With so many thanks to fellow writing interweb friend, Emily, who put this on her blog today. Honestly I can't remember not being able to stop crying with laughter quite so much before!
Monday, 31 August 2009
Saturday, 29 August 2009
Would you just listen to yourself!
Ok. I’m trying not to think about this too severely.
It couldn’t have come at a worse time, though and I hope the person who started this has a bad night’s sleep – at least one.
I wrote a post back in April entitled “Things That make me go Aaaarrrghhhh” because a lot of things do, especially at certain times of the month. Oh, and whenever I’m driving. And whenever I spot bad spelling. And misuse of the Queens English. And lads with their jeans round their arses showing off their skidmarked pants. And those same lads who drive past/sit parked in a virtual moving disco. Whoever invented rap and then left the “C” off the beginning of the word deserves to find a dead, deep-fried, battered rat in his Kentucky Fried Chicken (this really happened to a friend of mine once).
AAAARRRRGGGGHHH!
So, okay then, pretty much most Things Make Me Go Arggghhh every day.
Hmm.
I should leave the house less perhaps.
So, during what is NOT the worst week of PMS I can remember. Last month was a winner and that was whilst we were in Tuscany so that made it ten times more, shall we say “feverish” than it should comfortably have been.
Anyway.
This morning (I have been “due” for two days now but because of extenuating circumstances* I’m never on time) I woke up to 13 glorious messages in my In-Box, most of which were from lovely writer friends and lovely writer sites and one from the lovely Dictionary dotcom people which is always um…lovely. The first one, though, was from a friend I haven’t seen for 2 years but who I’ve known since we were teenagers (well, one of us was – see I’m even being kind to her) but since getting married and having kids and moving from country to country we kinda lost touch and we’ve never been as close as we were in our heyday.
Anyway.
Getting to the point has always been a shortcoming.
Yup, you guessed it - I got a “sorry, I’m not usually superstitious but I had to do this” (or something like that – I can’t check because I deleted it fast and hard and very very angrily BUT not before I’d STUPIDLY STUPIDLY STUPIDLY scrolled down and read that I was to make a wish on the Cat in The Hat and after ten seconds – it even helped me by counting down on each line for me – my wish would come true. Ah, lovely I thought – not a nasty vibe in sight – until the last line. I had to send it to TEN friends including the sender otherwise my wish would turn out to be THE OPPOSITE).
My three book-deal is now officially down the pan.
Unless.
Unless I really really truly read and believe the post I wrote in April
And right now I’ve got the Witch of PMS cackling over my shoulder because I fell for it. I fell for it big time and now I’m scared I’ve jinxed the whole goddamn thing simply for being stupid enough to believe that someone really wanted my wish to come true – without conditions – for a change.
Nice.
It couldn’t have come at a worse time, though and I hope the person who started this has a bad night’s sleep – at least one.
I wrote a post back in April entitled “Things That make me go Aaaarrrghhhh” because a lot of things do, especially at certain times of the month. Oh, and whenever I’m driving. And whenever I spot bad spelling. And misuse of the Queens English. And lads with their jeans round their arses showing off their skidmarked pants. And those same lads who drive past/sit parked in a virtual moving disco. Whoever invented rap and then left the “C” off the beginning of the word deserves to find a dead, deep-fried, battered rat in his Kentucky Fried Chicken (this really happened to a friend of mine once).
AAAARRRRGGGGHHH!
So, okay then, pretty much most Things Make Me Go Arggghhh every day.
Hmm.
I should leave the house less perhaps.
So, during what is NOT the worst week of PMS I can remember. Last month was a winner and that was whilst we were in Tuscany so that made it ten times more, shall we say “feverish” than it should comfortably have been.
Anyway.
This morning (I have been “due” for two days now but because of extenuating circumstances* I’m never on time) I woke up to 13 glorious messages in my In-Box, most of which were from lovely writer friends and lovely writer sites and one from the lovely Dictionary dotcom people which is always um…lovely. The first one, though, was from a friend I haven’t seen for 2 years but who I’ve known since we were teenagers (well, one of us was – see I’m even being kind to her) but since getting married and having kids and moving from country to country we kinda lost touch and we’ve never been as close as we were in our heyday.
Anyway.
Getting to the point has always been a shortcoming.
Yup, you guessed it - I got a “sorry, I’m not usually superstitious but I had to do this” (or something like that – I can’t check because I deleted it fast and hard and very very angrily BUT not before I’d STUPIDLY STUPIDLY STUPIDLY scrolled down and read that I was to make a wish on the Cat in The Hat and after ten seconds – it even helped me by counting down on each line for me – my wish would come true. Ah, lovely I thought – not a nasty vibe in sight – until the last line. I had to send it to TEN friends including the sender otherwise my wish would turn out to be THE OPPOSITE).
My three book-deal is now officially down the pan.
Unless.
Unless I really really truly read and believe the post I wrote in April
And right now I’ve got the Witch of PMS cackling over my shoulder because I fell for it. I fell for it big time and now I’m scared I’ve jinxed the whole goddamn thing simply for being stupid enough to believe that someone really wanted my wish to come true – without conditions – for a change.
Nice.
Thursday, 27 August 2009
This Stuff I write...
With thanks to very famous author lady, Anne Dunlop who kindly tagged me and made me feel ridiculously happy!
What words do you use too much in your writing?
I copied and pasted my last 2 books into the wonderful site of www.wordle.net which is a fabulous form of procrastination if ever a writer needed it! It turns your book/poem/letter to the milkman into a work of art and the more you use a word, the bigger Wordle makes it appear.
The words I use most often are: “so” “like” and “just” *
BUT I do know I use “actually” and “probably” a lot because of my vacillating nature. Perhaps. **
Which words do you consider overused in stuff you read?
Any long descriptive guff about the main character. I don’t mind a brief outline of their appearance but I want to decide myself what colour their eyes are, what they’re wearing that day and how large their arse is thank you. I’ve been known to stop reading when an MC is bemoaning her unruly red hair and curvy size 12 shape – per-lease! And if I see another “Prada” or “Louis Viutton” anything I shall be sick.
What's your favourite piece of writing (written by you)?
Simply because I remember it made my Bestselling writer friend Claire Allan spit Diet coke out at the screen when she read it and it made my day/year/life when she said that.
THE SPILT MILK THING
‘Oh my God!’ My mother’s voice was a shrill as a peacock’s. And I’d never seen her move quite so fast. ‘Look! Thomas! Quick – get the teacloth! Quickly I said!’
Milly’s face was a mixture of bewilderment and entertainment. She’d only ever seen displays of this comic magnitude on the Teletubbies. She watched with interest as her Grandmother tore the cloth from my hastily returning dad’s hands and hurled herself at the spillage on the carpet.
‘It’s ruined!’ She wailed. ‘Ruined! Look at this – it’ll stink to high heaven!’
‘Mum,’ I started – conscious that Milly’s face was now pinking slightly and tears had started to well in her confused blue eyes. ‘It’ll be fine. It’s only milk. Here – use this…’ I offered a baby wipe, which she couldn’t have stared at with more disgust if it had had a swastika printed on it.
‘What is that?’ she screeched.
‘It’s a baby wipe – I tell you what, I swear by them – they get rid of anything off anything and I don’t know what I ever did before I had Milly because they’re a miracle invention…’ I leant over to scoop Milly up and away from the ‘carnage’ ‘They’re great, aren’t they Milly?’ I tickled her gently, not wanting her to become distressed as my mother continued to swoosh and swipe away at the ‘damage’ my little girl had done.
My dad returned to the scene with a bowl full of water and washing up liquid. God, some things never changed did they? That was their answer to everything. They just never moved with the times. They probably didn’t even have a spray gun of Dettox in the house. How archaic could you be?
My mother was still muttering and tutting to herself.
‘How did it happen?’ Dad asked.
‘Just dropped it!’ Mum almost spat, re-enacting Milly’s little slip-up as if it might just secure her a call-back to RADA. ‘Straight on the floor!’
‘Now hang on a minute!’ I started. Acutely aware that Milly was being held accountable for this and she had never in her life been made to feel guilty or responsible or anything bad for any spillage or damage howsoever it had occurred in our house at home – this was not going to start happening now!
‘The bottle slipped off the table’ I helped. ‘Look – it’s a shiny surface, the table must have tilted a bit and the bottle slid off…an accident’
It was one of those ‘TV dinner’ tables that open up like a deckchair in front of your chair. Polished to within an inch of its life (unlike the mantelpiece that held so many photo frames and ornaments I was amazed it didn’t groan with the strain as well as the bad taste and dust) it was no wonder the bottle slid off. Torville and Dean would have had a hard time standing still on it.
‘It’ll stink!’ My mother continued.
‘Dettox spray.’ I said calmly. ‘That’s all you need. Washing up liquid won’t stop the smell – this is Dettol in a spray – kills bacteria, stops odours, brilliant stuff.’ I was beginning to sound like an advertisement. ‘Have you got some?’
The look on mum and dad’s faces was priceless. It was a look I now remembered from being at home when ‘Tomorrow’s World’ had been on the telly. In particular the one about the advent of CD’s. They’d been showing their viewers exactly what could be done to a CD and it’s virtual indestructibility (of course we all know now the bloody things jump just as much as vinyl!). But the minute the strawberry jam had been wiped off and the thing had still played perfect music, the look they gave each other was - well, the same as the look they were now passing each other. Sheer disbelief that this kind of thing could actually exist in their lifetime - coupled with the worry that maybe it could also produce some mind-altering waves that would one-day lead to global brain-melt. My Nan had had the same reaction to the Mash advert aliens but that’s another story.
‘I’ll take Milly down the road to get some.’ I said.
(From Book No.1 “Labrats” re-titled ”Reconstructing Jennifer”)
Regrets, do you have a few? Is there anything you wish you hadn't written?
I kinda wish I hadn’t spent the best part of six months writing book #3. I kept changing the title every day and it felt like I was ploughing a field of syrup wearing welly boots. I hated it. I had to end it at 85thou in the end and move onto something younger and fresher – we just lost our connection. I cheated on my 85thou dark chick-lit thing with naughty bits for a Young Adult. Oo-er Missus.
How has your writing made a difference?
I’ve made so many (virtual but they’re very real and dear to me) friends through joining Write Words, the online writers’ community that I suppose it’s not the writing that’s made the difference but the Wonderful World of the Web and the amazing support and confidence and encouragement I get from these wonderful writer friends I’ve made.
(I *heart* you all… sob)
Oh, and I also now have "writer's arse"
Favourite words
We’d. Love. To. Represent. You.
Least favourite words
Not
For
Us
Do you have a writing mentor, role model or inspiration?
I adored reading Jilly Cooper and tried to write like her when I was a pretentious teenager.
Marian Keyes opened my eyes with ‘Watermelon’ and made me think I could write this stuff too if she bloody well could.
Keris Stainton kept me going.
Michele Brouder still does. So do Fionnuala, Clodagh and Luisa, Anstey, and Claire, and Trina, Zoe and Emily … do I sound like The RomperRoom lady?
And they’re all such fantastic writers. I feel privileged to know them.
Writing Ambition?
The dream: to see a book I’ve written in print. In Waterstone’s, Sainsbury’s, Smiths, everywhere and to stand by it and smile. So simple.
Reality? Currently to find an Agent who loves my writing as much as I love producing it – which would give me all the incentive and deadline I need to stop arsing about doing meaningless quizzes on Facebook.
Plug:
Keep an eye out for “Double History” which is the Young Adult thing I’m presently working on. It’s a departure from the Chick-lit I’m used to penning and I’m having such a blast writing it - it’s GOT to succeed!
Now I'd like to tag:
Michele Brouder
Jacqueline Christodoulou (sp?)
Luisa Plaja
Anstey Spraggen
* ** Just read this back and I DO use "arse" a lot, I noticed!
What words do you use too much in your writing?
I copied and pasted my last 2 books into the wonderful site of www.wordle.net which is a fabulous form of procrastination if ever a writer needed it! It turns your book/poem/letter to the milkman into a work of art and the more you use a word, the bigger Wordle makes it appear.
The words I use most often are: “so” “like” and “just” *
BUT I do know I use “actually” and “probably” a lot because of my vacillating nature. Perhaps. **
Which words do you consider overused in stuff you read?
Any long descriptive guff about the main character. I don’t mind a brief outline of their appearance but I want to decide myself what colour their eyes are, what they’re wearing that day and how large their arse is thank you. I’ve been known to stop reading when an MC is bemoaning her unruly red hair and curvy size 12 shape – per-lease! And if I see another “Prada” or “Louis Viutton” anything I shall be sick.
What's your favourite piece of writing (written by you)?
Simply because I remember it made my Bestselling writer friend Claire Allan spit Diet coke out at the screen when she read it and it made my day/year/life when she said that.
THE SPILT MILK THING
‘Oh my God!’ My mother’s voice was a shrill as a peacock’s. And I’d never seen her move quite so fast. ‘Look! Thomas! Quick – get the teacloth! Quickly I said!’
Milly’s face was a mixture of bewilderment and entertainment. She’d only ever seen displays of this comic magnitude on the Teletubbies. She watched with interest as her Grandmother tore the cloth from my hastily returning dad’s hands and hurled herself at the spillage on the carpet.
‘It’s ruined!’ She wailed. ‘Ruined! Look at this – it’ll stink to high heaven!’
‘Mum,’ I started – conscious that Milly’s face was now pinking slightly and tears had started to well in her confused blue eyes. ‘It’ll be fine. It’s only milk. Here – use this…’ I offered a baby wipe, which she couldn’t have stared at with more disgust if it had had a swastika printed on it.
‘What is that?’ she screeched.
‘It’s a baby wipe – I tell you what, I swear by them – they get rid of anything off anything and I don’t know what I ever did before I had Milly because they’re a miracle invention…’ I leant over to scoop Milly up and away from the ‘carnage’ ‘They’re great, aren’t they Milly?’ I tickled her gently, not wanting her to become distressed as my mother continued to swoosh and swipe away at the ‘damage’ my little girl had done.
My dad returned to the scene with a bowl full of water and washing up liquid. God, some things never changed did they? That was their answer to everything. They just never moved with the times. They probably didn’t even have a spray gun of Dettox in the house. How archaic could you be?
My mother was still muttering and tutting to herself.
‘How did it happen?’ Dad asked.
‘Just dropped it!’ Mum almost spat, re-enacting Milly’s little slip-up as if it might just secure her a call-back to RADA. ‘Straight on the floor!’
‘Now hang on a minute!’ I started. Acutely aware that Milly was being held accountable for this and she had never in her life been made to feel guilty or responsible or anything bad for any spillage or damage howsoever it had occurred in our house at home – this was not going to start happening now!
‘The bottle slipped off the table’ I helped. ‘Look – it’s a shiny surface, the table must have tilted a bit and the bottle slid off…an accident’
It was one of those ‘TV dinner’ tables that open up like a deckchair in front of your chair. Polished to within an inch of its life (unlike the mantelpiece that held so many photo frames and ornaments I was amazed it didn’t groan with the strain as well as the bad taste and dust) it was no wonder the bottle slid off. Torville and Dean would have had a hard time standing still on it.
‘It’ll stink!’ My mother continued.
‘Dettox spray.’ I said calmly. ‘That’s all you need. Washing up liquid won’t stop the smell – this is Dettol in a spray – kills bacteria, stops odours, brilliant stuff.’ I was beginning to sound like an advertisement. ‘Have you got some?’
The look on mum and dad’s faces was priceless. It was a look I now remembered from being at home when ‘Tomorrow’s World’ had been on the telly. In particular the one about the advent of CD’s. They’d been showing their viewers exactly what could be done to a CD and it’s virtual indestructibility (of course we all know now the bloody things jump just as much as vinyl!). But the minute the strawberry jam had been wiped off and the thing had still played perfect music, the look they gave each other was - well, the same as the look they were now passing each other. Sheer disbelief that this kind of thing could actually exist in their lifetime - coupled with the worry that maybe it could also produce some mind-altering waves that would one-day lead to global brain-melt. My Nan had had the same reaction to the Mash advert aliens but that’s another story.
‘I’ll take Milly down the road to get some.’ I said.
(From Book No.1 “Labrats” re-titled ”Reconstructing Jennifer”)
Regrets, do you have a few? Is there anything you wish you hadn't written?
I kinda wish I hadn’t spent the best part of six months writing book #3. I kept changing the title every day and it felt like I was ploughing a field of syrup wearing welly boots. I hated it. I had to end it at 85thou in the end and move onto something younger and fresher – we just lost our connection. I cheated on my 85thou dark chick-lit thing with naughty bits for a Young Adult. Oo-er Missus.
How has your writing made a difference?
I’ve made so many (virtual but they’re very real and dear to me) friends through joining Write Words, the online writers’ community that I suppose it’s not the writing that’s made the difference but the Wonderful World of the Web and the amazing support and confidence and encouragement I get from these wonderful writer friends I’ve made.
(I *heart* you all… sob)
Oh, and I also now have "writer's arse"
Favourite words
We’d. Love. To. Represent. You.
Least favourite words
Not
For
Us
Do you have a writing mentor, role model or inspiration?
I adored reading Jilly Cooper and tried to write like her when I was a pretentious teenager.
Marian Keyes opened my eyes with ‘Watermelon’ and made me think I could write this stuff too if she bloody well could.
Keris Stainton kept me going.
Michele Brouder still does. So do Fionnuala, Clodagh and Luisa, Anstey, and Claire, and Trina, Zoe and Emily … do I sound like The RomperRoom lady?
And they’re all such fantastic writers. I feel privileged to know them.
Writing Ambition?
The dream: to see a book I’ve written in print. In Waterstone’s, Sainsbury’s, Smiths, everywhere and to stand by it and smile. So simple.
Reality? Currently to find an Agent who loves my writing as much as I love producing it – which would give me all the incentive and deadline I need to stop arsing about doing meaningless quizzes on Facebook.
Plug:
Keep an eye out for “Double History” which is the Young Adult thing I’m presently working on. It’s a departure from the Chick-lit I’m used to penning and I’m having such a blast writing it - it’s GOT to succeed!
Now I'd like to tag:
Michele Brouder
Jacqueline Christodoulou (sp?)
Luisa Plaja
Anstey Spraggen
* ** Just read this back and I DO use "arse" a lot, I noticed!
Friday, 21 August 2009
'Tis the Season... to be scaredy!
My heart was in my mouth yesterday - makes a pleasant change from having my foot jammed in there - because there was a tractor at the bottom of our garden ploughing the fields "out back".Gulp.
And Zoikes.
And eleven kinds of sh*t.
Then it rained - so treble those emotions.
Because we all know from bitter experience what these ominous signs mean, don't we? Spider family loses nice comfy home in the relative safety of the eaves of corn or whatever is growing in there this year and so has to (eight) leg it to the bright, welcoming sanctuary that is every home on this side of the street. And if it's raining they get even crosser. And bigger. And faster.
(Note to prospective house purchasers: along with asking the newly introduced "So what are the neighbours REALLY like?" - which is now LAW - remember to ask a)so do you have a problem with spiders and b)precisely how large would you say they are?)
God, how I wish I'd listened when the previous owner said breezily "yeah we do get a few when the fields are harvested" and she said it in such a laissez-faire manner and she was a single parent too and I thought, "Pah, so how big could they be?". In hindsight, I wish I'd actually VOICED this question and not brushed it away dismissively. NOW I'd demand exact dimensions, a scale drawing please and a visitation frequency graph.
Two months after we'd moved in I was holed up on a hypnotherapist's comfy chair trying to convince my brain that I was, actually a gazillion times larger than these little creatures and what the heck problem could they be?
Three hundred pounds lighter and ten weeks later I was still no nearer being hypnotised 'away' from my fear and even leapt onto the sofa at every twitch of a curtain - such was my conviction that they were Out There Waiting for me. Only me, you see. No, not paranoid or mad - just Me.
We misssed a lot of telly programmes that first year. We did save on our heating bill though because we didn't need the radiators turned on in the main room - we were hardly in there. Hungry? Kitchen - cook food - back upstairs with it. Nicer. Safer.
Because, you see spiders can't climb stairs. That's right. They're a bit like Daleks in that respect - only far, far scarier of course.
But they're back.
Only now I have a husband who has particularly large slippers and he's not afraid to use them
Although he does have a penchant for picking scaredy visitors up and running after me with them in a tissue - which I'm still trying to find out is a divorceable offence or not. Watch this space.
Thursday, 20 August 2009
"The Time Traveler's Wife"
We went to see this last night
And although I'd heard very mixed reviews from both interweb friends and the press, I thought that Audrey Niffeneger should be really quite pleased at the way her concept and her words had been interpreted from page to screen. It's probably not the easiest of stories to get across and I thought it had been presented perfectly. Of course because I knew the book so well, I kept noticing the parts that had been left out or the slight embellishment of others but forgave them as they were actually inconsequential and would have confused matters more probably.
The only thing I wasn't keen on was Eric Bana in the lead as Henry. He just wasn't 'my Henry'. The Henry in my head had a chin and this pale facsimile of My Henry sported early George Michael stubble all over his excuse for a chin the entire way through. (There's a time an a place for early GM stubble and that's way back in the 80's somewhere.)
Rachel McAdams was perfect. She was far and above the Clare of my mind and her acting was superb. She carried the story - which was what Clare did for Henry in hindsight so maybe Eric had acted-his-chin-off after all.
The girl/s playing Alba were spot on and the highlight of the film for me was the dis/appearing in the rooom with Gomez present - which was delicious.
Not the slightest bit disappointed - nowhere near as much as I was during/following 'Twilight'.
And although I'd heard very mixed reviews from both interweb friends and the press, I thought that Audrey Niffeneger should be really quite pleased at the way her concept and her words had been interpreted from page to screen. It's probably not the easiest of stories to get across and I thought it had been presented perfectly. Of course because I knew the book so well, I kept noticing the parts that had been left out or the slight embellishment of others but forgave them as they were actually inconsequential and would have confused matters more probably.
The only thing I wasn't keen on was Eric Bana in the lead as Henry. He just wasn't 'my Henry'. The Henry in my head had a chin and this pale facsimile of My Henry sported early George Michael stubble all over his excuse for a chin the entire way through. (There's a time an a place for early GM stubble and that's way back in the 80's somewhere.)
Rachel McAdams was perfect. She was far and above the Clare of my mind and her acting was superb. She carried the story - which was what Clare did for Henry in hindsight so maybe Eric had acted-his-chin-off after all.
The girl/s playing Alba were spot on and the highlight of the film for me was the dis/appearing in the rooom with Gomez present - which was delicious.
Not the slightest bit disappointed - nowhere near as much as I was during/following 'Twilight'.
Wednesday, 19 August 2009
Happy Anniversary to Us!
So, two years ago yesterday I became the fifth Mrs Riccio (only 'cos there's four others in the immediate family - not 'cos Gorgeous Carpenter Man is a serial Bigamist). And one of my enduring memories of the day is of standing in the ante-room of the castle - yes - we got married in A CASTLE! and when the Registrar lady was going through my details with her assistant before the ceremony, I very nearly hoiked up my beautiful dress and made a run for it right there and said "I know! Look at me! At MY age! - what DO I think I'm doing?!" and they were all lovely and sweet and charming to me and said "you're beautiful, you are happy and you will have a wonderful life together" and, for me, that was like the three little fairies from Sleeping Beauty passing a spell over me that had already partly come true - all I had to do was drag my crisis of confidence and my amazing dress out there and say "I do" to my very own Prince Charming. Which I did.Trouble is, only 24 months later, after having viewed the video footage from our recent "holiday" in Tuscany, I'm sadly not so much the beautiful, happy, excited bride and more of the loafish, purrulent, saggy old married hag, akin, if you will, to the Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters.
I don't need to ask "where did it all go..." because it's plain to see exactly where it all went and that's round my middle. Oh, and my wings, and my thighs and everywhere else you don't want to know about or see in the bright light of day.
*sigh*.
Thursday, 13 August 2009
EVERYLOVE
When I was thirteen my cousin gave me a diary as a Christmas present and I was compelled to fill every lovely pale blue line up with what I’d done during that day. Even if it meant just writing “cleaned out gerbils” and “walked dog” or “fell out with Debbie/Hilary/Julie on the bus to school”. Whatever – it didn’t matter. I had a quest and that was to fill that enticingly empty void with my achievements, however small. After a while I started to write down how I ‘felt’ about what I’d done and then slipped easily into what I ‘thought’ about how I felt. And so evolved my great journey through the landscapes of my vast imagination via the medium of prose. Sometimes even accompanied by the odd poem. It was like a drug. The more I wrote, the more I found I had to write and had to say and get out of my head and onto paper.After a while, five lines just wasn’t enough to empty what I had thrashing about in my head and so I bought myself a foolscap pad of paper and a ring binder. I can still remember the feel and the smell of that pale green binder and how thrilled I was at writing enough to tear a sheet off and secure the page within this new home. I’d write and write and write endlessly about how I was feeling; how something insignificant to someone else during the course of an average day meant so much to me and I ended up calling the whole thing “In Lieu of…” which is precisely what it was - filling the space that should have been a listening ear, a shoulder to cry on and someone to turn to – which I never felt I had growing up. My writing became my best friend, my ally, my passion – and it could never hurt me or let me down.
That writing was my Puppy Love. When everything seemed possible and Happy Endings were a given and bad things could be mended with the thought of a new day or an Iambic Pentameter.
The first book I wrote took me four years to finish. Which, now reading back, was a naive and clumsy attempt which spilt far too much over into my personal life for anyone else to find of interest. Of course the humour was there but I’d taken it too seriously for it to ever amount to anything other than a personal memoir and I wasn’t surprised when it was rejected by every Literary Agent I approached with it. But, like every failed love affair, lessons were learnt; I wised up and moved on.
My second book was the brightest, breeziest, wackiest, happiest bag of words I’d ever shaken up and let spill out on paper. I loved every fun-fuelled minute and I loved that everyone who read snippets of it loved it too. It was the Love Affair to Remember. And when that one was rejected I just thought “ha, they don’t know what they’re missing”. But if publication was my goal, then I needed to try and fit what I wrote within the market formula.
I got as far as I could with book number three but it was like wading uphill through treacle wearing Wellington boots. I knew this could work. I knew this was what I should be writing if I wanted serious published stuff. I tried, I really did - but it exhausted me and it just didn't feel 'right'. I couldn’t finish it. 85 thousand words in and I was beginning to resent the very thought of it. I didn’t want to answer its phone calls and I tried to ignore it every time I saw it in my documents list. And besides a newer, fresher, younger thing had sparked my interest and I couldn’t get it out of my head. It kept me awake at nights.
I never meant for it to happen but I cheated on my 85thou WIP. I started writing my new fresh young thing and I am once more in love. Okay, so we’re only 24thou words into it but it’s still the last thing I think of at night, the first thing in the morning and sometimes I get dizzy with the excitement of it all.
It may all end in tears, of course it could. It could be rejected by every Literary Agent in the book again but, you know what? I don’t mind – not so much this time anyway – because what we have for the moment is real and true and it gives me butterflies and okay, so sometimes I worry that what we’re doing might be wrong, but we work through it and we’re still smiling. And that’s what matters, right?
Ah, long, long live love!
Sunday, 9 August 2009
Happy Days - Simples!
I had one of Those Days a couple days ago. Shortly you’ll learn why I couldn’t tell you until now…
One of Those Days where:
a. The sun shines (okay, call it chance…)
b. There’s either no housework to do or else no inclination or guilt-inducement feelings to have to do any.
c. I “give myself the day off”, having written an incredible 13K words in 4 day.
d. The daughter delights me with a ‘let’s have a girl’s lunch in town’ (bearing in mind she is still only 15 y/o this particularly delights me because I know it’s not something every teenager wants to do let alone say out loud) . Today I am NOT an embarrassment.
e. Lunch is an enjoyable albeit technologically demanding occasion. (i.e she texts – much – so much I can’t keep up so make random comments about new book, the joy of texts, the beauty of school holidays etc and take camera pics of her scowling and going “mu-um…” a lot – when she notices me anyway)
f. On the way out of the store’s restaurant we happen upon a sale rail where we both delightedly fling ourselves and emerge with four hangers each. For the next half hour we are a Richard Curtis film – popping in and out of our separate changing rooms with a new outfit on, nodding, shaking heads, squealing with laughter and spinning excitedly around…and we leave with one new dress (she) and one new top (me). She is thrilled, I am cautious. (Always cautious with new purchases – esp. as mine wasn’t exactly ‘sale’ but full price and something I wouldn’t ordinarily have chosen or even need, but we’re off to an Engagement party tonight and daughter convinces me to “just get it – if you don’t like it and don’t wear it – bring it back” Don’t know where she gets this philosophy from but I wish I had it – so “simples”).
g. Miraculously, I am later able to paint not only toenails but fingernails in same shade of silver-grey (matching the top and hoping it will look okay) and then put top on. I turn one way then the other. This can’t be right – surely – where’s the mutton-dressed-as-lamb thing? This is a very up-to-the-minute (dare I say catwalk?) type affair and it makes me look great! I even find a pair of shimmery wedges that I bought last year for a ball we didn’t end up going to but which go beautifully with this amazingly lovely top and the whole effect makes me feel BRILLIANT! Look at me twirl, look at me looking all trendy and ‘together’. Hubby is delighted. Probably moreso because of my smiles than the new top.
h. And so when we are at Engagement party, because I feel so great and because I don’t feel old or tired or boring and because I can’t remember the last time we were both out together apart from family occasions – I have a G & T. To celebrate. And, okay, I’ll have another one. And then they just keep on coming and I don’t want to insist on whoever’s buying the next round that I’d like a Slimline because I don’t want to break the happy bubble and look like a dieting saddo, so I continue.
i. And when the Engagement party ends at midnight the group we’re with reconvene at a different drinking house in town.
j. And then another.
k. Until by 2 a.m. I am almost asleep on hubby’s arm.
l. And then I kinda loose two days.
I could blame the G or the T (Quinine can have a detrimental effect on your health – heck, in the right/wrong quantities it could actually KILL you) but I won’t. It’s just me. It’s my character. I get so carried away on the Happy Place I’m in that I don’t want it to end. Same with Wedding Day, Christmas Day, any Happy Day and I want an extension on the 24 hours please.
But. And there is a But. An Up-But if you will (which now I’ve written that looks positively illegal and a tad painful). Now I can see it for what it is. The Hangover – the horrible all-over headache that accompanies such excesses. And I am wiser for it. I don’t feel grubby, ashamed, compelled to mix a good old “hair-of-the-dog” remedy and berate myself for being such a lush because I know it’s not something I do every day. Nor even every week. In fact months. I have done an Extraordinary Thing. Which was great.
And even through the hideous hangover headache as I was prising my eyes open after only 6 hours fitful sleep during which I refused to throw up on at least nine occasions because I didn’t think I could reach the bathroom without knocking through three supporting walls, the first thing I saw was that beautiful top hanging up on my wardrobe door and my heart floated back to That Happy Day and I sighed.
Then functioned no more until pretty much… now.
One of Those Days where:
a. The sun shines (okay, call it chance…)
b. There’s either no housework to do or else no inclination or guilt-inducement feelings to have to do any.
c. I “give myself the day off”, having written an incredible 13K words in 4 day.
d. The daughter delights me with a ‘let’s have a girl’s lunch in town’ (bearing in mind she is still only 15 y/o this particularly delights me because I know it’s not something every teenager wants to do let alone say out loud) . Today I am NOT an embarrassment.
e. Lunch is an enjoyable albeit technologically demanding occasion. (i.e she texts – much – so much I can’t keep up so make random comments about new book, the joy of texts, the beauty of school holidays etc and take camera pics of her scowling and going “mu-um…” a lot – when she notices me anyway)
f. On the way out of the store’s restaurant we happen upon a sale rail where we both delightedly fling ourselves and emerge with four hangers each. For the next half hour we are a Richard Curtis film – popping in and out of our separate changing rooms with a new outfit on, nodding, shaking heads, squealing with laughter and spinning excitedly around…and we leave with one new dress (she) and one new top (me). She is thrilled, I am cautious. (Always cautious with new purchases – esp. as mine wasn’t exactly ‘sale’ but full price and something I wouldn’t ordinarily have chosen or even need, but we’re off to an Engagement party tonight and daughter convinces me to “just get it – if you don’t like it and don’t wear it – bring it back” Don’t know where she gets this philosophy from but I wish I had it – so “simples”).
g. Miraculously, I am later able to paint not only toenails but fingernails in same shade of silver-grey (matching the top and hoping it will look okay) and then put top on. I turn one way then the other. This can’t be right – surely – where’s the mutton-dressed-as-lamb thing? This is a very up-to-the-minute (dare I say catwalk?) type affair and it makes me look great! I even find a pair of shimmery wedges that I bought last year for a ball we didn’t end up going to but which go beautifully with this amazingly lovely top and the whole effect makes me feel BRILLIANT! Look at me twirl, look at me looking all trendy and ‘together’. Hubby is delighted. Probably moreso because of my smiles than the new top.
h. And so when we are at Engagement party, because I feel so great and because I don’t feel old or tired or boring and because I can’t remember the last time we were both out together apart from family occasions – I have a G & T. To celebrate. And, okay, I’ll have another one. And then they just keep on coming and I don’t want to insist on whoever’s buying the next round that I’d like a Slimline because I don’t want to break the happy bubble and look like a dieting saddo, so I continue.
i. And when the Engagement party ends at midnight the group we’re with reconvene at a different drinking house in town.
j. And then another.
k. Until by 2 a.m. I am almost asleep on hubby’s arm.
l. And then I kinda loose two days.
I could blame the G or the T (Quinine can have a detrimental effect on your health – heck, in the right/wrong quantities it could actually KILL you) but I won’t. It’s just me. It’s my character. I get so carried away on the Happy Place I’m in that I don’t want it to end. Same with Wedding Day, Christmas Day, any Happy Day and I want an extension on the 24 hours please.
But. And there is a But. An Up-But if you will (which now I’ve written that looks positively illegal and a tad painful). Now I can see it for what it is. The Hangover – the horrible all-over headache that accompanies such excesses. And I am wiser for it. I don’t feel grubby, ashamed, compelled to mix a good old “hair-of-the-dog” remedy and berate myself for being such a lush because I know it’s not something I do every day. Nor even every week. In fact months. I have done an Extraordinary Thing. Which was great.
And even through the hideous hangover headache as I was prising my eyes open after only 6 hours fitful sleep during which I refused to throw up on at least nine occasions because I didn’t think I could reach the bathroom without knocking through three supporting walls, the first thing I saw was that beautiful top hanging up on my wardrobe door and my heart floated back to That Happy Day and I sighed.
Then functioned no more until pretty much… now.
Thursday, 6 August 2009
Do NOT be drinking anything while you watch this!
With thanks to writing buddy Fionnuala for putting this on her blog here: I had to spend a while wiping my screen after watching this. Five times. It just gets funnier!
Tuesday, 4 August 2009
Monday, 3 August 2009
"Ill sh*t by candlelight".
It came back to me like a tired traveller punching the air as she takes the first step back on British tarmac...Just as I'd settled myself down for a nice morning...um... ablution, my trusty family just t'other side of the the door waiting for their breakfast at the most beautiful Osteria this side of the Tuscan border... I went suddenly blind. But not. The lights had gone out. So, with frillies caught betwixt knee and ankle, I felt about the walls in search of switch and found nothing. Don't panic. Knickers up, chest out, just open the door and fumble about elsewhere - the switch must be on the outside. But can't get outside for lock will not turn and when I take the key out it (obviously - now why didn't I see that one coming? oh yeah - cos it's DARK!) falls to the floor. More fumbling. Much door rattling. Bit panicking. Followed by lot panicking. Followed by finding key, unlocking door, opening door and finding lighted church candle being passed through doorway by beautiful Italian lady who smiles sadly at British Bumbling Buffoon caught with knickers down.Ah well, to be expected I guess - at least I wasn't caught shame-faced having a pee in the EasyJet loo on the way home by a shocked four year old this year.
Oh, the memories.
(Strangely, mostly very toilet-based, I notice)
Saturday, 1 August 2009
Where do I begin?
I’ve decided that it’s not healthy to focus on the bad things. In truth I’m always saying that and it lasts maybe five minutes – I see a flower and marvel, my heart swells at birdsong, tears well with happiness at children’s laughter – then one of those birds empties its cute little bowels all over my freshly ironed clean white top and I’m back in the land of doom again. That’s my Yin/Yang I guess and I’m going to have to deal with it. Live with it and accept that there’s no Great Being to blame because that’s the way life Just Is.
So instead of focussing on all the negative stuff that happened in the past 7 days, I’m going to focus on all the positive stuff that’s come out of it. Here goes. *clears throat*.
1. God invented credit cards for a reason. And that reason was not to have us eyebrow-high in debt surrounded by paraphernalia we MUST HAVE right now instead of saving up for it and appreciating it more when we can finally afford it, but to be able to rent a hire car when we go on our annual holiday. And having this credit card would have saved us days of anxiety, stress, cancellation fees and hours on the phone to both hire company and banks trying to organise alternatives before realising that nobody actually gives a sh*t, they just want our money.
2. Deep breath.
3. Tears are there for a healthy release of pent up emotions. As Kleenex is there for the aftermath. As Merlot is there to assist. And when your husband calls you from the bank during the Credit Card fiasco and asks you to take the pieces of debit card you’ve recently watched him slice up with the kitchen scissors and you see your own name appear out of the reassembled pieces and realise that this was the only card you had to both your names to take on holiday, you are thankful for the tears and the tissues and the bottle of red. And yay! – isn’t it grand that we’re away on holiday in the morning… well, isn’t it?
4. Deep breath.
5. Tuscany is beautiful. Driving 2 hours from the airport to the villa, not so much. But everything else is beautiful. Breathtaking in fact. And who really needs a mirror in the room anyway? And we could always ask for toilet paper – there’s a reason we haven’t got any, isn’t there? Always a reason.
6. And lo! that reason floods unending from the toilet, under the bathroom door the following morning. Down the hallway and into our bedroom. Unending. Of course we wanted to see the luxury indoor swimming pool and gym – we just didn’t realise we’d be spending so much time there quite so soon and almost moving in there to use the shower/toilet facilities. Hey, it’s only a short walk down two flights for a pee at night – what the heck, the exercise is bound to do something for my back, right?
7. Who needs conditioner in dry, oppressive heat anyway? And tears are not a good idea on the morning of the wedding. Two bottles of shampoo does not one conditioner make no matter how many times you shut your eyes in disbelief and try to believe it could be so.
8. The Early Donna Summer look is bound to come back into fashion soon.
9. Deep breath.
10. Tuscany is beautiful.
11. Getting married in Tuscany is beautiful. The first thing on the bride’s mind is not going to be “have aunty and uncle got full use of their bathroom facilities?”
12. Deep breath. And behold the toilet is repaired. Which we have no need of until later, but still, it’ll great to be able to shower and pee in relative comfort. We are thrilled. And we all know what happens when I’m thrilled, don’t we?
13. Who needs cold water in blistering temperatures anyway?.
14. Cisterns are no longer a mystery to me. Now I know exactly how many (thankfully not made of raffia or cane or something then we’d really have been in the …) metal binfulls of hot water from the bidet it takes to fill one up before you can safely flush a toilet. Of course it doesn’t help with showering.
15. Deep breath.
16. I knew there was a reason I never joined a gym in my life. And that was because one day I’d get to live in one. Well, three days to be more precise.
17. Deep breath.
18. The villa we transfer to on the 4th day is stunning. The scenery is amazing. We have our own pool, the toilets flush and the shower, although temperamental, at least has a cool setting.
19. Aaaaaaaahhhh…..
20. Deep sigh.
21. No need for emboldening.
22. More a need for essentials. For the only sustenance we find in the entire villa is a bottle of water in the fridge and ice cubes in the freezer.
23. So even more of a need for a car because of the sheer remoteness of this villa.
24. Deep breath.
25. The main villa staff are lovely. They send over a few essentials (like food) to see us through until a hire car can be found. We appreciate this. What we don’t appreciate so much is the white panic we feel later when we are in the Tuscan equivalent of Sainsbury’s and see that the wine we agreed they could add to our bill is retailing at 30Euros a bottle and we have just opened the third.
26. Deep breath. Deeper sigh. Deep, deep deepness.
27. Tuscan Plumbers are so laid back. They don’t worry that there’s six of us who are half an hour away from needing to be somewhere for the evening and the water has decided to stop running. That’s toilets, showers, everything. So laid back. Such a lovely quality to have.
28. Those conveyor belts you put your hold luggage on are really quite fast. Especially when you’ve rested your handbag on one that’s stationary in order to have a little rest in the hope that your back will stop thumping with pain and then find yourself being chuntered away on one that just suddenly starts running away with both handbag, followed by an ungainly clamouring you.
29. Laugh? Of course they did.
30. And for my next trick…?
31. Oh, who needed those two books wot I wrote and kept on that memory stick that’s now not functioning– and that third one I’d nearly finished? No one liked it anyway – not anyone who worked in the publishing world anyway, and heck, I’m sure I can remember the general gist of them all… it’s only a matter of bashing out another three hundred thousand words or so and there’s still four weeks of the holidays left, isn’t there…? I’ve got to find something to fill the long, empty hours of non-work somehow – and these things always happen for a reason, don’t they?
32. Don’t they?
33. Anyone?
34. Beuller?
35. Jeez, I need a holiday…
So instead of focussing on all the negative stuff that happened in the past 7 days, I’m going to focus on all the positive stuff that’s come out of it. Here goes. *clears throat*.
1. God invented credit cards for a reason. And that reason was not to have us eyebrow-high in debt surrounded by paraphernalia we MUST HAVE right now instead of saving up for it and appreciating it more when we can finally afford it, but to be able to rent a hire car when we go on our annual holiday. And having this credit card would have saved us days of anxiety, stress, cancellation fees and hours on the phone to both hire company and banks trying to organise alternatives before realising that nobody actually gives a sh*t, they just want our money.
2. Deep breath.
3. Tears are there for a healthy release of pent up emotions. As Kleenex is there for the aftermath. As Merlot is there to assist. And when your husband calls you from the bank during the Credit Card fiasco and asks you to take the pieces of debit card you’ve recently watched him slice up with the kitchen scissors and you see your own name appear out of the reassembled pieces and realise that this was the only card you had to both your names to take on holiday, you are thankful for the tears and the tissues and the bottle of red. And yay! – isn’t it grand that we’re away on holiday in the morning… well, isn’t it?
4. Deep breath.
5. Tuscany is beautiful. Driving 2 hours from the airport to the villa, not so much. But everything else is beautiful. Breathtaking in fact. And who really needs a mirror in the room anyway? And we could always ask for toilet paper – there’s a reason we haven’t got any, isn’t there? Always a reason.
6. And lo! that reason floods unending from the toilet, under the bathroom door the following morning. Down the hallway and into our bedroom. Unending. Of course we wanted to see the luxury indoor swimming pool and gym – we just didn’t realise we’d be spending so much time there quite so soon and almost moving in there to use the shower/toilet facilities. Hey, it’s only a short walk down two flights for a pee at night – what the heck, the exercise is bound to do something for my back, right?
7. Who needs conditioner in dry, oppressive heat anyway? And tears are not a good idea on the morning of the wedding. Two bottles of shampoo does not one conditioner make no matter how many times you shut your eyes in disbelief and try to believe it could be so.
8. The Early Donna Summer look is bound to come back into fashion soon.
9. Deep breath.
10. Tuscany is beautiful.
11. Getting married in Tuscany is beautiful. The first thing on the bride’s mind is not going to be “have aunty and uncle got full use of their bathroom facilities?”
12. Deep breath. And behold the toilet is repaired. Which we have no need of until later, but still, it’ll great to be able to shower and pee in relative comfort. We are thrilled. And we all know what happens when I’m thrilled, don’t we?
13. Who needs cold water in blistering temperatures anyway?.
14. Cisterns are no longer a mystery to me. Now I know exactly how many (thankfully not made of raffia or cane or something then we’d really have been in the …) metal binfulls of hot water from the bidet it takes to fill one up before you can safely flush a toilet. Of course it doesn’t help with showering.
15. Deep breath.
16. I knew there was a reason I never joined a gym in my life. And that was because one day I’d get to live in one. Well, three days to be more precise.
17. Deep breath.
18. The villa we transfer to on the 4th day is stunning. The scenery is amazing. We have our own pool, the toilets flush and the shower, although temperamental, at least has a cool setting.
19. Aaaaaaaahhhh…..
20. Deep sigh.
21. No need for emboldening.
22. More a need for essentials. For the only sustenance we find in the entire villa is a bottle of water in the fridge and ice cubes in the freezer.
23. So even more of a need for a car because of the sheer remoteness of this villa.
24. Deep breath.
25. The main villa staff are lovely. They send over a few essentials (like food) to see us through until a hire car can be found. We appreciate this. What we don’t appreciate so much is the white panic we feel later when we are in the Tuscan equivalent of Sainsbury’s and see that the wine we agreed they could add to our bill is retailing at 30Euros a bottle and we have just opened the third.
26. Deep breath. Deeper sigh. Deep, deep deepness.
27. Tuscan Plumbers are so laid back. They don’t worry that there’s six of us who are half an hour away from needing to be somewhere for the evening and the water has decided to stop running. That’s toilets, showers, everything. So laid back. Such a lovely quality to have.
28. Those conveyor belts you put your hold luggage on are really quite fast. Especially when you’ve rested your handbag on one that’s stationary in order to have a little rest in the hope that your back will stop thumping with pain and then find yourself being chuntered away on one that just suddenly starts running away with both handbag, followed by an ungainly clamouring you.
29. Laugh? Of course they did.
30. And for my next trick…?
31. Oh, who needed those two books wot I wrote and kept on that memory stick that’s now not functioning– and that third one I’d nearly finished? No one liked it anyway – not anyone who worked in the publishing world anyway, and heck, I’m sure I can remember the general gist of them all… it’s only a matter of bashing out another three hundred thousand words or so and there’s still four weeks of the holidays left, isn’t there…? I’ve got to find something to fill the long, empty hours of non-work somehow – and these things always happen for a reason, don’t they?
32. Don’t they?
33. Anyone?
34. Beuller?
35. Jeez, I need a holiday…
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