybe his mam), and that's kind of interesting in itself. So the rest of the day, I'm going to be finding out more about Sparky, and my other main characters. And that character I couldn't name? Well I've taken her out. If I wasn't feeling her enough to name her, she can't be important enough. The role that she was going to play in the opening scene has been filled by a sister. It just feels a lot better.

So I feel quite good about NaNo today. Yesterday I panicked (my friend has all of her main points on cards, so she's going to write 2000 words per card. That's organised. Far more organised than I could ever be. I'm not that person and I'm ok with that). Today, I'm just excited. Let the madness commence...

panic stations ready?

2010-10-30T17:54:00.000+01:00

Oh God. I've lost the ability to write. A Halloween theme for our writing session today and I just couldn't get started.

Was it because I was hungry? Was it because I needed a poo? Or was it because I'm a horrible writer, destined only for failure?

So I went and did the only logical thing a person in my position could do. I tootled off to Paperchase and bought myself this...

Surely only wonderful things can be written in a notebok so beautiful. It can't fail.

technology is a wonderful thing

2010-10-29T06:55:00.001+01:00

I have a shiny new phone. It's very beautiful. And very shiny. And it's enabling me to (wait for it) blog from bed. Yes that's right kids. I'm not even up yet. I don't even have my glasses on. I'm lying in the dark, blogging.

Wowsers. This may revolutionise my blogging habits (for a fortnight, at least). I'm officially in love with my phone. Although the sim card doesn't work yet, and the sim in my old phone has stopped working, meh, a small point. I've managed to get on the home wifi and can access YouTube, which is all that matters.

In other news, I'm starting to get a major (MAJOR) pre-NaNo panic on. I've reset my spreadsheet for 50,000. I think that's enough. I think any more would be heart attack inducing and I'd quite like to live to see 31. I think I should have planned more and I need a name for one of my main characters. So far she has been Linda, MJ and Avis and none of them fit. I'm sure it'll come...I hope so.

Anyway, I'm off to lie quietly for another few minutes before I have to get up. God, I love this phone.

a tidy study is the key to...well...EVERYTHING

2010-10-24T20:31:00.000+01:00

I spent all day yesterday tidying the study. Not just tidying. Re-arranging. Totally. I dragged everything out, hell, I even dusted. It's been on my weekend to-do list since, like, May. I'm happy I've got it done. I feel serene now. Look, look at how beautiful it is...

It's a lot bigger than it was before I moved all the crap out of it. And there is a bookcase (and a box of crap) that you can't see. And I had to get creative, my study has the novelty of being en suite, so I've used the space quite cleverly...

I feel now like I'm ready, I've tidied the study, I've re-jigged my spreadsheet, it's set for 75,000 words, which is 2500 words a day, (yes, I know NaNo is only 50,000 but that I did that last year so want to push myself a bit more. So 75,000 is my personal goal, with 50,000 being an incredibly acceptable alternative if I realise halfway through that I'm mental which is probable, apparently I was horrendous during NaNo last year, thanks for sharing baby, I love you too). So anyway, I'm fighting fit, I'm ready and prepared, my study is waiting for me...so it's only natural that I've spent all day avoiding the study. Well, I wouldn't want to mess it up before November 1st, would I?

success (noun) favourable outcome, good fortune, successful thing or person

2010-10-17T16:04:00.000+01:00

I was asked on Wednesday if I define my writing success by publication/winning competitions. The implication being that I shouldn’t. I think I said no (I’d had a pint or two) but in all honesty, this is a bit of a lie.

I define my success solely by competitions wins (nil), shortlists (one) and publication (one).

I do not define it by the number of stories completed, redrafted and sent off, by my first delicate steps back towards poetry, by attending classes and groups, by being invited to guest blog (yes, me! a guest blogger!) I do not define it by winning NaNoWriMo – instead, I cancel that out by the fact that I haven’t been able to redraft.

Perhaps, as a writer, I need to celebrate my success more.
I might have a little party for me, Helen, the writer. I should bake myself a cupcake and have a moment to bask in the glory. Look at everything I do, whilst still working full time and committing myself to important things, like America’s Next Top Model and the Apprentice.

And so what if I haven’t been able to pack the day job in just yet? I’m still an awesome writer. So there

onwards and upwards

2010-10-11T20:50:00.000+01:00

These last few weeks have provided a valuable lesson in writing. I've started entering competitions where I can receive feedback. Plus, I've found a writing workshop which is run by an actual writer. So lots of feedback from different places. And I've found that the things they say about one piece of writing, can actually be applied across the board.

I can't believe I've never noticed it before.

Lesson One. Grammar and punctuation (I touched on this during a mad rant a few posts ago). Basically, take care. Don't give anyone a reason to throw my story in the bin.

Lesson Two. Show don't tell. I've spent years thinking I had this one nailed. Oh, how wrong I was. I'm good at showing but telling sneaks in there, and what does it do? Why, it makes you not believe in my characters, makes you not care what happens to them. Pesky telling! It's funny, but I've been working through another re-write (not the one that garnered the show don't tell comment), and this story needed to be longer, it needed something else I just didn't know what it needed, until I went through it with a magnifying glass, and everything that I had told I showed (oh, how I wanted to write shew there, I know it's not a word but it should be). Anyway, do you want to know what wonderful things happened to my story? It grew a thousand words. And it works better too.

Lesson Three. Adverbs. I love them. I don't need them. I must kill them.

It's like I can see my story sharpening before my eyes...

to leave, or not to leave...that is the question

2010-09-26T12:38:00.001+01:00

this blog post is currently under construction

imagine builders, hard hats, drills and scaffolding and stuff. got it? good

Ukulele-he-hooooo

2010-09-05T21:03:00.000+01:00

So the boyf is watching some chick play Ben Folds covers on a ukulele (thank you youtube, oh, now we have two random blokes doing Sweet Child O Mine and System of a Down, which I have to admit is kind of awesome). He wants us both to buy ukuleles but I am just not musical. Not even a little bit. If I was, I'd be a singer in a kick-ass band, but sadly, that is not to be. Bez is more musical than I am. But I have to admit, a little bit of me wishes I was musical, because what is more kick-ass than a girl in a band who can play the ukulele..?

I dreamed a dream...

2010-08-24T07:53:00.001+01:00

Recently, I’ve been dreaming about blogging.

Is this a sign? Is it guilt invading my subconscious thought?

Sunday, I did a whole big bunch of nothing. Which was great, but after a while, it put me in a really bad mood. I think it’s because I’m not writing enough. I’m too lazy and I like lying on the sofa watching TV. I need to make more time for writing, because it’s always worth it when I do. So this morning, I am writing (and blogging!) before work and I am going to write during lunch too (if I write before I go home, I can’t get distracted by making tea and doing the washing and repeats of Project Runway on Sky 3 etc).

Last night I also dreamt that Patricia Arquette gave me a bikini wax and then we went to meet my secondary school form tutor (Mrs Fay).

I don’t know what that means.

Failure is simply the opportunity to begin again, this time more intelligently

2010-08-20T08:23:00.000+01:00

So, I'm over my bad mood. I've had a week of not writing, of eating lunch with friends at work instead of typing and watching Celebrity Masterchef in bed (the boyf has banished me - it - from the living room). I am now ready to pull my socks up.

We have a "quote of the day" on the intranet at work. I think I am one of the only people sad enough to read them (I read anything put in front of me, especially at work). The one above is by Henry Ford (I feel like I should know who he is, but I don't think I do) and it sums up my thoughts - sometimes life throws you a sign, even if it's in the form of a random quote (that's probably automatically generated by the marketing machine).

So now, my thoughts have strayed to, where does my story go next? It will be the fifth time it's been out. I've decided that I will continue to send it until it wins something. It will win, god damn it. The next competition on my radar is the Aesthetica Creative Works Competition...now, this story went there last year, when it was still "The Journey". It now has a different title, it's a much, much better story, so my question is, do I send it again? I get two entries for my £10 and it seems rude not to take advatage of it. I was planning on sending a different story (and story number one is mid-re-write, so that isn't an issue), but thats off in the Waterstones Perfectly Formed Competition, and the judging has been pushed back so I won't find out until next week, which makes it a bit too late to re-write. So do I send it? Is that bad form? Is it a waste of my entry fee?

Decisions, decisions...

always a bridesmaid...

2010-08-16T20:58:00.000+01:00

I've recently started looking for competitions where I also have the option to pay for feedback. Last month (last month? possibly June...you get the picture) I entered Vanda Inman's writespace competition, theme, The Lie, guest judge Della Galton (who is all over the fiction section in the women's magazines). My story didn't place, but the feedback was heartening. She said it was a great story, gave me some good advice about some of the words I'd chosen and suggested changing the viewpoint and strengthening the end. She also said that I'd created a sympathetic character, which was skilled considering the subject matter (he was a paedophile).

I was very happy with this. Deep down, I know that sometimes my success is going to be tempered by my subject matter. Not everyone wants to read sad stories with uncomfortable characters, and ultimately, it was a good result. I've taken the feedback onboard and am re-drafting with this in mind.

Last week, I entered the Writers Forum competition and today received my feedback. Again, the feedback was good. I was Highly Commended (I'm assuming that because it said it on the feedback, it's true of the magazine too..?) and the points that they gave me were a) good b) silly. They let me know what was working, which was great. They were also quite specific about what wasn't quite as clear, which was also great - one of those points had been raised in my writing group, but you know what it's like with feedback, some bits you take on board, some bits you put to one side. Now I've been told twice, I think I'll agree to disagree and change it. The rest of it was about my grammar and layout. And this is the silly bit. Because it's all stuff that I should know. Stuff that I do know. Stuff that I should be doing. Stuff that I should have caught on one of my many, many edits.

So I'm quite annoyed with myself. I know that Highly Commended is super awesome. I know that for the amount of stories I've sent off in the last year, to have been Strongly Considered, Highly Commended, Shortlisted and Published is fab. I should be tap-dancing. It should be champagne and party poppers time. So why aren't I smiling?

I'm so close. I keep just missing out. And yes, some of this is personal preference of the judge, and that's absolutely their call. The lady who won The Lie competition, for example, wrote a lovely story involving a grandmother and her long-lost grandson. It was really good and she deserved to win. And stories that deal with elderly sexual predators being released from prison are not everyone's cup of tea. I totally get that. Coming up with a story the judges will love is half the battle, and something that is often impossible to predict and something that I'm prepared to take my chances with. Losing out because of stupid grammatical errors, and punctuation, and layout?

I need to up my game. Or get an editor. Or something.

there's no such thing as a bad blog, just a bad blog owner...

2010-08-02T20:55:00.000+01:00

on Saturday, I wrote a story with a happy ending. I know, I know. unprecedented. the subject was "the summer that wasn't" and after I'd been bragging to some other members of the group that I generally found writing exercises quite easy, perhaps because we'd had to do so many of them at uni and it was just ingrained, I suddenly found that I couldn't start. I wrote two lines and then thought, no, that's appalling. so I crossed them out and actually thought about what I wanted to write before I wrote anything down.

and then I had my idea. and my idea did not have a happy ending but as I was writing, I thought that my ending was not the most original use of the subject matter (in this case, a girl who has been saving for years to go round South East Asia for the summer, only to find that her Icelandic savings account that holds her money is frozen - bah bum ching - so she accepts an offer to carry a package to Bangkok for the princely sum of £10,000). now, the end of this story, with the girl getting caught, would have the required amount of misery, but would it be interesting? or would it be more fun if she got away with it, and went on to have the most awesome summer in the history of awesome summers. so I went for the latter and she got away with it. well, thats a tiny lie, the story actually ended with her knocking on the door of the apartment she needed to deliver the package to, but you know all those bits of the story that you know are true, they just don't go in the story? well, the very happy ending was one of those bits.

so now, I find myself, in the space of a week, re-writing another story to have a happy(er) ending. this is one is now in at least its sixth incarnation, its' destination...Writer's Forum, which I'm really enjoying at the moment. I wouldn't have considered changing the end apart from the imploring note from the competition judge begging for no more misery. well, I can't offer no more misery, my friend, but what I can do is offer a fleeting glimpse of hope. my character has been building herself up to this moment throughout the re-writes and now I think she's ready to take those baby steps towards forgiveness...it's a change that feels right for her, and sometimes, like a lot of things in life, you need to be nudged in the right direction. literary rainbows, sunshine and kittens anyone? yes please...

my life, for £15.13...

2010-07-14T19:08:00.000+01:00

So the boyf and I are starting an ebay empire. Well, I say empire. We’re auctioning off all of our old tat and intend to pay the money off the credit card. At the moment, its just stuff we haven’t looked at for years. Stuff that we don’t actually need. Stuff we have two of. I’ll be honest, I’m a hoarder, but the excitement of selling this stuff, auction stylee, makes it that bit easier to be ruthless. And when you think of it, it’s a bit like free money. Which is always nice.

We started this venture last weekend and our current running total is £15.13. Not bad. We’ve set up a spreadsheet and are busy tracking postage fees, looking at what sells well, what we can get the most money from. He reckons board games are a good money maker (we currently don’t have any of these to sell. We picked up a pink scrabble set at the carboot sale the other week but we won’t be selling that. Its perfect, its scrabble, and its pink, for crying out loud).

Once he’s fully mobile again, we’re going to go back to the carboot sale and buy things to sell on. I’ve suggested we do it like Bargain Hunt. Each have £10, buy lots of lovely things and then see who makes the most when we list them. As he keeps telling me, we have to speculate to accumulate, and one day, one day, we will find that antique silver horse-shoe shaped cigarette holder that makes our fortune. Of that I am perfectly sure.

Until that day comes, we will continue to sell our cds, dvds, bric-a-brac and clothes that no longer fit, and one day in about 6 months time, we will come home to find that all we have left are two deck chairs, the tv, the wii, pink scrabble, about 400 books and nothing else but tumbleweeds blowing round our empty flat.

exactly the look I was going for

2010-07-11T10:38:00.000+01:00

yesterday I went to my writing group - we have two groups, one in the main library for writing new stuff and one in the lovely Lit and Phil for reading stuff. yesterday was the reading group and I read the story I'm writing on the theme of "departures" which I intend to send to Mslexia in September. naturally, its a sad story. what can I say? I think misery is far more interesting. anyway, when I'd finished, Rowan told me that it was heart-wrenching and said that it made her want to go home and hug her children. and that, my friends, is exactly the look I was going for. it made me feel really warm inside. now I just need to write the other half of it, edit it, and get it off in time.

in other news, the boyf has broken his ankle. again. not the same ankle he did last time. the other one. how did he do it? walking. just walking over the bridge at Tynemouth whilst we were at the market. I've re-named him Mr Glass-Ankles...anyway, I'm going to have to leave it there because he's decided to play the Prodigy really, really loudly next to me, and he keeps talking at me, and poking me with his crutch, and I can't concentrate so I'm going to go and wash up instead.

lady of letters

2010-06-16T22:43:00.001+01:00

this week, I have mostly been writing letters. lovingly crafting letter templates, drafting standard paragraph after glorious standard paragraph.

and the best news is, I've only just started. there are many, many letters just waiting for me to get my sticky little mitts on.

oh, how I am enjoying my new job! may the letters never end...

a little bit of tweaking...

2010-06-05T13:22:00.000+01:00

So I told you that I’d pre-paid for a competition so I would have to enter, right? Well, as I pre-paid, I selected which story I was going to enter. It was “strongly considered” for last year’s Aesthetica competition, re-entered in this year’s Mslexia competition and as far as I could see, pretty much good to go, right?
Wrong.

I’ve just undergone the short story equivalent of thinking you’ll perhaps clear out your jewellery box and before you know it, you’ve emptied all your drawers, pulled everything out from under the bed and are sat in the middle of your room surrounded by piles of crap you haven’t had a use for since 2002.
A full-on accidental re-write, but oh! how I feel so much better for it. I’ve also given myself the luxury of time (it isn't due in until the end of June), so I can now leave it til next weekend and hopefully when I look at it again any faults will pop out at me, easily fixable, so I can then send it off.
I've also (finally) fixed the last lines of my story for the Waterstones Perfectly Formed competition and have just emailed that off. Over the last few days, I've had the inklings of another (longer) story, and the title has just come to me, as have the characters names so I'm going to start off by making some notes and see where that takes me. Originally, I thought it would be my NaNo story this year, but I need to start making notes now before I forget so if I play by NaNo rules, I can't technically start it yet...hmmmm...I think I will just have to see what happens. Its likely that I'll put it away and not look at it again until November anyway, so it might not technically be cheating...

Anyway, must go. The sunshine is glorious but I'm sat at the kitchen table being dedicated to my art. Go me.

odd day

2010-06-02T20:21:00.000+01:00

today was a very strange day. it started off normally, I spent yesterday out of the office so caught up on my emails first thing, chatted to my team, drank some tea, as you do. about half past nine, my manager and the rest of the ops managers, and our director, and a girl from HR (carrying a box chock full of letters) spoke in whispers and then disappeared upstairs. uh-oh, we thought, and immediately started discussing all the horrible things that this could mean.

whispers + letters = change

five minutes later, we (ie all the managers) were summoned to the fifth floor. they like to get everyone in a room and give news in a controlled environment. we've recently moved into our building, and the fifth floor is currently unoccupied. glorious views of newcastle, some upturned tables and big empty spaces. everyone was thinking redundancy, what we got was redeployment. there are two sides to our department, benefit entitlement checks (where I work) and community legal advice (where I don't work), and my department is getting smaller and people need to move over to the other side.

phew! is that all? well, thats ok...isn't it?

well, yes, and no. no-one is losing their job (technically), but there are currently eight managers on my side. David and I are off on secondment for a year (more on that later) and we need to cut down and have two managers transfer to cla, and have three managers left on bec. doing the maths, that means that one person who is currently a manager will have to not be a manager soon. and that sucks. and for me, it means that when I go off on secondment, my job disappears, and although I've been reassured that I will still have a job to come back to, no-one knows what that job will be.

I don't like uncertainty. I like to plan. and I feel so, so sorry for whoever doesn't get their managers job, because although I know that having a job is better than having no job at all, and it could be an awful lot worse, the reality of being the one person who doesn't get it would be absolutely mortifying. and this person will be one of my friends.

as for me, well, I have a year to find myself a permanent job. a lot can happen in a year. part of me thinks, ok, I hadn't really intended to return from this secondment anyway. the plan had always been to find another job (more money, etc) and now my hand has been forced and thats ok. and then, another part of me thinks, sometimes life hands you a ready made deadline, and I should take advantage of it. a lot can get written in a year...

perhaps I should harness this uncertainty and use it to motivate myself. why perhaps? that is exactly what I should do...

in other news, with my new secondment comes a work blackberry. I am more excited by this than I should be. I've already sent one sarcastic out of hours email to IT...

lovely, lovely three day weekends, I wish I had one next weekend too, oh, hang on, I do...

2010-05-31T16:29:00.000+01:00

oh, how I love not being at work. the weekend so far has not been super-busy, apart from today, when we've had an adventure. we got up early and drove up to Alnwick to go to Barter Books which is a wonderful secondhand bookshop. you take your old books and they buy them off you and in return they give you credit which you can use to buy new books. its a marvellous system that makes me feel warm inside. anyway, they didn't want all of my books but they still gave me £16 credit, and I bought £20 worth of books so perhaps I failed on the part of the exercise that was to come back with less books than I went with, but hey ho. such is life.

so now we're catching up with glee, and I'm thinking about doing some writing. I've paid for some competitions already, so now I have to enter them. right? right. must stop procrastinating...

busy?

2010-05-24T20:24:00.000+01:00

write write write write write write watch medium email for some info about a competition write write write drink a cup of peppermint tea and think about eating some icecream write write write well possibly more typing than actually writing does it still count? type type type type typey type type look on facebook phone my mum type type typey type type

the end

absence makes the heart grow fonder (is this true??)

2010-05-23T16:37:00.000+01:00

hello. yes, I know, I know, its been a while. quite a while. a bit too long, perhaps. internet me went a bit shrivelled and wilted like a plant that I've been tasked to care for (I am very good at killing plants. every so often I decide that I'll buy living herbs and always have lovely fresh herbs for when I cook. I think I managed to keep some coriander alive for a week, once)

anyway, I have been watered (with tea) and now I am back. hooray! the reasons for my lengthy hiatus are...

laziness (always a big reason)
Las Vegas (where highlights included, but were not limited to, some small scale gambling wins, lunch in the revolving restaurant on top of the Stratosphere, watching Peepshow starring Holly Madison of Girls of the Playboy Mansion fame, a DJ set by Mix Master Mike where there was hardly anyone there and we threw some awesome shapes and it was a bit like a private disco, and then I harassed him loads at the end getting lots of things signed for almost everyone we know, getting an industrial ear piercing and buying a designer dress)
a sunny weekend in Newcastle (where we've been to Tynemouth and eaten cider lollies and been to town and I found everything I was looking for and the boyf took me to the Vietnamese restaurant for my lunch, oh, and I've pitched my very pink tent in the back garden in the hope that it will rain soon so it will "weather" before I go to Glasto)
applying for - and getting - a secondment. eeek! for the first time in a very long time I will be doing a job that doesn't involve benefits. scary, but exciting

anyway, they're really just excuses, but I have been very busy having fun and sadly, when I do this, the first thing to slip is my writing. I did write a little bit in Vegas, I started an awesome story for the next Mslexia submission on "Departures", I just hope I can pull it off (and get it in in time!!) I also worked on a story for a really good competition, and the idea was good but the story was terrible. no, thats not quite true, not terrible, just not finished. nowhere near. but because it was free I sent it off anyway. it made me feel horrible. I was embarrassed that someone will read it (probably not too many people as I imagine it will be binned almost immediately). anyway, I've learnt a valuable lesson there. although its important to set deadlines and stick to them, its also mortifying to send off work that I don't want to be associated with. I won't be doing that again.

speaking of competitions though, I've found a lovely little competition by Waterstones called Perfectly Formed

http://www.wbqonline.com/feature.do?featureid=505

very free, very good prizes, so really I think it would be rude not to enter it. and since my stories seem to always be on the short side, its the perfect competition for me!

next weekend the boyf has promised me a trip to Barter Books in Alnwick, so I've been sorting through my study quite ruthlessly - it is easier to get rid of books when I know I can exchange them for a credit note to buy more books. yaay!

anyway, must go. typing to do.

bye! xx

ps if anyone wants to see the very beautiful, very expensive, very designer dress that I bought, you can check it out here...

http://www.betseyjohnson.com/store/productdetails2.aspx?productid=8387&np=1101

its a bit longer on me (kind of top of my calves, the model must be a giant) but isn't it lovely? I have a wedding to wear it to, and then I will wear it to every occasion ever, until I get too fat to wear it, or it falls apart, whichever comes first. sigh. it is the most expensive thing in my wardrobe. its probably more expensive than the wardrobe itself. oh, how I love it so...

Eviction Night

2010-04-23T22:19:00.001+01:00

     It’s eviction night. I’m…excited. If that’s the right word for it. No, no, it doesn’t seem strong enough, it’s just not enough.

Excited; aflame, agitated, aroused, awakened, eager, enthusiastic, provoked, roused, ruffled, wild.

Thank God for the online thesaurus, it helps me define myself. But more of that later. Back to what’s important here.

     Its eviction night and I’ve been voting for her all day. Finger on the re-dial button, I’m nervous, fidgety, which is weird because I never normally get like this. I’ve never been one for reality TV, it’s inhumane, appealing to the lowest common denominator and you never know what might happen. Colonic irrigations and live liposuction, Richard Madeley being eaten by a crocodile whilst Ant and Dec watch on, open mouthed and horrified. It’s far too spontaneous. I used to hate them. I used to hate all of them, but then I saw her.

     It was love at first sight, I saw her enter the house at 9.21pm, she was the third person to go in which didn’t automatically endear her to me as I’ve always found threes quite confusing. As a child, I thought if you put two of them together you would make an eight. But she makes all that seem so unimportant.

     She is breathtakingly, deniably beautiful. An Earth Goddess, her favourite colour is black and she doesn’t like turnips, trainers or daffodils. Her favourite snack is stale bread and she despises insecurity. She’s an only child and an orphan, her entire family wiped out in a freak whaling accident when she was thirteen. She’s rubbish at counting and was picked on in school. I know this because I read it on her myspace page. It’s now my homepage and I know almost everything there is to know about her.

     I know lots of other things about her as well. I know I love the way she hides behind her hair when she’s moody, I love the way her eyes are different colours, I love her webbed toes. She is an eclectic rainbow of perfection, my anarchic angel.

     As soon as she stepped out of the car, tips of her shiny black boots pointing Westwards, I was mesmerised. I rolled the soft syllables of her name round my mouth like marbles. It seemed to call to me from a distance, the sea at the bottom of a shell. Mooma…Mooma…Mooma…real name Moira but she couldn’t pronounce it as a child so she became Mooma and it just stuck. Funny, because I normally despise nicknames on grown-ups, it’s a sign of weakness, makes me think they’re hiding something. But in this case I’ll make an exception. In this case it seems to suit her. Mooma. Like a comfortable chair or a favourite aunt, Mooma my love you have taken over my life.

     I love to watch her. Relentlessly, religiously, like an alcoholic reaching for the first whisky through a vague haze of sleep, unconscious, the TV on in the background subliminally filling my head with her. Lovely, lovely her. She is like sunshine.

    I had every reason to dislike her but I even love her when she’s doing the conga and her operatic rendition of Leo Sayer’s You Make Me Feel Like Dancing was nothing short of inspirational. The others only exaggerate how wonderful she is with their childishness, their bitchy comments. Darryl and Carol were in the diary room the other day and they said that she was insincere. Insincere? Nobody in their right minds would call a finger-painting vegetarian insincere!

     It was only logical really, this next step. It was the only thing to do. When I saw her big, promotional cardboard cut out, poised as if to jump, her features contorted into an unnatural expression of “look how zany I am! watch me defy convention!” When I saw her there, alone in a sea of other housemate’s friends and familiars I knew. I knew what I had to do.

     Now I’m here, I can’t quite believe it. Can’t quite believe I did it. I normally think spontaneity is so over-rated but here I am. Day twenty-one and I’ve had the three most wonderful weeks of my life. Like the holiday of a lifetime but without the foreigners. And there’s that three again. See what she does to me? If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.

“So, how long have you known the lovely Mooma?” our mock-cockney host asks, with just a hint of sarcasm.

“Oh, not long,” I said. I’ve never been one for lying and live on national TV is no time to start. “But she’s very important to me. She’s stolen my heart.”

I’m so excited, my hands are sweating and I have to concentrate very hard so I don’t accidentally wipe them on my trousers and leave marks. I’ve never been like this before. I never normally get so bothered about people, I don’t see the point. But she’s different. She makes me different. Makes me normal. Makes me feel what normal people feel.

     I feel like I’m going on a first date. Not an ordinary one but a big one, like an arranged marriage or something. I can’t quite believe I’m here.

“So!” shouts the over-sexed teen with the microphone. “It’s thirty seconds to go! Who will be re-united with their loved ones? Twenty seconds! It’s hang by the seat of your pants time! Ten seconds! And with a record ninety four percent of the votes the third person to be evicted from the house is…”

     They say Love changes you. She’s changed me. I feel like I’ve woken up. I can’t wait to meet her.

Welcome to the shortlist (some would argue that this is the list I’ve been on all my life…)

2010-04-15T18:39:00.000+01:00

So way back in January I entered a competition to write a story on the theme of Heaven…results are in today and (drum roll please!) I made the shortlist! There were three hundred and seventy four entries, and mine is somewhere between numbers nine and twenty. I’ve already had my calculator out. That’s top six percent (six is my favourite number). Well done me. This afternoon we broke out the coffee and donuts to celebrate.
I’m happy because I knew that my story was good and I just feel completely validated. The fact that I didn’t actually win doesn’t matter. I got through enough rounds to have my story sent off to the agent (yes, agent) and on a different day, with a different reader, I could have won. Its close enough to make it all seem worthwhile.

I feel so happy, and motivated and generally awesome.

If you want to see my name on the shortlist, follow this link...(my story is called The Chosen)

http://www.callytaylor.co.uk/competitions.html

this is awesome

2010-04-07T20:38:00.000+01:00

my new favourite song...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8pbdLqTh_x4&feature=related

and check this out too, I would really like to be friends with these people!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0xrfc_QQnAA&feature=related

I think I'm going to see if Cal fancies starting some sort of maverick interpretive dance group and taking it onto the streets of Newcastle...hmmmm...naturally, I'm supposed to be writing now. I'm finishing my story for the Biscuit competition. I'm not pissing about on you tube, and I am not going to go and see if the Glastonbury line-up has been announced (keep your fingers crossed for Dolly Parton)

The Secret

2010-04-05T19:54:00.002+01:00

     You always made a big deal out of my birthday. There would always be a party, and you would always bake a cake and dance with the neighbours, swinging the women round in your strong arms, twirling little girls and drinking beer with the men. As I got older, you would always phone early and wake me up.

     That’s how I knew that something was up, before Mum called me and told me. It was my birthday, and you hadn’t phoned at 6am. Mum phoned at midday.
“He’s dead, isn’t he?”

     She’d found you on the sofa that morning. Cold cup of tea balanced on the arm, cigarette burnt down to the butt in the ashtray in front of you. You’d been dead for hours. Almost twelve by the time I found out. She hadn’t wanted to tell me, hadn’t wanted to ruin my birthday and make it the day you died. But it was always going to be that day, no matter how long she tried to put it off for.

     The funeral passed in a blur. Crematorium. Pub. Club. You’d always been the one who would encourage everyone to remember the good times. Jake tried to do that for you, to step up to be you but your shoes were too big. Mum had pulled out one of your old suits for him, quickly taken it up and in. I couldn’t believe my son was almost as big as you. It didn’t seem right.

     Afterwards, I drank your best Merlot and went through your things. Mum was asleep so it was just me, on my own with your memories. I heaved boxes down from the loft, knowing Mum would struggle on her own and really thinking I was helping. I thought that I would finally get to know a bit more about you. About the family you never spoke of, of your past before you met Mum and had me.

     The box, when I found it, just looked like any old box. It didn’t have any taped warning, no signs, “no do not open”. So I opened it. And nothing, at first, old photos of you when you were a child – oh, you looked like Jake! Your mother was an austere looking woman, all drawn face and high necked dress. And you had a brother. I never knew this. A letter you’d written home when you were in the army, postcards from far away places. Nestled in between all these things, a single, faded newspaper cutting.

     ‘Local man charged with murder’ and a photo. Of you. ’Gerald Rafferty, 21, of Heddon Street, was today found guilty –‘
I woke Mum up.
“Did you know?” I asked. She shook her head.
“He was 43 when I met him, he seemed so wordly. I was just 19. I didn’t think to ask what he’d been doing, and by the time I did, it just didn’t seem right.”

     I sat on your bed and sobbed quietly.
“Oh, Pandora,” she said.

Saturday, just before midday

2010-04-03T11:54:00.000+01:00

so last week I found out that I hadn't won two competitions, neither mslexia nor the writers and artists yearbook. I found both of these things out via the medium of facebook, last wednesday. I felt a little bit sad, as you do, but then when I read the winning story for the writers and artists yearbook competition, I stopped feeling sad because it was so lovely, and much, much better than the story I'd submitted (which I already know how I want to change it in the re-write). I haven't read the mslexia stories yet because I am waiting for my magazine to arrive. although there is a place in my heart for the convenience of reading short stories on my blackberry on the bus, there is a much bigger place in my heart for having a magazine that I carry around with me in my oversized handbag until it becomes a little bit tatty (but not so tatty I can't keep it forever).

so one of my plans for the next few weeks is to re-write, and re-submit. I have Fishtank - which is new, and needs a few minor changes before it goes, and then my lovely little rejects, The Journey, The Lesson and The Shephard.

but as well as all that, some long weekend fun is in order. happily, my lovely pink tent has arrived, so I am, officially, going to be the pinkest girl at Glastonbury. today I am going to town with my friend Azita for some Thai food (mmmmm) and then I'm off to my friend Laura's house for some drinks and Goldie Hawn movies, before they become bastardised by Hollywood

http://perezhilton.com/category/goldie-hawn/

is nothing sacred?

anyway, I must dash. I have an important date with Jack Reacher. bye!

The Waves

2010-03-25T19:23:00.001Z

The waves swooped down on the beach, where Thora was lying with her head on the sand and her feet in the water. They crashed at her toes and dribbled and trickled up her calves. She stretched her arms out to either side, making an angel shape. A sand angel. She was a sand angel. Overhead the sun beat down brightly, making her eyes squint, the light playing and dancing in the corners of her vision. The waves crashed again and this time the water reached her knees. Clouds skirted across the sky, soft white shapes that were too far away to really see properly. She moved her arms again, the coarse sand chafing her newly pink skin. She would burn if she stayed out here much longer. Her mother’s voice resonated in the back of her head, a stern warning to stay out of the sun delivered with a kiss. She didn’t have to heed such warnings anymore. It was the surf’s turn to kiss her this time, as the water reached her thighs, covering the tops of her legs this time, caressing her with its cool hands. She continued to study the sky through her eyelashes. She guessed at what she couldn’t see. She couldn’t see clouds shaped like dinosaurs, she couldn’t see planets, she couldn’t see aeroplanes. She could see the shadow of a man stood above her. She lifted one of her angel wings, placed a hand horizontally against her brows and opened her eyes fully for the first time that day.
“Are you alright? You’re getting wet,” the man said.
“I know. I’m fine, thank you.”
“The water will be up to your neck soon,” he warned.
“That’s ok,” Thora shrugged, her shoulders making little furrows in the sand. “I like the water.”
“Well, if you’re sure,” the man said, stepping over her to continue his way down the beach. Thora was sure. She thought how odd the man was, how earnest. How nice it was that he’d stopped to make sure she was ok. If she hadn’t been ok, she would have very much liked someone just like that to stop and ask how she was. The waves landed again, pushing the water up to her waist this time. Thora wiggled her toes as the froth splashed over her. Behind her, she could hear children playing in the sand, digging a moat, building a fort, waiting for the sea to come and destroy it. What a funny game, what fun they were having. Another crash and the water crept up her sides. The sand underneath her was wet now, with each wave she could feel the pull of the sea tugging at her. Crash, it covered her belly, crash it covered her breasts, crash, it covered her face, her neck, her head and then she was gone. Dragged out into the sea by the sheer force of it, by its willingness to reclaim her. Thora felt her legs fuse together at the ankles, the scales wrapping round her like a piece of chiffon as she kicked her flippers, tested them once or twice and swam.

National Helen Day

2010-03-18T17:55:00.000Z

tomorrow is National Helen Day and I am oh so very excited. National Helen Day is a day when Helen's have fun, and they traditionally happen about four times a year. National Helen Days can last anywhere from a few hours, to a few days. anything and nothing can happen during a National Helen Day. most National Helen Days involve presents. past National Helen Days have involved whole series of CSI or Heroes. this National Helen Day, I am introducing Helen to the delights of Medium. National Helen Days can often involve making things, like trees made of wire, or teddy bear keyrings out of leather and felt. some National Helen Days involve Bingo! or Japanese food. I love National Helen Days.

so if you're a Helen, whether you have another Helen to enjoy your holiday weekend with or not, make sure you do something fabulous.

Viva La Helen!!!!!!!!!!!!

is that a yes then?

2010-03-09T21:22:00.000Z

so I've been getting arts jobs emailed to my blackberry for the last few months. every day at about 19.06pm a little email pings its way into my inbox and tells me about writing jobs all over the UK. its pretty cool. I've sent a couple of things on to my friends, and Laura is doing some music reviewing and I eventually submitted an idea the other week. and I've had a response! and it was very nice, explaining what they want and telling me to let them know...what does that mean?!?!?! is that a yes? do they like my idea? (recycled dissertation, I have decided that I might as well put these ideas to good use) anyway, its screenplay format, 12-15 episodes, 4-10,000 words per episode. eeek! so quite a lot.

I've emailed back. watch this space. it would be a lot of work, but it would be nice...anyway, must dash. the boyf is asleep on the couch so I am going to try and wake him up (unlikely) and then I am going to go and watch Medium in bed. series 3 is a bit weirder than the first 2 but I do like it, and am very glad I've made the effort to watch them in order so far. over and out.

books

2010-03-03T17:46:00.000Z

today, on the bus, there was a man with an e-reader. oh, how I stared and stared. see, I've heard a lot about them but I'd never actually seen one before, and now I have I think I am even more dubious than I was before.

these are my reasons...

when you're reading, and you need to flick back a few pages, how do you keep your place with one hand, whilst finding whatever you needed to find with the other?
what do you do when you need to put your book away, and read something else for a bit? but you need to keep your place in the book you're reading, because you don't want to put it away forever, just for now
I doubt an e-reader would survive if you dropped it in the bath (not that I have ever dropped a book in the bath, but I had never dropped anything on my glass-topped coffee table until I was holding something heavy enough to break it)
I won't be able to buy e-books in charity shops for £1, which will mean I will not discover as many new authors
I won't be able to take e-books back to Barter Books and swap them for credits to buy more books
I won't be able to sit cross legged in front of my bookcases and choose what to read next
how do you wrap up your favourite e-book and give it to someone you love as a present?

on the plus side, I would have a lot more space in the flat...

earrings = happiness

2010-02-26T20:50:00.001Z

this week I have received three rejections
1) I didn't get a "writer in residence" thing I applied for
2) I didn't get an interview for the job at the Arts Council
3) My stories weren't selected for the INK festival

so after work, I went and bought myself these...which are possibly, the most god-awful, garishly beautiful earrings known to womankind. I love them very much indeed, and they have made me feel much better about the whole situation. of course I'm getting rejections because I'm actually sending things off and putting myself out there. rejection is a good thing because it is proof of productivity.

this week, I also had a really, really good session at my writing class. we had to write linked scenes (like a real story), and due to a lack of time, I used some passages from The Shepherd (nee The Second, nee The Chosen 2) and got some really useful feedback which made me realise that there is still a fair bit I can do with it. so I'm quite excited to get that back (I should know next month) so I can rewrite it and get it off again. so in that case, rejection would be a very good thing!

tomorrow I am off into town early for breakfast with my friend Mariley, then I have my writing group, then to York with my friend Gareth. next week I need to finish my entry for the Northern Promise Award. busy, busy, busy...

The Garden

2010-02-24T22:30:00.000Z

We bought the house for the garden. An acre of land which just screamed "country" although by the time we moved in "country" had evolved to "jungle". We stood in the doorway on our first night, arms round each other, glasses of merlot resting behind us on the ancient tumble dryer left behind by the previous owner.

"This garden holds some secrets," you said.

I remember how hard you worked, mowing and digging and trimming whilst I busied myself ordering antique wallpaper and trying to get to grips with the Aga. You would come inside after a hard day's landscaping to find that I'd burnt another pie and we had to jump in the convertible and drive to the pub. You cringed every time we went over a bump and I would spend the time complaining about another unwanted piece of rubbish I’d found as I was going through the rooms. We’d never existed together in so many rooms before, the space was a luxury. We turned some heads when we first walked in, but after the initial silence people were friendly enough.

"So you've bought the old Allinson place, have you?"

We didn't know what the old Allinson place was but we nodded anyway. I remember we'd been in there three weeks when you called me into the garden.

"Look at this," you said.

I started screaming then. Hysterically. You had to slap me round the face and take me inside for a medicinal brandy.

"It could be an animal," I said when I could speak again. I had romanticised visions of a kitty funeral, father saying the last rites as the children wept.

"No, it couldn't," you said solemnly. It was your 'I wish I wasn't right but I am' voice. The one normally reserved for squashing my recurring dream of opening a bed and breakfast, or spending £10,000 on a chaise-lounge once owned by Napoleon Bonaparte, with no authentication certificate.

"It’s human," you said. "Definitely human."

The police didn't come straight away. There were some vandals down on Lower Farm and once they'd established that our problem was neither mobile nor particularly fresh, they said they would be there when they could. We went back out into the garden and stared down at the shallow grave. It didn’t look like much. A hole in the ground, a bin bag with a tear in it where you’d struck it with your spade, yellow skull smiling out at us. It didn’t look like a person.

"This is where the roses were going to be," you told me. I said that I absolutely couldn't think about roses right now, I felt too sick.

"That poor soul," I said.

The policeman, when he finally arrived, was nice enough.

"We're going to have to get a forensics team out here," he said. "Probably dig up the whole garden."

"I wish I'd found them earlier," you joked. "You could've have saved me a job."

I could see how disappointed you were. It was your garden, your project. I was upset at the thought of muddy boots trampling all over my reclaimed Victorian parquet flooring.

That night, we went to the pub again. I couldn't face cooking.

"Oliver," you said, putting a reassuring hand on my leg as we pulled into the car park. "It will be ok you know."

"I disagree Tom," I said, turning away. "I don't see how it possibly could be."

The news had obviously already gone round the village by the time we got there.

"I hear you found Linda Allinson," the barman said, giving us our drinks on the house. "Folks've been looking for her for years."

tidy study, tidy mind?

2010-02-21T22:25:00.000Z

so I finally got round to it. as a belated happy 30th birthday present to myself, I've moved all the rubbish out, shredded a lot of paper and covered one wall with brightly coloured pictures of the Virgen de Guadalupe. my study is now a lovely place to be. so it makes sense that I've spent the day avoiding it like the plague.

it was the birthday on Thursday, I say the birthday because it is like Christmas mark two in our house, with me being the birthday thief and all - the boyf also has his birthday on 18th Feb but with the dubious distinction of being three years older than me, he doesn't let me forget that he had it first.

the birthday itself was ok, we had a lovely meal, and on Friday met my dad and had another lovely meal, but other things (which I'm not going to go into on here) have made being 30, so far, pretty terrible. I hope I snap out of it and it gets better.

so I'm now sat watching the Baftas, and making myself update this because I feel like I have to do something. I'm also trying to get a good head start on my story for the Bridport Prize which isn't due til June but I really want to give myself enough time to work on it properly. and I'm trying to stretch myself in a few ways, first of all to write something close to the five thousand word limit as my stories typically hover in the one-three thousand mark. secondly, to write something happy and uplifting, as the boyf has been complaining that my stories are too dark. and thirdly, to write something so totally kick-ass that it is capable of getting in the anthology, or, heaven forbid, actually winning. so I've started, and I love my idea. and I know how it starts and I know the major event that happens but at the moment, I have absolutely no idea how to get from the beginning to the end. I guess this is why its so good that I've given myself so much time. I've ordered an old anthology from ebay though, so I can see what I'm up against, and I'm also going to write a piece of flash fiction for it. so far, I have no idea what I'm going to do for that. I think I might do something historical though.

so, here I am, waffling on. I mostly just wanted to feel like I'm doing something constructive, instead of wallowing in my own misery. I find feeling terrible so all-consuming sometimes, its very difficult to write through it. I've been reading a lot today though, which is nice. I'm currently reading The Cromwell Street Murders, The Detective's Story, which is exactly as the title suggests. its research into police procedure. well, thats what I'm telling myself anyway

go left at the next roundabout and straight on til morning...

2010-02-14T20:45:00.000Z

I really don't know why I get myself so stressed out and question my ability to follow instructions. I'm a bright girl, I re-read instructions a gazillion times so why can't I ever be confident and think yes, I've done that correctly, there is absolutely no reason for panic.

No, instead, what I think is, oh my lord, you've made some sort of horrible mistake and not only are you going to be disqualified, but the judges are going to laugh at you too. Hmmmm. Watch this space. I find out about this particular competition in March which is like a nano-second in writing competition time. And you never know, they might not laugh at me immediately. I did, after all, pick up on the spelling mistake in the title just in the nick of time...honestly, I must go and drink tea, watch something mindless on tv and stop thinking about this now before I develop a writing competition related ulcer.

Harness

2010-02-14T16:57:00.002Z

Big Hoss whinnied and bucked a little when Pa put the harness on. He wasn’t usually like that. He was a big soft horse. They’d had him since Cally was a little girl.

“What do you want to call him, button?” Pa had asked.

“Big Hoss!” was all she could say. It was a silly name from such a little girl, but it suited him. He sure was a big horse. Cally helped Pa load the wagon, making sure everything was packed away tight so it wouldn’t rattle and break. Cally knew that they would rattle sat in the wagon.

“Little girls are free to make,” Pa told her with a wink. “Good China is expensive.” Big Hoss pawed the ground impatiently.

“Steady there boy,” Pa soothed. Cally stood by and stroked Big Hoss’s soft nose. He wasn’t misbehaving, he was just excited. He wanted to go West.

The Lost Boys

2010-02-10T22:29:00.003Z

     Drake sat on the speaker tapping his black polished fingernails impatiently on the surface. He checked his watch again, the diamonds on the second hand quickly ticking off the minutes. Out of sight on the stage behind him, the support were just finishing.
“Thank you New York! You’ve been amazing! This is our last song – we hope you enjoy it and have a rocking New Years Eve!”
     Drake looked back at his watch. Where was he? Marty wandered over, clipboard in hand, suit looking as fresh as it had when he’d met them at Heathrow sixteen hours before. How did he do that? Drake wondered.
“Is he - ?” Marty started but Drake shook his head. No, Henry was not here. Henry had disappeared as soon as they got to the hotel. No, he did not know where Henry was. It was Marty’s turn to check his watch.
“He’s got about fifteen minutes.”
Drake jumped down off the speaker and started to pace. It was wrong to blame Marty for not being able to control Henry. He hadn’t grown up with him. Drake was the one who should have expected this – the European Tour, the X Factor, the interviews, for gods sake. How many times had he sat there and apologised to journalists for the fact that Henry had failed to show up? Henry was the one they all wanted, voted best looking, most charismatic, best hair cut. He thought he could do what he wanted, that Drake couldn’t get by without him. Well he was wrong.
     The audience roared their approval as the support finished their set and ran off the stage high fiving each other.
“Killer crowd, man!” Brody whooped as they clattered past to their dressing room. In the auditorium, the crowd was getting louder.
“Lost Boys! Lost Boys! Lost Boys!”
“I’m not going on!” Drake said finally, throwing his hands up. “There’s no point.”
“Don’t be such a drama queen,” a voice said from behind him. Drake turned to see Henry sandwiched between two leggy blondes, arms round their shoulders, cigarette in one hand, bottle of Jack Daniels in the other. “The show must go on!” Henry exclaimed. Drake’s face was set in hard lines now, his teeth clenched together.
“Oh, don’t such be a cliché, Drakey,” Henry said, disentangling himself from the blondes and going to put his arm round Drake. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”
“I’m the cliché? I’m the cliché?” Drake shouted, striding away. “I’m not Mr Rock and Roll, chasing the girls, turning up whenever he feels like it!”
“You’re jealous.”
Drake spun round, grabbed Henry by his coolly up-turned collar and slammed him against the wall.
“It was only one night, Drake. Get over it.”
The two men glared at each other. In the background, the crowd continued chanting.
“Right, the rest of the lads are here,” Marty intervened. “Now are you two going to kiss and make up, or shall we call the whole show off?”

Sunday, Sunday, here again in tidy attire

2010-02-07T15:44:00.002Z

I have just deleted the blog I posted at 3.30 on account of it being Far Too Miserable. I won't bore you with all of the details, in two short sentences it was...

oh where, oh where has my Sunday gone?

(and)

job applications eat my soul

I've since decided that I don't want to whinge, and whinge, and whinge. so I've stopped it!

my plans for the evening include watching tv, and possibly making myself a fish finger sandwich in a bit. and absolutely, definitely NO wallowing in a vat of self pity

to do

2010-02-06T09:34:00.001Z

today I am going to...

apply for a job
write a full first draft of a story about Haiti for one of the many competitions that have sprung up
start to re-write The Second (due in next Sun)
drink lots of tea
make Chinese curry
do some washing
(tidy the study)*

the end

* this is in brackets as it is always on my to do list, rarely gets done and sadly never stays done

almuerzo de senoritas

2010-02-05T15:09:00.001Z

today, I am a lady who lunches in the Cuban stylee.

after a horrendous morning full of irrational fears and lots of tears (I had to go for another blood test, the fourth one in three weeks as they thought I was diabetic but I'm not, I just have high blood sugar, but in this particular blood test my vein collapsed whilst she was doing it and then it took her another two veins before she found one that produced, by which point I was quietly inconsolable). anyhoo, horrible morning, then I decided to get off the bus on Chilli Road and bought a super-cute dress (and a book, and some organic, fair trade dried mango from Burkina Faso, which is a poor substitute for a toffee crisp now I have to cut out sugar) and then on to my friend Mariley's for lunch and writing.

and oh! what a lunch! we had cheese omelette and salad and rice and Cuban black beans - mmmmmmmmmm!!!!!! as the boyf cooks once in a blue sparkly moon, part of me just loves having a nice meal that I've had no input in, but aside from that, it was absolutely delish and prepared with care and beans sent over from Cuba!...and so we ate amazing food, and drank wine (shit morning+day off work+lunch with a good friend = nice pink wine) and gossiped a little and then Mariley talked about Cuba. and then I felt really bad for feeling bad about my life. I have always considered myself open-minded and I've travelled through Asia and have seen things that a lot of my friends haven't seen, but crikey. I've never really understood what free speech means, or considered the constraints that some people have on them, purely for the country they were born in. I have never needed anything, I mean, I've (occasionally) wanted for things I haven't got, but when it comes to actually needing things? no. I've never, ever had to go with out. and I'm currently working myself up to the point of a nervous breakdown because I have to use sweetener instead of sugar in my tea, not eat chocolate every day and am fearful that I've formatted a competition entry incorrectly?

sometimes it just takes a little lunch to help put it all back in perspective...

adios x

Debut Dagger

2010-02-03T21:42:00.002Z

so the deadline for Debut Dagger is Saturday. last Monday, I almost gave up, thinking everything was truly awful. then I decided I would aim to get it sent in on Friday. today, I sent it off. my entry number has a few sixes in it (six is my favourite number, I'm taking that as a sign)

woo hoo!

I have been meaning to enter that competition for the last three years. it is, in my mind, the Daddy of competitions, with the real prize being the fact that lots of agents know about it, and could possibly, possibly read my work. and I've done it! hooray for me!

(now, also in tandem with the hoorays is the oh my word, what if somehow the file corrupted and I will forfeit the ever so slightly extortionate £25 entrance fee. bearing in mind that pre-netbook me was the queen of emailing things to herself at work so I know how to attach a file, I still had a major panic and had to call the boyf through to check I'd done it correctly. I am beginning to realise that extremely ridiculous stress is part and parcel of submitting work. at least in my world, anyway)

so, that was the point of this. just to let you all know I did it, and I'm pleased. having the netbook has really helped as I've been able to work when I should have been at work (we provide a face-to-face outreach service three days a week, Shazz and I were down there today and saw no customers for the last four hours. thanks to rubbish IT I can't access my work inbox or anything on my hard drive so can't actually do any real work, but I did loads of writing, he he he)

oh, and I'd also like to say CONGRATULATIONS to the lovely Cally. her card range arrived on the doorstep this week and looks fabulous. you can check her out here. she is ace

http://callyjanestudio.blogspot.com/

right, thats me done. all this being early has tired me out, and I have to go to Washington tomorrow (of all places!!) to talk about customer service. yuk! x

just some thoughts

2010-01-31T18:36:00.000Z

today, I'm in a good place writing wise. I think that this can be attributed to two things.

thing one - my gorgeous, lovely and amazing boyfriend has bought me a very new, very shiny, very marvellous netbook for my birthday and has let me have it a whole three weeks early. it totally fits in my handbag. its IMMENSE

thing two - at my writing group yesterday, we did an exercise where we were given a formula to write a story in under an hour. I was sceptical but used the formula for a story thats been in my head for a while which I haven't been able to get out. and it worked! it worked so well, that I have just entered it into a competition that I didn't really think I had time to enter (I also entered Five Minutes, which is on this blog, as nowhere in any of the bumf does it say that stories should not have been published before, hooray!!) so that brings the grand total of stories sent of in January to (drum roll please ) four. thats about all I managed in the whole of last year. so, go me

earlier this week, I was not in such a good place, writing wise. everything I was doing was awful, why was I even bothering, there was no point and I was going to throw everything in the bin etc etc. so I put everything away and luckily had a session with my writing coach who, bless her, managed to convince me that it wasn't awful, and I came to the following conclusions

conclusion one - my internal editor is a picky bitch, who is made more evil when I'm tired, or if I've had a bad day at work, she uses my low moods to get her foot in the door and really stick the boot into my self confidence. so, although I admit she can be very useful (I would say essential but she'd probably just get a big head) I need to ignore her sometimes, or else I would just sit in a corner and cry

conclusion two - my narrative voices have a tendancy to come out with random phrases and observations that they have no business saying. this makes my internal editor go a bit mental and makes the narrative look a bit...off. so I need to learn to look out for them

right, thats me done. nice as this is, it is not my debut dagger entry so therefore non-essential

procrastination, procrastination, procrastination

2010-01-24T17:40:00.000Z

I have lots to do, deadlines that are sneaking up behind me, ready to slap me on the back, shout boo or perhaps push me in the mud. I know they're there, and every so often, I peek over my shoulder to see where they are.

So what else do I do? You would think that I would work on my stories (synopsis and first 3000 words of the big story due 6th Feb, 2000 words on the theme of "Unity" due 12th). Because that would be the sensible thing to do. But thats not what I'm doing. I'm working on lots of other little things, writing stories that don't need to get written yet. At the moment, I feel like I'm overflowing, I'm having ideas left, right and centre and am almost at the end of a notebook started in September (to put this in perspective, I have always had notebooks, always carried them and written in them - never, ever finished them, I normally get bored of that notebook and start another one - story of my writing life). Having ideas is great, I just need to control them.

Right, must go and get on. Much as I like writing this blog, it is not on my immediate to do list...

organisation, organisation, organisation

2010-01-19T22:28:00.000Z

January has been a defining month in the grand scheme of getting my act together. its official! I have a cats-in-hats calendar with DEADLINES on it, its just to the left of where I sit, in my study (not where I sit right now, I'm currently in bed, because I am LAZY)

my approach, so far, this month (bar today) has been quite business-like. I have written on a Friday night. I have dragged myself out of bed, in the rain no less, and been in town for 9.30am on a Saturday morning to go to a writing group. I have fixed the printer so I can print things at home (granted, they will only print in blue but thats ok when it is just for me) overall, it is all good. it appears to be working, at some point tomorrow I will send two stories off, taking January's total to three (which is exactly three times the New Years Resolution minimum), so if we could all just take a little moment and give me a round of applause, that would be nice. hooray! hooray!

one thing that helps is planning my stories. tomorrow, I enter the Mslexia competition (deadline is on Monday, ideally, as the year progresses, I will gain an increased sense of urgency and send things off well in advance). I have known for about three months which stories are going in, and I paid for them about an hour ago (paid to enter them, that is, not paid for the stories) thinking that once I had paid I would absolutely definitely make sure I got the last final things done and got them entered. and I will. they're emailed to work and I'm going to go in early and print them and re-check them and send them. but one thing I noticed, when I re-read them, for the first time together is that they are quite similar. well, they are and they aren't. one is a story of a woman going to visit her mother, and the other is a story about a teenage girl, but lets just say I definitely have a theme. which I didn't think I did before. I'm sending them anyway, as I think to deviate from the plan at this stage would be disastrous, and I do think they're both good stories, I just hope that they aren't read one after the other.

in other, non-writing news, the boyf sprained his ankle whilst running the other day and I've never known anything swell up as much but they were very nice down the general and we were seen quite quickly. it is an incredibly severe sprain and he's been off work since Thursday, the swelling is changing, like it has a mind of its own its quite disgusting and for a while looked like an old lady's foot and now (after he dragged himself to the match yesterday) his toes have turned black with the bruising. so, pay attention kids, jogging is dangerous.

we (I) also asked our landlord today if we could have a pet. I think the answer is going to be no, but if you don't ask, you don't get and he is having a think about it so I am keeping everything crossed and just thinking of kittens...

right, must go to bed (well, sleep, I'm already in bed). working full-time+playing nursemaid+writing=tired Bijou

goodnight xx

synopsis = pain and frustration

2010-01-12T19:47:00.000Z

so, I might have mentioned once or twice that I'm battling through a re-draft. plod plod plod. anyway, I'm trying to shape and polish it and enter it into the Debut Dagger competition, for which I need 3000 words (check! have it, just need to make it better) and a synopsis. which I started yesterday and initially found quite cathartic. so this is what getting my thoughts in order feels like! me likey! well, I did likey, until I actually checked the rules and found out that aforementioned synopsis had a limit of 1000 words. 1000 words? are you sure? is that all? cue minor heart palpitations. note to self, check word limits before writing wantonly in future.

so I am just going to have to get it done and edit like I have never edited before. adjectives? no, sorry, no room for you here. nouns...hmmm...well, I suppose you're essential...I predict lots of ugly joined up they've/there'd/she'd and perhaps I can just do without some words altogether, no ifs/buts/the but instead lots of ellipsis's...-...-...-it'll be...written in morse code.

I'm just going to have to get it done. whinging about it won't get the thing written, let alone edited...

right! off I go...on a happier note, I advise everyone to listen to Frank Turner. I got his album from Santa (well, my bro, after giving him strict instructions to buy it for me) and I love him. so there

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RS79ShMiLG8

wish me luck!!!!!!!!!

publication, oh, how sweet you are

2010-01-08T20:51:00.001Z

Ok, so, check me out!!!!
http://www.mslexia.co.uk/magazine/newwriting/nwstory_44.html

Not only am I in the magazine, but I am also on the website, and they've linked to the blog. This is almost exactly how the best case scenario dreams played out in my head (the only thing missing are the phonecalls from the prospective agents/publishers but hey, its only been on there a day)

Thank you Mslexia!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Happy days. I've been crying. I'm so soft (and watching Got to Dance, it doesn't help)

Woo hooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ooh! not long now...

2010-01-05T20:24:00.000Z

So, today I phoned Mslexia, stalker-stylee, to find out when the January issue will be published and they said that it will be within the next day or two.

So then I asked, so if I have that delivered, does that mean I will receive it within the next week? And they said YES!!!

Eeeeeeek!!!!!! I am beyond excited!!! But I am also really quite nervous. What if they haven’t published it? What if they spell my name incorrectly? What if the author (author – eeeek!!!) blurb bit makes me sound like an idiot? What if…what if…blah blah blah, aaaarrrgggghhh!!!!

New Year, Old Resolutions (with a slightly more practical twist)

2010-01-04T21:33:00.000Z

So let me just start off with a small confession. I haven't written 100,000 words. In fact, I have barely written any words at all. I have, however, eaten a lot of food and learnt how to make kick-ass key lime pie.

But all that is so last year.

This year, my resolutions (which its taken me a couple of days to formulate properly) are (in no particular order)...

to enter one competition/send off one submission a month
to spend an hour a day on the "big story"
to walk home from work a couple of times a week and go on the wii fit
to write more original stories for the blog
to update said blog more regularly
to try all manner of unusual and creative things in a bid to get paid actual money for my writing in the hopes that one day, some day, I may be able to make a career out of it

So my first submission needs to be in by the 15th Jan and is on the subject of "Heaven". When I told the boyf how I had interpreted this, he accused me of being morbid. Morbid? Moi? I don't want to give too much away, let me just say that it is very much focussed on the being dead part of getting to heaven, and how people get dead. I am very happy with it.

After that, I have another submission on the 25th Jan. One of which is an old story that possibly needs a little tweak, the other needs one final big sit down re-write but is almost there. So thats two competitions, in my first month! And I have February's planned too. And I have spent some time on the big story today (which, for the record, I am no longer counting in words. I am now counting in double-spaced passable first draft pages, of which I have seventy five. I mean, this is the kind of shit I could print and not cry over, its happy days), and now I am updating the blog. So nah nah nah New Years Resolutions, I am getting there!

In other news, Saturday is psychic night at Bijou Towers where the girls come over to drink wine and eat buffet food and a psychic comes over and we take turns to go down to the spare bedroom and pick stones and have our secrets relayed to us by our dead relatives. It promises to be F.U.N.

And on that note, I am off. Got to go and have a tidy round and pick out my outfit for work tomorrow so I can have an extra five minutes in bed in the morning. Boo real life, boo to you.

Christmas Story

2009-12-24T18:20:00.001Z

“Ho ho ho, little girl, ho ho fucking ho.”

“You’re drunk,” Louise said.
“No, my dear, I am not drunk. I am merely merry. It is Christmas after all.”
“You’re not merry, you’re drunk. You stink.”
The man let out a loud belch and leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his large, red velvet covered belly. His once snow white beard was stained round the mouth, yellowed with old food and sherry. Louise stood in front of him, hands on hips, the fur trim on her short red skirt barely brushing the cheeks of her bum. It was much shorter than regulation and made her feel uncomfortable. The man leered at her and flung his arms open wide.
“Come and sit on Santa’s lap,” he said.
“Fuck off, pervert,” she shot back before storming out of the room.

The factory was buzzing and clattering as the elves worked overtime, loading dolls and bikes and footballs and scooters and new limited edition platinum DJ Hero, the ones in the authentic carry cases, into cargo boxes. Further down the line, worried looking little men with maps and lists scratched their heads as they sorted it all out into regions, as defined by local authorities. Every year they depended on the men from the council getting them the right lists in plenty of time, and every year they got it wrong. This meant that there was always a lot of sorting out to do at the factory. Louise wove her way through the conveyor belts until she reached the floor manager.
“How are you getting on?”
Dennis sighed and scratched his head some more.
“Well, I’ll be honest with you, it’ll be tight but I think we’ll make it. How’s the boss?”
Louise pulled a face.
“I’d best get on then,” he said as a whistle sounded and production groaned to a halt. Relieved, the elves stretched their aching fingers and started to chatter. Santa opened the shutter that blocked his office off from the rest of the factory.
“No fucking talking!” he yelled, throwing one of his boots. It hit one of the littler elves in the face, knocking her over and making her nose explode in a splatter of blood.
“Hey!” Louise hollered back. “They’re taking a break!”
“Yeah, well, two minutes, no more. In case you retards hadn’t noticed, we’re on a tight schedule here!”
“They’re allowed a break.”
“Yeah, well, if they want a break, you can send one of the little ones up here to see to their old Father Christmas, if not, get back to work!” He slammed the shutter down. The sweatshop slowly returned to silent work.

It was just their luck to have this Santa. No wonder Luxembourg had been so quick to get shot of him. The elves must have been tap-dancing in the street the day he left.
“Oh, we’re only a little country, we don’t need such an experienced Santa. No, no, you take him and we’ll have a trainee. We don’t mind at all.” American Santa, who had so much more to do and was always stressed, was firm but fair. Australian Santa was laid back in his board shorts and sunnies. German Santa was an Angel (well, ex-Angel). No, it was only British Santa who was an absolute bastard. The shutters flew open again.
“Louise!” he roared. “Bring me some fucking whisky! And a bucket of KFC! I’m wasting away here. Oh, and I’ve lost one of my boots and just stepped in a puddle of cold tea. Sort it out!”

By the time Louise battled through the wind and the snow, the fried chicken was cold and the grease had soaked its way through the bottom of the bucket. She stomped up to the office.
“About bloody time,” Santa grabbed the bucket from her, turned his back and started cramming the pieces into his mouth. The noise of his eating filled the room, nom nom nom. Then a split second of silence. A sharp intake of breath. Then all of a sudden he was coughing and spluttering.
“Help me, I’m choking!” Bits of deep fried poultry fell from his mouth as he opened and closed it like a fish, banging his fist on his chest to try and dislodge whatever was stuck there. “I can’t breathe!”
“Let me guess, you need the kiss of life? You’ve got no chance mate.”

Fifteen minutes later, Louise opened the shutter. A hundred pairs of frightened eyes looked up at her.
“Its ok, it’s just me,” she said, as they quickly returned to work. “Er, Dennis, can I borrow you for a minute please?”

They stood over the fat man’s prone body.
“Oh dear,” Dennis said, scratching his head. His scratching place was a little bald patch about half an inch long and two fingers width wide just to the right of his crown. “This is a bit of a situation, isn’t it?”
“He choked –“ Louise started. Dennis held up his hand.
“I don’t care to hear the details, the important thing is, it’s finally happened.” He smiled a little smile. “It’s a Christmas miracle!”
“What are we going to do now?”
“Why, my dear, its Christmas Eve. What do you think we’re going to do? We’ve got presents to deliver. We’d best get the reindeer.”

Louise led Rudolph through the silent workshop, his hooves clip-clopping on the wooden floor. He manoeuvred the rickety stairs with ease and squeezed through the door and into the office.
“Oh sweet lord,” Rudolph said when he saw Santa’s body rapidly cooling on the floor.
“He cho –“
“Shush. Ours is not to reason why. Now, let us take a moment to be thankful.” He bowed his head, Louise and Dennis followed suit. “Amen.” Rudolph muttered. He knelt down and slid his antlers under Santa’s body, bracing himself he bowed his head and rolled the fat man over until he was lying face down over his back.
“Jesus Christ, is he made of concrete?” he asked, shakily rising to his feet. Louise took his reins and they slowly made their way down the stairs, through the factory and out to the barn. The elves looked up in surprise.
“Nothing to see here people,” Rudolph called. “Drunk fat man coming through.”

They propped Santa up in the front of the sleigh and packed presents all around him to keep him upright. His head lolled back, his gaping mouth still packed with bits of chicken. Louise had filled his pockets with stones.
“Do you know where you’re going?” she asked Rudolph.
“Do I know where I’m going?” he tapped his antlers on the side of the stall. “In-built sat nav these things, of course I know where I’m going. I’ll let you know when the time is right, don’t worry. Now, have you got his security pass?”
Louise felt the plastic rectangle on a lanyard around her neck and nodded.
“Well I guess we’re ready to go then, aren’t we? Come on then boys,” he called to his colleagues. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
It was much easier than Louise expected. The pass let her in to houses with ease and no-one bothered her as she popped the presents under the trees and quietly left. Time passed in a blur as they moved quickly and efficiently, Rudolph occasionally shouting instructions to make sure she didn’t forget anything. It was two o’clock in the morning when they crossed over the Irish Sea. The reindeers slowed their pace, Rudolph leading them in a lazy circle. It was time. With a heave-ho, Louise pushed Santa from the sleigh. He toppled through the cold night air before landing with a barely audible splash.
“Well I guess that’s that then,” Prancer said. “End of an era.”
The reindeer cheered. Louise couldn’t help but smile.
“Come on, back to work.”
“Yes boss,” Rudolph saluted her and winked.

a different way of thinking

2009-12-18T22:37:00.001Z

So I've done some thinking and I've come to the following conclusion.
Re-writing = treading water.

Last night, I opened the document, copied in the words I’d done at work and then found the interview scene that went next. I went through it and, because I now know a lot more about my murderer and the method of death has changed, a lot of it had to be deleted as it just wasn’t relevant. So I re-wrote a lot, but it didn’t actually add much to my word count. In fact, I think I may have had less words than I started off with. But the “proper first draft” of the novel is now 30 pages long, as opposed to 26. I’ve spent all of November worrying about my word count, that now its hard not to measure things in word count terms. Just because I haven’t added words doesn’t mean I haven’t added value.

And my “proper first draft” is still lacking a lot, there are some scenes that are two dimensional and have no depth whatsoever, but these are things I can fix later. So anyway, I am going to stop measuring myself on overall word count, and start looking at length of coherent story. I still want to aim to add another 15k, but I hope that will work out alright. Tess, one of my main characters, gets a speaking role soon and if you remember, she is now a lot younger than she was when I started so I will lose a lot of words then. I am also going to be brave and, by the end of the month, have deleted the scenes that really aren’t relevant (especially the one where I experimented with first person narrative). The word count will progress when I add description and write new scenes.
Its hard, but I need to accept that I will be treading water for a while. I’ve already won the race, and now this is about endurance rather than speed.

So, I feel like I've made progress because I've changed my way of thinking. Bang. Just like that, its like a little light has switched on and I'm like "oh yeah, why didn't I think like that before?"
Another thing I've changed my thinking on recently is sense of place. For the longest time, I've felt inadequate when describing place. I really like Ian Rankin, who lets Rebus wander so realistically round Edinburgh, historical, beautiful, dirty Edinburgh. The boyfriend and I took a trip there about a year ago and I felt like I knew it as I recognised places from the books I'd read. I could never do that, never ever ever. I guess that I've never felt so attached to a place, no one city has captured me in a way that makes me want to bring it to life with my words (my own fault, I suppose, for being slightly nomadic). Anyhoo, I thought that place was actual landmarks and buildings and real stuff, and it is, for some writers. But place can also be smells and history and feelings and thoughts and speech and ritual. Place is a lot of things that aren't actual places.

I wrote this next little story as a piece of flash fiction, then edited it for my writing class when I was assigned the task of writing about "a native settlement in an under-developed country". I received the rejection letter for the flash fiction today, so I'm posting it here (and even though its been rejected, it still proves I'm sending things off, which is good!) I no longer think place is buildings and Newcastle central station and my flat and St James's Park and Buckingham Palace. I think that place can be like this...

The sky is black, the stars look like tiny silver fish. The light of the campfires barely reaches up to the tallest man’s shoulders before it surrenders to the night. Groups of women and children huddle in the shadows, squatting on hard feet, soles stained reddy brown. The youngest draw pictures with sticks in the dust, silent storyboards of warriors, elephants and cooking pots. Somewhere in the far away darkness, a lion roars. The women talk in whispers and hug babies closer into naked bosoms, looking wistfully towards their homes, invisible in the dark. The trees stand an unwilling guard, their little huts underneath, just out of sight in a solemn circle, sturdily built by their father’s fathers of wood and clay. There is no-one there now. They have all been summoned to watch the ceremony.

The drums beat out a slow rhythm, softly stepping up pace until it matches the boy’s heartbeat. Strong arms press him down into the dusty ground. Buh-boom, buh-boom. His ears are sharp tonight. Above the wailing and clapping, the cicadas vibrate in the warm night air, surrounding the circle. He smells sweat. The soft salt smell of his thirteen year old skin and the stale stench of the Men. Buh-boom, buh-boom.
“Stay still,” a gruff voice says. “This will hurt.” He feels the sharp sting of bamboo break the skin on his face, score a line from his eye socket down to his chin. The blood trickles down his cheek as the dusty charcoal powder is rubbed in. Rough hands pull him to his feet, thrust the spear into his grasp and point to the white man, cowering between two of their youngest and strongest.

“You are marked as a man. Now act like one.”

Celebrity Death Beeper

2009-12-15T21:48:00.000Z

I've signed up to this site, right, where every time a celebrity dies they send me an email (right to my blackberry so I get it, like, immediately). Admittedly, it is morbid. But it is also exciting. And slightly disappointing. Either their idea of what constitutes a celebrity is wildly different from mine, or nobody decent has carked it recently.

EVANGELIST ORAL ROBERTS DIES AT AGE 91
http://deathbeeper.com/0911821.html

I live for the day I get the message telling me somebody really famous has died. I wish I'd known about it in June...

The boyfriend has gone to Edinburgh with his dad to see Them Crooked Vultures so I'm home alone. I've written all my Christmas cards and have now retired to bed to watch the Dexter boxset my friend lent me aaaages ago. I was going to post a sestina called Sofia but it doesn't appear to be on my hard drive, and although I know it will be in the big pink plastic writing graveyard in my study, I do not have the energy or inclination to go and root through it. So, as a lazy assed trade-off, you can have two poems that are in my head

xx

ps don't ask about the word count. I'm not speaking to it at the moment

New Shoes

I walk a mile
in someone else's shoes
but they don't fit,
they pinch and itch
and make me sad.

Blue Eyes

I was walking down the street
when I saw him for the first time
I felt his big, blue eyes staring into mine.
We said hello.
The conversation flowed.
We both collected two hundred pounds
and we both passed Go.

It was magic, exciting and surreal
he took me out for a Japanese meal
he looked at me,
with those big blue eyes and said
I think I know you well enough
I want to take you to bed.

who are you?

2009-12-11T00:11:00.000Z

who are you, 104 people who have viewed my blog? I'm worried I've imagined you, I must be the only girl in the world with invisible readers.

the re-write is not going well. I am just about 60,000 words, about 10,000 of these words are in order. I have chapters, and I've named them. I can't re-write at the same pace. and I'm busy. it is Christmas after all.

today, we did the big shop and I have most things I need in for Christmas day. we just need to get the veg. then I put up the decorations, and wrapped all the presents in the house. I am officially organised. you can call me Miss Christmas

ho ho ho hum. I'm going to bed. its after midnight, the boyfriend has fallen asleep on the couch and I'll be grumpy tomorrow if I don't get enough sleep. good night, oh transparent ones! xx

sleepy, grumpy, Saturday (or, Bijou = two of the seven dwarves and one day of the week)

2009-12-05T16:40:00.001Z

Re-writing is hard. Its tricky keeping up the momentum when my writing isn't so "fly by the seat of my pants, I don't really care so long as I get it down on paper". When I actually have to think about what happens next, and I care about teeny little things like consistency. Even though it doesn't have to be perfect, I'm only too aware that that day will come, so the more I can do now, the easier it will be. I'm also starting to doubt myself. And I've been doing overtime, so I'm very tired (how I ever used to have two jobs I do not know, I've only done an extra eight and a half hours this week and feel like I'm on the brink of some sort of emotional collapse). But, I have been getting into work for seven, and using my first hour to write (oh, and Christmas shop, but hey ho) so I guess thats something. My friend Lucy suggested that I may be setting myself silly goals, and that perhaps I could re-write the thing a little slower...I don't know, I guess I just want to get it done. Boo! A tired and not as productive as she would have liked to have been Bijou is a sad Bijou.

The boyfriend and your man Bloom have gone to the match so I have the flat to myself, and after falling asleep on the couch during the Psychic Detectives (I love the Crime channels!!!) and then feeling grumpy so going to bed for an unsuccessful nap, I'm now drinking frothy coffee with a spoonful of actual coffee in it, and its not really working in th short term so I have a terrible feeling that I'm going to go super-hyper later. I've got 100 weekend rock albums on in the background, and I'm going to try and get two thousand words before I go out. I think I will feel better then. Tomorrow, we're going to Tynemouth flea market, which is good because I'll probably buy some books, and one of my characters lives in Tynemouth so I'm going to find her a house and take some photos of it, stalker-stylee.

Right, the words are not going to type themselves, I'd best get to it. In the meantime, have a poem. I've actually quite enjoyed putting some old stuff on here, I've decided I quite like it! Still no excuse for not writing new stuff, but that day will come. I'm currently working on two short stories and one piece of flash fiction, oh, and the big story. Busy, busy, busy.

xx

ps is it just me, or has the spell check facility disappeared from the blog? I can't find it!?!

Save the Tigers

He stands there, unsmiling,

the sign on the back of his t-shirt
peppered with exclamation marks,
far more excited than he is
as he watches,

suits and briefcases swarm round him
racing to wherever they had to be
ten minutes ago!
Ignoring the empty tin
that he isn’t rattling
as he stares, unblinking
and he watches,

polished suits and pressed shirts
dancing round novelty ties
heading off to the city!
To secretaries, twelve hour days, ulcers,
paper work, sales reports and corner offices,
carpeted, with a view of the river.

And he just stands there. Redundant.
His premature grey hair messy
an unfortunate side-effect when in the long run
it wasn’t worth it. As he stands
saving tigers at the tube station.

winning is oh so very, very sweet, like a lovely cake

2009-11-30T21:26:00.001Z

hello!

well, I did it. I absolutely really truly totally did it. I wrote 50, 660 words in November and won NaNo!!!!!! I actually won on Saturday after a nice little write in with my new friend Mariley (a crazy Cuban, she's super-fun) and I am very, very pleased with myself. its been a great personal achievement, and...yes. I'm very happy. so on Sunday I started the re-write, and I want 100,000 words by the end of December. this is going to be quite tricky, because (and this is the catch kids) I want those words to be good. not brilliant, not outstanding (that's January's job) but good. and bearing in mind that quite a few of those original 50,660 words can be officially classified as not very good, well, lets be honest, not even a little bit good, its a pretty tall order. so not only do I want to write the same amount again, but I am also going to have to delete quite a few of the pre-existing words. eeek!!! can I do it? I hope so. I like setting deadlines for myself, and I figure, if I can do it in November, there is absolutely no reason why I can't do it in December.

right, must dash and get writing. I got into work for 7am this morning and wrote for an hour before I started work, then I did 2 hours overtime after work (speaking to actual customers, which I haven't really done since I escaped from civil service HELL, it was ok but I'd forgotten quite how mental the general public could be but hey ho. Vegas won't pay for itself, I wish it would) anyway, I'm pretty tired but I need to do some work on the story. if I go in tomorrow morning and know that I have to write 1000 words about "X" I will probably be able to do it. if I go in and know that I have to write 1000 words, I will probably sit there and read the news and go on ebay. so I must get on.

bye! xx

ps I've noticed that my counter is clocking up "hits" nicely - now, unless you are the boyfriend and the lovely Cally coming on here eight times a day, who are you? stranger dangers please step up and introduce yourself (either that or my counter is broken)

Hit and Run

2009-11-29T11:28:00.001Z

Dead flowers sellotaped
to a lamp post
with sympathy.
Words running into
the folds of the soggy
card. Ink-blot butterfly
growing in the corner,

condensation gathers and glistens
foggy on cellophane.
A cried river of tears
dripping onto old, brown petals.

Lamp post like a beacon, glowing
a permanent marker,
as school friends hold hands and
their breath, tip-toeing round
the dark pool of blood,
long scrubbed away but
stained in their memories,
under the bed
with the pistol crack sound
of his head
splitting open
on the pavement.

Clare

2009-11-28T13:46:00.003Z

He called her Clare.

She was pear-shaped, his favourite fruit,
the image of her mother, fire red hair

slow, special smile, skin so fair
and mannerisms and an attitude to boot.
He called her Clare

and no other woman could begin to compare!
With her budding breasts and grown-up shoes
she was the image of her mother. Fire red hair

cut to precision with style and flair,
how could he resist her? this temptress? confused
he called her, “Clare!”

Watched her, stood on the stair
(and above the mantle, observing, mute
the image of her mother). She had fire red hair

down below. Delicate, perfect everywhere,
his little girl bruised in her birthday suit.
He only called her Clare.
She was the image of her mother.

blah blah blah

2009-11-23T20:45:00.003Z

So I’m just coming into my last week of NaNo and am currently ahead of the game on 43000. And I’m rocketing between finding it quite easy, and finding it very difficult indeed.
One thing is for sure, I am obsessed with my word count. It can’t be healthy. But I’m fast approaching land, the end is in sight, yada yada yada.
What I hadn’t expected from my marathon word sprint is how physically exhausting it would be. My shoulders ache, I’m absolutely shattered, my ring finger on my left hand no longer co-operates and won’t hit the keys like it used to, my bones seem to be cracking more than they did in October.
On the plus side, my confidence has improved, although I am only a third of the word length of what will be my finished manuscript, it suddenly seems that much closer. Instead of talking myself out of writing, I am talking myself into it, and my previous mental see-saw that had self doubt being the fat kid on one end with skinny little self confidence way up high on the other, now sees self confidence eating cakes whilst his frenemy is on some sort of horrid cabbage soup diet.

I’m still having my moments, of course I am, but I'm getting better, which is great.

I’ve also realised that I am not the kind of writer that sits down and writes a story. I am in awe of anyone who can write a novel in one go (and that’s where I’ve gone wrong in the past, I’ve expected to sit down and write 200 consecutive pages of winning prose – impossible!) I write a massive great big mess that is a tangle of words. I don’t know how it will end or how everything will tie together, and I’m note even sure if it’s the story that I started with, but I will get there by next weekend, for sure. At 40,000 words I figured out the motivation for my murderer, but I had to write through those words in order to find it, it wasn’t just going to be there for the taking at the start, that would be too easy. And yes, there are lots of bits that don’t fit together now, but they will. I have a feeling that my re-write is going to use up a lot of post-it notes, and I don’t think I have enough wall space in the study for a time-line, but I hope that I will have enough space in the hall…

My other realisation is that it hasn’t been an impossible task. I mean, yes, there have been days (like today!!) when I haven’t wanted to write, and yes, there have been days when I haven’t written and have had to play catch-up, but if I had written for all of those days, and if all weekends had been as productive as last weekend, then I could have written an awful lot more. I’ve definitely come to the conclusion that I don’t suffer from writers block, as I conveniently thought for the last eight years, but instead I am just incredibly lazy. Next NaNo, I’m going to set myself a higher target, and I’m excited about it already.

The other thing I am excited about is reaching the end, and then doing something else. Like reading a book. I haven’t read anything this month, and I’m starting to miss it. And I want to work on some short stories. I finally sent one off to Fiction Feast today, which has only taken me about three weeks from actually having it finished but hey ho, I told you I was lazy.

Right, anyway, I’m off. I need to make the sandwiches for tomorrow, go and talk to the boyfriend if he hasn’t fallen asleep on the sofa (unlikely, he always falls asleep on the sofa, and he’s watching the match so I think sleep is like an inner defence mechanism so as not to feel embarrassment at poor play or silly yellow away shirts) and then I need to do some more procrastinating through the medium of watching I’m a Celebrity. I’m so pleased Joe is finally doing a task, I hope it makes him cry. Byeeeee!!! xx

bad thoughts, good thoughts and surprise sympathy

2009-11-20T22:19:00.003Z

bad thoughts

so I keep expecting Mslexia to email me and tell me its all been a terrible mistake. that they thought my story was a different story and that they don't want to publish it after all. or that the draft I sent them as a word attachment is ever so slightly different from the one I originally posted, so its been disqualified. or for it just to somehow fall through before January.

good thoughts

in the stuff they sent me to fill in, it said at the bottom, almost like a little ps (like this wasn't a very exciting thing, and please bear in mind I'm paraphrasing here) being published in Mslexia means that a lot of editors and very important people will have a chance to read your work and many marvellous things might come of it.

so now, in my head, off the back of one short story (just a few words shy of 2500 words) I am no doubt going to have publishers and exciting people knocking my door down, asking if I have anymore little tales of the same calibre and could they possibly see them straight away? or they're so impressed with it, they'd like me to write a book, on a subject of my choice, for a life-changing fee. because of course, this is exactly whats going to happen. why wouldn't it?

in other news, the NaNo novel is currently 35,569 words. it has a title (which I might share later, I'm not sure how much I like it but it is a lot better than the working title I had previously) and today I made one of my characters 10 years younger. now, in previous Bijou-novelling attempts this would have been catastrophic. in new-and-improved-Bijou-novelling world, I just know that I will have to make some major changes in the re-write (for example, remove the incredibly awful opening scene where she attends the wedding of a friend from university, this is no big loss, it was rubbish anyway). so even though I have a lot of work to do, I'm happy about this and am just plodding on regardless of the blazing inconsistencies. having a younger character means that some of the reactions and situations will be more dramatic, realistic and altogether better. on the re-write, which I'm looking forward to.

I'm also looking forward to printing it out, its currently 66 pages, and once I've finished it, and 1.5 spaced it (perfect for editing) it will probably be close to 200 pages, which is amazing, whichever way you look at it.

surprise sympathy

I really, really feel for Katie Price (for those of you not keeping up with it, she's gone back in the jungle for some closure on her failed marriage to Peter Andre and the Great British Public are voting for her to do all the Bushtucker Trials) so the poor girl is eating shit and having cockroaches poured over her head and trying to pick up eels and climb mountains and put her hands in nasty things. and everytime she looks so scared, but she gives it a good go anyway.

today I voted for Joe Bugner, who is vile. I wasn't going to vote, but I just felt so sorry for Katie, I really wanted someone horrible to have to do something horrible. but it didn't work, and poor Katie is up again tomorrow. I will probably have to vote again soon.

ok, so thats it. I'm going to have to buy the Sunday Times this weekend because it has a live Blur cd from the concerts that they did over the summer. I went to the one at the Academy, and there were about 1500 people there and I was at the front and it was, absolutely and without a single doubt, the highlight of my gig-going career. ah, memories, memories...

bye! xx

(after thought - have you checked out how I've linked to Mslexia? you can get to their website, just by clicking on their name! this is incredibly technologically advanced and I figured it out all on my own!)

good news, bad news (or woo hoo!!!!!!!)

2009-11-15T19:06:00.001Z

so this week I've had a mixed week. I haven't been as good with NaNo as I was last week (although I am on 22,881 words, which is 43 pages and I will be on 25,005 by the time I go to bed) and on Monday, I had an email telling me that I hadn't won a competition (although I had been strongly considered - but, do they say that to everyone?) so thats the not-quite-so-good-can-probably-be-described-as-fair-to-middling news.

the good news is that I've made a writing friend! which is very exciting and nice. and the really, really, really, really good news is...

I've had a story accepted by Mslexia!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm going to be published in January!!!!!!!!!!!!!

that email came through on Wednesday and I had a little cry at my desk when I opened it. I am so unbelievably pleased and proud of myself. its especially nice because it is the first story that I've written since I've started back up with my writing, and its the first story that I've sent off to a magazine - and you don't get your first story published. that just doesn't happen. they tell you that in all the books. oh, and added to that, I forgot to include a cover letter, so I was convinced that they would bin it immediately. but they didn't. hooray!!!!!!!!!!!

I wanted to be published by the time I'm 30 and its actually going to happen. the nice thing is that its actually made me think, yes, I can do this, I can actually do this.

anyway, I just wanted to let you know. I must get back to NaNo, I have just over 2000 words to write before bed (and the X Factor and I'm a Celebrity to watch too)

I'll post again soon, with something else that isn't just me bragging about how ace I am :-)

The Librarian

2009-11-07T14:39:00.001Z

Good Afternoon, Ladies and Gentlemen, and welcome to the New and Improved City Library and Adult Learning Resource Centre.

Do you know how much money they’ve spent on us? Would you like to hazard a guess?

Six million pounds.

Yes, yes, I know. You heard me correctly. Six million pounds to house these books. Aren’t we lucky? Of course, it’s been difficult whilst the Library has been closed. They’ve farmed us out to other Libraries, however, it isn’t really the same. A Librarian of my calibre isn’t really at home in the smaller Libraries. I need the bustle of the big city Library, I find I crave the noise. Yes, yes, I know what you’re thinking. Noise in a Library? Well it isn’t that kind of noise, not rowdy disco kind of noise. It’s a quiet, book-borrowing, pen-scribbling kind of noise. The noise in the smaller Libraries isn’t the same. It is more of a don’t-know-what-to-do-with-myself-so-I-thought-I’d-come-to-the-Library kind of noise. Totally different. So even thought they packed us off to other Libraries, I’ve still had more time on my hands than I normally would. Time which I’ve spent at home. It’s been quite nice in a way. I spent a lot of time in the garden, re-grouted the bathroom, was able to do my skirting boards once a week, that kind of thing. And of course I was able to spend more time with Jerry.

Ah, Jerry. Jerry is my husband, of course. He’s always been one of those softly gregarious types. You know the kind, not one to shoot his mouth off but he’ll talk quietly to anyone. He’s forever stopping to give young men lifts home. I always tell him, you have to be careful Jerry. You never know who you might pick up, what sort of undesirable you might find in the backseat of your car but he doesn’t listen. If you care for it, Ladies and Gentlemen, I think you’ll find that we have a top-notch true crime section that will make your skin crawl. But he doesn’t pay me any mind, as I’m sure any ladies who also have been married for thirty-odd years will agree is an unfortunate attribute of the male psyche. He wasn’t like that when I married him, he always used to agree that I know best, but I suppose that’s marriage for you. My waist isn’t as slim as it was and he’s forgotten that its better all round if he listens to me. I think he forgets where I work, what I’m involved in, day-in, day-out. He’s never been this close to such a wealth of information succinctly detailing the horrors of human-kind. He wouldn’t know how to use the internet if it walked up to him, smacked him in the face, and said “hello, I’m the internet, here is a simple step-by-step guide to how I work.” No, no, he’s in his own little world, and, this is a bit of a guilty admission, I am quite ashamed to tell you this, especially when so many of you have come here in the dusk of your lives, when things are becoming a little hazy, you’re going a little grey, trying to broaden your horizons, bring a little light, but…he isn’t even a member of the Library. That’s right! I’ll hold my hands up! My name is Lillian Broadbent, Chief Librarian of the new and improved City Library and Adult Learning Resource Centre, and my own husband isn’t even a member.

I have always been a member of the Library. I’ve worked here for 40 years. Woman and girl. My first job was in this Library, when I was a young woman straight out of school, I was here part time when the children were small and needy, and I’ve taken more hours since they’ve grown up and spread their wings. The children, I am pleased to tell you, are members of the Library. They don’t come here very often because they live away and don’t get back a lot, but they’re always keen to pop in when they do. And it is always wonderful to see them. It really is.

So here we are, and I do hope to see you all again in the future. This is a wonderful Library, a real lifelong learning centre, it has everything you could ever need. Not just books you know. We have a varied selection of audio books and some wonderful films and documentaries, some of the dvds, I’m lead to believe, are quite racy, if you like that sort of thing. I don’t much care for it myself. I prefer a nice historical documentary, or a period drama. Jane Austin dramatises particularly well. Such lovely costumes. And it constantly amazes me that she is still so relevant. My daughter doesn’t agree with me, but then, our children rarely do, do they? How many in here have children? I suppose that in some small way that might have spurred you to come here. To fill the gap left by empty nest syndrome, or, really, just to see what all the fuss over the internet is about. Well, we’ll get to that later. There is an introductory session later today at 2pm, which will give you a really good idea of how it all works and what you do with all the bits and pieces. What I really want to convey to you though, is that, no matter what your reasons for coming here, do not be afraid. We’re all friends here. It might sound like a cliché, but it’s true.

Ok, so we have lots of treats in store for you over the coming weeks. Thursday mornings are dedicated Senior Citizens Day. Although I’ve had to put my foot down and cancel the first key speaker. One of our younger members of staff booked her, in what I can only imagine is a bad taste joke. The book this lady wrote is about…sex. The premise is about not letting the dull familiarity of marriage intrude on your sex life. It was written by an American woman with three ex-husbands, no children, and an assortment of handbag sized dogs that look like hairdos. The book itself has a bright pink mock suede cover and is full of jaunty tips, the kind of quirky sex secrets that are apparently best tried out by candlelight. Honestly! Have you ever heard anything like it? It all seems so…robust. I can’t imagine Jerry and I ever doing anything like that. Cold lino under bare skin? No thank you very much indeed. Far more comfortable just to sit in quietly, perhaps read the paper or watch a gardening programme. I do love my garden. It is one of my few pleasures outside of my work. Not that my life is devoid of pleasure. I didn’t mean it like that. I have a lot of pleasure in my life. I mean, look around! Six million pounds they spent on this place. If that doesn’t make you happy, I don’t know what will. So luckily for us all I managed to stop us being subjected to that and now our first key speaker is going to be a member of the Local Historical Society. Full details can be found on the notice board by the main entrance, or when you’ve learnt how to use the internet, you can go on our mailing list and have all our up-and-coming news beamed straight into your inbox!

Here at the Library, we also keep a full range of papers, both broadsheet and tabloid. The story running on the front page of all of them today is another sad tale in the continued saga of the Side Street Strangler. These poor young boys are perhaps living on the shadier side of the tracks but that doesn’t mean that they deserve what happens to them, poor things. It must be a monster who picks up a young man and does the things described – if you haven’t been following it, well, first of all I don’t know where you’ve been because it has been all over the news, and secondly, I can’t bring myself to repeat the atrocities that are delightfully regaled in the newspapers – they are all over there in case I’ve piqued your interest and you would like to look yourselves. Basically, these poor unfortunates are picked up by a man who is trawling for…well, you know the things that some men look for outside of the home, late at night on the dimly lit side of the street. Five times it’s happened in the last six months. The papers say he’s picking up speed, killing with more ferocity now, but it looks like they have a lead, however tenuous it may be. They say the man they are looking for drives a dark coloured Ford sedan. Well, I call it tenuous because we all know how popular those cars are, don’t we? I mean, we have a dark coloured Ford sedan, as I’m sure do some of you and half the people in the city! Scepticism aside, I do hope the police catch him soon. I mean, he could be anyone! He could be anywhere! We could have passed him in the street and not known about it, such is the anonymous society we live in. This is why institutions such as the Library are so important. Back when I was a girl, the Library was seen as one of the hubs of the community, and it is my fervent wish that it will be that way again.

And that concludes my talk today, Ladies and Gentlemen. I hope this introductory session has whetted your appetite for what’s to come, which is, I hope, many a pleasant hour passed in our Library. And if you quite literally have worked up an appetite, why, you can visit our café bar! It wouldn’t have had a place in the old Library, but I have to admit it is a very welcome addition to the new one. That’s progression for you. And my children call me old-fashioned! Now, does anyone have any questions? No? Good, good. I’ll let you get on with it then, happy browsing, and remember, if you have any problems, the staff will be more than happy to help, or you could just ask for me, Lillian Broadbent, Chief Librarian.

NaNoWriMo and the joys of pop music

2009-11-04T23:19:00.008Z

So I'm trying to write a 50,000 words in 30 days. I may have mentioned this before. It is my new obsession.

Some days I think I've gone crazy-loco, some days I think it will be easily achievable, it all depends on what kind of mood I'm in. I've been planning my story for a while in my head, some of it on purpose but most of it accidentally whilst I've been trying not to think about it and when it started at midnight on Sunday I was very, very excited. After the X Factor (I do like that its on twice now, although I really, really wanted Jamie Afro to go. He isn't rock, and in addition to that, he's rubbish!! Poor Rachel, but ultimately I think Simon made the right decision sending it to deadlock, as poor little Lloyd gave it his best shot even though he was obviously quite poorly. Rachel was a better singer, but Lloyd got the pity/pretty factor. He's one of those boys you'd see on the Metro and then notice he was in his school uniform, and then feel wrong inside) anyhoo, I made myself stay up til midnight, which is late for me. I know, I know, I'm up late now, but believe me, I will regret this in the morning. But I stayed up, so I could start to write at midnight, and what I wrote was utter shit. I couldn't believe that I had been waiting for such a long time to start, and once I did, it was so rubbish. BOOO!!!!

So I went to bed, and when I got up in the morning, duly got my laptop and settled in for the write in. And I wrote a load of shit, again. Except this time, the boyfriend was up and kept checking on me, and couldn't understand why I was in tears and kept bringing me chocolate to try and make it right. Sheer perseverance meant that I got my word count (1667 words per day) by about noon, so I went and read in the bath and calmed myself down. On the second write in of the day, after I'd changed tense and then reverted to the original tense but with some different characters, things started to go a bit better. Normally, if I don't know something, I'll go and look it up, and then get distracted (hello Facebook and Perez Hilton and http://www.findadeath.com/) and then lose my mojo. NaNo Bijou writes a bit differently. There are lots of random things like

CAN YOU DO JURY DUTY IF YOU'VE HAD MENTAL HEALTH PROBLEMS?

and

WOULD HE NEED A LAWYER WITH HIM?

and

CHANGE TENSE HERE, I DON'T LIKE THIS

and then just lots of writing. 6681 words so far, to be exact. Which is good. Its on target, which considering I had yesterday off, is tremendous. Now we just need to all keep our fingers crossed that I can keep up the good work...and don't get distracted, or disheartened, both of which are totally viable options. Hmmmm.

Apart from NaNoing (and going back to work today, to nothing but trouble. BOO!!! Don't have a team, its like having too many teenagers) but apart from all that, my November has mostly been spent going to pop concerts. I went to see Pink on Monday, which has been planned forever, and she was amazing and I got very drunk (and spent £26.50 on a t-shirt. On one single t-shirt!!) hence having to have Tuesday off writing. And then yesterday, my friend Laura randomly invited me to go and see the Backstreet Boys with her! She's reviewing things for the Chronicle and had free tickets, and what girl in her right mind would say no to that?

I won't say too much about it, other than we were laughing very, very loudly when they burst through a curtain whilst singing "Backstreets Back, Alright!" and were getting some mucky looks from the people who had paid good money to be there. At one point, she turned to me and said "wow, I didn't know that they could do so much with post-production."

Until she gets her own blog (Laura, get a blog!!!) you've got to buy the Chronicle or go online to read her very fabulous reviews, which you can do by going here...

http://www.whatsonne.co.uk/gb/music/reviews-and-previews/review-backstreet-boys-metro-radio-arena

although I would like her to quote her source and justify saying that they're the biggest selling boy band of all time, because if last nights performance is anything to go by, I just can't believe that's true.

Anyway, enough rambling. I've had three late nights in a row and have been tired all day and its now 11.45 and I intend to get up early and get a lift to the Metro station with the boyfriend at 6.30 so I can get into work early and spend some time NaNoing before I start work at 8. I am going to regret staying up late blogging in the morning, and I apologise in advance for whinging, loads.

Goodnight!! xx

ps I've got my word count, been to a writing class and blogged tonight. Go Bijou!!!

Halloween Story

2009-10-31T15:14:00.002Z

I have a secret. I’ve got something that I shouldn’t have.

Her hair feels soft, like I always imagined girl’s hair would feel. Her skin is smooth and her eyes so blue. She doesn’t look the way I thought a dead girl would. I thought death would steal something from her, but it didn’t. On the contrary, it gave something to me. Her death was her gift. Ha. I like that. She is poetry. I’m going to write that down.

It was a lot of effort to remove her head from her body. A lot harder than I thought it would be. Who would have thought that such a beautiful head would have so much gristle and sinew and stuff? Note to self, I need to invest in some better knives.

Her mouth pouts a little, like I’ve done something to upset her. Like I’m late for dinner or don’t compliment her new skirt. I pinch her lips together with my thumb and forefinger. I don’t want her to look upset. I want her to look beautiful. She doesn’t look dead. I think that will come later. At the moment she looks like she did when I met her. When we had the conversation. The one that started all of this.

I smooth her hair and make it cover her ears, so it looks the way it did when she shook her head and said, ever so quietly,
“I’m sorry but we don’t stock that here. There’s a shop up the road called Steel Wheels. It sells a lot more alternative stuff. You should try there.”
They didn’t have what I wanted, but that’s not the point. She tried. She understood. She spoke to me like I was a normal person who deserved to be spoken to. She was lovely.

She is lovely.

She is love.

I want to keep her and it makes me sad that I can’t. I wonder how long it will be before she starts to smell, before her skin wilts and she starts to smell and can’t be mine anymore. I think I’d be happy only to have her body for a few hours, but I would like to keep her face forever. She is so pretty.

Is this what its like to have a girlfriend?

I think it might be.

good intentions

2009-10-26T21:37:00.003Z

when I started this blog I decided that absolutely every single post was going to be accompanied by creative writing of some description, whether it be a little story or a poem or...something. because I have no interest in just writing about me. no siree bob. but then, today, I've decided that I might have changed my mind (its taken me, what, all of two weeks?) so I'm just going to have a little write about general nothingness. because although I want to post a story, I don't have one to post. and everything I've been trying to start just seems...mediocre. and everything that doesn't seem mediocre I've already earmarked for somewhere else so can't post it until its been rejected 3 times and therefore becomes blog-fodder.

I'm trying to write a story called How To Go Missing, which is going to be just for the blog and not for anyone else. and I've done one draft which is fun but too silly. and I've tried to make it darker (which is what it needs) and I can't get the tone right. so I'm going to let it live in my head for a bit, and hopefully, it will end up on here.

I've also started about five stories for women's magazines. at the moment, these are in various forms, from notes to (very unfinished) second drafts. I need to get round to actually finishing them, but at the moment, I just seem to be starting new ones. starting things is definitely one of my special skills, along with drinking tea, having bedroom discos and making kick-ass omelettes. so I think I am going to make a list and set myself a deadline for each of the stories, and not let myself start any new ones until they're done and out. hmmmm.

I have a halloween story planned for here (I think its pretty much done, but I haven't looked at it for a while) and then after that its NaNoWriMo. I am super-excited about this, and have been trying not to think about my story too much. although that hasn't worked too well, and it now has a soundtrack, and a blurb, which makes it very, very exciting. one of my smaller characters is trying to take over so I'm interested to see what happens. she's managed to blag the working title to be named after her - I don't know how that happened. writing that much in one go is going to be a very new experience, I always start with the best of intentions but then end up talking myself out of it, one minute I'm the greatest writer in the whole wide world and the next, everything is rubbish...the very wonderful boyfriend has very kindly said he'll buy me a web-book for my birthday (did I mention I'm going to be 30 soon?) and I've foolishly said that he's only allowed to do that if I win NaNo and write 50,000 words in Nov. I'm hoping that the carrot of a beautiful pink and shiny web-book (with flowers on it!!!) might be what this little donkey needs. fingers crossed.

this appears to have descended into nothingness and I think its because I'm tired and grumpy. america's next top model was cancelled tonight to make way for a most haunted halloween special which didn't help. why would you do that, living, why? I think though, that I just wanted to come on and tell you all that I was going to be writing some new things...because once I've told you about them I have to do them, right? right. or else I will just look silly.

so, coming soon. How To Go Missing. a halloween special. and then probably some updates on how NaNo is going and me weeping real tears over my laptop.

before then, I'm busy being a bridesmaid and testing out my theory that bridesmaids only cry at weddings because they're not the ones getting married. as well as that, I'm going to have to walk in heels, have my contacts in and be ladylike for a whole day. wish me luck. especially with the heels (although a broken ankle or two would probably significantly increase my chances of winning NaNo and coming away with a shiny new techno-toy that I can't use properly, but love all the more for it. hmmmm!)

waiting and procrastinating

2009-10-24T12:15:00.004+01:00

I've just been down to check the post (before you say it, I know, I know, there is a postal strike on). I wouldn't usually bother. I don't tend to get any interesting post unless I've ordered something from ebay. Its all the bills I can't manage on-line, payslips and general boring nonsense that reminds me I'm a grown-up, but at the moment, I am waiting for a letter. I would be quite excited if I wasn't so irritated by the whole process. See, I've applied for this thing at work...lets call it a talent management programme. Basically, if you can prove you've got potential, they will spend two years trying to exploit this and send you on secondments and to India and...well, its just something else to do that's a bit different from my day job and will help me pass the time until I retire or become a best-selling author and can jack the whole thing in. I really, really, really want to get on it but its been dragging on for such a long time its farcical. We were supposed to get the info in May, it came on the last day of May. So I applied in June. Was interviewed in August and had my assessment centre the week before last. Every time they've told us we'll hear about the outcome, they've missed their own deadline by about 3 weeks. They've also, bizarrely, taken it upon themselves to communicate with us by post. By post? Why not by carrier pigeon? That's equally archaic. Honestly. So, we're supposed to find out at some point soon. Hence me checking the post (there was nothing there, incidentally). But now I'm just going to be up a height until I find out. I hate it. I hate waiting. I especially hate waiting for something which experience teaches me will be delayed, through no fault of mine but through the ineptitude of others. Grrrrrr.

There are some kinds of waiting that I don't really mind. For example, I don't mind waiting for a bus, if the weather is nice and I have a book (I never go anywhere without a book. If I leave the house and realise I've forgotten it, I can get quite panicky. What if I had to wait somewhere?)

There are some kinds of waiting that I bring on myself. You know the kind. When I really should be doing something but I just put it off and put it off and play on the internet or read or watch tv instead. Procrastination is indeed a self-imposed form of waiting. But I don't mind that at all. In fact, by default, it is one of my main hobbies. Take now, for instance. I switched on the computer at about 9.30 to do some writing. I drafted an outline for a short story (I generally don't do that but I am trying to write stuff for magazines, with a very specific audience and therefore it is easier to actually plan) and since then I have had about 4 cups of tea, done 2 loads of washing and discovered this...

http://postsecret.blogspot.com/

which I think is fab. But its not what I sat down to do. I definitely need to get over the whole waiting to write thing that I've got going on. Procrastination never wrote a novel. Sitting down at the computer and actually typing wrote a novel. With this in mind, I've decided that next month I am going to take part in National Novel Writing Month (http://www.nanowrimo.org/). The aim is to write 50,000 during November. The theory is that first drafts are generally rubbishy, but you need to write them to get on to the second and third drafts, which are generally a lot better. So fingers crossed I will get to the end of November and have 50,000 words, which I really hope will have a beginning, a middle and an end, some interesting characters and potential for a real, live book. I normally talk myself out of my writing, decide its rubbish and then just stop and do something else, so I'm hoping this will help me get over it. I haven't written anything down yet (you're allowed to plan, although I'm no good at plans as sooner or later, it stops being a plan and becomes a story with description and dialogue, as its more interesting to show the characters doing something than tell myself about it). I've had the story in my head for a few months, and my characters are now starting to have conversations with each other, which I fervently hope they'll still be doing when I start to write. It should be an interesting experience, and its all part of the "absolutely have to do something before I'm 30" mission that I'm on. Needless to say, I'll keep you posted...in the meantime, have a poem...

Waiting

Waiting,
by the phone,
even though it’s a mobile
on vibrate and turned up loudly,
checked religiously,
like a new mother round a sickly baby
up every five minutes –
is it still breathing?
has it got enough batteries?

Waiting, for a call, a text,
anything, to say
I enjoyed the other night,
would like to see you again,
buy you flowers,
take you to dinner,
introduce you to my mother,
perhaps get married
or something.

Waiting,
going out of my mind with waiting,
my mind which is cramped,
cluttered thoughts of my ideal man who
calls me Princess,
brings me chocolates,
and has mastered the art of interesting conversation
(even though I don’t know his surname
and am not even sure I could
pick him out of a line-up).

Waiting,
holding my breath til I’m blue in the face
with waiting,
think I might burst
if the phone doesn’t ring
(not sure what I’d do if he actually called)

and I’m waiting,
and waiting.

Like I don’t have anything better to do.

The phone beeps,
and I feel sick
and I can’t breath
one message received

and I’m waiting.

a little secret or two...

2009-10-20T20:39:00.006+01:00

I'm going to tell you a secret. don't get your hopes up, its not scandalous (well, unless you're easily scandalised by syntax) but, here we go...I'm not a big fan of capital letters. I think they're over-rated. oh, ok, sure, they can serve a purpose, and sometimes they're useful ("I" for example, is one that I think deserves a capital) they're good when you really want to make a POINT, or play with the way your words look, but for the most part, I think that capital letters are pretty redundant. I mean, new york is just New York, right? you wouldn't read about someone going shopping in new york and think "oh my gosh, where is this fabulous place I've never heard of?" would you? (if the answer is yes, well...quite frankly there is little hope for you. jog on).

but apart from all that, I just don't think that upper case is as pretty as lower case. check out how cute I am, writing in lower case, blah blah blah.

so that is secret number one. I warned you, not scandalous. but someone pointed out that people might read this blog and think that I didn't know how to write because I sometimes don't capitalise properly. (admittedly, I think there has been little interest from people who I don't know, so its not necessarily an issue yet but still, it could happen). so for all of you stranger dangers out there who don't know that in bijou-land small=cute, this is for you. I can capitalise, I just choose not to. so there.

(the eagle-eyed amongst you might notice that some of my posts have capitals and some don't. there is a simple explanation, some of them are drafted in word and copied over. word likes to correct you if you don't start a sentence with a capital letter - it makes poetry incredibly frustrating!!! - but this generally means I am more prone to capitals when using word. when I haven't used word, ta-da!!! no capitals).

secret number two. I'm not brilliant at grammar. I use punctuation to make things sound like I want them to sound in my head, so for everyone who isn't me, I can only assume that you read it the same way and understand. sometimes this means that things are more stream of consciousness than grammatically correct. sometimes it's because I choose not to do it (I know, for example, that I shouldn't start a sentence with an and or a but), and sometimes it's because I just don't know. I'm quite anal about my there/they're/theirs - it drives me absolutely fruit loopy when people get them wrong (when I was a civil servant, I used to ignore emails from senior managers where the incorrect "there" was used) but I can't for the life of me get my head round it's/its. the information just won't stay in there. I don't know why. I'm a bright girl, but for the most part, I don't get it. so I ignore it (I know I used it correctly before, but that's because I've been dictionary.comming whilst typing this). so whilst I'm militant about "there" I am incredibly lax about "its". I like grammar when it suits me, which is when I understand it and find it easy.

I used to work with a woman who didn't know what an apostrophe was. she called it an "up-comma" and went through a phase of sending out emails that read a bit like she,d never written anything that,d ever required an up-comma before, because surely you,d look at that and realise that it,s wrong, wouldn,t you?

needless to say, upon receiving the email I had a massive rant. (I am also very careful to ensure that any emails I send out at work make sense, I would hate for anyone to read one and think that I'm stupid). looking back, part of me thinks that perhaps she just didn't understand so chose to ignore the apostrophe/comma debate, but a bigger part of me thinks that surely no-one can honestly think that that,s how normal people write? hmmm. lazy militant, that's me.

another thing that drives me mental is american english. z where s's should be, a distinct lack of u's...I'm not very good at spelling any more (that is definitely the fault of the computer, its inherent laziness on my part. I have no excuse) but I really, really, really hate it when the spell check tries to correct me and make me spell in american. and on that very tenuous link...here is a very old poem. it's a bit silly. goodnight!! xx

Americans can't spell "colour"

Oh, what have the Americans,
got against the letter "U"?
They leave it out of colour
and out of neighbour too.
What if they were prejudiced
against the letter "O" as well?
Then colour would be clr
a very awkward word to spell.
I guess we should just all be thankful
they don't mind "L" "R" and "C"
or there'd just be a space like this

where colour ought to be.

Five Minutes

2009-10-17T14:17:00.004+01:00

It’s funny how five minutes of one day can change your life. How five minutes of one day can go on to set the standard for all other days. This was one of those days.

It started off in the same way that all days normally do. I got up later than planned, didn’t wash my hair even though it needed it, pulled on the first clothes I could find, got to work and opened the shop. I’m usually on my own til about eleven. There’s only ever me, reading, dusting the shelves, drinking tea. A nice, luke-warm start to the day. Except this day. He scared me when he came in. Snuck up behind me so quietly that the first I knew of it was a soft waft of stale beer.
“Do you have any books about pirates?” he asked.
“Treasure Island, it’s over there. In the R section. We’re on first name terms with all our authors here.”
He laughed with his mouth closed and I blushed at my own piss-poor joke.
“I was thinking more along the lines of a reference book?” he said.
“We don’t deal in fact here. Fiction only. Treasure Island is the only one I can think of, off the top of my head,” I was babbling. It’s my worst habit. “It’s quite good,” I said, searching for something to save myself. “I read it in school.”
“I know,” he said, smiling. Lovely teeth. I suddenly noticed how lovely and blue his eyes were. “I know who you are, Cordelia Deadly. How could I ever forget a girl like you?”
And with that he was off. Into the labyrinth loosely titled ‘Popular Fiction, Bible-Present’. And I couldn’t stop staring. Like the odd glimpse of his elbow, a shot of his arm would make me remember who he was. You know when you know that you know someone, you just don’t know how you know them? He was walking back to the counter, book tucked underneath one arm when it hit me. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t realised sooner. He hadn’t changed that much since we’d been at school.
“Why, Thomas Brown!” I said, “whatever are you doing here..?” I trailed off, embarrassed again. I knew what he was doing here. He was looking for a book, one about pirates. It was one of those moments when I wished I could stop time, think of a winning line and then press play again.
“Oh, you know. I’m just trawling second-hand bookshops looking for pretty girls I used to go to school with,” he grinned. I couldn’t think of anything to say.
“That’ll be £3.99 please.” He paid for it in handfuls of change.
“Well it was nice seeing you again,” he said. I told him not to be a stranger.
“Stranger than what?” he asked. After he left I stared into space and wrote Cordelia loves Tom 85% all over the newspapers.

I was still daydreaming when Pete got in at twelve. He handed me a scrap of paper torn from the front of a novel. “I certainly hope it isn’t one of ours,” he grumbled. I didn’t answer as I hurriedly unfolded it.

I always wondered about you. Would you like to spend the day with me on Saturday? I’ll meet you here, at ten, in the morning. I’ll get up especially early and wear my good shoes. Hope to see you, Tom.

I woke up early on Saturday. I didn’t want to but I couldn’t help it. I never can sleep when I’m excited. I washed my hair and put on some eyeliner, found some clean clothes and gave my trainers a quick scrub with the dishcloth. I was at work for nine thirty, humming to myself. Pete wolf-whistled. By the time eleven o’clock rolled around, Pete bought me my fourth cup of tea and patted my arm in what I’m sure was supposed to be a reassuring gesture.
“I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation,” he said.
“I don’t doubt it,” I replied, when in actual fact I doubted it very much indeed. Maybe he’d forgotten, maybe he’d been drunk that day he came in, maybe he’d changed his mind. They weren’t reasonable explanations.

At twelve o’clock, Pete excused himself and went to watch the tiny black and white portable he kept in the back room. Since I refused to go home, I might as well make myself useful and watch the shop. Like I didn’t know that he spent most of his time smoking rollies and watching the racing in the backroom, whether I was there or not. A few minutes later, I heard him shout.
“Cordie, you’d best get in here, quick!” I was so jumpy, I almost ran. Pete was watching the news. Tom’s face filled the tiny screen, his face tilted in profile, he was laughing at something behind the camera, something we couldn’t see. The voice of the newscaster droned on, emotionless.
“…police are appealing for any witnesses to come forward.”
“What’s going on?” I asked, barely able to get the words out.
“He’s dead, Cordie,” Pete replied. “He’s been murdered.”
“He can’t be dead,” I said, “we’re going on a date.”

Silence.

“Well at least you know he hasn’t stood you up. I told you there would be a reasonable explanation.”

Yorkshire puddings and historical fiction

2009-10-13T21:27:00.004+01:00

There are certain things that I’d really like to be able to do. Certain things that I’m a more than a little bit in awe of. I’ve attempted to make Yorkshire puds on numerous occasions, and they’re, well, lets just say that they come out ok. They generally come out tasting like Yorkshire puddings and looking like, er, flat Yorkshire puddings. But they’re definitely recognisable as what they’re supposed to be, and not poisonous, which is always a good start when cooking. They don’t, however, come out anything like they do when my dad’s girlfriend makes them, even when I follow her instructions to the letter. Most of the time (I say most of the time because I think there was a fluke or two early doors which filled me with false confidence) they just don’t rise properly. I try not to let it get to me. It’s not the end of the world. I have, after all, mastered roast potatoes. I had a few soggy efforts at first but then I got there, and the boyf reached up and dusted off one of his best compliments, telling me “They’re just as good as ones you’d buy from the shop”. But roast potato making successes aside, there would still be something very satisfying about making decent Yorkshires.

Aside from Yorkshire puddings I would really, really like to be able to write realistic historical fiction. This is not at all like making Yorkshire puddings because this is something I have never even attempted. Now, I’m not saying that I want to realistically and evocatively bring to life the tempestuous relationships of Jacobean sheep farmers. What I’m saying is that I find it hard enough to write convincingly in the real world, in the here and now where I live my life, every day, and have quite a lot of experience of. I can’t imagine how difficult it would be to write (and write well) when your characters are slap bang in the middle of a different time period. Its about evoking a sense of place. The reason that this is in my head today is because as an exercise in last weeks writing class we had to make lists, some of them were boring (things that I like to read about, things that interest me) but one really struck a chord. Times that interest me. My list was World War Two, Pioneer America and my 1980s childhood.

So our homework was to find a topic (from one of the many lists) that interests me, devise an idea for a character, consider what they most want, make a list of obstacles, pick one scenario and write about it blah blah blah. We have to show the character in action not getting what they want and it should be about 300 words.

Now, I’m really struggling for a couple of reasons. Firstly, I’ve never been much of a planner. I tend to write inside out and start with what I think is the beginning and an idea of where I think its going, only to realise that the beginning is not the beginning at all and where I thought it was going was a different direction than I’ve found myself now. After a bit, I plan if I need to and that’s when the lists start and the random notes and the hope that I can tie it together. Secondly, I find that if I just write, then sooner or later I will figure out the character and the obstacles and it will all sort itself out. It is very difficult to find out what a character wants before you’ve done the decent thing and written about them a little bit and started to get to know them.

So I think I am going to have to cheat, and do the homework backwards and wine and dine my character first before making a list of their deepest desires and the obstacles in their way, because its not very interesting the other way round. And although I would like my character to be a German Jew in post-war Britain, I have a feeling that she probably won’t be. Just because I’m not convinced I could ever write her, and (at this precise moment in time, when my writing is all about building my confidence back up and getting into good habits) I’m a bit too scared to try.

Anyway, I’m going to stop rambling (must go and finish my homework).

Before I go, I’m going to post a poem, where I do feel like I’ve captured time quite well. It was written as an exercise when I was at Uni and we all went to the National Portrait Gallery and were, quite simply, told to write poems of pictures that took our fancy. This one is written after seeing “Dancing Couple from Animal Locomotion” (1887) by Eadweard Muybridge. I googled him, he’s a bit mental

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eadweard_Muybridge

and here are some examples of the kind of work he did (although not the actual picture the poem is based on, I can’t find that anywhere)

http://www.kingston.gov.uk/browse/leisure/museum/museum_exhibitions/muybridge/animal_locomotion/online_prints.htm

Ok, here we go…

Poem of a Picture

As my eyes move, I see the couple dance,
The same couple who,
From the other side of the room,
Seemed quite, quite still,
But now as I stand and watch them dance
I see her slow smile as she turns to the camera
I hear the swoosh of her long skirt moving behind her,
I feel the warmth of his arms around her,
And the shiver of excitement that runs up her spine
And the fantasies that race through his mind
And the quickening pulse and the shallow breath
As he tries, and fails, not to look at her breasts,
She sees but merely laughs and ignores it
Because deep down inside she really adores it
Their bodies in tune, twirling the dance,
A soft, low moan, a furtive glance,
Her heart races, anticipates the thrill
But then I look away and they are still.

day two and some small technical difficulties...

2009-10-10T16:31:00.007+01:00

so I managed to log on here before and edit my blog. this is easy, I thought. this is a piece of cake. then I decided to start following some blogs I like...and have managed to follow myself. so now the bijou raconteur follows, er, the bijou raconteur. this isn't me being a narcissist, this is me not being particularly technologically savvy. oops. luckily, cally is going to log on later and fix it for me, she's really quite good at it, which is good for me. phew!

so I'm going to stick to what I can do, which is type text in a box. there's not much that can go wrong here (hopefully).

as I mentioned yesterday, I'm in the process of sending stuff off to magazines and competitions and have decided that each story will have a 3 strikes rule - if it isn't accepted, then I'm going to post it on here. like vanity publication that isn't going to bankrupt me. hooray! I only started sending stuff off at the end of August, so that means it will be a good few months before I've been rejected 3 times. so for now, until I write something just for here (which I will, I've started it already, although historically I'm a lot better at starting things than I am at finishing them) for now I am going to post some old stuff. just to get posting, and to keep the momentum up. which is a good thing.

ok, so here you are, have some poems. enjoy!

Window

Old woman sat alone
at a two seater table
in the window of the bakers,
shop half unopened around her,
as she nibbles, squirrel-like,
at her antiquated toasted teacake,
treating herself.

Teacup devoid of saucer
in this harsh, modern world,
plate, knife, spoon arranged symmetrically,
a bad habit from her childhood
enraged by old age
and the taunt of senile dementia.

Old woman sat alone like a bulldog,
all jowl and foul expression,
the youth of yesterday,
an attitude problem armed
with a walking stick and a blue rinse.

Twenty-one again if she closes her eyes,
ignores her aching joints, rheumy fingers.
She's waiting for him in the shadows,
breeze blowing freshly washed hair in her eyes,
shivering beneath her thin cardigan.

He steals up behind her,
wraps his arms around her thin waist,
shared laughter,
warm glow,
brilliant smile.

Advice

Hey friend, take my advice,

watch the world through rose tinted glasses,

paint your feelings in primary colours,

and never let the bastards get you down.

Think once, think twice

then throw caution to the wind,

dive into the river and sink or swim.

Look left, look right

then take a deep breath

and put faith in the dice and

dance.

Dance with your friends

in armchairs on rooftops,

laugh with your siblings at family functions

and never learn by other people's mistakes.

Choose your friends and your drinks wisely,

and mix them carefully,

tequila, with a vodka chaser, will not make you

glamorous, sophisticated, or particularly nice.

Make every day an adventure,

and above all, remember this,

never listen to bad advice

and always remember the people you've kissed.

hello

2009-10-09T21:52:00.003+01:00

hello...er...well this is it. I said I would start a blog and I have. so what do I want to say..?

I had a moment at work the other day...I was listening to a conference call and I thought, is this it? is this really it..? as much as I want to marry a rockstar and be a fairy princess, I am a realist, and the answer was resounding...

sadly, yes. yes, this is it. and the likelyhood is that I won't get to retire until I'm about 70, so I have a choice. I can either continue like I am or I can try to escape and do something that I love.

I want to be a novellist. I want to write stories. I am going to be 30 very soon and the very thought has struck fear into my bones and I have decided that this is not it. I am not going to let this be it. so I have started doing the following things...

I'm working with a writing coach (http://www.stephaniecage.co.uk/)
I'm going to a writing class
I'm working on this blog
I've been sending stories off to competitions/magazines

it might not sound like a lot, but to me, it is a lot. I'm lucky that I have the lovely cally (http://www.callyjanestudio.blogspot.com/) as my best friend/sis-in-law to do lots of lovely artwork for me and encourage me. and a boyfriend who is prepared to drive me to and from class and is learning to cook so he can make me tea and give me more time to write. other than that, well, it's really just down to me. so watch this space. I'm gonna post some words that I like, and it would be very nice if you liked them too ...

these words were from my writing class, they said, 10 mins, 200 words, romance, bus (admittedly, this is a second draft...) please feel free to post comments and let me know what you think.

“He looks like Justin Timberlake,” Shanice said.
“No he doesn’t! He looks nuffin like him!”
“He does! He’s his twin, man! Who you lookin’ at? You can’t be lookin’ at the same one!”
“I’m lookin’ at that one there, in the hat,” I pointed.
“Yeah, that’s him,” she sighed. “He’s lovely.”
“Well how come I’ve never seen him before? How come you’ve never said nuffin?”
“Well I dunno, do I? I’m shy or summat.”
“You? Shy? Fuck off.”
“Don’t take the piss Chantelle, I’m serious here.”
“If you love him that much, why don’t you just talk to him?”
“Oh, I can’t! I daren’t!”
“I’ll talk to him for you –“
“No!” she shrieked, grabbing my arm. “Chantelle! Don’t!”
I didn’t listen.
“Oi! Oi, you!” I yelled at JT. “My mate fancies you.”
Justin turned and winked. Started walking our way as he went to go down the stairs.
“Aw-right darlin’,” he drawled, grabbing his crotch as he went by. “Fancy a piece of this, do ya?”
Shanice went bright red as Justin and his cronies howled and pounded on the windows as they ran down the stairs.

If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve sworn she was crying.