Sunday, April 30, 2006
New link...
...to Kate at 'A Matter of Muse' a talented young poet. I really like her stuff but she doesn't write enough of it, so if you go and visit please tell her to get her finger out and 'Muse' me more often!
Lil bits
Oh dear, I've been invaded!
All night long my blog has been awash with seekers of the mythical 'Mistress Minx' - I am, apparently, now a sex site offering a virtual 'Blogflog' - ( have I just made up a new concept? Hmmm.......could be a possibility!!).
So, I must learn from this and not include words such as Mistress, Madame, Minx, sex, whipping or submission in my Blog Posts (did that last one have any conotations do you think?).
The MD handed me a little black book from the Independent yesterday called 'The Indypedia' (Part 1, A-K) - 'looks like one of your lists' he said. And yes, here are some I liked:
Acronyms, computer
WWW......World Wide Wait
MS-DOS.....Microsoft's Defective Operating System
WINDOWS....Will Install Needless Data On Whole System
ISDN......It Still Does Nothing
AOL......America Off Line
MSN......Massive Spamming Network
APPLE.....Arrogance Produces Profit Losing Entity
CD-ROM.......Consumer Device Rendered Obsolete in Months
IBM......I Blame Microsoft
PENTIUM.......Produces Erroneous Numbers Through Incorrect Understanding of Mathematics
MICROSOFT......Most Intelligent Customers Realise Our Software Only Fools Teenagers
It also had a list of 'best dressed women' so I added a bit to this one.....
1. Kate Moss......a fashion stick
2. Scarlett Johansson.....an acting stick
3.Sienna Miller.....Jude's (ex?) stick
4. Gwen Stefani...an unusual stick
5. Nicole Kidman.....an unreasonably tall stick
6 Angelina Jolie.....a very lucky stick (grrr)
7. Kirsten Dunst....a pretty stick
8. Jennifer Aniston.... an 'I lost my stick to the lucky stick' stick
9. Keira Knightly.....a wannabe stick
10. Victoria Beckham.....a twig in Versace
Ther's also a list of 'Awareness Days' and I'm signing up for these:
Potato Day.....Jan
Loud Tie Week .....Jan/Feb
Pig Day.....Mar
Spam Appreciation Week...Mar
Panic Day...Jun
Orgasm Day....Jul
Talk like a Pirate Day....Sept
Sleep-in day (only a day?) ....Oct
World Toilet Day.....Nov
I will give Novel Writing Month a miss in Nov as I think I more than cover this one and beside who thought that one up, a month, I ask you!
This week's Indypedia book starts with Aardvarks (apparently there's four in the UK) and finishes with Knives - 'Knives handed in during the last national knife amnesty in 1995: 40,000' - just had a mental picture of housewives all over the land hand in the cheese knife and that strangely shaped one that came in a set and no one knows what to do with it. Can't wait for the next installment.
But whilst you're waiting pop over to Concepts for a buntiful World to learn about your inner Fae (fairy). I'm a rather ugly Dark Elf with a mean pair of black, pointy ears
All night long my blog has been awash with seekers of the mythical 'Mistress Minx' - I am, apparently, now a sex site offering a virtual 'Blogflog' - ( have I just made up a new concept? Hmmm.......could be a possibility!!).
So, I must learn from this and not include words such as Mistress, Madame, Minx, sex, whipping or submission in my Blog Posts (did that last one have any conotations do you think?).
The MD handed me a little black book from the Independent yesterday called 'The Indypedia' (Part 1, A-K) - 'looks like one of your lists' he said. And yes, here are some I liked:
Acronyms, computer
WWW......World Wide Wait
MS-DOS.....Microsoft's Defective Operating System
WINDOWS....Will Install Needless Data On Whole System
ISDN......It Still Does Nothing
AOL......America Off Line
MSN......Massive Spamming Network
APPLE.....Arrogance Produces Profit Losing Entity
CD-ROM.......Consumer Device Rendered Obsolete in Months
IBM......I Blame Microsoft
PENTIUM.......Produces Erroneous Numbers Through Incorrect Understanding of Mathematics
MICROSOFT......Most Intelligent Customers Realise Our Software Only Fools Teenagers
It also had a list of 'best dressed women' so I added a bit to this one.....
1. Kate Moss......a fashion stick
2. Scarlett Johansson.....an acting stick
3.Sienna Miller.....Jude's (ex?) stick
4. Gwen Stefani...an unusual stick
5. Nicole Kidman.....an unreasonably tall stick
6 Angelina Jolie.....a very lucky stick (grrr)
7. Kirsten Dunst....a pretty stick
8. Jennifer Aniston.... an 'I lost my stick to the lucky stick' stick
9. Keira Knightly.....a wannabe stick
10. Victoria Beckham.....a twig in Versace
Ther's also a list of 'Awareness Days' and I'm signing up for these:
Potato Day.....Jan
Loud Tie Week .....Jan/Feb
Pig Day.....Mar
Spam Appreciation Week...Mar
Panic Day...Jun
Orgasm Day....Jul
Talk like a Pirate Day....Sept
Sleep-in day (only a day?) ....Oct
World Toilet Day.....Nov
I will give Novel Writing Month a miss in Nov as I think I more than cover this one and beside who thought that one up, a month, I ask you!
This week's Indypedia book starts with Aardvarks (apparently there's four in the UK) and finishes with Knives - 'Knives handed in during the last national knife amnesty in 1995: 40,000' - just had a mental picture of housewives all over the land hand in the cheese knife and that strangely shaped one that came in a set and no one knows what to do with it. Can't wait for the next installment.
But whilst you're waiting pop over to Concepts for a buntiful World to learn about your inner Fae (fairy). I'm a rather ugly Dark Elf with a mean pair of black, pointy ears
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Some homework
Take the Fantasy Writers Exam - doesn't matter if you don't write it, if you read Lord of the Rings then it will apply!!
Friday, April 28, 2006
Nom de Blog
Moniker, nom de plume, sobriquet, title, appellation, nom de guerre. Titles all, for the designations with which we choose to be known as.
Names have always been a fascination and recently I have been handed a load more from the blogland. I had a post recently from a Hmmm (3 m's actually!) and it set me thinking about the choices that bloggers have made.
Petrona put me onto ProBlog where I learnt that I fell into the experiential type of blogger (I think experimental would have been more appropriate as I often don't really know what I'm talking about).
I have noticed that by and large the referential bloggers seem to use their real names, well I presume that they are real otherwise Frank Wilson would have come up with something a little more daring! Weird thing is that I know a Wilson Frank, come to that I also know the alliterate Lexi Lobb and also a Sky Texas Delta, but that's my circle, get your own!
Blog names are a subject in themselves and the most weird, strange and often ridiculous names I have found are the ones on Miss Snark, probably because the snarklings are too scared to give anything other than an untraceable name which they change the moment they sign out!
In the blog world I have met -
Petrona - meaning 'small rock' in Greek or she may be from the Roman clan of Petronius (I go for the latter) but she comes under referential so she couldn't help sneaking in her own name of Maxine which incidentally means 'Greatest' latin. Very apt!
Skint - probably not as skint as he likes to think (sympathy vote?) as he scoffs hovis on the quiet (US alert - Hovis is posh bread). Anyway he is a welshman with a penchant for wooly lambs and has a neat line in blogging - if he keeps it up.
Pundy - haven't quite worked this one out yet. Bundy (eng) meaning Free, was the closest I could find but he also provided the good, real name of Liversausage, oh read him, you'll see!
Shameless - probably falls under my category of all-is-not-as-it-seems but he writes some good stuff and keeps lions as pets
Buntifer - an individual who had invented a whole world of Buntiful things but confuses the issue when he signs in as Cheesm from the Tribe of Cheesemongersanonymous, speaking of which...
A-nonny-mouse - pops out of his hole from time to time and is not to confused with the term blog-anony-coms from my own Blogology. Oh dear, this is starting to look like a dictionary or maybe a friends promotion tour (I'll have the chocolate later guys).
Also come across
Mboyfriendisatwat
Tillerman - does what it says on the tin - found lurking on the heaving oceans and in amongst English writer blogs - weirdo but does have a very funny list of 'self'
Vitriolica- my fave web insta-artist, split personality between a writer and an artist, totally reasonable if you ask me.
I know full well why I decided to call myself Minx and before you go making those assumptions bear in mind you will be as far away from the truth as you can get - think Horsehead Nebula and you're not even close.
But why did you choose yours - was it that panic to find something quick when blogger announced that your all time favourite was already taken, or have you held a lifelong ambition to be a 'Squirrelnutkin' in some shape or form?
But here's a thing for you incurably nosey's, I am also known as...
Mrs Minx - at work
Madame Minx - at the bank (yeah, and then I woke up!)
Best Mate Minx - by the Gin Co-operative
Muminx - by the feckers
Darling, yummy, scrummy, pookins, fluffy bum - by the milkman( or should that be milkperson)
Yownx - by Owen (treacherous cat)
'Where's my white shirt?' - by the MD
Mistress Minx - also (on occasion) by the MD, but I'm not going into that one!!
Names have always been a fascination and recently I have been handed a load more from the blogland. I had a post recently from a Hmmm (3 m's actually!) and it set me thinking about the choices that bloggers have made.
Petrona put me onto ProBlog where I learnt that I fell into the experiential type of blogger (I think experimental would have been more appropriate as I often don't really know what I'm talking about).
I have noticed that by and large the referential bloggers seem to use their real names, well I presume that they are real otherwise Frank Wilson would have come up with something a little more daring! Weird thing is that I know a Wilson Frank, come to that I also know the alliterate Lexi Lobb and also a Sky Texas Delta, but that's my circle, get your own!
Blog names are a subject in themselves and the most weird, strange and often ridiculous names I have found are the ones on Miss Snark, probably because the snarklings are too scared to give anything other than an untraceable name which they change the moment they sign out!
In the blog world I have met -
Petrona - meaning 'small rock' in Greek or she may be from the Roman clan of Petronius (I go for the latter) but she comes under referential so she couldn't help sneaking in her own name of Maxine which incidentally means 'Greatest' latin. Very apt!
Skint - probably not as skint as he likes to think (sympathy vote?) as he scoffs hovis on the quiet (US alert - Hovis is posh bread). Anyway he is a welshman with a penchant for wooly lambs and has a neat line in blogging - if he keeps it up.
Pundy - haven't quite worked this one out yet. Bundy (eng) meaning Free, was the closest I could find but he also provided the good, real name of Liversausage, oh read him, you'll see!
Shameless - probably falls under my category of all-is-not-as-it-seems but he writes some good stuff and keeps lions as pets
Buntifer - an individual who had invented a whole world of Buntiful things but confuses the issue when he signs in as Cheesm from the Tribe of Cheesemongersanonymous, speaking of which...
A-nonny-mouse - pops out of his hole from time to time and is not to confused with the term blog-anony-coms from my own Blogology. Oh dear, this is starting to look like a dictionary or maybe a friends promotion tour (I'll have the chocolate later guys).
Also come across
Mboyfriendisatwat
Tillerman - does what it says on the tin - found lurking on the heaving oceans and in amongst English writer blogs - weirdo but does have a very funny list of 'self'
Vitriolica- my fave web insta-artist, split personality between a writer and an artist, totally reasonable if you ask me.
I know full well why I decided to call myself Minx and before you go making those assumptions bear in mind you will be as far away from the truth as you can get - think Horsehead Nebula and you're not even close.
But why did you choose yours - was it that panic to find something quick when blogger announced that your all time favourite was already taken, or have you held a lifelong ambition to be a 'Squirrelnutkin' in some shape or form?
But here's a thing for you incurably nosey's, I am also known as...
Mrs Minx - at work
Madame Minx - at the bank (yeah, and then I woke up!)
Best Mate Minx - by the Gin Co-operative
Muminx - by the feckers
Darling, yummy, scrummy, pookins, fluffy bum - by the milkman( or should that be milkperson)
Yownx - by Owen (treacherous cat)
'Where's my white shirt?' - by the MD
Mistress Minx - also (on occasion) by the MD, but I'm not going into that one!!
Thursday, April 27, 2006
More scribblings from the Gin Parlour
Seedlings
I have a little book
I call it 'Planting Seeds'
It doesn't cover gardening or
the misuse of certain weeds
It sits inside my handbag,
a sack of bottomless doom
a secondary part of me
a bag,
a life,
a womb where
the pen is always missing
when the words are coming in
so I've tied one to my little book
with a nasty piece of string
And when I spy a morsel
a tasty little crumb
a name,
a word,
a builders bum
I pull the string and enter in
your name, your birth
(for what it's worth)
your size and shape
and ample girth
to plant the seed
that I may need
to write.
I have a little book
I call it 'Planting Seeds'
It doesn't cover gardening or
the misuse of certain weeds
It sits inside my handbag,
a sack of bottomless doom
a secondary part of me
a bag,
a life,
a womb where
the pen is always missing
when the words are coming in
so I've tied one to my little book
with a nasty piece of string
And when I spy a morsel
a tasty little crumb
a name,
a word,
a builders bum
I pull the string and enter in
your name, your birth
(for what it's worth)
your size and shape
and ample girth
to plant the seed
that I may need
to write.
Go have a look at this......
Not often I find something that makes me laugh out loud. Just type in -
Talking Cats in the video search.
Talking Cats in the video search.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Can't see me for dust!
The 'D' word, another foul concoction of the devil. Nearly as bad as ironing, (which I get through with copious ammounts of gin) but not as bad as cleaning the toilet in my male dominated house - say no more.
Anyway, dusting, not a habit that I've ever managed to acquire but a job that is usually done when I have run out of excuses or I can't see the tv.
Today was the day. I finished early at work, meaning I took work home that will be done sometime in the next millenium, and decided that a spring dust was the order of the day. I managed a whole room before embarking on the office where I came to complete standstill for three hours.
I had bet myself, with the promise of a lamb passanda from the multi-balti down the road, that I would not touch any of the computers until I had finished and I didn't, I didn't!
Fatal mistake - I started to dust the books and pulled out one that I hadn't seen for a while, then another, and another, shit. I lay on the floor amidst my reading history from about five years ago (more recent publications are further down and I was up the wobbly ladder).
Oh look here's....
Five to Midnight......Edmund Cooper
Clan of the Cave bear....Jean M Auel
Death's Master......Tanith Lee
25 Terry Pratchetts
Johnathan Livingstone Seagull.....Richard Bach
Lord Fouls Bane series (6)........Stephen Donaldson
The Ship who Sang.......Anne MacCaffrey
More lives than one ....Jeffery Iverson
Bonjour Trieste.....Francoise Sagan
A Rumour of Angels....M Bradley Kellogg
Money is love....Richard Condon
The Amtrak Wars series ......Patrick Tilley
Breakfast at Tiffany's......Truman Capote
Wild Swans......Jung Chang
And hidden at the back was a book of tasteless lists which made me sit down and read until the kids came home. One in particular caught my eye under the heading of 'It's your funeral'
The most reliable methods for diagnosing death are;
Anyway, dusting, not a habit that I've ever managed to acquire but a job that is usually done when I have run out of excuses or I can't see the tv.
Today was the day. I finished early at work, meaning I took work home that will be done sometime in the next millenium, and decided that a spring dust was the order of the day. I managed a whole room before embarking on the office where I came to complete standstill for three hours.
I had bet myself, with the promise of a lamb passanda from the multi-balti down the road, that I would not touch any of the computers until I had finished and I didn't, I didn't!
Fatal mistake - I started to dust the books and pulled out one that I hadn't seen for a while, then another, and another, shit. I lay on the floor amidst my reading history from about five years ago (more recent publications are further down and I was up the wobbly ladder).
Oh look here's....
Five to Midnight......Edmund Cooper
Clan of the Cave bear....Jean M Auel
Death's Master......Tanith Lee
25 Terry Pratchetts
Johnathan Livingstone Seagull.....Richard Bach
Lord Fouls Bane series (6)........Stephen Donaldson
The Ship who Sang.......Anne MacCaffrey
More lives than one ....Jeffery Iverson
Bonjour Trieste.....Francoise Sagan
A Rumour of Angels....M Bradley Kellogg
Money is love....Richard Condon
The Amtrak Wars series ......Patrick Tilley
Breakfast at Tiffany's......Truman Capote
Wild Swans......Jung Chang
And hidden at the back was a book of tasteless lists which made me sit down and read until the kids came home. One in particular caught my eye under the heading of 'It's your funeral'
The most reliable methods for diagnosing death are;
- pouring freezing water in your ear (your ear?) which should provoke an eye movement in the living
- poking something in the eye - testing the corneal reflex
- poking something down your throat - gag reflex
- grinding knuckles in your sternum - pain reflex
- squeezing your testicles - pain again
If none of these techniques elicits a response then you are probably dead!
Oh joy - I'm dusting again tomorrow!
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Morbid Cow
Tuesday is local rag day. At lunchtime, on this day, I set aside my untidy heap of Guardian and replace them with my 'magic source sheets'.
If I make my own soggy sandwiches in the morning I can earn myself nearly forty minutes of grazing the local news and views. Today, along with my trusty, invisible ear muffs to drown out the latest diet news from my colleagues, I made myself a strong coffee and opened up my guide to the wondrous world of neighbourhood gossip.
I by-passed the story of Mrs Penberthy and her stolen milk bottles and only glanced over 'what's on in your area' ( not much usually), whipped out my pen and notebook and settled down to blissful peace with the obituaries.
'You morbid cow!'
Actually, as I was ploughing through the lists of recently deceased this first interuption sounded more like 'oobicow'.
'What?' I said, annoyed that the staff room had stopped eating their lettuce and were glowering at me.
'I said you're a morbid cow' my usually supportive workmate said 'you're writing down dead people aren't you?'
I nodded 'of course, what's the problem?'
'That's gross'
The rest of the crew nodded - gross, really gross and I felt like the cat that has just been caught licking its bum in public.
I wanted to say.....
'listen you cloth-eared bint, I like the obits, they embellish my life in a way that you can never hope to understand. Dead people are more interesting than Liz Hurley's half inch of cellulite or who's-got-their-tits-out in Heat this week'
...but I realised that my bad temper was still hanging around from the previous nights foray into WI land. Instead I smiled and tried to explain.
'You put dead people in your books then, that's even worse.'
'Don't you have to ask permission or something? another colleague asked.
'Educating pork' sprung to mind but I knew that if I didn't shake them off with a reasonable explanation then I was never going to get to 'G' and there are always interesting names in 'G'.
'So you just use them as a springboard then?
'Exactly.' 'Except when a whole one takes my fancy that is.'
Only last week I had gathered a 'Garfield Shenks', a 'Mordicai Treglowan' and a 'Loveday' that I haven't yet found a surname for.
Between the 1930's and the 1950's the Cornish were magnificent in their choice of monikers and as I am researching for a novel that is set in an 'alternative' Cornwall it seems perfectly normal to use this source of ready made research. I mean, listen to these....
Minnie Gembo
Jakey Moyle
Avergila Boslowek
Grenville Symonds
...who already reside in my new pages.
The title of Morbid Cow may be very apt but God knows what they would think if they knew that I liked nothing better than hanging about in graveyards on my days off, and who knows what the mortuary may hold!!!
If I make my own soggy sandwiches in the morning I can earn myself nearly forty minutes of grazing the local news and views. Today, along with my trusty, invisible ear muffs to drown out the latest diet news from my colleagues, I made myself a strong coffee and opened up my guide to the wondrous world of neighbourhood gossip.
I by-passed the story of Mrs Penberthy and her stolen milk bottles and only glanced over 'what's on in your area' ( not much usually), whipped out my pen and notebook and settled down to blissful peace with the obituaries.
'You morbid cow!'
Actually, as I was ploughing through the lists of recently deceased this first interuption sounded more like 'oobicow'.
'What?' I said, annoyed that the staff room had stopped eating their lettuce and were glowering at me.
'I said you're a morbid cow' my usually supportive workmate said 'you're writing down dead people aren't you?'
I nodded 'of course, what's the problem?'
'That's gross'
The rest of the crew nodded - gross, really gross and I felt like the cat that has just been caught licking its bum in public.
I wanted to say.....
'listen you cloth-eared bint, I like the obits, they embellish my life in a way that you can never hope to understand. Dead people are more interesting than Liz Hurley's half inch of cellulite or who's-got-their-tits-out in Heat this week'
...but I realised that my bad temper was still hanging around from the previous nights foray into WI land. Instead I smiled and tried to explain.
'You put dead people in your books then, that's even worse.'
'Don't you have to ask permission or something? another colleague asked.
'Educating pork' sprung to mind but I knew that if I didn't shake them off with a reasonable explanation then I was never going to get to 'G' and there are always interesting names in 'G'.
'So you just use them as a springboard then?
'Exactly.' 'Except when a whole one takes my fancy that is.'
Only last week I had gathered a 'Garfield Shenks', a 'Mordicai Treglowan' and a 'Loveday' that I haven't yet found a surname for.
Between the 1930's and the 1950's the Cornish were magnificent in their choice of monikers and as I am researching for a novel that is set in an 'alternative' Cornwall it seems perfectly normal to use this source of ready made research. I mean, listen to these....
Minnie Gembo
Jakey Moyle
Avergila Boslowek
Grenville Symonds
...who already reside in my new pages.
The title of Morbid Cow may be very apt but God knows what they would think if they knew that I liked nothing better than hanging about in graveyards on my days off, and who knows what the mortuary may hold!!!
Monday, April 24, 2006
Gnargg, phwaaatt,errrgraaa......
...I said when I had managed to get my power of speech back.
And why had the Queen of the Gob Grail lost her words? Well, I'll tell you.
In the dark and distant past I must have had a dream. I dreamt that I ageed to talk to (oh dear can hardly say this and have unusual embarrassment) the Women's Institue. The dream unfortunately came true and tonight I trotted along to the meeting with a bag full of stories and a pocket full of witty poems with which to tickle their supportive undergarments.
The first thing that I had to do after being met by MaureenBlueRinse was to pay JoanPurpleRinse for the flower that she had donated.
'I'm sorry?'
'Every month one us brings in an offering from the garden and we pay to see it and then the money goes to our favourite charity' a glowing MaureenBR said.
I coughed up twenty-five pence from the bottom of my sack and took my place on the dais - I made the mistake of referring to it as the stage and recieved a tap on the back of the hand!
SEE THE WARNING SIGNS HERE- I didn't!
Here I sat in a 'dais' whilst the almalgamation of four WI's waded through an hour's worth of backslapping, announced the winning recipes for potato and radish jam (no they didn't, I made that up, it was squirrel and sausage) and talked about the achievements of Maureen and her Blanket Crusade. Wasn't quite sure that I had got the hang of this one as I had lost the will to live sometime after the first minute, must be some kind of march to the holy land with warming bedcovers.
Oh God I'm up.
I opened with a mirthful ditty about the Queen's knickers, a (prize winning) poem that I happen to be quite proud of and one that goes down really well in the pub!!
Oh dear, the ladies failed to make a crease in their carefully powdered faces but not to be put off by a bunch of mad knitters, and yes there were two knitting in the front row, I sallied forth with my life as a struggling writer.
What was wrong with me, public speaking is as easy as falling off a large horse, I've usually got them rolling in the aisles by now. I had very carefully tailored my speech, edited the language and told them what I thought that they would like to know.
Oh help - they hate me.
I looked around the room at the stony, sober, corsetted chests. Not an eyebrow raised, not a hint of a smirk - I'd lost it somewhere on the road here, it was dead and dying and I was never going to get it back- ever, I'm ruined!
I finished quickly and recieved a luke-warm clap from Janice, who made the tea. I presumed that she was a wannabe WI as they wouldn't let her sit down with the blue rinse team.
Then I tried to sneak off.
'Ah Mrs Minx' Joan PR said 'that was umm, very interesting, very interesting indeed. However, this fantasy of yours, I don't think any of my ladies read fantasy, scientific or not.'
I couldn't speak until I had got home and forced a large vodka down my throat. I have written a large note in my diary and put up a poster by the phone.
'No WI's ever again for me'
And anyway what's wrong with fantasy as long as you've got a few scientific facts in there!
And why had the Queen of the Gob Grail lost her words? Well, I'll tell you.
In the dark and distant past I must have had a dream. I dreamt that I ageed to talk to (oh dear can hardly say this and have unusual embarrassment) the Women's Institue. The dream unfortunately came true and tonight I trotted along to the meeting with a bag full of stories and a pocket full of witty poems with which to tickle their supportive undergarments.
The first thing that I had to do after being met by MaureenBlueRinse was to pay JoanPurpleRinse for the flower that she had donated.
'I'm sorry?'
'Every month one us brings in an offering from the garden and we pay to see it and then the money goes to our favourite charity' a glowing MaureenBR said.
I coughed up twenty-five pence from the bottom of my sack and took my place on the dais - I made the mistake of referring to it as the stage and recieved a tap on the back of the hand!
SEE THE WARNING SIGNS HERE- I didn't!
Here I sat in a 'dais' whilst the almalgamation of four WI's waded through an hour's worth of backslapping, announced the winning recipes for potato and radish jam (no they didn't, I made that up, it was squirrel and sausage) and talked about the achievements of Maureen and her Blanket Crusade. Wasn't quite sure that I had got the hang of this one as I had lost the will to live sometime after the first minute, must be some kind of march to the holy land with warming bedcovers.
Oh God I'm up.
I opened with a mirthful ditty about the Queen's knickers, a (prize winning) poem that I happen to be quite proud of and one that goes down really well in the pub!!
Oh dear, the ladies failed to make a crease in their carefully powdered faces but not to be put off by a bunch of mad knitters, and yes there were two knitting in the front row, I sallied forth with my life as a struggling writer.
What was wrong with me, public speaking is as easy as falling off a large horse, I've usually got them rolling in the aisles by now. I had very carefully tailored my speech, edited the language and told them what I thought that they would like to know.
Oh help - they hate me.
I looked around the room at the stony, sober, corsetted chests. Not an eyebrow raised, not a hint of a smirk - I'd lost it somewhere on the road here, it was dead and dying and I was never going to get it back- ever, I'm ruined!
I finished quickly and recieved a luke-warm clap from Janice, who made the tea. I presumed that she was a wannabe WI as they wouldn't let her sit down with the blue rinse team.
Then I tried to sneak off.
'Ah Mrs Minx' Joan PR said 'that was umm, very interesting, very interesting indeed. However, this fantasy of yours, I don't think any of my ladies read fantasy, scientific or not.'
I couldn't speak until I had got home and forced a large vodka down my throat. I have written a large note in my diary and put up a poster by the phone.
'No WI's ever again for me'
And anyway what's wrong with fantasy as long as you've got a few scientific facts in there!
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Get your Jilly Cooper out and wave it in the air!!
In looking around the lit/writer blogs today, I find that there are many whingers out there and I'm afraid that I am going to have to join them.
My good friend Petrona (who must have a reading age of 101 judging by the number of words that scuttle by her eyes every day) must have books for breakfast, lunch and tea. Analysing them in her sleep and then letting blog readers know of her highly regarded thoughts and recommendations from lit right across the board.
Having just completed a survey on The Publishing Contrarian I find, horrifyingly, that I am filled with BOOK ENVY. I slathered over the titles that were offered up but I have since found out that a few people on the survey have been telling porkies! Whilst they filled the comments box with their highbrow tastes they ommited to say that they did indeed enjoy the odd, dare I say, trashy novel.
And what's wrong with this?
Are we supposed to be embarrassed by our gutter tastes, is it dreadfully common to say that we have not only read, but enjoyed books, from the bestseller lists. The Da Vinci Code came in for a right drubbing - why?
As usual I have my own theories and I'm going to compare with my well-known thoughts on the state of football in England.
We Brits live in small country, a sometime world dominationg country it has to be said, but nonetheless a small island that would fit inside many others with ease. France and Germany had a million more in acreage in which to grow their players and yet when was the last time you heard 'Well, they do quite well considering.'
Why do we find it so difficult to give praise where it is due? The so-called pundits/supporters of the game seem to enjoy putting down their teams especially those struggling in the lower leagues. Where is the support in that? (And yes, I do know the offside rule!).
So what am I saying in the world of readers and critics?
I am saying that we are not all the same, nor should we be. If writers produced all the same kind/standard of lit then half the country wouldn't be reading. My bookshelves groan under the equal weight of the good, the bad and the ugly - all of them brain food. I like burgers but I also like steak and I'm telling the world. So please give the poor (no pun intended!) writer credit for providing sustenance for all!
And envy, where did this come in? Ah yes, I am in fact jealous of those who manage to read six books a week - I couldn't do it if I tried, and why not?
I am a writer (of possibly trashy books!) and I walk around all day with an on-going novel in my head. I cannot go to the cinema without plotting, planning and structuring the next line, paragraph or chapter. I drive my family (and me) mad with bits of crucial paper stuck all over the house and the endless hours I spend tapping away in the corner.
Whatever the style or genre of a book, whatever its audience, credit should be given where credit is due. These are published authors, somebody liked them and believed in them enough to market them and you don't have to read it unless you want to!
So the next time you are reading your trash with a torch under the bedclothes, smile. It may be one of mine!
My good friend Petrona (who must have a reading age of 101 judging by the number of words that scuttle by her eyes every day) must have books for breakfast, lunch and tea. Analysing them in her sleep and then letting blog readers know of her highly regarded thoughts and recommendations from lit right across the board.
Having just completed a survey on The Publishing Contrarian I find, horrifyingly, that I am filled with BOOK ENVY. I slathered over the titles that were offered up but I have since found out that a few people on the survey have been telling porkies! Whilst they filled the comments box with their highbrow tastes they ommited to say that they did indeed enjoy the odd, dare I say, trashy novel.
And what's wrong with this?
Are we supposed to be embarrassed by our gutter tastes, is it dreadfully common to say that we have not only read, but enjoyed books, from the bestseller lists. The Da Vinci Code came in for a right drubbing - why?
As usual I have my own theories and I'm going to compare with my well-known thoughts on the state of football in England.
We Brits live in small country, a sometime world dominationg country it has to be said, but nonetheless a small island that would fit inside many others with ease. France and Germany had a million more in acreage in which to grow their players and yet when was the last time you heard 'Well, they do quite well considering.'
Why do we find it so difficult to give praise where it is due? The so-called pundits/supporters of the game seem to enjoy putting down their teams especially those struggling in the lower leagues. Where is the support in that? (And yes, I do know the offside rule!).
So what am I saying in the world of readers and critics?
I am saying that we are not all the same, nor should we be. If writers produced all the same kind/standard of lit then half the country wouldn't be reading. My bookshelves groan under the equal weight of the good, the bad and the ugly - all of them brain food. I like burgers but I also like steak and I'm telling the world. So please give the poor (no pun intended!) writer credit for providing sustenance for all!
And envy, where did this come in? Ah yes, I am in fact jealous of those who manage to read six books a week - I couldn't do it if I tried, and why not?
I am a writer (of possibly trashy books!) and I walk around all day with an on-going novel in my head. I cannot go to the cinema without plotting, planning and structuring the next line, paragraph or chapter. I drive my family (and me) mad with bits of crucial paper stuck all over the house and the endless hours I spend tapping away in the corner.
Whatever the style or genre of a book, whatever its audience, credit should be given where credit is due. These are published authors, somebody liked them and believed in them enough to market them and you don't have to read it unless you want to!
So the next time you are reading your trash with a torch under the bedclothes, smile. It may be one of mine!
Saturday, April 22, 2006
A new birth
Yes, yes, it's 'head on the blog' time.
Announcing the birth of.....
THE LITTLE MINX
A place to stuff all those short stories that have been gathering dust in the deep, dark holes of my mind.
Funny really, I didn't even know I was pregnant!!
Friday, April 21, 2006
A small, but very exciting, celebration
As an un-published writer the road is very often long, extremely lonely, depressing and demoralising, to say the least.
We are bouyed a little by our well-intentioned friends who assume that our attempts will be published by the end of next week and that we will be buying a new suit to receive the prizes that are undoubtedly coming our way. The reality, however, is a file of rejection notes with not a word of advice, encouragement or even a 'look dear, maybe writing is not quite the thing for you, take up crochet'.
What joy then, what heartfelt, sincere, pat-on-the-back kind of things do I feel for someone who has had a small, but significant, boost to his writing ego. No, it wasn't a contract on a plate from a slathering agent, nor was it an offer to publish by a top house. It was encouragement, advice and praise from the respected Lynne W. Scanlon (The Publishing Contrarian). Who took the time and effort to read, digest and critique, and in doing so lifted a man's spirits so that he regained the will to fight for what he believes in - his baby, HIS BOOK.
So I celebrate PUNDY, (with balloons that may scare you to death) as you set your book (A Half Life of One) once more on the rough and unpredictable seas towards eventual publication.
I know it!!
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Blogology - an indepth study of the blogger and their habits
The Blog - a personal log enabling complete personality transformation
Blogger - an infernal chatterbox (verbal dysentry syndrome)
Blogging - boasting about one's Blog (usually associated with NBBM below)
Bloglet - a small Blog for those with short attention span
Blognostic - site metre obsession
No-Billy-Blog-Mates - empty site metre
Blogeur - a Blogless saddo who reads other minds
Blog-anony-coms - a Blogeur who is too ashamed to leave a name in the comments box
Blogist - an eloquent Blogger
Blogitis - inability to stop Blogging (see a doctor)
Bloggart - 'my blog's bigger than yours'
Bloglust - also known as Blog Envy
Doubleblog - a show-off who runs two (or more) Blogs at once
Blogery - theft (sometimes known as 'Blog This')
Blogot - 'you couldn't blog if you tried'
Blogspot - Blog acne (teenage Blogs only)
Blog brothers - male Blog bonding
Blog Sisters - a little piece of heaven!
Did I miss any?
Blogger - an infernal chatterbox (verbal dysentry syndrome)
Blogging - boasting about one's Blog (usually associated with NBBM below)
Bloglet - a small Blog for those with short attention span
Blognostic - site metre obsession
No-Billy-Blog-Mates - empty site metre
Blogeur - a Blogless saddo who reads other minds
Blog-anony-coms - a Blogeur who is too ashamed to leave a name in the comments box
Blogist - an eloquent Blogger
Blogitis - inability to stop Blogging (see a doctor)
Bloggart - 'my blog's bigger than yours'
Bloglust - also known as Blog Envy
Doubleblog - a show-off who runs two (or more) Blogs at once
Blogery - theft (sometimes known as 'Blog This')
Blogot - 'you couldn't blog if you tried'
Blogspot - Blog acne (teenage Blogs only)
Blog brothers - male Blog bonding
Blog Sisters - a little piece of heaven!
Did I miss any?
A Writers Voice
An article by Kate Rew in Mslexia sent me scuttling off to explore my writing for something that I had not thought about before. 'Find your voice' was Rew's review of a writing holiday (I should be so lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky) with the novelist Susan Elderkin and her search for her writer's voice. Deposited on a Greek island she undertakes various exercises to find a voice that was right, and one that encompassed style and genre. I had never thought of this and had blindly pressed on with a confidence in my own voice that I probably had no right to possess.
I once moaned to a friend that I felt I had no style in the clothes department. I have always admired those who could sling on their Marks and Spencers ensembles with a casualness that defied me. Happy to mix an expensive skirt with a jacket from a charity shop, my friend insisted that I did have style, and it was all my own. I could have taken this one of two ways but as Trinny and Susannah have so far failed to turn up on the doorstep, I have stuck to the theory that I do have some sense of style in there somewhere. I also think that I have applied this 'theory' to my writing.
We all have to start somewhere and I have often thought that a useful tool for the fledgling writer would be to take a sneaky peek at the first drafts of our greatest writers. Darley Anderson credits himself with 'finding' Sheila Quigley and cashed in on the story of the grandmother from the Homelands Estate in Sunderland. However, Sheila was like all of us, she went through rejection after rejection and looks back at her early work with a shiver of bad grammar and punctuation. Only when she hit upon the idea for 'Run for Home' did she truly find a style and voice that shouted above others.
In the beginning I remember thinking that I could only write science fantasy as this was where I felt confident and here my voice was strong. Advice, exercise and plodding through some dire creative writing course showed me otherwise. I did have a voice, I could take it wherever it needed to be and sometimes it was a loud, shouty voice that was really rather good.
One of my favourite saying is 'the day you stop learning is the day you start dying' and I take this very seriously. I hope my 'voice' is gaining strength with each new piece I write and that my ignorant beginnings have become part of this long road to where I eventually want to be. And if no one is listening then I will just have to shout a bit louder!
I once moaned to a friend that I felt I had no style in the clothes department. I have always admired those who could sling on their Marks and Spencers ensembles with a casualness that defied me. Happy to mix an expensive skirt with a jacket from a charity shop, my friend insisted that I did have style, and it was all my own. I could have taken this one of two ways but as Trinny and Susannah have so far failed to turn up on the doorstep, I have stuck to the theory that I do have some sense of style in there somewhere. I also think that I have applied this 'theory' to my writing.
We all have to start somewhere and I have often thought that a useful tool for the fledgling writer would be to take a sneaky peek at the first drafts of our greatest writers. Darley Anderson credits himself with 'finding' Sheila Quigley and cashed in on the story of the grandmother from the Homelands Estate in Sunderland. However, Sheila was like all of us, she went through rejection after rejection and looks back at her early work with a shiver of bad grammar and punctuation. Only when she hit upon the idea for 'Run for Home' did she truly find a style and voice that shouted above others.
In the beginning I remember thinking that I could only write science fantasy as this was where I felt confident and here my voice was strong. Advice, exercise and plodding through some dire creative writing course showed me otherwise. I did have a voice, I could take it wherever it needed to be and sometimes it was a loud, shouty voice that was really rather good.
One of my favourite saying is 'the day you stop learning is the day you start dying' and I take this very seriously. I hope my 'voice' is gaining strength with each new piece I write and that my ignorant beginnings have become part of this long road to where I eventually want to be. And if no one is listening then I will just have to shout a bit louder!
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
More Gooder Writing 3
YEAR ELEVEN'S THIS IS NOT BITE-SIZED ENGLISH!
Alliteration - lascivious liberal litterings left lovingly lonesome.
Orality - boing words.
Cliche - avoid this old chestnut like the plague.
e.g (exempli gratia) - a fee example.
i.e (id est) - what I mean is...
etc (et cetera) - blah, blah, blah.
Capitals - standy out kind of words (also denotes shouting).
Homonyms - words of the same sex.
Grammar - clever writing.
Double negatives - do not use none of these not ever.
Noun - proper, common, abstract, collective kinds of things.
Pronoun - a professional noun.
Split infinitives - try not to ever split them up.
Tense - past, present and future tension.
Verbs - has got to agree with their subjects
Dialect - local yokel speak.
Idiolect - as above with added sociolinguistic and cultural distinction (hah, weren't expecting that were you?)
Alliteration - lascivious liberal litterings left lovingly lonesome.
Orality - boing words.
Cliche - avoid this old chestnut like the plague.
e.g (exempli gratia) - a fee example.
i.e (id est) - what I mean is...
etc (et cetera) - blah, blah, blah.
Capitals - standy out kind of words (also denotes shouting).
Homonyms - words of the same sex.
Grammar - clever writing.
Double negatives - do not use none of these not ever.
Noun - proper, common, abstract, collective kinds of things.
Pronoun - a professional noun.
Split infinitives - try not to ever split them up.
Tense - past, present and future tension.
Verbs - has got to agree with their subjects
Dialect - local yokel speak.
Idiolect - as above with added sociolinguistic and cultural distinction (hah, weren't expecting that were you?)
Reach out
New link to Skint Writer. Poor Welsh writer with fingers in lots of writing and arterly pies and whle I'm on the promotional trail pop over to The Publishing Contrarian, she has an interesting survey going on.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Gin scribblings
Chasing Home
She leaves
in a density of tears
taking the hug of years
that wrapped the trappings
of the once-more child
The miserable stain of her perfume
lingers
as she casts aside the ill-fitting robes
of comfort
defying loneliness
for a dream
that chases home
She leaves
in a density of tears
taking the hug of years
that wrapped the trappings
of the once-more child
The miserable stain of her perfume
lingers
as she casts aside the ill-fitting robes
of comfort
defying loneliness
for a dream
that chases home
Meanwhile back at the ranch
Oh the joy, oh the pleasure... to sit one's bottom down once again in familiar, territory!
I would like to say that I didn't write a word whilst I was on my hols. I would like to say that no writing implement crossed the holiday threshold and that all writerly things were off the holiday menu. I would like to say all these things but I would be lying through my addicted teeth!
I managed to sneak in a couple of small scribbling books and jammed a few extra pens in amongst the toothbrushes, but nothing techie you understand, that would be taking it too far. Not that the MD has any objection, he knows his rights and could divorce me under the little known clause of 'unreasonable writing' should he so wish.
I managed a couple of days just lounging around but I had a headache (from lack of use) and the fingers were starting to get restless and demand more alcohol to keep the shakes at bay.
I skulked off on my own and let rip with three poems and the start of a short story - which now having looked at it in the cold light of home, is complete drivel.
BUT, but, but, but.... there is something there, something nagging at the back of my fingers. 'Capricorn Wind' is in the waiting room, 'The Geishan Kumiai' is loitering at an agents and Oh my God....here comes 'The Diva Jaspari'. Heavenly heaven things, it just dropped out of the big blue yonder when I was thinking about having yet another Gin.
Glory be, here I go again and there will be no more holidays until at least October!
I would like to say that I didn't write a word whilst I was on my hols. I would like to say that no writing implement crossed the holiday threshold and that all writerly things were off the holiday menu. I would like to say all these things but I would be lying through my addicted teeth!
I managed to sneak in a couple of small scribbling books and jammed a few extra pens in amongst the toothbrushes, but nothing techie you understand, that would be taking it too far. Not that the MD has any objection, he knows his rights and could divorce me under the little known clause of 'unreasonable writing' should he so wish.
I managed a couple of days just lounging around but I had a headache (from lack of use) and the fingers were starting to get restless and demand more alcohol to keep the shakes at bay.
I skulked off on my own and let rip with three poems and the start of a short story - which now having looked at it in the cold light of home, is complete drivel.
BUT, but, but, but.... there is something there, something nagging at the back of my fingers. 'Capricorn Wind' is in the waiting room, 'The Geishan Kumiai' is loitering at an agents and Oh my God....here comes 'The Diva Jaspari'. Heavenly heaven things, it just dropped out of the big blue yonder when I was thinking about having yet another Gin.
Glory be, here I go again and there will be no more holidays until at least October!
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Granny Weatherwax says.....
I aten't dead....
I'm just going on my holidays to Ankh-Morpork.
Back soon!
Head on the block
When I first started this blog I was more sure of the reasons why I wasn't doing it then why exactly I was. Does this make sense? No, let me explain.
As I have said previously I spent a lot of time as a blogeur, popping in and out of other lives and seeing how it all worked. I was too scared and too unsure of my writing to put it up for public consumption. I waited a long time until I finally realised that if I wanted to remain in this rapidly developing electronic human race then there was really no other choice.
I had a problem. I was incredibly sniffy about those who used this platform to write to the world but then backed off rapidly when they said that they didn't think anyone would read their stuff. Oh please!
Bloggers, it seems to me fall into an infinite number of catagories but here is my simple list.
- the show off's
- the passionate
- the desperado's
- the creatives
- the weird hobbyists
- the intellectuals
When I figured this out, I realised that I fell into each and every catagory and if I was going to 'put my free blog where my mouth was' then I was going to have to offer up my lily white neck to the axeman. I took the plunge and I can honestly say that my small but rapidly growing blogging family have been more than supportive to my weird witterings and the gabbled comments that I leave littered around the blogosphere.
I have recently read some very beautiful and profound work (around the blogs) taken from people who are, at present, blogless. Please, please, it doesn't hurt, expose that neck....the axeman is a myth!!
These hips are magic hips
All this writing on holiday lark is really playing havoc with my diet. Oh no, don't go sympathising you lettuce-for-lunch freaks. What I mean is that I'm not eating properly.
Due to a little known condition called Gilberts syndrome, I have to eat, and eat regularly, otherwise I'm sick as a dog (weird eh!). The problem is that I don't eat ENOUGH whilst I'm writing and at the moment I'm writing all day. Hah, that'll freak out all the 'I'm trying to look like a lolipop' diet mongers, they'll all start writing their first novel, God forbid!
There has been lots of tittle-tattle in the magazines that I really don't buy - who's put on a pound in the last second and who is subscribing to the latest marmite and sprouts diet from Dr Ipso Notso Fatso. It's mad.
The trouble is that most famous type women have bought into this 'camera puts on six stone' theory leaving us plebs to ogle at the magazines that are filled with less than healthy skeletons. And legs, what can one say about the legs? Encased in skin tight, sprayed on, nothing left to the imagination in the crutch department, jeans. And yes, before you ask, I did wear them but they were nicely balanced out by my legwarmers that were gathered around my ankles before tucking neatly into my pixie boots! Anyway these new age spindly limbs are incredibly lucky that their owners don't break them in the next half hour and have someone's eye out in the process!
The other night, over a fat laden, sugar laced, highly calorific feast, my friends and I were discussing diets and the weighty issues fuelled by JK Rowling and her rant on teenage dieting (which I hasten to add we all agreed with).
"But thin women don't have breasts, that's why they have implants" a friend moaned, whose glorious frontage has disappeared along with her recently shed four spare stones.
"Ah ha, but if you have a pair of these..."another friend said cupping her ample bosom "...then you need a pair of these to hold them up" she added, slapping her ample thighs.
I agreed heartily and helped myself to another piece of pie.
I have long been a champion of the natural 'I've got tits and hips and proud of it' brigade but don't get me wrong, I'm not seriously overweight. I look after myself but have no trouble creating cleavage when necessary.
So come on men, tell me. Would you rather have Mrs Beckham/Paris Hilton of 'I'm only a size away from disappearing altogether' fame or something more substantial like, well, umm, who can I think of who's not dead?
The truth of the matter is that my body thinks it still lives in the fifties. It prefers to be known as curvaceous, voluptuous, but not the 'f' word, never the 'f' word. But I will let you into a secret...it is a little known fact that I did indeed model for the picture below!
Due to a little known condition called Gilberts syndrome, I have to eat, and eat regularly, otherwise I'm sick as a dog (weird eh!). The problem is that I don't eat ENOUGH whilst I'm writing and at the moment I'm writing all day. Hah, that'll freak out all the 'I'm trying to look like a lolipop' diet mongers, they'll all start writing their first novel, God forbid!
There has been lots of tittle-tattle in the magazines that I really don't buy - who's put on a pound in the last second and who is subscribing to the latest marmite and sprouts diet from Dr Ipso Notso Fatso. It's mad.
The trouble is that most famous type women have bought into this 'camera puts on six stone' theory leaving us plebs to ogle at the magazines that are filled with less than healthy skeletons. And legs, what can one say about the legs? Encased in skin tight, sprayed on, nothing left to the imagination in the crutch department, jeans. And yes, before you ask, I did wear them but they were nicely balanced out by my legwarmers that were gathered around my ankles before tucking neatly into my pixie boots! Anyway these new age spindly limbs are incredibly lucky that their owners don't break them in the next half hour and have someone's eye out in the process!
The other night, over a fat laden, sugar laced, highly calorific feast, my friends and I were discussing diets and the weighty issues fuelled by JK Rowling and her rant on teenage dieting (which I hasten to add we all agreed with).
"But thin women don't have breasts, that's why they have implants" a friend moaned, whose glorious frontage has disappeared along with her recently shed four spare stones.
"Ah ha, but if you have a pair of these..."another friend said cupping her ample bosom "...then you need a pair of these to hold them up" she added, slapping her ample thighs.
I agreed heartily and helped myself to another piece of pie.
I have long been a champion of the natural 'I've got tits and hips and proud of it' brigade but don't get me wrong, I'm not seriously overweight. I look after myself but have no trouble creating cleavage when necessary.
So come on men, tell me. Would you rather have Mrs Beckham/Paris Hilton of 'I'm only a size away from disappearing altogether' fame or something more substantial like, well, umm, who can I think of who's not dead?
The truth of the matter is that my body thinks it still lives in the fifties. It prefers to be known as curvaceous, voluptuous, but not the 'f' word, never the 'f' word. But I will let you into a secret...it is a little known fact that I did indeed model for the picture below!
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Omigod it's an invasion!
When I leave the fortress in the morning, I leave in the complete confidence that my house is untouched by human hands until I return. The holidays always brings the horror that this is, in fact, not true at all. I'm being invaded by a multitude of raving loonies all day long. Take yesterday......
I woke to the sound of the Small Fecker saying 'No thanks we don't want anything'
'Who was that?' I asked, amazed at the power of my own speech before the first cup of tea.
'The Avon man.'
'The Avon man?'
'Yes, I told him we didn't want anything.'
I drank two cups of tea before asking as to when we acquired an 'Avon book' let alone an 'Avon man'.
'He took over from Sharon,' SF replied 'and I think Frank is coming for the Kleeneze catalogue today.'
What is going on? My children are on first name terms with the purveyors of household cleaners and I'm still trying to come to terms with Avonman!
Please don't don't brand me 'Bad Mother' I do take notice of what is going on around me but it seems that there is an alternative dimension that takes over when I am supposed to be absent.
We were interupted by a another heavy handed knock at the door.
Not only were there six hairy hormonals standing there looking horrified at me in my comfy bed attire but they accompanied by a man with a dodgy looking lawnmower.
The hormonals seemed to know where they were going so I dealt with Lawnmowerman who seemed to find it incredibly difficult to understand that I have a MD (main driver) who also owns one. After shaking him off, by pointing out the numerous more-than-grassy gardens down the road, I returned to the kitchen to find the hormones drinking my best coffee.
Time to deliver the Big Fecker a slap with a wet cloth and get him out of the 'pit of teenage desires'.
'Your friends are here, get up.'
'Can I have some money, we're going out?' he says without opening an eye.
I know this trick, they use it all the time, it pops put of their mouths by rote in an attempt to throw me off my original rant. I am not swayed.
'They are taking up too much room, get up and get them out.'
I return to the site of invasion to find that they have polished off a loaf of bread and are working their way through the biscuit tin. I herd them into the garden with the lure of more (cheap) coffee.
The door knocks again and I am confronted with two surfboards. The voices behind state a plan to go to the beach.
'Good, wait there, I'll get the posse.'
Having got rid of them all I am then invaded by the phone. Friends, who don't work, see me as a lifeline to the real world and can't understand that to have a whole day off means much more than sitting around drinking coffee and chatting about the universe. I put them off in an attempt to get to the pooter which is by now quietly crying in the corner from lack of attention.
Don't they understand? My 'off' time is so precious, all I want to do is write.
Small F is rescued from pre-teenage hell and goes off to the cinema to watch Ice Age 2 with his oikey friends....peace at last!
I make for the office for some serious chaptering only to find that the cat has slept in the coal bucket and has left a sooty trail that stretches from one end of the house to the other. The door is being knocked off it's hinges once again by a madman with a clipboard and I still haven't thought about today's blog!!!
I woke to the sound of the Small Fecker saying 'No thanks we don't want anything'
'Who was that?' I asked, amazed at the power of my own speech before the first cup of tea.
'The Avon man.'
'The Avon man?'
'Yes, I told him we didn't want anything.'
I drank two cups of tea before asking as to when we acquired an 'Avon book' let alone an 'Avon man'.
'He took over from Sharon,' SF replied 'and I think Frank is coming for the Kleeneze catalogue today.'
What is going on? My children are on first name terms with the purveyors of household cleaners and I'm still trying to come to terms with Avonman!
Please don't don't brand me 'Bad Mother' I do take notice of what is going on around me but it seems that there is an alternative dimension that takes over when I am supposed to be absent.
We were interupted by a another heavy handed knock at the door.
Not only were there six hairy hormonals standing there looking horrified at me in my comfy bed attire but they accompanied by a man with a dodgy looking lawnmower.
The hormonals seemed to know where they were going so I dealt with Lawnmowerman who seemed to find it incredibly difficult to understand that I have a MD (main driver) who also owns one. After shaking him off, by pointing out the numerous more-than-grassy gardens down the road, I returned to the kitchen to find the hormones drinking my best coffee.
Time to deliver the Big Fecker a slap with a wet cloth and get him out of the 'pit of teenage desires'.
'Your friends are here, get up.'
'Can I have some money, we're going out?' he says without opening an eye.
I know this trick, they use it all the time, it pops put of their mouths by rote in an attempt to throw me off my original rant. I am not swayed.
'They are taking up too much room, get up and get them out.'
I return to the site of invasion to find that they have polished off a loaf of bread and are working their way through the biscuit tin. I herd them into the garden with the lure of more (cheap) coffee.
The door knocks again and I am confronted with two surfboards. The voices behind state a plan to go to the beach.
'Good, wait there, I'll get the posse.'
Having got rid of them all I am then invaded by the phone. Friends, who don't work, see me as a lifeline to the real world and can't understand that to have a whole day off means much more than sitting around drinking coffee and chatting about the universe. I put them off in an attempt to get to the pooter which is by now quietly crying in the corner from lack of attention.
Don't they understand? My 'off' time is so precious, all I want to do is write.
Small F is rescued from pre-teenage hell and goes off to the cinema to watch Ice Age 2 with his oikey friends....peace at last!
I make for the office for some serious chaptering only to find that the cat has slept in the coal bucket and has left a sooty trail that stretches from one end of the house to the other. The door is being knocked off it's hinges once again by a madman with a clipboard and I still haven't thought about today's blog!!!
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
More Gooder Writing (part two)
Just popped around the writing blogs and there seems to be many people stuck mid sentence, perhaps you need some helpful hints....
The Publishing process
Important People
1. Author - he who writes
2. Significant other - he/she who provides beverage
3. Agent - he who thinks he knows best
4. Editor - he who thinks no one can write
5. Publisher - Just call me 'Mr God'
6. Reader - Mr God's offspring
Helpful writing terms
Draft - the first words that blow in with the wind, take no notice
Second draft - you should start to get the hang of this now
Third draft - hmm, no improvement then
Proposal - 'Will you marry me Mr God?'
Covering letter - a one chance life or death option, but can be
a) a place to tell Mr God how much you adore him
b) a place to tell Mr God all those darkly fascinating little hobbies
Submission - parting with the innocent baby lamb whilst wearing fetish gear
Proof reading - essential practice to see there are any words missing
Re-writes - it's complete crap, do it again and again and again (see third draft)
House style - a pompous need to stand out in the crowd
Manuscript (mss) - also known as Mailed Shit Sheets
Slush pile - a long term home for Mailed Shit Sheets
Synopsis - a highly treated, glossy tinned novel
Blurb - the pure essence of a writers soul
Dead li.....oops missed it!
The Publishing process
Important People
1. Author - he who writes
2. Significant other - he/she who provides beverage
3. Agent - he who thinks he knows best
4. Editor - he who thinks no one can write
5. Publisher - Just call me 'Mr God'
6. Reader - Mr God's offspring
Helpful writing terms
Draft - the first words that blow in with the wind, take no notice
Second draft - you should start to get the hang of this now
Third draft - hmm, no improvement then
Proposal - 'Will you marry me Mr God?'
Covering letter - a one chance life or death option, but can be
a) a place to tell Mr God how much you adore him
b) a place to tell Mr God all those darkly fascinating little hobbies
Submission - parting with the innocent baby lamb whilst wearing fetish gear
Proof reading - essential practice to see there are any words missing
Re-writes - it's complete crap, do it again and again and again (see third draft)
House style - a pompous need to stand out in the crowd
Manuscript (mss) - also known as Mailed Shit Sheets
Slush pile - a long term home for Mailed Shit Sheets
Synopsis - a highly treated, glossy tinned novel
Blurb - the pure essence of a writers soul
Dead li.....oops missed it!
Monday, April 10, 2006
The Craft
My, my, isn't there just a buzz and hum across the writing blogosphere at the moment. I'm talking about the debates on the right to call yourself a 'writer'. There are only two catagories - published and un-published, and the latter are clawing tooth and nail to get once step into the hallowed halls of fame, or even just past the front door.
Miss Snark is batting the flies left and right (as usual) as to the question of adding an RWA PRO to a submission. Her battlion of snarksters are (as usual) agreeing with every word and grovelling for mistakes made - all part of the game, I know, but we, the un-washed, un-published, the un-noticed can understand the pressure to use any and all of the few tools at our disposal to get ahead.
When I first started on this path little did I realise that I had chosen (it chose me actually) one of the hardest careers to get into. My day job CV glows with training and experience and I get the chance to blind the prospective employer with my Goddess like skills face to face. My writing CV on the other hand, looks pitiful and I've been 'training' for longer than it takes to aquire a degree in law!! Does this make me a good writer? No, of course it doesn't. It has given me the time to learn my craft and to aquire the confidence that I need in order to get to my eventual goal. When I wrote my first novel I was filled with a smugness that led me to approach a friend of a friend who was once in the publishing business. His opening comment was "Your structuring leaves a lot to be desired, you have not thought through your plot and your characters are damp" at this point I was reaching for the knife drawer but he went on " you have the makings of a good writer, a really good writer, you have a strong storyteller within, learn your craft and you stand a chance". These words now sit above my pooter as I continue to hone my skills.
The other day, when I met someone I had not seen for a while, I realised afterwards that I had referred to myself as a 'writer' before updating my day job. So there! -I write therefore I am!!
Miss Snark is batting the flies left and right (as usual) as to the question of adding an RWA PRO to a submission. Her battlion of snarksters are (as usual) agreeing with every word and grovelling for mistakes made - all part of the game, I know, but we, the un-washed, un-published, the un-noticed can understand the pressure to use any and all of the few tools at our disposal to get ahead.
When I first started on this path little did I realise that I had chosen (it chose me actually) one of the hardest careers to get into. My day job CV glows with training and experience and I get the chance to blind the prospective employer with my Goddess like skills face to face. My writing CV on the other hand, looks pitiful and I've been 'training' for longer than it takes to aquire a degree in law!! Does this make me a good writer? No, of course it doesn't. It has given me the time to learn my craft and to aquire the confidence that I need in order to get to my eventual goal. When I wrote my first novel I was filled with a smugness that led me to approach a friend of a friend who was once in the publishing business. His opening comment was "Your structuring leaves a lot to be desired, you have not thought through your plot and your characters are damp" at this point I was reaching for the knife drawer but he went on " you have the makings of a good writer, a really good writer, you have a strong storyteller within, learn your craft and you stand a chance". These words now sit above my pooter as I continue to hone my skills.
The other day, when I met someone I had not seen for a while, I realised afterwards that I had referred to myself as a 'writer' before updating my day job. So there! -I write therefore I am!!
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Spring has sprung
It's official.....spring is here.
So, once again it is time to:
- wake up
- write poems about daffodils
- clean the house
- let the cat out
- put up the blackout curtains
- walk about a bit
- take a book outside
- start a new something or other
Haven't quite decided on the last one yet as I have spent the winter like some sort of maddened squirrel, storing my nuts all over the place. Post-it notes are lined up across the wall like some sort of gay snail trail, full of ideas, plots, characters so I know that there is something lurking beneath the surface just waiting for me to have a moment of inspiration.
The Muse has been toying with my affections over the last few months, waking me in the middle of the night with the hint of an idea when she knows that I have left pen equipment downstairs. Too tired to struggle out of the nest, where the MD holds me in a winter grip, I have tried in vain to hold onto these ideas until daylight, but to no avail. Even with the strongest, brightest mental images these inspirements melt away and leave me with only the vague idea that I ever woke up.
She does it during the day as well when she knows full well that I cannot, unlike many of you lucky, lucky writerish people, get to my pooter. I have got over this by scibbling, teenage style, on the back of my hand. This caught me out the other day when I attended an important meeting with a poem dripping down my arm.
I MUST NOT WRITE AT WORK!!
I MUST NOT WRITE AT WORK!!
I MUST NOT WRITE AT WORK!!
But now, spring is here, I'm on holiday for two weeks, the Muse is free and that old map of Cornwall looks more than interesting..........
Friday, April 07, 2006
A Simple Writers Guide or a Guide for Simple Writers!
Part One - The Board of Keys.
The keyboard is the long thing that sits below your screen and has a number of letters of which the only legible spelling is Qwerty. You will have to figure out your own rules for spelling but I will attempt to explain the functions of some of the other keys.
. - small dot that allows the reader to take life-giving breath. A row of full stops indicates that the writer has forgotten what they were saying.
' - enables faster writing by allowing letters to be missed out, best to pop them in where you fancy.
; - don't worry about this one, the computer will take over and do this one for you whether you want it or not.
! - denotes a raise in the eyebrow department when reading.
( { [ - containers to stop words from escaping.
@ - indicates where a person is should you wish to contact them e.g. @home
? - an ear sign showing that the reader should take particular notice as this may be vital to the plot.
" - shhh, someone is talking.
* - denotes a gap in the time/space continuum of a piece of writing.
& - in antiquated handwriting this apparently meant 'and'.
Arrow keys - allows for hopping backwards and forwards to any words that you really like.
Shift - Capitals in manual mode, often mistaken for key below.
Caps Lock - a nuisance device.
Ctrl/Alt/Del - a lethal combination that can fuck up a piece of work.
Esc - see above.
F keys - probably best left alone.
The keyboard is the long thing that sits below your screen and has a number of letters of which the only legible spelling is Qwerty. You will have to figure out your own rules for spelling but I will attempt to explain the functions of some of the other keys.
. - small dot that allows the reader to take life-giving breath. A row of full stops indicates that the writer has forgotten what they were saying.
' - enables faster writing by allowing letters to be missed out, best to pop them in where you fancy.
; - don't worry about this one, the computer will take over and do this one for you whether you want it or not.
! - denotes a raise in the eyebrow department when reading.
( { [ - containers to stop words from escaping.
@ - indicates where a person is should you wish to contact them e.g. @home
? - an ear sign showing that the reader should take particular notice as this may be vital to the plot.
" - shhh, someone is talking.
* - denotes a gap in the time/space continuum of a piece of writing.
& - in antiquated handwriting this apparently meant 'and'.
Arrow keys - allows for hopping backwards and forwards to any words that you really like.
Shift - Capitals in manual mode, often mistaken for key below.
Caps Lock - a nuisance device.
Ctrl/Alt/Del - a lethal combination that can fuck up a piece of work.
Esc - see above.
F keys - probably best left alone.
Novel express
There is poetry in the kitchen, short stories in the front room, biographies in the breakfast room and a number of other novels dotted around the house. I'm taking Marina Lewyca and her 'Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian' to bed with me at the moment as it feels more like a magazine so I don't have to concentrate too hard in the wee small hours. Thomas Hardy (The Wessex Tales) is following me about the house but I don't let him the kitchen as there are too many knives about. This is not because I cannot cope with Hardy and his gloom sodden tales, I find I need a bit of a fix from the Old Master of Valium once in a while. Unfortunately Sylvia Plath is already living in the cookhouse and one suicidal depressive is more than enough when I'm trying to rustle up a dish that will not kill anyone!
I like a bit of poetry in the kitchen, it is bite-sized after all, but Plath does my head in after a while so I make sure that I keep some favourites on the fridge. 'Still I rise' by Maya Angelou being the best and most inspirational and this sits alongside a painting by annieb an artist in St Ives (I'll post it up in a minute). Still consider myself a bit of a poetry philistine but I try hard. I would be welcoming of any recommendations.
I like a bit of poetry in the kitchen, it is bite-sized after all, but Plath does my head in after a while so I make sure that I keep some favourites on the fridge. 'Still I rise' by Maya Angelou being the best and most inspirational and this sits alongside a painting by annieb an artist in St Ives (I'll post it up in a minute). Still consider myself a bit of a poetry philistine but I try hard. I would be welcoming of any recommendations.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
And so to bed
Oooo, bad head day. Not a good idea to try and work on top of a skinful of the comforting southern stuff. Finished 'The Capricorn Wind' at midnight and wopped down the last of my drink in celebration and sorrow. Oh, the sheer joy of hitting that last key and oh, the sheer horror of now parting with it for at least six months. No, I'm not sending it off anywhere it's going to stay right where it is, having a little snooze, until I dig it out again.
A while ago I found that this is the way that I like to work and I use this method for every piece of writing (well not begging letters to the bank, that would be taking it a step too far). In putting a piece 'to bed' I can clear my mind of the characters that have invaded my head for the last six to twelve months giving us both a break.
When I come back to it I will see it with a readers eyes and be able to edit it without remorse, that is if I think it is worth working on. Poems, comment pieces and short stories have a lesser nap but the same rules still apply. I have found that this works to my advantage and have had more stuff looked at since I stopped sending things off the moment that I finished them.
So sleep tight CW, see you in October.
A while ago I found that this is the way that I like to work and I use this method for every piece of writing (well not begging letters to the bank, that would be taking it a step too far). In putting a piece 'to bed' I can clear my mind of the characters that have invaded my head for the last six to twelve months giving us both a break.
When I come back to it I will see it with a readers eyes and be able to edit it without remorse, that is if I think it is worth working on. Poems, comment pieces and short stories have a lesser nap but the same rules still apply. I have found that this works to my advantage and have had more stuff looked at since I stopped sending things off the moment that I finished them.
So sleep tight CW, see you in October.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Kind words
I have just taken myself for a brisk walk across the beach to try to put my uppy-downy kind of day into perspective.
It started on the up...I had a rejection letter. Oh no, I hear you sympathise, but this was not any kind of rejection letter, no, no, this was one from Myslexia- magazine for women who write (oops, yes I am a ladee). What a joy, I am almost thinking of sending another crappy offering just so I can get another one! Not only did they give me an indepth reason for being rejected (not even sure they were comfortable with the word) but they apologised and asked twice if I would consider trying again. There was none of the rude, terse replies you usually get from 'those on high', and there have been a couple!! This was a pleasant rejection if there can be such a thing, and I would like to thank Myslexia for taking the time to try to make a struggling writer feel not quite so ejected from writers paradise.
Work dragged me down again, it's not where I want to be, especially when I've just got one chapter left. Like the last sip of a fine wine, I've been putting off the grand finale, but about lunch time I decided that tonight is the night and unfortunately time slowed down and went into reverse from there on. Got home in a fest (Cornish word for bad grump) only to find that my ego had been plumped and fluffed by dear Pundy and Monsieur Shameless. Up I come again.
Now all that is left is to down a Southern Comfort (post beach drink) and settle down to those final words - not to worry though, the next one is already in the pipeline and I can't wait.
It started on the up...I had a rejection letter. Oh no, I hear you sympathise, but this was not any kind of rejection letter, no, no, this was one from Myslexia- magazine for women who write (oops, yes I am a ladee). What a joy, I am almost thinking of sending another crappy offering just so I can get another one! Not only did they give me an indepth reason for being rejected (not even sure they were comfortable with the word) but they apologised and asked twice if I would consider trying again. There was none of the rude, terse replies you usually get from 'those on high', and there have been a couple!! This was a pleasant rejection if there can be such a thing, and I would like to thank Myslexia for taking the time to try to make a struggling writer feel not quite so ejected from writers paradise.
Work dragged me down again, it's not where I want to be, especially when I've just got one chapter left. Like the last sip of a fine wine, I've been putting off the grand finale, but about lunch time I decided that tonight is the night and unfortunately time slowed down and went into reverse from there on. Got home in a fest (Cornish word for bad grump) only to find that my ego had been plumped and fluffed by dear Pundy and Monsieur Shameless. Up I come again.
Now all that is left is to down a Southern Comfort (post beach drink) and settle down to those final words - not to worry though, the next one is already in the pipeline and I can't wait.
Monday, April 03, 2006
A severe case of writers blog
I have just been over to the Pundy House where all hell is breaking loose (not going to tell, pop over and see), but it brought up something that I've been thinking about over the last week or so. To blog or not to blog, that is the writers question. As I said below I wasn't sure what I was going to use this blog for at the begining and it seems that other writers have had the same thoughts. I have come to my own conclusions about this.
I have been writing for a long time and I can't stop, won't stop, shouldn't stop. I would write the back of cereal packets if someone would let me ( and pay me handsomely). There is not a day that goes by where I don't work on the next chapter, stanza, short story. I carry numerous books around to scribble in secretly, at work, on a bus, on holiday (that is when I can't get away with dragging along the lappy). In short I am a wordyholic with a severe case of letterage!
The blog, in the short time that I have been present in this world, does two things. It gives me my own mental gym, a place to warm up before I concentrate on the stuff that could be making me some money. I deliberately took on a different persona in order to allow that inner person free (I'm not actually called Minx, no, really!).
It also is a place in which to cleanse my mind and lay down all the weird/ normal kind of stuff that I carry around with me day to day. This was stuff that I crammed into my straining diary, stuff that was taking me far too long to write by hand (although I have issues about that as well).
I spent quite a long time as a blogeur, reading lives all around the world but never entering the hallowed halls. I found that instead of having a walk around the garden when I needed to get the next paragraph or sentence worked out, I could read a familiar blog and detach for a while. Now I've just taken the next step and found it has the same effect.
In short, this blog is starting to fill the gap in my time/space continuum and allows me more time to be the focussed, dedicated writer that I want to be. Now I've just got to figure out how I can fit in painting, walking on the cliffs, swimming, shopping etc.......guess I'll just have to wait until they invent a virtual blog for all the other things I can't fit in around work!
I have been writing for a long time and I can't stop, won't stop, shouldn't stop. I would write the back of cereal packets if someone would let me ( and pay me handsomely). There is not a day that goes by where I don't work on the next chapter, stanza, short story. I carry numerous books around to scribble in secretly, at work, on a bus, on holiday (that is when I can't get away with dragging along the lappy). In short I am a wordyholic with a severe case of letterage!
The blog, in the short time that I have been present in this world, does two things. It gives me my own mental gym, a place to warm up before I concentrate on the stuff that could be making me some money. I deliberately took on a different persona in order to allow that inner person free (I'm not actually called Minx, no, really!).
It also is a place in which to cleanse my mind and lay down all the weird/ normal kind of stuff that I carry around with me day to day. This was stuff that I crammed into my straining diary, stuff that was taking me far too long to write by hand (although I have issues about that as well).
I spent quite a long time as a blogeur, reading lives all around the world but never entering the hallowed halls. I found that instead of having a walk around the garden when I needed to get the next paragraph or sentence worked out, I could read a familiar blog and detach for a while. Now I've just taken the next step and found it has the same effect.
In short, this blog is starting to fill the gap in my time/space continuum and allows me more time to be the focussed, dedicated writer that I want to be. Now I've just got to figure out how I can fit in painting, walking on the cliffs, swimming, shopping etc.......guess I'll just have to wait until they invent a virtual blog for all the other things I can't fit in around work!
Sunday, April 02, 2006
Does my English look big in this?
I was never really sure what I was going to use this blog for. I know some post up short stories and pieces of prose, poems etc for general consumption and even a whole novel but I haven't got to that level of frustration yet.
Maybe it's time to spill a few of my literary beans so will start small and see how I get on. This tiny snippet lies deep within 'Coven of One' , a fantasy novel set in a world akin to ours in the 17th century.
"The power inside the Hexenbanner was tangible, there as it always had been. She called and it had answered her in the deepest part of the darkest night.
As I watched, helpless and bound in certain death, the witch turned widdershins, calling the name of Morrigan, Morrigan the death bringer. The Hag battled the Maiden and I thought that all was surely lost. She drew animus and anima from all around, male and female spirit coming to her like trained slathering dogs and the resulting maleficium watch truly ghastly to the watching eye.
No enemy was left standing in the cold light of day, rent limb from limb in her furious blast.
And I? That night I witnessed the birth and death of a truewitch and lived to tell the tale."
Maybe it's time to spill a few of my literary beans so will start small and see how I get on. This tiny snippet lies deep within 'Coven of One' , a fantasy novel set in a world akin to ours in the 17th century.
"The power inside the Hexenbanner was tangible, there as it always had been. She called and it had answered her in the deepest part of the darkest night.
As I watched, helpless and bound in certain death, the witch turned widdershins, calling the name of Morrigan, Morrigan the death bringer. The Hag battled the Maiden and I thought that all was surely lost. She drew animus and anima from all around, male and female spirit coming to her like trained slathering dogs and the resulting maleficium watch truly ghastly to the watching eye.
No enemy was left standing in the cold light of day, rent limb from limb in her furious blast.
And I? That night I witnessed the birth and death of a truewitch and lived to tell the tale."
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