Tales From The Padded Cell

Vroooooom meep meep!

2012-01-02T22:38:00.000Z

So tomorrow, it's back to reality when the Christmas hols end and I have to get up in the dark and go to work. Bah humbug, say I!

But wait!

Tomorrow's journey to work shall not be unpleasant, long, cold and filled with the pong of unwashed underarms and sweaty socks. Oh no, not for I the over-full bus and the indignity of jolting along with someone's bum pressed into my groin. For I have...

A CAR!!!

Please excuse the slightly blurry quality of the photo - I was a little excited at the time of taking it :)

So going back to a manual after driving the Doozer's automatic for the past two and a half months has proven a little nerve-wracking, especially after an encounter with a large black gentleman in the Tesco's carpark who kindly got out of his car and banged on my window, offering to teach me how to park, but I have every confidence that I'll get the hang of it again soon, and be whizzing around in no time. Plus Luigi is so cute he's worth the anxiety.

And not getting on the bus with the kids I work with?

Priceless :)

2011 - The Year of Change

2011-12-23T10:38:00.001Z

Over the past few weeks, I've been to a lot of Christmas events with colleagues and friends, the kind of events which happen every year: work Christmas do, carol singing for charity with FFBOS and so on. It's given me pause to think of this time last year, and the things which were happening then. I was deeply unhappy, although (I thought) quite good at putting a brave face on it when out in public.

What a different story it is this year.In the past twelve months I have:

* Extricated myself from a relationship that was unhealthy and making me very unhappy.

* Lost almost 9 stone.

* Begun a new relationship with a wonderful man who has taught me what it actually means to be valued.

* Moved in with said wonderful man in a lovely little flat with our 4 mad cats and a piano in the kitchen.

* Started learning to drive in August.

* Started my new job description in September (it's not in a new place, but my duties have changed so much it might as well be a new job!)

* Passed my driving test in October.

* Reconnected with old friends I'd lost touch with and strengthened my bonds with a lot of existing friends by going out a lot more and actually being able to have people round to my place.

Before 2011 is out, I will also have spent my first Christmas with said lovely man and his equally lovely family, and bought my first car (a fiat 500!).

Looking forward to 2012, I can foresee a lot more exciting changes coming my way... but I don't want to jinx them by saying anything just yet, so you'll have to watch this space ;)

Open Doors

2011-08-18T10:28:00.005+01:00

I can't believe that the summer hols are half over already. As per usual, I've not achieved half the things I wanted to whilst I was off, and probably don't have enough time now to do them all. How is it that even when you officially have nothing to do all day, there still aren't enough hours to fit everything in?

The driving is going considerably better than I could have hoped. I was nervous that the assessment lesson would prove that I was too dyspraxic to handle a car, especially a manual one, but actually it proved that I'm a quick learner, and I'm only expected to need 35 hours of lessons, which is less than average. I have my theory test today, which (according to the software I downloaded and have been practicing on like a fiend) should be a piece of piss, and then another 21 hours of lessons to go before I take my practical test, hopefully in mid-September. Then it'll be time to start saving up for a car of my very own so I don't have to steal Paul's all the time! My dream car is a red Fiat500 Arbath, but whether or not I'll ever be able to afford one is another matter!

My lovely new flat is now all sorted out and feels really homely, and although we are still in the process of trying to squeeze in more of Paul's stuff from Norwich, it still manages to feel very spacious for a one-bedroom flat. The cats have now had all their jabs and chips and have started going outside for the first time in their lives. I cried when RT (the bravest of the ones who were originally mine) went out for the first time, but I have kind of gotten used to the idea now, especially as it seems they're not fussed about going very far. In fact, even Cas (who was originally Paul's and an outdoor cat already) isn't roaming for long. That may change in the future, of course, but by then I'll be used to them going out.

The past is a funny thing. Just when you think it's all gone, it jumps up and bites you in the ass again. It's amazing how easily a place, a smell, a sound, can take you back to a time you thought was gone for good. Take going back to finish the cleaning at my previous flat, for example: it took me right back to how small and insignificant I felt when I lived there and made me feel really quite upset. I had hoped that when I handed back the keys, I would get the deposit back as had already been agreed, and close that door for good. Unfortunately, someone had other ideas and now that door is going to have to stay open a crack for a while to come while I get courts involved and all sorts of other unpleasantnesses.

Even worse than that is when the past won't get the message and leave you alone. If you make the decision to walk away from something, from someone, then you have to let them go. Keep your hands off and your sticky beak out and let them get on, because frankly... what happens in their life now is none of your damn business.

The doors are almost closed now, and that's a good thing. They stay open only while things are not quite settled in a financial and practical sense, and while I struggle sometimes to see it, I'm pretty sure the emotional doors are already closed. But while they stay open, even just that tiniest bit, it's like the monster under your bed: only you know it's there and understand why it scares you so much, and no matter how you explain it, no one else can help take that fear away entirely.

I'm looking forward to throwing away keys in the very near future.

Starting My Engine

2011-07-29T14:53:00.002+01:00

Freedom is never dear at any price. It is the breath of life. What would a man not pay for living?
Mohandas Gandhi

Following my last blog post I, possibly unsurprisingly, noticed that my friends count on Facebook dropped a few notches. I can't say that I'm overly concerned by this fact: I meant what I said and I still stand by it, and anyone who hasn't heeded my warning and proves themselves to be, in fact, fairweather, will be deleted by me without compunction.

And my new life rolls on apace.

I have now moved into a lovely little flat with my fantasticly amazing new man, who has earned himself the nickname of Doozer by basically being able to build or fix anything you point him at. For example, my friend mentioned while she was giving us a lift, that her car didn't feel right and was making a funny noise. When we reached our destination, he dove straight under the car, coming up less than five minutes later with a loose piece of suspension, which was the cause of the problem. The following day, we went to Ikea. Within a couple of hours of getting home, he'd put together two chests of drawers, two wooden storage crates and hung a pair of curtains... then he cooked dinner for us both, and did the washing up!

I'm getting on with editing my novel now that the unpacking is all done, and recording the chapters as I go along so that Paul can listen to them on his drive to work - I'm hoping that having someone waiting for the next installment will keep giving me the impetus to work hard and get it done before the summer is over so I can look at querying it with some YA-market publishers and agents in the autumn. Watch this space!

And the latest step in my bid for a whole new me is I have today booked my first ever driving lesson. I've gone for an assessment lesson first, to make sure I can handle it with my dyspraxia problems, then I intend to take an intensive course and be driving before I go back to work for the new term... then I'll just have to start saving up for a car!

I still have some wobbly moments when I wonder why all this stuff is happening to me and feel that I don't deserve even half of it. I still have times when it seems like everything I try to do is turning into a total performance (don't mention pianos, sofas or Sky TV!). I still sometimes look at him while he's sleeping and wonder what I can possibly have done to deserve having someone that wonderful in my life...

But all in all, I am majorly happy and I have never felt so free. And once I get my driving license and access to a car and I can zip myself about at my pleasure, I have a feeling I will feel that the sky is the limit.

Start your engines! :)

Fair Weather

2011-07-15T15:05:00.002+01:00

"I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best."
— Marilyn Monroe

When I was a kid, my mother always told me "You don't want fairweather friends". When I was really little, I had no idea what she meant by that -- I wondered if there were some people who only agreed to be your friend when the sun was shining or something -- then when I got a bit older, I thought she was wrong.

I was desperately unpopular as a child; having started school as a redheaded stepkid with jamjar glasses and a patch over one eye, and being a bit brighter than average and already being able to read and write kind of set me apart. I was bullied verbally and physically pretty much from the word go, and having an over-active imagination really didn't help me much. So, naturally, I kind of thought that having any friends at all, fairweather, fake or otherwise, was better than nothing.

Consequently, I had a lot of transient and meaningless "friendships" where I was basically used by people who wanted to come to my parents' house and play with my toys and eat the fab food my Mum cooked. But it was better than being beaten up, so I let it slide.

In the intervening years, I have been used, abused and disappointed a lot of times by a lot of people. I have had so-called friends who have let me down repeatedly, letting me make all the effort and giving nothing back. I have had friends who have let me trust them enough to tell things in confidence and then gone blabbing behind my back. I have had friends who expected me to turn up to all the events for their birthdays and so on, but who always let me down if they had a better offer.

And now, I have had friends who have dropped me without hearing my side of the story, or who are paying me lip service while spying on me for some juvenile reason.

No more.

Today is the last day of the old life I am leaving behind. Tomorrow, my new life starts, and along with a lot of things I have thrown away, I am done with the bullshit of fairweather friends.

So:

If you believe what you have been told about me more than you believe what I have said about myself, remove me from your friends list.

If you think I am a cheat and a liar, remove me from your friends list.

If you are just hanging around because you think you can get some kind of kick from watching me fail, remove me from your friends list.

If you think I am wrong for moving on with my life and striving for happiness, or if you believe I don't deserve to be happy, remove me from your friends list.

If you are judging me and feel I am the bad guy in all of this, remove me from your friends list.

Because you know what? I don't need you.

Those of you that are left: I'm glad to have you :)

A New Dawn

2011-06-27T14:52:00.004+01:00

(And no, that's not a Twilight reference!)

So it probably hasn't escaped anyone's notice that I have completely failed the "one blog a week" challenge I set myself, what with my last post being at the end of January, and it now being pretty much the end of June. The main reason for the failure (aside from sheer laziness on my part) is the final demise of an almost-ten-year relationship which had been breaking down for quite some time.

I am okay, more or less. It was my decision to call it a day, but in the grand scheme of things that doesn't make the ending any less nasty and painful, especially when the person you are breaking up with apparently doesn't even realise there is a problem and firstly refuses to listen and secondly takes it extremely badly. The problem is further compounded when you live together and have no easy way to make a quick, clean break that would be happier and healthier for everyone.

Someone said to me recently that when things end, they always end badly, or they wouldn't end. I think that's true; I never wanted it to come down to petty nastiness and point scoring, and I am trying very hard to keep it that way on my side of things and to just get on with what comes next. I have lost some friends: some very openly and some who will probably just drift away over time because of the very nature of breakups, and that's saddening to me, although I also know that there are plenty of people willing to stick around and hear my side of the story.

For the record: yes, I have met someone else. Yes, the timing is lousy. No, I didn't cheat. In a perfect world, the timing would have been more socially acceptable, but when there is someone in your life who makes you glad just to wake up in the morning, you can't ignore that.

I have been in a dark place for a long time, felt worthless and like scum, but I am starting to get up again. Part of that is my new relationship, but a massive part of that is down to the amazing friends I have made in FFBOS and the north London amdram community. They made me begin to believe I had something to offer in my own right, that I was talented and strong and that there is something in me that is likeable. They made me see that spending my life being a pedestal for someone else to stand on and thereby standing in the shadows and never getting the things in life that mattered to me, would be a waste. There are too many of them to start naming, and there's not a single one among them who hasn't been lovely and supportive to me, so I will just say a blanket thank you FFBOS, Acorners, Green Roomers, ELODSers Cuffleyites and any other groups I've forgotten!

So now, here I am. My ex is in the process of moving out, and I strongly suspect that I will be moving on myself very soon. I will stay in north London - I won't leave FFBOS and my friends for all the tea in China (and I like tea rather a lot!)- but I will be going somewhere new, probably smaller and cheaper, with my wonderful new partner and our four (count them, four!!) cats.

It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life for me....

And I'm feeling good :)

Of Falling and Flying

2011-01-31T22:28:00.002Z

Sometimes you wake up. Sometimes the fall kills you. And sometimes, when you fall, you fly. - Neil Gaiman, The Sandman

So you may or may not know that I'm an avid reader. I love speculative fiction, mostly horror and urban fantasy. I have a lot of favourite authors, for one reason or another, but one who can always be counted upon to blow my mind and alter the way I look at the world is Neil Gaiman.

I was reading his blog last week, and I got to thinking about what it must be like to be a celebrated author. I don't mean the book signings and the money and the awards and people tattooing your words on themselves, although I'm sure that's all really cool, too. I mean knowing that if you were hit by a bus tomorrow, there would be something left in the world to say that you were here.

And if you're really, really good, those words may resonate down the ages and still be read in 300 years.

And then I got to thinking -- with one thing leading to another in my head, as they so often do -- about falling. It's something I'm quite good at in a physical sense. In fact, I fell today by tangling my foot in a network cable and going down hard on one knee on a concrete floor (ouch!).

There's that moment, that split-second that feels like forever, when you know that you're falling and there's nothing you can do about it. A moment before, you could have recovered your balance and been okay, a moment afterwards and you're on the deck, bruised or bleeding, wondering if you're going to puke, pass out, or both. In that split-second, we're as close to utterly helpless as we can be during our adult lives. It's a terrible, sick feeling of inevitability, and you know that very, very soon it's really going to hurt.

So what do you do when it feels like your whole life is in that moment? A moment ago, you were jogging along just fine and everything made sense. A moment from now, you fear your entire existence will be a smoking ruin. There's nothing you can do, and it's really, really going to hurt.

Answers on a postcard, please.

On Smiles & Stardust

2011-01-17T21:02:00.002Z

Two things have caught my imagination since my last post. One of them carries on from the last topic quite nicely, so I'll start with that one first.

Last Monday, Himself was off work and sent me a message to let me know I had a mysterious package from someone I didn't know in a shiny purple box. I was intrigued all day so I rushed home to open it and solve the mystery.

My very lovely friend, Ms R-J (yes, you, and I know you're still ill and are therefore probably crying as you read this!) had been putting up with my melancholy mood and had taken it upon herself to do something about it. In the shiny purple box -- my favourite colour, not sure how the person who sent it knew! -- was a spare smile for me to use when mine goes missing.

The idea of having a spare smile appeals to me. I have been wearing it every day and it's been serving its purpose in that every time I hear it rattle, I remember the lovely thing my friend did for me, and I smile. The concept is also bouncing around in my head sparking off a few ideas for stories; something may come of it, or it may not but I will certainly never forget that I have much better friends than I'm sure I deserve.

The second thing that has captured my butterfly mind this week came from the book I am currently reading, Pandeamonium by Christopher Brookmyre. It's a fabulous read, very funny in places, although if you're not familiar with Scots slang, you may well need a translator to get through it! The book centres on a group of Glasgow teenagers from a Catholic school who are sent away to a retreat in the Scottish Highlands to try to come to terms with the deaths of two of their classmates, one of whom stabbed the other and then killed himself.

When they are talking about what happened, the class science geek puts forward the notion that since the earth was spat out of a star when it went supernova, we are all made of stardust.

I know it's not a new idea, but it's not one I'd ever heard before - or if I had, it hadn't stuck in my head for some reason. I think it's possibly one of the most beautiful things I've ever heard, and it fits in very nicely with my own personal spiritual beliefs.

And it got me thinking about our importance. When you think about the vastness of the universe, it's very easy to feel insignificant, but if we are made of the same stuff as the stars around us, then perhaps we are just small parts of the magnificent whole which are needed to make the whole thing work. Like the facets on a diamond, something has to reflect the light in order to make it sparkle.

And maybe, just maybe, at some point or another in our lives, we will all shine.

What do you think?

On Friends

2011-01-09T21:10:00.003Z

I was lucky enough to see in 2011 with some really good friends. I don't see them as often as I'd like to, due to distance, but whenever we do get together it's like we never missed a beat. The alcohol flowed, as did the laughs, and a bridge was rebuilt, for which I'm grateful. I don't think I've been kissed by so many people at the New Year bells for a really long time, and possibly never by so many people I love.

Since then I've also been lucky enough to spend time with my FFBOS family, looking at audition pieces for the next show, and the chaos that was Panto in a Day (in which I played the Wicked Stepmum, see pic below), as well as catching up with some other amdram friends at the Acorn Panto. More love and laughs, and the realisation that if I have a down day, people not only notice, but care.

There was a time in my early life when I never thought I could be -- for want of a better word -- popular. Not in a horrible, superficial way, but in the sense that I have several circles of really good friends with whom I am comfortable and relaxed, and with whom I can laugh long and hard and make a total muppet of myself, and they will still speak to me tomorrow :)

I'm not quite sure how the change came about, but being sociable makes me happy so I am really glad that it did. Laughing with friends is like sunlight on my soul, and I hereby intend to spend the rest of 2011 doing as much of it as I can with friends old and new alike.

You have been warned ;)

Tata 2010, Hello 2011!

2010-12-30T20:50:00.002Z

So it has not escaped my notice, as I'm sure it hasn't anyone who's actually interested in reading my ramblings, that I've not posted on this blog for over six months. There are reasons for that, which I won't go into here, but suffice to say Something Bad happened and leave it at that.

But 2010 is almost over, and I'm looking ahead to 2011 and thinking about all the things I still want to change. I STILL need to lose weight, I still need to practice Yoga more, but there are lots of other things I want to do, not least of all because it really doesn't seem like it's been a year since last New Year's Eve. 2010 has whistled past so fast I barely knew it was happening, and lots of people I know have made comments along the same lines (including some of the kids I work with, so it's not just an age thing!).

That got me thinking about this blog I have sitting here gathering dust, and how I could combine it with my urge to make sure that the years don't keep whizzing by towards my inevitable death so fast that I miss them. I've also been doing a thing over on Facebook where I'm meant to post up a picture of a particular thing every day - I've been a bit rubbish at keeping up with it mainly due to having been away and things, but the idea is a good one.

So I am hereby making a pledge to post on this blog at least once a week in 2011 (more if the mood takes me). I will post about something I've seen, something I've heard, a photo I've taken, anything that grabs my interest or inspires me. I figure if I take the time to note these things down, they might not escape me so quickly.

In the meantime, I'd like to wish everyone a stellar New Year's tomorrow, have fun whoever you are with, and even if you have to kiss a stranger, kiss SOMEONE when the bells ring out for 2011 in your part of the world!

Thanks to friends old and new, and wherever you are, I shall raise my glass to you!

Cheers!

On the Upswing

2010-06-13T20:05:00.003+01:00

Just a quick post this time, to say I'm feeling much better. Over half term I was down in the dumps a lot. I didn't write anywhere near as much as I had planned to, and really just frittered most of the week away doing bugger all.

The end of half term was when the upswing started for me. I went to see some friends perform in a production of Godspell. I hadn't seen the show before and wasn't entirely sure what to expect. The singing was great, but I have to admit that I'm still not entirely sure what the heck it was all about. The whole thing is in parable and it made me feel slightly uncomfortable as I got the distinct impression I should be having a religious conversion. However, the after-show curry was a great laugh with my FFBOS mates and a few glasses of vino, and I shall never forget the spectacle of my friends down on their hands and knees pretending to be sheep!

Since then, things have continued to make me feel better. Things are moving towards (hopefully) some kind of resolution at work, and I discovered that the part of the dominatrix in Forum is still up for grabs. After much deliberation, I have decided I might as well have a go at the audition for it - at the very least, no one can ever accuse me of not trying!

My birthday was a nice day where the kids treated me well, my colleagues gave me some lovely gifts and I had a nice Chinese meal and a singsong in the evening, with another few glasses of vino (seeing the pattern here?).

I'm writing again with a degree of passion, despite the continuing uninspiring comments and marks in the Whittaker competition, and have done a flurry of submitting which I hope will bring in a few new rounds of publication in the near future.

In fact, the only thing leaving me cold at the moment is the world cup. Twenty-two men kicking a bag of wind around a field does nothing for me, and I am most grateful that Himself feels the same away about it. Unfortunately the rest of the world, including Mr and Mrs Noisy McStomp upstairs from us DO care, and are determined to make sure we can't miss that fact. Ugh. Wake me up when it's over!

P.S. Keep an eye out on the right for the addition of the link to my story Pieces on Every Day Fiction towards the end of this month, and my poem, The Last Sleepless Night on Ink, Sweat & Tears in the near future!

On Top of the Mountain

2010-05-17T20:32:00.002+01:00

Or perhaps, all the way down in the bottom of the valley, who can say?

Nope, that's not just me being random, it's a homage to my attempts to learn a Welsh accent. FFBOS' next show is to be A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum, and I will be auditioning for the part of Philia, the slightly... err... less than bright virgin slave. The director of the show has decided that she should be Welsh as the accent has (and I quote) "a certain innocence about it".

I tried pointing out I do a mighty fine Norfolk Dumpling accent, and we sound a bit on the dim side too, but he wasn't going for it...

Cue the acquisition of the Penny Dyer Access Accents South Wales CD, watching Gavin and Stacey until my eyes bleed (and why didn't someone tell me how brilliant it is the first time around?!) and watching various Rob Brydon, Charlotte Church, Tom Jones and Little Britain clips on YouTube. I am now heading towards having something approximating a Welsh accent for my audition.

I'm also almost one hundred percent sure I'm the only gay in the village...!

The audition is on the 23rd May - keep it all crossed for me, okay?

In other news, work has finally settled down and I am finally back to doing only my own job for the most part, which is a big relief, although I must admit to feeling a wee bit lonely being back up in my office on my own! At least I can listen to music up there (and random Welsh things!) but it's strange going from being in the hub of activity for the whole school to basically seeing no one... AND the kettle and the loo are down 5 flights of stairs! Disaster!

On the bright side, now I am back to being less stressed and tired, I've had time to start exercising again. After the excellent weight loss brought about by the rigorous dance routines for Bad Girls, I bought a Dance Workout For Dummies DVD. It's great, although the chick leading it is perhaps a little TOO chipper, and it turns out I have a LOT of stomach muscles. I know this because after two days, they are screaming at me for mercy.

Never fear, I'm not listening, and the taming of the tummy monster will continue apace!

On the writing front, I am now just over halfway through this year's Whittaker Prize over at TWI (link on the right there if you want to join the group!). Unlike previous years, this year has been a struggle for me. I don't believe that the standard of my writing has suddenly fallen from last year's competition, however it appears that my genre (urban fantasy/horror/sci-fi) doesn't sit well with either of this year's judges. It's not the scores I have a problem with (actually they have all been perfectly respectable scores), nor the fact that other people have been scoring more highly than me (Although I'm still not sure about those stories which are like modern Oscar-winning films: a great deal of sod-all happening, which seems to make judges go "Oh, I don't understand this, it must be brilliant!". See Old Country For Old Men for an example... actually, no don't. Save yourself the trouble and just go to sleep instead ;)).

What bugs my happiness is the comments which clearly indicate to me that the judges have no grasp of the genre and are making no effort to understand it. Being marked down for things which are central to the genre gets my goat, I'm afraid. For example: I don't believe that fantasy/horror stories need to have some deep, dark intrinsic meaning. Why can't they just be entertaining/disturbing and left at that? Nor do I believe that an anthropomorphic personification needs hopes, aspirations and doubts - they can just be pure vengeance if that's what they represent, no?

I will finish the competition, mainly because I've paid for it and I'm buggered if I'm wasting the money, but I shan't be paying too much attention to the judge's poor, vague comments from now on.

Especially since I have just added links on the right there to my poem Sinner's Lullaby at The Fib Review, and Hadron Colliderscope Comics (run by my talented baby cousin Michael V Bramley) who have just accepted my first ever script for a comic, They Come. I will also soon be adding two more hits at Every Day Fiction to the list, as they have accepted two of my flashes, Promise and Pieces (links to follow).

So yah-boo sucks to you, Whittaker judges :P

I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues... (A Thank You to FFBOS)

2010-04-26T21:03:00.004+01:00

Cos when I cry, my eyes go blue instead of green, which is kind of pretty but doesn't detract from the fact I am a pathetic creature. Bad Girls closed on Saturday night, after a brilliant week of tech/dress/runs and everyone I know who saw the show loved it and said how professional and polished it was. Now it's over, and I'm left with a sense of melancholy, some damn good memories, a whole host of new friends I hope to keep for a long time and a number of bruises (including one on the back of my arm which is perfectly finger-shaped and presumably belongs to James Droy ;)).

Is this the last show I will ever do? Hell no! After 10 years of trying to get over the mess my ex made of my confidence enough to step out on a stage again, I have well and truly got the bug again. Still, there is a certain sadness in the fact that this particular mix of people may never work together again, and it's that which has caused me to shed a few tears over the last few days.

Above all, I owe the members of FFBOS, and especially those in the cast of Bad Girls a huge thank you for making me so welcome. Not only do I feel like I've finally come right back to the person I used to be at my happiest, but they got me through a terrible week in which Himself was really quite ill and ended up having ambulances called on two occasions. If I hadn't had the show to go to with wonderful people to cheer me up, take my mind off it and look after me when I was being neurotic, I don't know how I would have made it through the week.

So to the cast of Bad Girls, all you wicked girls and naughty boys:

YOU ROCK!

P.S. A quick note to say I've added a link to Twisted Tongue Issue 15 on the right there as it contains my flash fiction, Stupid Little Things. I will add a link to Fib Review #6 soon, too, as it will contain my poem Sinner's Lullaby.

What's My Name Again?

2010-04-06T17:26:00.005+01:00

At the moment of writing, my overwhelming sentiment is Thank the Gods for the easter holidays. As friends and frequent visitors will know, I am not Christian and therefore don't celebrate easter beyond having a lie in, some hot cross buns and scoffing a chocolate egg.

However, the past month or so has been an absolute blur: our receptionist at our main site at work has been very poorly, bless her, and as a result for three and a half days per week I have been filling in for her as well as trying to get on with my own work. The other day and a half per week I'm either working on Specialism stuff, or filling in for the receptionist on the other site. Add to this three rehearsals a week for Bad Girls, at least one gig a week for Albany Down and trying to write my Whittaker entry each fortnight, and it had gotten to the point where I no longer knew who I was any more!

Thankfully, after a few lie-ins I am starting to feel more my usual self, and the gigs have slowed down now that the ill-fated Herfordshire tour by Albany Down is over. I'm not sure why you would go to a pub where a band were playing and then proceed to completely ignore them, but apparently it's the done thing in Hertfordshire and has made for some pretty uncomfortable evenings out. The upcoming gigs, which can all be found by clicking the Albany Down linky thing to the right of this page, are all in good music venues rather than pubs, and promise to be a bit more lively. If you live near any of the venues, please do come on down!

In other news, two weeks today the FFBOS production of Bad Girls The Musical opens at the Intimate Theatre in Palmers Green, London. Rehearsals have gone really well, and I have had an absolute blast getting to know everyone. The show is fantastic, with a bit of something for everyone including song, dance, drama, comedy, smut and lesbian snogs! If you live in London or can get down for the evening, it promises to be a really fun night out - just don't bring the children! Contact me on Facebook or leave me a message below for more info on tickets!

Oh, and yes, I am still tinkering with the layout and colour scheme of the blog. Deal with it ;)

Here We Go Round Again...

2010-03-02T15:49:00.006Z

It's that time of the year again. A time when members, admin and judges of The Write Idea alike quake with fear. This weekend, The Whittaker Prize 2010 begins. Nine rounds, eighteen weeks, of utter mayhem, during which I might actually get something written. At least, that's the plan. How I'm going to manage to fit it in with all the other things going on right now, I'm not entirely clear, but if I have to scribble on the back of an envelope on the bus, I will!

Returning visitors will have noticed a few changes to the blog. I decided that lurid pink, whilst doing a grand job of making people think my blog was some kind of online sex shop, was a bit harsh on the eyes so I have striven for something a little more tasteful this time. I may shuffle a few other things around as the mood takes me, and I make no apologies for it: we artistes are an impulsive lot.

At the moment, life appears to be one big hurly-burly. Work is insanely busy due to a couple of big projects I'm working on and the difficulty of working with individuals whose world view does not extend beyond the end of their own nose. Sometimes I wonder how these people cross the road without being knocked down. Whilst I don't complain about being busy - it makes the days go faster - I do take a bit of exception at feeling I'm the one upon whom all the stressful work is being dumped in order that others may enjoy stress-free days. It's just a good job I actually AM superwoman, or nothing would be getting done!

I'm also equally busy at home. Himself's band are currently "touring" Hertfordshire. I use bunny ears for two reasons. First of all, it's such a small area I'm not sure it counts as a proper tour. Secondly, if you walk into a venue and can smell the toilets, I think it's pretty likely to be a write-off as a venue. The music and performances have been great when anyone has actually paid attention besides the usual six or seven people who tag along wherever they go, but when the talking between the songs is louder than the clapping, it makes you squirm with embarrassment. That said, if you happen to live in the area, you could alleviate some of the problem by coming along one night! Check out the Albany Down website for details.

My first production with FFBOS is coming up fast now, and we are about to get into intensive rehearsals 2-3 times a week. The show will be playing at the Intimate Theatre, Palmers Green, London from 20-24 April inclusive. You can pick up tickets by ringing the box office on 020 8482 6923, emailing tickets@ffbos.com or clicking on to www.ticketsource.co.uk/ffbos - tickets cost £10 Tues/Weds and £12 the rest of the run. Please do come along if you can - it promised to be loads of fun!

On the bright side, since my last blog I have had another story accepted, this time by Twisted Tongue. It's a flash that was turned down by Every Day Fiction for being too well written in terms of gore, so I thought TT would be a good fit! It will appear in issue 15, due out this month.

And I have just signed up to produce one 2.5k word story per fortnight. Preferably, one GOOD 2.5k word story. Oh heck, am I mental?

Yes, yes I am...

A Fistful of Dollars...

2010-02-23T22:02:00.002Z

... well, pounds anyway! On Sunday evening I had a very lovely email from the people over at Dark Tales to let me know that my story, Send in the Clowns placed second in their December monthly competition. My prize is publication in a future issue of Dark Tales and a stonking one hundred quid. I was mighty pleased, let me tell you!

Frequent blog readers or those who follow me on Facebook, Twitter or any of the writing groups I'm a member of may remember that I previously came third in the Dark Tales August comp with my tale The House on Melton Street. I hope to be able to bring you news of a publication date soon!

Needless to say, I will be submitting another tale to the February comp. I am hoping I may have found my niche and this could be the beginning of a semi-regular moneyspinner to pay for all the other comps I want to enter!

It was particularly good to receive the news on Sunday as it put a positive final spin on a week that had, frankly, been a little bit of a disaster. On Monday, Himself took our new(ish, bought at the very tail end of November last year) car for its MOT. It failed. Royally. To the tune of nearly five hundred smackers. Needless to say we had a total decapitated chicken moment and I had a bit of a cry. The credit card covered it for now, but it's still money we couldn't really afford to part with. On inspection of the information provided by the garage, it would appear the car was not road legal when we bought it, so we are going to attempt to recover some of the money from the dealer, but I shan't be counting my chickens before they hatch.

Monday was also a sad day, particularly for Himself, as the old car (our very first!) was shipped off to the scrappy to be cubed.

On the bright side, we did get more money for it than we thought we would, so the day wasn't a total loss!

On Saturday, I made a very good attempt at killing myself. Leaving an Albany Down gig and crossing the road to our car, I turned my ankle over and fell into the road... in the dark and in the path of an oncoming car! Thankfully the driver saw either me, Himself or my frantically waving MIL and stopped to check I was okay. I was, albeit a bit sore and very embarrassed. I hadn't even had a drink!

Only me...

Unexpected Hiatus

2010-02-07T17:34:00.002Z

It's been a while since I made an entry in this blog. I have not been idle, but on 15th December 2009, our beloved cat Mobo passed away suddenly. She was eight years old, and during the summer last year she suffered a fit which I witnessed; we took her to the vet's and were told that unless fitting became a regular occurance, they would not medicate.

As far as we are aware, she didn't have any other fits, but we can't be sure it wasn't happening at night or whilst we were at work. On 15th of December, we came home from work to discover she had passed away during the day. Thankfully, she looked very peaceful, and we think she had another fit whilst sleeping and never woke up, so at least she would not have suffered.

She is still, and will always be, sorely missed.

My last post here was made right before I went to audition for an operatic society. I joined the company, FFBOS, and am going to be in the chorus of the upcoming Spring show, Bad Girls The Musical in April. I've had a great time getting to know everyone, and getting to have a good sing-song every week at rehearsals.

On Saturday 6th February I took part in FFBOS Panto in a Day at All Saints Primary School, Whetstone. We arrived in the morning at 10am, and were allocated parts, then spent the rest of the day setting and rehearsing the scenes before putting on the panto at 7.30pm. I was given the part of the Good Fairy, and got to scare everyone by pulling a party popper every time I appeared! It was chaos, but great fun and I'm glad I went along, even if I will be finding glitter in my hair for a week... ;)

On the writing front, I have been very quiet. Following the loss of Mobo, I haven't felt up to writing anything much, although I have entered a few poor efforts in The Write Idea's Stirred POeT competition. I am hoping to break the slump in March, when this year's Whittaker Competition begins - nine rounds of stories with a fortnight to work on each.

Stories I had written previously have been working hard for me, however. In December I was named the winner of Slingink.com's Eurofiction Prize, winning a princely £100. It is still being decided what will happen to the seven stories I wrote for the competition, but I am hoping I can sell some of them in the near future.

At the very end of December, the 2009 Whittaker Anthology, The Rhinoceros and His Thoughts, was released. It features two of the stories which helped me gain third place in the competition: Bach, Beethoven, Mozart and The Last Possible Moment. I will be aiming for first place this year!

In January, The Fib Review published my Fibonacci sequence poem, Forgotten Gods. This is my first poetry publication outside charity anthologies!

In February, Every Day Fiction published my flash, Dancing Snowflakes.

I still have several stories out there for consideration, and with Half Term coming up in a week, I will be making another concerted push to get my stuff out there.

Wish me luck!

Hi-Diddly-dee, an actor's life for me!

2009-12-07T20:34:00.003Z

So as part of my ongoing battle with my impoverished supply of self-esteem, I decided a couple of months ago that it was about time I stopped wasting those three years I spent at the illustrious University of Derby all those millions of years ago and did something of a Performing and Media Arts nature. I looked up amateur dramatics and operatic societies in North London, and happened upon FFBOS (The Finchley and Friern Barnet Operatic Society). I made contact, but one thing after another seemed to crop up to stop me going down to audition.

Until now.

I am scheduled to go down on Wednesday night to meet them and audition for membership. I've got my song music all printed off ready (I'm going to do Summertime by George Gershwin), and have arranged for Himself to drop me off and pick me up. I am more or less over the horrible cold I've had for the past week or so, and I'm hoping I'll be in fine voice on the night.

I am, however, terrified. It's been a long time since I did any singing beyond karaoke, and even longer since I did any acting. The last show I was even in was before I even met Himself, which shows you how long ago it was.

And I can't help wondering... what the fuck am I doing?! If they accept me, I will be over the moon and will try out for all the shows with enthusiasm, but if they reject me... what will that do for my self-esteem?

All I can do, I suppose is hope to break a leg, although not literally!

Just no one mention the Scottish play, okay? :)

19k words in 12 hours...

2009-11-19T20:39:00.002Z

It's been 5 days since the charity writeathon over at TWI, and it's taken me this long to start getting over it! I managed a stonking 36 stories totalling 19,337 words in the twelve hour stint, only stopping long enough to pee, make drinks and stuff my face with pizza while being watched by three overly interested moggies.

The next day my wrists totally failed to move and my shoulders felt like I'd carried two buckets of water for twelve hours instead of just sitting at the laptop. It was, however worth it, as I raised $346 Canadian for the very worthwhile charity Cottage Dreams. If you would still like to make a donation, you can by going to my giving page or via PayPal to vesula AT gmail DOT com (use the symbols, natch).

If I had been through the trauma of having cancer and the horrible but neccessary treatments, I can think of no better way to recuperate with my family than an all-expenses-paid week away at a country cottage. As someone who had the threat of cancer hanging over their head for three years, it's a cause that's very close to my heart, so I feel all the more proud of my efforts.

I recuperated the next day with an episode of Dr Who that creeped me out to no end, which I love. Nothing better than a good scare in my book. I blame reading too much Stephen King as a child... I was goggle-eyed after the episode, which was really blummin good, and then torn. I am looking forward to the next couple of episodes as they have John Simm back in them as The Master, but I don't want the end to come for David Tennant as the Doctor. I will give the new Doctor a fair go to see if he's any good, but I know I won't be falling for him as he has stupid hair and a face shaped like a banana. For me, David Tennant will always be the ultimate Doctor!

Since then, I have been ill. Nauseous and achy and running hot and cold since Monday morning, which hasn't put me in the best of tempers. I wish it would either turn into a proper cold, or sod off. If it turned into a proper flu, at least I could justify having a duvet day!

Don't forget that my story, Back from the Hills, will appear at Every Day Fiction over the weekend. I will post up a link here next week, but you could always go over and sign up for a lovely little bite-sized piece of fiction in your inbox every day. I'm a signed up member, and I love having a read over my homebaked bread sandwich!

Two Weeks to Go and other updates!

2009-11-01T20:54:00.004Z

There are now just a little less than 2 weeks to go until the big TWI Charity Write-A-Thon. I'm looking forward to taking part for the third year running, and hope to beat last year's record of 36 flashes / 17.5k words. As usual at this juncture, I am also starting to wonder just what on earth I've let myself in for, especially since Himself will be away that weekend, meaning I will have to make my own cups of tea!

I am still looking for sponsors; the cause this year is Cottage Dreams, which I think is a very worthy cause as it provides cabin retreats for cancer survivors and their families to relax, unwind and reconnect after the trauma of cancer treatments. I know this isn't a UK cause, but our international writing community has supported UK causes for the last three years and it's time to give someone else our support. If you'd like to sponsor me, you can do so here. (Note: I understand there have been a few issues with UK debit cards on the Canada Helps site. If you would like to make a donation but are having problems, you can send me the money via Paypal to vesula AT gmail DOT com [Use the symbols, natch] and I will pass the donations on to the charity myself.)

In other news, a piece of mine, Fingers, dropped into the inboxes of all Every Day Fiction subscribers on 27th October. You can read the story and the responses here. On the same day, EDF contacted me again to accept my story Back From The Hills, which will appear on 21st November 2009. That's a score rate of 2 out of 3, and I think it's time I sent them some more stuff so I have more to crow about!

I have also started making my own bread. I have problems with normal shop-bought bread making me feel bloated and uncomfortable - waking up the tummy monster, as I call it! - so my awesome friend Nikki gave me a recipe for really easy home made bread. It's so simple even I could manage it, look:

And finally!

Himself's band, Albany Down, had a gig on 31st October, so naturally we all had to get dressed up and have a good time. My friend Ruth suggested that with my hair, I should go as Carrie, so I hit up eBay for all the bits and pieces I'd need for the costume and had a go. This is the result:

Did I pull it off? I'll let you tell me :) Albany Down were awesome, as always, and are looking forward to getting back into the recording studio in December to finish off their debut album, which is currently titled Get Out The Way. More news on that here as I get it!

Damn and blast, I jinxed it!

2009-10-04T14:06:00.002+01:00

Following the awesome time I had last weekend, I then went on to have the week from hell. I should have known better. I shouldn't have mentioned it. Maybe next time I'll be wise enough to keep my big trap shut!

Yeah, I don't believe that for one second either ;)

Monday started out okay. Good, even, with the happy news that an old friend of mine is expecting her first baby (congrats again, Charlie!). When I arrived home from work, however, things took a definite turn for the worse: we had no internet connection.

Disaster!

We rebooted the router several times to no avail. Neither one of us thought about the phone line until the following lunchtime when Himself came home to try a different router and had the bright idea of actually picking up the phone. Dead as a dodo.

We logged the fault with BT, but it took them a further 24 hours to send out an engineer to put the problem right, meaning we had no internet for two whole evenings. It was horrible. We actually had to have a conversation with each other! It's funny how we never think about how much we rely on something until it's gone. I spent the entire two evenings thinking "Well, I could.... no I couldn't. How about... nope, can't do that either."

Meanwhile, on the bus home on Tuesday evening, I had my purse stolen out of my handbag whilst on the bus. I believe the perps were a group of kids from a nearby high school (not mine!) because on of the girls with the group stamped on my foot, thereby distracting me from keeping an eye on my bag. Thankfully there was no cash in the purse, but I had to stop all my cards, which is a hassle I could have done without.

I reported it to the police even though there is very little they could do about it, because otherwise how will they have the correct crime figures for the area? The policeman was very nice, but did laugh at me for having a bright green purse with the frog from Hello Kitty on it.

Add to that a totally disastrous trip to the temple with some year 8 students who had a complete lack of respect for us, the place we were in, and the people who worshipped there, and I think it counts as a pretty lousy week.

So next time I say things are going well, someone please smack me!

Don't want to jinx it, but...

2009-09-27T20:37:00.003+01:00

I appear to have survived! Open Evening is done and dusted, OFSTED inspection is over and went so well the Headteacher cried for joy, and I have had enough sleep to remember which way is up, and which shoe goes on which foot!

My back has recovered from the muscle-pull I sustained earlier in the week, and I managed to do my workout without pain and without causing myself any further injury (which is actually something of a miracle for me).

I spent Friday evening having a lovely meal and a good gossip and giggle with a whole bunch of the awesome people I work with. I have never worked anywhere before where people are so friendly, and where there is such a feeling of being a team. Okay, so not everyone gets on all of the time, but the majority of us are good mates which is something the OFSTED inspectors appear to have picked up on. They described us as being "very smiley", although I'm not entirely sure that was happiness. By Thursday afternoon, it may actually have been a sign of dementedness...

I arrived home from the meal to find a letter from the hospital. I won't go into details here -- those who should know what was wrong already do, and the rest of you are just nosey ;) -- but suffice to say I have had an ongoing health issue for the past three years that has weighed heavy on my mind. Therefore, I was slightly loathe to open the envelope and spoil my good mood with the (I felt) inevitable bad news. Yet, like passing an accident on the motorway, I couldn't help but look.

I'm pleased to report that the news was good after all, and while I am not out of the woods entirely, I can at least see civilisation quite clearly from where I now stand. I can't describe my relief, and knew I was in for a good weekend.

Saturday night was an Albany Down gig at The Goat Inn, Codicote. It was possibly the most bizarre gig they have ever played. There were horse brasses and plates on the walls and they played in a tiny raised part of the pub with a ceiling so low the PA was too high to fit and Paul T kept almost banging his head on the rafters! It was a good gig, and they played about ten encores to rapturous applause.

Whilst we were waiting for the gear to be set up, I got an email from Musepie Press accepting my poem, Forgotten Gods, for The Fin Review. Apparently sometimes I do poetry well enough to be published! And hot on the heels of that, I got an email this morning from Every Day Fiction accepting my flash story, Fingers, for future publication.

Weekends don't get much better than that! :D

... Or Not.

2009-09-23T20:24:00.003+01:00

Ok, I lied. Sort of.

You see, I should have got my brain back on Monday evening as scheduled, but whilst I was running around like the proverbial blue-arsed fly on Monday morning preparing for Open Evening, we got The Call. The dreaded call that every educational establishment in the UK dreads. The "You're getting an OFSTED Inspection in two days" call. As a result, I've been running around like that damned fly for two more days, and tomorrow will probably be the same again.

I have managed to pull something in my back while almost falling off a chair when I was standing on it to reach over a filing cabinet to staple something to a wall. I'm now walking around very gingerly and still having to just suck it up and get on with it! I will be extremely glad when the weekend comes!

On the bright side, I found out this week I will have three pieces of flash fiction published in a forthcoming edition of Flash Magazine. Out of eight submissions, those are not bad odds! I was also shortlisted for the August Global Short Story Competition with my story Honeysuckle. This was the first time I entered the competition, which runs monthly, so I'm really chuffed to have made the short list straight away - hopefully the only way from here is up!

The freezer is now almost devoid of ice-cream, too, so I'm on to start the diet next week. I am sure you will hear me whinging about it at great length soon!

Normal Service Will Resume in 48 hours...

2009-09-20T15:21:00.002+01:00

I have been extremely busy at work for the past couple of weeks, preparing for Open Evening. So much so that I've barely had time to go to the loo during work hours. Most days I'm juggling five or six different work tasks at once and adding more to the list all the time. Everyone, understandably, wants their display refreshed before the prospective parents arrive, but there are so many hours in the day and unfortunately in the end I've had to start saying no. And that's not to mention the non-display jobs I've had to get done at the same time as well.

I know I'm good, but superwoman I ain't!

When I get home, sitting in front of the tv with a cuppa is not only tempting, it's about all I'm good for. I have managed to keep up with Eurofiction, the TWIWrite zone and Frantic Fiction by sheer force of will (and a stubborn refusal to miss a round in anything I enter) but I can't vouch for the standard of the pieces I'm writing. All work on Changing Akasha and editing of The Gemini Factor have been suspended until the madness is over and I get my brain back.

Waking up at three thirty in the morning going "Oh my god, the banners for open evening!" is not my idea of a restful night's sleep!

Still, in less than 48 hours it will be over. By 8.30pm tomorrow night, the prospective parents, gawkers and hangers on should have been and gone, and I can forget about it for another year.

Oh, while I'm here, next week I'm going to restart my diet. Yes, again, hush up in the cheap seats! Only this time, I'm going to actually DO it, not just talk about it. That means ice cream once a week on a Saturday and kettle chips once a week on a Sunday, the rest of the time snacks to be fruit. And if I don't stick to it this time, you all have permission to kick my arse...

Hey, hey! Form an orderly queue please! ;)

What a difference a year makes...

2009-09-08T20:12:00.002+01:00

Someone said to me this morning "I can't believe it's almost been a year since you started working here".

Truth is, neither can I; it seems to have flicked past so quickly I barely noticed it. My days are very busy and therefore seem to pass before I'm ready for them to. Weeks whizz by with such velocity I still think it's Wednesday when it's really Friday. And it seems like I'm only just getting back into the swing of things after a holiday when it's time for another one.

But although it seems to have passed at double-speed, the difference this past year has made to my life is immense.

This time last year, I was emerging from a severe depression only because I knew I had a new job to go to. My previous job wasn't bad in and of itself, but due to office politics and a seemingly permanent state of restructuring the workforce, my position there had become untenable. I was so unhappy I would cry some mornings because I didn't want to go to work, and I ended up on anti-depressants. People whom I worked with and counted as friends let me down repeatedly until I felt very alone, and that made the struggle to cope even harder.

Today, I went to work with a stinking cold, yet I was still happy. I enjoy my work, especially the creative side (which fortunately for me is the lion's share of what I do). I love designing and creating displays, and I love people being happy with the end result. I love the people I work with: for the most part there aren't a better bunch of people anywhere on the planet.

Special mention has to go to my manager and lovely friend Ruth who has been an awesome support to me through a few of the rougher personal times of this year (and the three preceding it when we worked together in a more distant capacity) despite having had a pretty dire year of her own to contend with.

I still have some health issues, and sometimes putting up with Himself makes me mad enough to spit (especially when he's bemoaning his job and wishing I was back at the old place because at least then his didn't seem so bad...), but in the main I am happy.

I'm getting a lot of writing done, too, and a lot of submitting, and while I have had a few rejections, it seems to be par for the course for a lot of my writer friends at the moment so I am taking it on the chin. There are other markets and other stories, and while I can still entertain Himself and the members of my writing forums with my work, I am satisfied.

Here's to the next twelve months!

Cats, cataracts and catastrophic imbeciles

2009-08-28T12:11:00.004+01:00

Himself will tell you that I am a chronic worrier. If there are several outcomes to any given situation, I will worry about the worst one. I will dream about it, talk about it, think about all the possible ramifications until my stomach is upset from the stress and I haven't slept properly for a few nights. Then the situation will come to pass and everything will turn out to be fine, at which stage I find something else to focus on and start the whole process over again.

Himself will also tell you that I worry whether or not the sun will come up in the morning.

What he doesn't seem to be able to grasp is that I would much rather worry about something only for it to turn out to be nothing, than not worry and it turn out to be something terrible. I gather from other people I'm not the only one who does this, so have come to the conclusion that Himself's inability to grasp the concept is a Man Thing. They don't think the same way women do: they only worry about what's happening to them right now and the future outcomes of their actions don't occur to them. They certainly don't think about things that are out of their control.

For the past couple of weeks, I have been worrying about #1 Cat, RT.

He's 10 years old, which while not exactly old for a cat is definitely heading towards long in the tooth, which is when health problems tend to set in. About three months ago, we noticed that occasionally one of his pupils didn't seem to react to light. Himself put it down to a lazy eye and we tried to leave it at that.

Only I couldn't. It kept niggling away at me every time I saw it. So I did an internet search and frightened the life out of myself with all the horrendous possible causes of such a thing. And so, it was after much waily waily on my part that I scheduled an appointment for RT with the vet, just to be sure.

It turns out he is developing cateracts. While this is not really an ideal situation, at present they don't affect his vision overmuch and he is otherwise apparently perfectly healthy. I am much relieved, and Himself, of course, is doing the triumph dance and wailing about the £32.50 we paid the vet to tell us something he reckons he already knew. Personally, I think it was a small price to pay for peace of mind!

But what about the catastrophic imbeciles? I hear you cry!

I just don't get some people. Everyone can have an off day, or have something happen that makes them off their game for the rest of the day, but some poeple just seem to want to be horrendously crotchety bastards. Take our old downstairs neightbour, for example: this 40-something single Scotswoman apparently had nothing better to do with her life but to knock on the door on bin day and complain that Himself hadn't put the bin back by the door immediately it had been emptied. That wasn't the worst or most ludicrous of her complaints, either.

When we moved house, I was very glad to get away from her, but it appears they are everywhere. People who are petty, small minded and set in their ways, people who like to complain about things for no discernable good reason. People who resist change and who, if things aren't done exactly the way they like them, scream and shout and stamp their feet and make everyone else feel bad. People who disregard the efforts put in by others and who only focus on the negative.

People who, for example, when a writing site is in danger of closing and is saved at the last minute by the hard work, time, effort and money of one person, whine and gripe that it's not the same as it used to be, and the new administrator has made a few mistakes. And these are typing errors, not big coding mistakes that cause the site to fall over. People who take themselves way too seriously and think that being a writer means you must be tortured and penniless, living in a rat-infested cellar somewhere, who think that being part of a writing community is a serious affair and there is no room for fun, laughter and mutual support.

To people like that, I say one thing:

I aten't dead...

2009-08-26T11:17:00.004+01:00

Just a quick update to say that while the slight sore through and sniffles persist, they are not getting any worse so I must conclude that I do not, in fact, have Swine Flu. I am quite relieved, as dying horribly before completing at least the first draft of my second novel is not on my list of things to do before I'm 35.

Since I set up my "writing space" with the laptop in the dining room, I have been given a whole new perspective on the world. The only thing I can really see from the narrow dining room window is a bit of fence and one tree. I'm not sure what kind of tree it is -- horticulture is so not my thing -- but it has a lot of little black berries on it at the moment and seems to be quite popular with a particular squirrel.

I have named this squirrel Cocky. He is a grey squirrel, and I have now seen him at least once a day for the past week. He jumps up on the windowsill, among the pots of spring bulbs I still haven't got around to planting in the garden. There he proceeds to dance about and make a spectacle of himself until he's sure he's got the attention of at least one cat (usually RT, who likes to sleep on the dining table behind my monitor). Once he's sure he's being watched, he then prances off to the tree where he runs up and down flicking his tail like a proper little tease and driving said cat mental.

It is actually quite amusing and at least gets RT moving from his usual state of being:

On the writing front, I am having quite a successful week. Not only have I written three chapters of my second novel, but also a short story for Frantic Fiction over on the SlingInk site, which won this week's round (I also came joint first in last week's round, also announced this week). Plus an odd little piece of mine appeared at Ink, Sweat & Tears yesterday, called Dreamspinner.

So it's probably a good thing I don't have Swine Flu after all!

Pig Cold

2009-08-24T12:42:00.003+01:00

This morning, I have woken up with a sniffle and a sore throat. This is not an uncommon occurance for me: I seem to sleep with my mouth open and therefore quite often awake feeling like something small and furry crawled in there and died unpleasantly. (Himself would tell you that it's because I talk as much in my sleep as I do when awake, but that's a whole different story.)

However, I have done my Yoga, used my exercise bike, had a cuppa and a bowl of Special K and the feeling persists. I do not actually want Swine Flu at all, because I'm rubbish at being ill and drive myself and everyone around me insane, and also because as a diabetic, Himself is a "vulnerable person" so it's probably best if he doesn't get it. But if I really must get it, it would be just my luck to get it during the holidays when it benefits me absolutely nothing!

I was anticipating spending the last 10 days of my holiday in a writing frenzy, not curled up in bed wanting to die. I shall battle bravely on in the hope it's just a passing sniffle and I'll be fine tomorrow, but if this blog comes to an abrupt end, I wanted you to know why.

Oh well, people always said I'd get famous when pigs flew...

Sorry, couldn't resist!

What's in a name...?

2009-08-22T23:45:00.002+01:00

According to our old friend The Bard, "a rose by any other name would smell as sweet". Thing is, although it's far beyond my remit to argue with old Shakey-baby, I'm not entirely sure I agree, and finding a name for my stories is actually one of the things I hate most about the writing process.

Storylines tend to pop into my head as I go along, often driven by the characters that start banging about in my head some time before the story is to be written, and don't stop behaving like extremely rude and irresponsible upstairs neighbours until the damn thing is done. That part of writing is, for me, easy. I have likened it to being schizophrenic, the only difference being that the voices aren't so much talking to me as dropping their hobnailed boots repeatedly on my central cortex and demanding to be let out.

Editing is a tedious and heart-wrenching process and any writer who tells you they like doing it is blatantly lying. Not only is it beyond dull reading your own story for the sixteenth time in one week, but you have to cut out your little darlings -- those oh so carefully crafted pearls of prose that make your toes curl with delight -- and leave them wailing on the cutting-room floor in the name of avoiding cliche and not straying into purple prose. And that's before we even mention the fact that the human brain has a tendency to see what it thinks ought to be there, rather than what actually is there, leading to a multitude of spelling and grammatical errors staying in your piece only to be noticed exactly ten seconds after you have submitted the piece to some snooty publication that automatically discards any stories with typos in them.

Even that I can grit my teeth and bear, yet in the face of trying to find a title I am reduced to a quivering, weeping wreck most easily likened to a melted blancmange.

My first novel went through several incarnations and thereby several titles before the current one. Once I started the "final" rewrite (in bunny ears because we all know full well it's not the final rewrite, and who the hell am I trying to kid anyway?) I toyed with several things before finally coming up with The Gemini Factor. It's a title I'm quite happy with - it gives some hint of what the book is about without giving too much away, and it sounds a bit punchy. It's a title I would pick up to read the jacket blurb, and by that standard I hope other people would too.

Short stories are easier - quite often the prompt I have written to works as a title, or there's some phrase or theme in the story itself that lends itself to being a moniker. I don't worry about titles for shorts too much unless they really are pants, or Himself laughs at them when he reads them and it's not a funny story.

But novel number two is on the verge of making me run screaming for the hills never to choose another title as long as I live. It has been called Changing Akasha since I wrote the prologue. It's a name I hate, mainly because it puts me in mind of gentle but gritty things like Angela's Ashes or Driving Miss Daisy. It feels trite and ordinary, and my book is (I hope) anything but. I have scratched my head for over a year now (progress on this novel has been spotty for various personal reasons, but I hope to remedy that now) trying to come up with something else, but nothing will come to mind.

And so I am left with what I hope will be a rose of a story with a terrible name. Mr Shaker of the Spear, I say to you this rose is called Changing Akasha.

And it stinks.

P.S. If you have not yet sponsored me for the 12 hour charity writing marathon, you can do so here.

Want to do your bit for charity?

2009-08-21T11:55:00.002+01:00

For the last two years, I have taken part in the 12-hour charity writing marathon hosted by The Grail online writer's group. The basic premise is that a bunch of writers from around the world sit down during those 12 hours and write as many pieces of flash fiction and poetry as they can, and get sponsored for doing it. The best pieces are then chosen for an anthology, the proceeds of which also go to the charity we have chosen.

Last year, the proceeds went to a UK charity that helps develop literacy skills and a love of reading in primary school children. The year before, it was the Alzheimer's Society, and although I did not take part in the writeathon the year before that, some of my work was included in the anthology Gene Genii, which raised money for and awareness of the genetic condition Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome.

This year, the writing marathon has moved home and will take part on The Write Idea website. Because this is an international site, and we choose a different charity every year, the proceeds of this year's event will go to the Canadian charity Cottage Dreams, which supports individuals who have recently undergone treatment for cancer, and gives them a wonderful opportunity to spend time "away from it all" reconnecting with their family. You can read more about cottage dreams here.

So.

If you are a writer, why not join us? Membership at TWI is free, and we're a lovely friendly bunch. The writing marathon will take place on Saturday 14th November 2009 from 2pm GMT - 2am GMT Sunday 15th November 2009. Don't worry if you can't join in for the full 12 hours: some people will sit and write for the entire time, but some will dip in and out as family commitments allow, and as the adverts say, every little helps!

If you're not a writer, or you are but you can't take part that day, you can always sponsor me! Last year I wrote 36 pieces of flash fiction in the 12 hours, and totalled around 17.5k words. I am on a mission this year to beat that, and it will be soothing to my sore wrists if I have a big fat load of money to give to the charity at the end! You can sponsor me here.

What are you waiting for? :)

Would throwing up be an overreaction...?

2009-08-19T12:47:00.004+01:00

I have just submitted my first novel, The Gemini Factor, to this competition:

http://www.scifinow.co.uk/competitions/become-a-published-sf-author/

I expect to get roughly nowhere at all in the actual competition, but it's the first time I've sent "my baby" out into the great wide world, which feels like a big fucking deal to me.

I've spent the last couple of weeks writing and honing my first ever synopsis and editing the first three chapters to within an inch of their lives in preparation for this momentous event. I have been told the novel is good (and not only by people who have to lie to me in order to have any hope of ever having sex again, but also by people who have no reason to be anything other than brutally honest). I have sat on it for over a year since I finished it, partly because of being unsure where to send it, but mainly out of plain old wussyness.

Today I gave both the synopsis and the chapters a last wash and brush up, wrote my covering email, and attached the files.

Then I spent fifteen minutes dithering back and forth between windows and trying not to look at the email window at all whilst trying very hard to hold on to my breakfast.

At last, Himself shouted at me to "send the fucking email, damnit", and I pressed send as more of a reflex action than out of any actual desire or readyness to do so. Which is probably the only way it was actually going to get done.

Now my stomach is doing flipflops and my hands are still shaking. I wonder if throwing up really would be an overreaction.

What do you reckon?

When did size 10 become outsized?

2009-08-17T20:08:00.003+01:00

My sister works in promotions, the kind where you stand in the street and hand out free samples, that kind of thing. She is twenty-five years old, fairly tall, pretty and a UK size 10. She has been doing this kind of work since she left university four years ago, and by all accounts is pretty damn good at it - at the very least she and her partner (who also works in promotions as an event manager) get a lot of repeat bookings by various clients.

A few weeks ago, she was offered a job promoting the WKD brand of alchopops in bars. Her job was to go into bars and take polaroid photographs of people on branded WKD Red polaroid paper, after which she would give them a tacky flashing plastic necklace and a wristband that entitled them to a free bottle of WKD Red at the bar. Sounds like an easy job, and it was.

She likes doing social promotions like that, and was enthusiastic about the product because she likes alchopops. You would think she would be the perfect person to invite back to do the job another night.

Apparantly not according to WKD. After that one night, she was contacted by the agency and told that the client no longer wanted her to promote them. The reason?

She's too fat.

At size 10.

Apparently WKD only employ promotions girls who are a UK size 6 or smaller. I don't think I have heard anything so disgraceful in my life, and I am really quite disturbed. The kind of women who do the job my sister does tend to be young, and a lot of them are probably quite impressionable. Telling them they must be a size 6 in order to get work cannot possibly be healthy.

I used to enjoy the odd bottle of WKD original (the orange Iron Bru one), but I shall not be purchasing their product any more in the future.

I'm doubtless too fat to drink it anyway.

Of gigs, venues and pollocks...

2009-08-17T11:28:00.002+01:00

Himself's band had a gig last night at Water Rats in Central London. It's touted as a proper music venue (we were told it was bigger than the Purple Turtle in Camden, but it's definitely not) with industry links, but when we arrived it seemed more like a shambles. Bear in mind for the rest of this tale that the promoter contacted AD and begged them to play at very short notice, not the other way around.

The rest of the band had already been and dropped their stuff off and gone to get food, which we needed to do still, and I told Paul he should double check what time they were meant to be on before we left. He said "They said in the email 9:30, they're not going to change it now, are they?"

Famous last words.

Apparently the band that were meant to play in the slot before AD hadn't shown up, leaving a gap in the programme. Therefore, they wanted AD to play at 8:45 instead of 9:30. With it already being 8:30 with no other band members in sight, that was not going to happen, and Paul told them so.

They then tried to extract from him a promise that AD would play at 9:00. He said he couldn't commit to that before a) we'd eaten and b) he'd spoken to the rest of the band. We then left to go and get food.

We tracked down the rest of the band at a local Indian restaurant (Euro Tandoori down the road from King's Cross station do a very good Chicken Korma if you're looking any time, incidentally) and joined them to get something to eat. Whilst we were waiting for our food, the guy on the door of Water Rats texted Billy Bassist to say AD's stage time was now 9:00. He texted back and said since we were still waiting for food and hadn't expected to play until 9:30, it was unlikely we would be there for 9.

We arrived back at the venue by 9:10 and the boys went straight in and started to set up. The skinny oik from the door then marched up to the stage and demanded to know why they hadn't started playing 15 minutes earlier. Billy pointed out that he had texted him, but apparently that wasn't good enough and their set was being cut from 30 minutes to 20.

When they started playing, there were only four of us in the audience, and we had come with them. However, by the first chorus of the first song, the room had filled up with folk from outside who were drawn in by AD's funky, bluesy rock. The set was awesome, and people seemed to really be enjoying it.

Despite the fact people were cheering and clapping and clearly having a good time, AD were pulled offstage after only 20 mins.

And where was the promoter when all this was going on? Oh yeah, he didn't show up.

What a pollock!

So thumbs up for AD and the audience, but a big fat wah-wah for Water Rats and the promoter Mondo!

Isn't it about time you got a blog...?

2009-08-16T16:19:00.003+01:00

Actually, yes I think it may well be!

So, here it is. Isn't it shiny and new? I'm not entirely sure what I'll put here yet, but I suspect some of it will be about my writing, and some of it will be about random stuff that happens, or that comes to mind. You'll have to bear with me while I work out what all the buttons and gizmos do.

So last night Himself and I went out for a meal and to the pub for a friend's birthday celebration. A good time was had by all (and I'm very smug today due to being one of those annoying people who has never, ever had a hangover!). However, I clearly have a sign on my head that says "all nutcases please come and talk to me because I love it!" because a very drunk and overly hairy young man by the name of Leroy decided he was going to come and invade our table for no apparent reason and accuse Himself of not being Scottish, which was more than a little perplexing to me after a glass and a half of house white. The conversation went a bit like this:

Paul: "Err, who are you again?"
Leroy: "Ah, there's a good Irish accent."
Me: "No it's not, because he's Scottish."
Leroy: "He's not Scottish."
Paul: "Yes I am."
Leroy: "Where are you from, then?"
Paul: "Lanark."
Leroy: "Never heard of it, so you're not Scottish."
Paul: "Yes I am."
Leroy: "Quote me Rabbie Burns then."
Paul: "I don't know any."
Leroy: "Then you're not Scottish."

Repeat ad nauseum, interspersed with snatches of Robert Burns poetry quoted by Leroy in an incredibly bad Scottish accent.

Why do they always pick on me? Why?

Still, I have the last laugh, because I bet he has the mother of all headaches today! ;)