Farmyard Tales

Growing vegetables in your car and other forms of procrastination

2010-04-14T19:14:00.001+01:00

Why is it as soon as I have an approaching deadline I begin to find other pressing tasks to do? These same pressing tasks never get done when I’ve plenty of time and nothing better to do, no instead I wait until the new term is beginning and I have classes which I need to plan and prepare for. In a few short days I will be back at work and teaching an entirely new set of students. I’m looking forward to this because I like my job and often there are some really interesting people taking my classes. You would have thought then that I’d be working hard to come up with some thought provoking, entertaining, enquiring lesson plans and doing lots of background reading to re-familiarise myself with the set texts. And that’s not to mention the marking I need to get done for another group of students.

I found this list I wrote months ago about procrastination because I don’t change. Back in September I wrote:-

Actually I feel like having a little nap right now and so far today I have…

weeded the garden [Don’t know why I bothered, it’s full of weeds again now and we’re in April]

fed the chickens

cleaned up the bird table

baked three angel’s food cakes [they tasted HORRIBLE – don’t bother making them again – and they don’t freeze well]

done three loads of washing [see Weeding]

watched part of a David Bowie interview

browsed through videos on vimeo.com

looked at Facebook

checked my email about ten times

looked at how to grow 100lbs of potatoes in a 4x4ft square – I almost forgot to add the ft to 4x4 – now that would be interesting – how to grow potatoes in a 4x4. Would the 4x4 have to be a static wreck somewhere? Or could you do this will continuing to use the car as your family vehicle? Potatoes probably wouldn’t be the best thing to grow as they need to be cooked once dug up. Tomatoes would be better but they require quite a bit of water and unless you managed to rig up some sort of diversion from the windscreen wiper fluid or the radiator it could be tricky.

See what I mean? That was another five minutes or so just pondering how growing veg in your car would work.

And now in April I’m really pondering the car as greenhouse thing. Interesting.

Add an extra ten minutes for looking on Google Images for a Greenhouse car and then another minute or two wondering how long it would take me to draw a cartoon and then upload it to the laptop.

You know the best advice for combating procrastination? Do the thing you hate doing first. Get it out of the way. Just do it. Then you can play all you like.

*Blows raspberry at screen*

Technorati Tags: procrastination,writing,work,imagination,advice

Migrating

2010-04-08T17:53:00.001+01:00

Just a quick post to let you know that I’ve moved….I won’t be posting to this blog anymore, instead I’ll be over at http://heidicolthup.blogspot.com/

Why? Well, I began this blog four years ago and my life has changed considerably since then. Add to that the problems I was having signing into this blog and it makes sense to start afresh.

So please join me over at the new blog!

Technorati Tags: migrating,moving,new blog,heidicolthup.blogspot.com

How not to get published

2010-04-06T22:54:00.002+01:00

With all the chaos of the past couple of weeks I’ve neglected to blog about the wonderful new issue of Open Wide Magazine. Why am I mentioning it? Because some weeks ago I became their new Fiction Editor. This has been a great pleasure for me – I get to read sixty or so submitted manuscripts and then choose from them around ten or eleven which I then put forward to the editorial team who make their final decision of five or six to appear in the next issue.

Easy!

Sort of….It’s great for me to be able to read a huge variety of writing and not have to mark it. There are some frustrations about being the Fiction Editor though because I want to find great writing and put it forward for publication. So why do I turn down nine out of ten submissions?

1. You haven’t followed the submission guidelines.

We ask that submissions are in a Word document, set in Courier, text size 12 and double-spaced. These aren’t unusual requirements – universities as well as publishers expect manuscripts to be text size 12 and double-spaced. Why? Because it makes your piece easy to read. We like Courier, other magazines and journals like other fonts. All a matter of taste but again done for a good reason – all the submissions look the same and I can concentrate on the writing.

2. You haven’t followed the submission guidelines.

Sorry, but this is such an important one that it needs to be repeated. When I received my first stack of manuscripts I started off really well – I gave each and every one equal attention. Then I realised that if I read the ones where the writer hasn’t cared enough to follow the submission guidelines for our magazine then I’m giving them my time over all those other writers who have cared. And I want to publish writers who care enough about their own writing because I care about theirs.

3. You haven’t looked at our magazine.

Now, we are interested in good writing – we’re the same as any other literary magazine in that respect. We look at any genre – this issue has some Sci-Fi in it alongside more traditional literary fiction. However, if you look at our previous issues you’ll find that we don’t tend to publish work that has content drawing upon themes of explicit violence or sex. Again, this is fairly standard stuff for literary magazines. There are magazines out there who do actively look for these types of writing. I would suggest to any writer that they read the magazines they wish to submit to – is it the sort of place you want your work to appear? Would your work look out of place here?

Okay, so you’ve checked out the magazine and you like what’s written there. You’ve read the submission guidelines and you’ve formatted your piece accordingly. Great, you’re halfway there – I’ll definitely be reading your writing. Now why am I likely to turn it down? This is where it begins to get to the very heart of your writing and what makes a good short story…..And that’s where I’ll leave this post for today.

For now I’d just suggest you go and read issue twenty-two of Open Wide Magazine and do let me know what you think!

Technorati Tags: publishing,magazines,literary fiction,writing,submitting writing,open wide magazine

Clawing back normal

2010-04-03T12:02:00.002+01:00

This morning the boys have gone to their dad’s – they go every other weekend down to the farm. R got up this morning with a blood glucose level of 4.4 – low but not worryingly so. In fact this is the first time he’s dipped below 5 so we feel as if we’re finally getting to grips with the condition (I know – how ridiculous is that!). He ate a large breakfast – hot chocolate (Skinny Cow – no sugar! He needs sugar!), porridge (good), scrambled eggs with cheese, creme fraiche, smoked salmon and wholemeal toast (gourmet food! Ha!). He’s constantly hungry and things like the salmon and the eggs will fill him up, help him grow but not fill him with carbs and this morning he needed carbs.

He’s just ‘phoned me – blood glucose is 4.2. I’ve told him to go to a cafe and eat a muffin or a doughnut (I know it’ll make his BG spike, but we’re still getting hold of this…) after he’s had a swig of cola or some dextrose tablets or fruit pastelles. Yes, guess who forgot to hand their father a pack of Lucozade tablets and a Tracker bar before they left?

I’m panicking a little – this is R’s very first hypo and fortunately it’s really mild, but still I’m worried.

He’ll be fine, I’m sure he will.

He’s called again – taken dextrose, feels better. I’ve consulted The Book (‘Type 1 Diabetes in children, adolescents and young adults’ by Dr Ragnar Hanas), sent him further info about eating, feeling better shortly and how his blood glucose level should normalise within the next hour or so but both his father and brother will have to keep an eye on him. Information, education *is* the treatment and it works for all of us.

And thank god for mobile ‘phones.

New beginnings

2010-04-02T16:06:00.001+01:00

The end of a very long winter has finally arrived. We’ve moved back into British Summer Time and the days smell of warm promise yet to arrive. Life has changed. We’re getting to grips with R’s Type 1 Diabetes – it’s not an easy path and we don’t have any choice about taking it. We’ve begun to find information in books and online about the condition in the hope that we can become experts so we can support R. Flexibility and pragmatism seem to help even when we (I) feel ready to cry with despair.

We’ll get through this – we have to. And even saying that seems ridiculous – we can’t ‘get through’ diabetes – there is no Promised Land on the other side where the condition no longer exists.

All cheery stuff!

Most of this hits in waves. Yesterday I met with a wonderful friend who has already been there and is dealing with her son and T1. We laughed and cried, she told me lots and lots of things which filled me with hope. I left her house buoyed up and ready to hit the local supermarket to pick up a huge bag of insulin, lancets, test strips, and lots of other day to day necessities for someone with T1. That’s when it hit – walking through Sainsburys surrounded by people who were stocking up for the Easter holiday, buying normal things like chocolate eggs, cakes and sugary puddings – all things that now R has to think about before he can eat them. Things that I take for granted – the only worry I have over eating a slice of chocolate cake is will it make me fat? I don’t have to think about upping an insulin dose because I’ll get a headache and feel ill if I don’t.

So I began to lose it in Sainsburys. I didn’t burst into tears. Instead I attempted to make it all better because that’s what mothers do, right? So I bought a Wii – the Sports one. I reasoned that this would be ideal for R to play with alongside his brother particularly if his blood glucose is a bit high or he can’t get out to ride his bike or play rugby. This Wii would be ideal for all of us to have some family time and burn off a bit of energy while it rains outside. All good reasons for purchasing a new games system, but I made this decision in a spilt second with the real intention of making everyone feel better – the healthy carb free version of pigging out on chocolate when you’re feeling down. Well, healthy for the body, not for the bank account. And I saved the tears for back in the car with a boot full of meds and Wii boxes and games.

Technorati Tags: diabetes type 1,Wii,change

Where did my ‘normal’ life go to?

2010-03-24T17:47:00.001Z

On Monday one of my 12 year old twin sons was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. Not a long story – he’d been thirsty over the last couple of weeks, getting up in the night to pee, nothing else. My dad has Type 2 so we tested R’s blood – more out of curiosity than any real suspicion of diabetes. The normal level of glucose in blood should be around 4-7mmol/l, R’s was 30. He should have been feeling ill; he felt fine. We tested him over the weekend and he had 25 and 20. The confirmation came at the local GP’s surgery where we were told that we’d already diagnosed it ourselves so we’d better get to the local hospital quickly.

And here we are.

He should be out tomorrow. We’ve seen doctors, nurses, specialist nurses and consultants. We’ll go on seeing them for the foreseeable future.

Right now it feels as if I’m underwater breathing somehow, but underwater. Everyone else, the rest of the world, are on firm dry land and I can’t quite seem to get my footing. I want desperately for this to become just a small aspect of our lives and not the main focus but I fear for a while at least, it will overtake us.

We’re incredibly fortunate to be surrounded by the love and support of family and wonderful friends – not least of whom is Patricia who also has a son with Type 1 and keeps the Waving and Drowning Blog which I’ve often glanced at BD (Before Diabetes) but now I’m scouring for hints, tips and the road map out of here.

Getting out and about

2010-03-16T10:35:00.001Z

At the weekend I was down at Bedgebury Pinetum – P was going mountain biking on one of their excellent trails there, I usually join him but this time I wanted to write.

I took the long trail around the Pinetum. It is littered with benches and stopping places for taking in the beauty of the trees and landscape. I sat under a particularly large tree and began writing this….

It’s getting warmer finally and there are narcissus bulbs coming up amongst the rare trees. A duck is calling in the distance and sounds almost like a dog. There’s a constant background noise of birdsong – I think I can make out a thrush’s song but I suspect I’m simply telling myself that’s what a thrush sings. I can hear a light-aircraft but the patchy grey and white clouds stop me from seeing what sounds like aerobatics going on overhead. I wonder what the birds make of that? I know from watching my geese when I was at the farm that they stop and look skywards at the planes – I always imagined that the look was one of longing. Perhaps they think we’re foolish – although I doubt that they realise we humans are in the planes – maybe they see them as large predatory birds.

And now I can hear a baby crying – sounds like a toddler throwing a tantrum – really demanding bellowing. The sound carries just like the duck’s call for a mate. The baby is probably tired, cold and hungry.

In this country it seems we’re never far from other people.

Now I’m getting cold. Time to move on; the eventual walk back. Tea and a slice of cake.

I had intended to write more after this and after I’d arrived at the Pinetum’s cafe – this was my warm up writing where I shift my brain over from left logical to right writerly. Even just typing these lines up has done the shift and now I feel sort of … dreamy I suppose. Unfortunately I’ve got a class to plan now so I’d better get back into the logical left and maybe write later. I do think though that as a writer it’s important to know how to make that mental shift (I just typed ‘shirt’ first – what is my subconscious trying to tell me?!) and how to make it quickly. Stephen King suggests that all writers should read for around four hours every day and write for two. Wonderful advice if you can afford that amount of time. I aim at an hour or so reading and the same writing – I say aim because with jobs and a family sometimes both my writing and reading feels the squeeze and that’s why I escape every so often to places like the Pinetum – when I reached the cafe I read for an hour.

So, what’s this post about?

1.Find ways to make time for writing and reading.

2.To write from ‘cold’ just listen and look around you.

3.I think Spring is finally here!

Vast expanses of blank paper

2010-02-23T14:44:00.004Z

Okay, here's the thing...I've been through a very, very dry spell writing wise - huge arid desert thing if you like - Sahara sized even. I like to put it down to pigs - I had Swine 'flu during October/November and until recently I could use that as an extremely effective excuse against writing or even thinking. "Sorry I couldn't go to the gym - still 'fluey", "Party you say? Hmm, shall have to see how I feel - recovering from the 'flu", "Gosh, was that conversation really last week? I'm still recovering from 'flu you know" I could have committed crimes during that period and blamed Swine 'flu...except I was too tired/weak/lazy to do that because of the 'flu.

Anyway, enough of the excuses.

Yesterday I tried to shove my lazy non-'flu infected, ever-expanding rear into the writing world again. I've been slowly working up to this by reconnecting with Twitter - this is most effective as the guilt kicks in as I read about other people succeeding with their blog posts, short stories, poetry and novels. Gits. I did consider calling them bastards but I thought that would be a tad too harsh.

So, Catholic Guilt duly engaged a week or so ago. A fortnight prior to that I'd taken up with a book again - my dirty little secret - I read anything and everything and seem to spend half my daydreaming hours inside the pages of worlds created by less lazy people than myself. All this has tipped me back onto the slippery slope of fiction.

Yes, I have (temporarily) turned my back on poetry on the grounds that it's just too damned hard for me at the moment and I want some personal entertainment that I can partake of in public. So it's back to fiction for me.

Yesterday I wrote a paragraph of nothing - just thoughts as they passed through my mind rather like short-tempered commuters waiting for the next Network SouthEastern train. There maybe something in there which can be fashioned into the poetry equivalent of a rain hat made from yesterday's copy of The Times - lots of lovely words but ultimately it'll keep you dry for only five minutes before it becomes papier mache.

Today I wrote more nothing but this nothing wandered off on its own and found a half-hidden memory of a priest I once met when I was thirteen. My parents took me and my sister to Lourdes - yes, Scots/Irish Catholic family. I didn't want to go but actually when I got there I loved it - it's the Margate of the Roman Catholic world - couldn't get enough of glow in the dark Virgins - now there's a term I never thought I'd use....
Anyway, there was a young Yugoslavian priest in the hotel that we got to know, Father Stan, a lovely gentle man who played an intelligent but almost Father Dougal character to an elderly Irish priest's slightly more sober Father Jack - Father Ted didn't make an appearance.

All of these memories made me wonder what happened to Father Stan - we'd met him back in the mid 1980s and now nearly thirty years later I wonder what became of him. Did he stay in Yugoslavia during the war? Did he leave for Rome or the UK? If he stayed then what did he see, what did he do?

And very quickly the ideas began to arrive in my head....

Now I have an outline for what could end up being a novel, or at the very least a longish short story.

Writing to think

2009-11-16T15:05:00.001Z

Sometimes I'd like to pare away all the little irritations, all the everyday stuff that gets in the way of life – what shall we have for supper? Is it time to leave now? Where did I put that pair of socks? Do I really have to finish reading 'To the Lighthouse'? I'd love to put all of those to the side and make space to write...about....what? Because actually, you know, that is my life – life is the thing that goes on while you're dreaming about tomorrow – I can't remember who said that, for some reason John Lennon comes to mind.

This isn't some terribly worthy post about how to write or what to write about but rather the dull ramblings of stuff in my head while part of my consciousness – probably somewhere deeply submerged – I work out what I actually want to write about. Do we even decide what to write about I wonder? At the moment at the front of my head I'm considering this rather sticky keyboard on which my clean fingertips are carrying out a rather grimy Riverdance – who on earth leaves a keyboard like it's had a tub of yoghurt chucked over it? Don't answer that one, not even in your head. This keyboard is in a public space which makes the very suggestion of misuse of a computer grim.

And then for a brief moment Microsoft Word stopped working – blank screen, a moment of binary pique at the suggestion it'd been misused as some sort of public sex toy. As if.

I can see how from just these few ramblings I have the suggestions of a poem; a collection of thoughts about being here now. Something to make something else from – the creative act rather like the spillage on the keyboard.

And my fingertips still feel sticky and I've still not thought of anything new or interesting to say but the desire to communicate – born out of a sense of boredom and the inability to get onto Facebook – has led me to meander in amongst the tall grass and weeds of my imagination. My subconscious happily tucked up in a Mariana Trench where the thoughts, all dressed in white woollen jumpers and wearing three day old stubble, worry about ever resurfacing or contacting the conscious again.

Hmmm.

Unpicking knots and hour-glass figure poems

2009-10-23T17:17:00.001+01:00

Last week I went on an Arvon course at The Hurst in Shropshire with the wonderful Daljit Nagra and Julie Copus – the week was quite wonderful and I’m sure I’ll mention it again in later posts. One immediate effect that last week has had is to encourage me to interrogate my own poetry far more than I have before. I’m finding myself going back to poems that I knew weren’t quite right but had something going for them and I’m tugging them apart line by line, word by word, stitching new bits in here and there in the hope that I’ll eventually come up with a new set of Emperor’s clothes….

Looking at your own work is (for me at least) the hardest thing to do because even after weeks of ‘resting’ a piece I still know the story and what I wanted to say and I can’t see past that to see what the poem needs to say. I had a conversation with Julia about this and she said that I was rather like someone listening to a great piece of music through headphones and singing along – I could hear the entire orchestra but all the audience got was my a capella version – she did kindly add that she was sure I had a lovely voice. I’ve always suspected I’m a little tone deaf.

So what’s the best way to deal with this problem? How do we make our work convey exactly what we want them to say? I truly wish I had a quick answer to this one, I wish I could say, “Well, it’s easy, just do X, Y, Z and then Bob’s your uncle and a deal for your first collection will be yours for the taking!” But I can’t. So far my remedy for redrafting is as follows – and this holds true for any type of creative writing whether it’s a novel, short story or poetry and even for writing non-fiction too.

Don’t censor yourself in the first draft

Try to train yourself to write freely or practice ‘automatic’ writing. Stephen King recommends this in his brilliant book, ‘On Writing’. Set yourself a time limit each day when you will not be disturbed by anything. Then write whatever comes out of your fingers. Last week I put myself under pressure at one point – I’d poured cold coffee over myself, wasted my break by waiting next to an empty loo I thought was occupied and had to write something, anything within ten minutes – here’s the start of it

“I’m harassed, panicking, I don’t like being pushed this is not how I work. I like plans, preparation, being ready, not hurried. I come prepared, I don’t just throw things together. I plan, prepare. I admit I’m anal and like order and I’ve not even begun to say what I wanted to say because I’m panicking, unprepared. I don’t like this. I feel boxed in, cornered – a rabbit in headlights except rabbits don’t do that deer do but rabbits just ignore the headlights and go squish under the wheels of a 4x4…..”

And from then on a poem suddenly appeared. It was a piece all about people who come to the countryside with very different expectations of their life to those who have always lived there. I admit it, it was a bit of a rant but one I hadn’t intended to write until I was put under that bit of pressure and also because I tend to write a great deal without thinking - ‘automatic’ writing.

So that’s fine, you’ve now got something down on paper. Great. Now what?

Put it away for a few weeks

Honestly, it helps. If you can put it away for more than a few weeks that’s great – with any luck you’ll have forgotten writing it and you’ll be able to see what the piece is really about. Distance – that’s the thing. Finding distance with your work is so important – you need to see the writing as something away from you, not part of you. Objectivity is what I’m getting at here and when you’ve just written something it’s hard to be objective and see things like weak line endings, bad meter, poor images and so on. After a few weeks those things should (hopefully) become a little clearer.

Now you’re at the stage that I was a few weeks ago – loads of stuff written, redrafted after a few weeks and then I’d even submitted pieces here and there. Some of the poems have been successful and some haven’t – that’s not always because they’ve been poor poems (I tell myself) but sometimes the editors have been looking for different types of work or perhaps just recently found something similar that they preferred. Well, at least that is what I was telling myself, but now – after last week’s many conversations – I’m beginning to see that some of what I’ve written isn’t yet fully formed. My background has been very much story based – I’ve always been a voracious reader of fiction, I wrote a novella for my Masters, I wrote opinion pieces for a magazine – all stories of a type. Yet my poetry has tended towards lots of abstract and rather nebulous ideas…apart from those that have made it into print…guess what? They’ve been rather like tiny stories.

So, my next piece of advice…

Apply the same rules of writing to fiction AND poetry

When you want to create a really rounded and fully formed character in a story you consider how you describe them with all the senses, how they speak, how they move, what others think about them, what others say about them, what motivates them and so on. So apply that to a character in your poem – think about what they’d say, what motivates them and so on. Even apply it to your poem – what is motivating it? What’s it really about? Pull it apart, work out if each and every line, each and every word works with your poem and with what you want it to say. Try writing out your poem in longhand if you normally use a PC or laptop. Try writing out your poem into prose, change the line endings, add words, take them away, keep slowly chipping away at it until it looks exactly as you want it to.

This last bit is the hardest part of all and I’m still grappling with them – so expect some further posts in the future attempting to make this part of the process somewhat clearer!

At the moment I’ve pulled one old piece apart and I know it’s saying something – originally it was an observational piece about two elderly women on the bus – I watched them and they interested me. Now I know from what I’ve written and rewritten that it’s a piece about being in the mother-daughter relationship and being overshadowed. The poem still doesn’t work yet, in fact it’s got rather an hour-glass figure – a great beginning, a strong end but nothing in the middle. I know that just like prose fiction I need to give it an event, something to hang it all around, something to give it tension but right now I can’t see what that might be. So this poem will stay in my Drafts folder for a while longer and that’s irritating because I like things finished….which is why I probably rush stuff and submit it before it’s really ready.

The way you speak to me….

2009-10-07T16:57:00.001+01:00

Another post about poetry and how it works, this time on Tone.

There is a famous story about a professor of Linguistics who is explaining double negatives to his students, ‘I can’t not eat the cake’, for example, and how a double negative makes a positive but the reverse, a double positive, does not make a negative. From the back of the room a student calls out, “Yeah, right.”

The words ‘yeah, right’ do not form a negative on their own, in fact most of the time they will be a double positive but in this case the negative was conveyed by the tone.

Another example – you look out of the window and it’s raining and you say, “What a beautiful day” or you lose your keys and remark, “That’s marvellous.” The words themselves are all positive but because of the tone used it is clear to the listener that you mean the opposite.

So what does all this mean for poetry? As we all know poetry was always traditionally recited aloud and even now it’s far easier to understand if it’s voiced rather than silently read. It’s easy to convey tone when speaking but if a poem is only read silently it can leave it ambiguous. Here’s an example, William Carlos Williams’s poem, “This is just to say”

This is just to say

I have eaten

the plums

that were in

the icebox

and which

you were probably

saving

for breakfast

Forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet

and so cold

So, was he really sorry? Probably not. Tone is conveyed by voice but it can also be conveyed by the words used and their context. Going back to the Linguistics Professor and his student we don’t need to hear the student saying, “Yeah, right” to know that he said this with a tone of sarcasm because of the context and also the words themselves. Had he said, “Yes, absolutely correct” we would probably have concluded that this was a keen and slightly sycophantic student – again from the words used – the implied tone.

So, tone expresses a meaning, it’s implied by the words used, their context and by the ways they are said aloud. We can conclude that William Carlos Williams is not sincerely sorry in ‘This is just to say’ because he tells us what pleasure he had in eating the plums saved by the person to whom he writes the poem and he admits that he knew they were being saved for that person’s breakfast. Williams implies an intimate relationship with the other person – whose fridge would you take food from? We know from interviews with Williams that this was a note written to his wife – he was a doctor and often worked night shifts, returning home to raid the fridge before going to bed.

Henry Reed the WW2 poet uses two voices in his famous poem, ‘The naming of parts’

NAMING OF PARTS

To-day we have naming of parts. Yesterday,
We had daily cleaning. And to-morrow morning,
We shall have what to do after firing. But to-day,
To-day we have naming of parts. Japonica
Glistens like coral in all of the neighbouring gardens,
And to-day we have naming of parts.

This is the lower sling swivel. And this
Is the upper sling swivel, whose use you will see,
When you are given your slings. And this is the piling swivel,
Which in your case you have not got. The branches
Hold in the gardens their silent, eloquent gestures,
Which in our case we have not got.

This is the safety-catch, which is always released
With an easy flick of the thumb. And please do not let me
See anyone using his finger. You can do it quite easy
If you have any strength in your thumb. The blossoms
Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see
Any of them using their finger.

And this you can see is the bolt. The purpose of this
Is to open the breech, as you see. We can slide it
Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call this
Easing the spring. And rapidly backwards and forwards
The early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers:
They call it easing the Spring.

They call it easing the Spring: it is perfectly easy
If you have any strength in your thumb: like the bolt,
And the breech, and the cocking-piece, and the point of balance,
Which in our case we have not got; and the almond-blossom
Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards,
For to-day we have naming of parts.

Each voice has a different tone; the first voice is clearly an army instructor explaining in simple, prosaic terms what the soldiers are being taught about weapons, the tone is efficient, explanatory and almost brutal. The second voice is the internal one of a soldier whose mind is wandering away from the weapons lesson and onto the surrounding beauty of a garden in springtime. The soldier’s tone is gentle, dreamlike and Romantically poetic as he looks at the flowers, insects and trees.

The overall effect of two contrasting voices used in this way is a bitter anti-war tone. The brutal matter of fact way the instructor explains the machinery of war is offset by the soldier’s beautiful images which hint at deeper meanings.

- In the first stanza there is a mention of Japonica – a beautiful flowering tree but also a native plant of Japan – one of the countries against which the soldier will be fighting.

- The second stanza makes mention of the trees silent gestures which they (the soldiers) have not got – they will not be allowed to continue in peace, they have to fight the war.

- The third stanza mentions how fragile the blossoms are – we could argue that this suggests the soldiers are just like the blossoms, particularly in light of First World War imagery of poppies in the fields of Flanders.

- The final stanza is full of sexual references – ‘rapidly backwards and forwards’, ‘fumbling’, ‘cocking-piece’ and ‘bees’ all implying that these young men will have this taken away from them because of the war – ‘in our case we have not got’.

So we can see that in Reed’s poem the language, its context and the use of the voices all contribute to the overall tone.

Sometimes poets like playwrights or novelists will use characters in order to express views and ideas and thus giving us an alternative persona for the ‘I’ of the poem. Among the most famous of these are Robert Browning’s ‘My Last Duchess’ (1842) and T. S. Eliot’s ‘The love song of J. Alfred Prufrock’ (1917). Later poets often employed this persona method but in the 1950s and 60s this moved on to ‘confessional’ poetry which leaves the reader (or listener) wondering if this really happened.

John Berryman’s ‘The Dream Songs’ play with tone and use not one but two personas, ‘Henry’ and ‘Mr Bones’. The collection which won Berryman the Pulitzer Prize in 1964 is

“a sequence of sonnet-like poems whose wrenched syntax, scrambled diction, extraordinary leaps of language and tone, and wild mixture of high lyricism and low comedy plumbed the extreme reaches of a human soul and psyche.” http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/6

Dream Song 4

Filling her compact & delicious body

with chicken páprika, she glanced at me

twice.

Fainting with interest, I hungered back

and only the fact of her husband & four other people

kept me from springing on her

or falling at her little feet and crying

'You are the hottest one for years of night

Henry's dazed eyes

have enjoyed, Brilliance.' I advanced upon

(despairing) my spumoni.--Sir Bones: is stuffed,

de world, wif feeding girls.

--Black hair, complexion Latin, jewelled eyes

downcast . . . The slob beside her feasts . . . What wonders is

she sitting on, over there?

The restaurant buzzes. She might as well be on Mars.

Where did it all go wrong? There ought to be a law against Henry.

--Mr. Bones: there is.

Mr Bones and Henry act rather like the angel and devil characters we often see in cartoons which represent base instincts, Freud’s Id or the devil character and the angel Freud’s Superego or the conscience – the remaining part of the personality being the ego or the conscious part of ourselves. Berryman plays with these two contrasting sides of his personality to show us how it feels to suffer from frustrated desire. Henry is ‘dazed’ by this beautiful woman and would jump on her if her husband and four others were not there and he is plunged into despair because she will never be his. Alone Henry’s desires would give the poem a melancholy tone – a desperate lover destined never to have the object of his affections, ‘Brilliance’ with her ‘jewelled eyes’, even if Henry does slip a little into his true baser instincts’ What wonders is she sitting on, over there?’. However, Mr Bones, Berryman’s conscience puts Henry’s longings into context as he points out that the world is full of ‘feeding girls’ and the final witty reply to Berryman’s ego wishing there was a law against Henry (or lust), ‘there is’.

Throughout the poem Berryman uses bathos to give the humorous tone; the mention of ‘chicken paprika’, the ‘husband & four other people’, that she is ‘the hottest one’, the ‘spumoni’ ice cream, her buttocks and the use of colloquial language, ‘de’, ‘wif’. All of this purposely works against any traditionally romantic and high-flown notions which Berryman puts in opposition.

Again we can see that the tone is created by the words used, their context and the voices used by Berryman.

Finally poets can address their poems to a particular listener which lends a different tone – both more intimate and particular. John Donne’s ‘The Sun Rising’ is written to the sun.

The Sun Rising

Busy old fool, unruly Sun,

Why dost thou thus,

Through windows, and through curtains, call on us ?

Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run ?

Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide

Late school-boys and sour prentices,

Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride,

Call country ants to harvest offices ;

Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,

Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

Thy beams so reverend, and strong

Why shouldst thou think ?

I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,

But that I would not lose her sight so long.

If her eyes have not blinded thine,

Look, and to-morrow late tell me,

Whether both th' Indias of spice and mine

Be where thou left'st them, or lie here with me.

Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,

And thou shalt hear, "All here in one bed lay."

She's all states, and all princes I ;

Nothing else is ;

Princes do but play us ; compared to this,

All honour's mimic, all wealth alchemy.

Thou, Sun, art half as happy as we,

In that the world's contracted thus ;

Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be

To warm the world, that's done in warming us.

Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere ;

This bed thy center is, these walls thy sphere.

This device gives Donne the opportunity to tell the sun how unimportant it is when compared to his lover. The tone is romantic, the first blush of love, which we see particularly at the end of the first stanza, ‘Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime,/Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.’ The use of the end rhyme emphasizes the romantic, troubadour style – this is a poem which is easily remembered because of the rhymes and can therefore be repeated to ones lover.

Donne also uses a gently reprimanding tone towards the sun as if it were an elderly badly behaved relative; ‘busy old fool, unruly sun’. This gentle chiding coupled with the romantic remarks about his lover – ‘She is all states’ enforces the sweeping romantic tone – this is a man entirely infatuated; ‘This bed’ has become the ‘centre’ of his world and ‘these walls’ the only place the sun need shine upon.

X. J. Kennedy and Dana Gioia in their excellent book, ‘An Introduction to Poetry’ explain precisely about tone -

“Strictly speaking, tone isn’t an attitude’ it is whatever in the poem makes an attitude clear to us: the choice of certain words instead of others, the picking out of certain details…..To perceive the tone of a poem rightly, we need to read the poem carefully, paying attention to whatever suggestions we find in it.”

As is always the case with poetry – read, read and read again.

Clichés, Sentimentality and Robert Burns

2009-09-16T12:33:00.001+01:00

I am a sentimental romantic, I admit it. I try to avoid being overly sentimental when I write, in fact when I redraft I try to take out anything that’s even slightly slushy – as much as I love to cry over dead dogs (Greyfriar’s Bobby makes me wail), loss and misery, it’s only good when it’s well written. So I avoid the clichéd Hallmark style and try to aim for a more sophisticated version which allows the reader to draw their own conclusions.

Sometimes though familiarity really does breed contempt. Clichés become just that because they’re overused, not because they’re wrong. Words and phrases become overused because they’re good and everyone wants to say them and to write them. When I’m writing fiction I tend to use the occasional cliché in my first draft, in fact sometimes I’ll even put them in on purpose. Why? Because I use them rather like Post It notes or a highlighter pen – they remind me when I come back to the piece that I need to expand and rework that sentence or paragraph - I want it to mean the same thing as the cliché but I want it in my words and not the overused ones.

One of the most well known and hackneyed clichés is that of a red rose to signify love – you can’t fail to have noticed how the price of red roses goes through the roof (oops, cliché), the price of red roses rises to ridiculous levels (alliteration but doesn’t have the same ring though, does it?) around Valentine’s Day. So who do we have to thank for that one? Not just Interflora but one poet in particular- Robert Burns who wrote the lyric poem ‘Oh my love is like a red, red rose’ in 1788 or there abouts.

Oh, my love is like a red, red rose

O my Luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June:
O my Luve's like the melodie,
That's sweetly play’d in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve!
And fare-thee-weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile!

There are various archaic and modern spellings to be found in different versions of this poem and indeed there are musical versions too as this is a true ballad, a lyrical poem. However, for me anyway, the best version of this is a spoken one – read by a man with a Scots’ accent. For all that this is a over used and exceedingly well known piece, it’s still one of my favourites and almost moves me to tears each time I read it – I did say I’m a sentimental romantic! I picture this as the parting of lovers forced apart by circumstance – or maybe I’m just influenced by the life story of Burns who was prevented from marrying his sweetheart and mother to his twin sons until he became famous. The words of this poem voice a very real feeling and desire to be eternal lovers – something that seems so unlikely and unusual in today’s cynical world.

Anyway, listen to Alan Cumming reading it – sadly the embedding has been disabled or I’d have put the YouTube window in here. It might be hugely clichéd now but I adore this poem.

Networking and Marketing for Writers and Artists

2009-09-11T13:57:00.002+01:00

Last night I went along to the Horsebridge Arts and Community Centre in Whitstable to take part in a Creative Canterbury networking event, and very good it was too. I met Alma Caira there - she makes hand made silver jewellery, does web design, animation, and photography in addition to teaching art and crafts. I'm hoping she soon gets a website showcasing her work to which I can direct you for all your jewellery and web design needs...my commission is cheap too! I also chatted briefly with the Arts Development Officer, Mitch Robertson who now wants to come and scream in my garden - living out in the sticks does have its benefits, maybe I could start up a whole new sideline of offering a Place To Scream.

Anyway, in amongst eating strawberries and grapes we listened to a brief talk about marketing for creative businesses which was mainly aimed at visual artists and craftspeople. All fascinating stuff as the speaker mentioned building a brand and giving added value. Most writers today already have to do this in order to get ourselves out there and known but rather than us providing gift wrapping or technical knowledge about displaying work we promote ourselves and others on our blogs, Twitter and Facebook. We write articles (like this one) which we hope will be of some use to other writers and maybe of some interest to our general readers too. We tell you what we're doing, how we do it and how you can do it too. We aim to entertain and inform and with any luck you'll come back and read something else here again, or perhaps you'll remember my name and look for other things I've written elsewhere. In other words, we try to build a readership, a following. I know I'm very much still in the early stages of this - I completed my Masters Degree only two years ago (feels longer).

The marketing man last night told us how important our network of satisfied customers is and how each happy 'consumer' experience is related to seven other people but the bad ones are told to...I think he said ten but maybe it was twenty-one people. Anyway, his point was that when you're not making an effort with your customers they tell more people how bad you are and people like to feel good about their consumer choices. For artists producing an item like a painting, a sculpture, jewellery or similar things this means talking to your customers; telling them about yourself and the item, giving them a story which they can recount to their friends. It also means making your 'product' a real luxury item by providing specialist knowledge, wrappings, in short giving or offering something extra. As consumers we all know this works - just think about the difference between a supermarket own brand packet of pasta and the one 'handmade' in Tuscany - be honest, is there a huge difference between the cooked pasta by the time you've covered it in wine drenched bolognase? Not really, but then look at the packaging - cheap clear plastic with the supermarket's name printed in large letters or gorgeous dark blue paper with jaunty yellow stickers. I know which one I'd rather my friends saw when they come over for dinner - my bank account doesn't agree but that's besides the point. The luxury item says something about us as consumers - it says, "I have good taste" and quite possibly, "I have more money than sense" but I'll gloss over that....And if you're purchasing something that costs over £500 (and a good piece of art or design will cost this) then you should be getting more than the cheap clear plastic wrapping with the supermarket name on it. The marketing man talked a great deal about how there are no real differences between BMW and Mercedes Benz cars, for example, but branding relies upon our emotional choices - how we feel about ourselves for buying one brand over another.

And before you think that this is useless advice for writers...just consider for a moment which books you'd rather have on your shelves or to be seen reading in a coffee shop....Jackie Collins or Margaret Atwood? Dan Brown or A.S Byatt? I'm not saying that any of those authors produce a bad 'product' - I've read books by all of them. I won't tell which I enjoyed most....but I'm a firm believe in wide and eclectic reading, a mixed diet for the mind if you like but I know an awful lot about sex, shopping and secret codes.

I think that for writers, and indeed for anyone in the Creative Industries, it's important to know your market; to know who reads or buys what you produce, to know what they like and then you can produce more of it that's better and more desirable. Personally I'd love to be a literary writer who deals with deep philosophical questions and appears on an A level syllabus (don't ask why that's important to me...I don't know, but it seems like the pinnacle of achievement - keep your Booker prize, I want to be studied by spotty seventeen year olds). That's my dream. My reality, as I'm quickly beginning to realise, is that I find it easier to write light humorous pieces with the occasional bit of thought-provoking going on - rather like a puddle with a hidden pothole - and I've been paid to write like that in the past. Maybe I ought to return to that half-written humorous novel, plot it out properly and get it written....

Last night was really worthwhile, it's given me plenty to think about and plenty to write about Now all that remains are two things, firstly a question I need to ask you, dear reader...what would you like to see more of here?

And lastly, that by reading this blog and telling others about it you're showing the world how erudite, amusing and downright sexy you are. Honestly.

On rejections and dealing with them

2009-09-09T11:08:00.003+01:00

I spent a large part of July worrying about having a job in September - budget cuts and so on - and part of that worrying pushed me to write lots of poetry and send out everything I have to magazines and journals. On one hand this is a Good Thing as it gave me something to focus upon and it's what I should be doing anyway. On the other hand the downside is that I've received three rejections so far and heard nothing from the others.

There are two voices in my head holding a conversation about this state of affairs; one is the sensible calm voice who knows that rejections are a necessary part of writing, that more poetry is written than read today, that maybe some of the poems were not really ready, that they didn't fit what the editor is currently looking for and that I haven't had them all rejected yet. The other voice is... well, more of a shout, a tantrum with a stamped foot if you like.

Writing is a solitary pursuit; we write firstly for ourselves, to ourselves in order to understand the world, to make sense of our feelings. For some people their writing ends there - they write diaries which explore their inner world but never see the light of the outer world. The rest of us write because we want to share something with all of you out there we want to connect, 'only connect' as E.M.Forster said. So we spend our days watching, listening and collecting bits of life which we then transcribe and transform onto the page, making sense of it, giving it a new life, making it fresh. The transcribing and transforming is the alchemy - the bit we do almost in secret, tucked away literally for some in their writing sheds, offices, attics and garrets and metaphorically for others writing in cafes and libraries who hide in plain sight. When we finally return our work to the world we, I am often so blinkered that it is like my first born child - perfect in every way.

This is getting terribly poetic here - I'll just take a moment out to translate...

I love my writing therefore I expect everyone else to do so too. I'm shocked and hurt (with dramatic flounces) when others do not feel the same way.

So that's where all the foot stamping came from and it should last approximately 12 hours if you're lucky but don't allow yourself to continue the tantrum for over 24 hours if at all possible. Why? The short answer is (and this hurts) no one cares. The long answer is what the sensible voice in my head has been saying throughout all of this.....

Rejections are a necessary part of writing -
Your writing may simply not be good enough just yet and even with rejections there is a hierarchy (at least in my head...) - no reply whatsoever means the poem either got lost or really stank, a standard form rejection means it was poor but the editor is polite, a note asking you to submit again in the future means it was still poor but you show some promise, a note explaining why they didn't accept your poem means that you're close and the poem isn't bad.
All writers even the megastars like Stephen King have been rejected - I regularly recommend his book 'On Writing' to new writers. If you didn't ever receive rejections you (I) would begin to doubt the worth of doing this...to me if something is worth doing not only should it be done well but also it shouldn't be easy. Rejections are good for the soul and good for building humility - a very necessary trait in writing so you can continue to learn and develop.

More poetry is written than read today -
Sad but true. If each of us who claims to love poetry actually bought collections from new poets or subscribed to the very same magazines we wish to be published by then there would be a bigger market for poetry. It's the chicken and the egg all over again - the chicken is the reader that gives birth to the egg, the writer...or maybe the chicken is the writer....Either way, if you want to write poetry then read it. On that note I'll briefly get on my soapbox - make sure you're reading contemporary poetry as much or more than the classics. You live now, so find out what people are writing now. You need to know what has gone before but not to the exclusion of what is happening now. For example, rock stars, pop bands, musicians generally have an awareness of Elvis Presley, The Beatles, Blues, Jazz and so on, some even use pieces of classical music reworked...which reminds me - listen to Pachelbel's 'Canon' first, then listen to The Farm's 'All Together Now'.

Back to the poetry...

Maybe some of the poems were not really ready -
Did I actually put this poem away for a few weeks before I sent it out? Sometimes I can get so impressed with myself (I know I need to learn a little more humility but it's a fine balance between that and having self-confidence!) that I send out new work before it's ready. When the rejection arrives you need to look again at the poem - does it still work for you? Perhaps it needs some further revisions - now is the time to do it before you send it out again.

It didn't fit what the editor is currently looking for -
Poetry does go in trends and fashions and different journals and magazines look for different types of work. I know this is obvious but when you receive the rejection you need to remind yourself of this. Poetry tastes are different, it's all subjective and the editor you sent your precious piece to may simply not like poems about kittens (actually no one apart from small children likes poems about kittens - as much as we love the furry beasts we don't want to read soppy poems about them). Just like when you broke up with that guy who smelled odd - it's them, not you.

I haven't had them all rejected yet -

Yet.

So the short sensible answer to rejection is to 'man up' and revise, redraft and resubmit elsewhere. Keep reading, keep writing and hopefully keep improving.

I'm now going to take some of my own excellent advice and look at the latest batch of rejections.

Oh, and by the way, the job did re-materialise so I won't be entirely penniless by Christmas.

Writing for fun

2009-09-02T13:06:00.005+01:00

Most of the writing I do is simply to please me - whether it's fiction or poetry I am my first reader and like to entertain myself. I think most people, if not all that write creatively do it because they have to, or want to, even if it's never seen by anyone else. I always love to talk to elderly ladies at family parties because so often they reveal that they've kept a diary or some sort of journal since they were a child - diary writing used to be so very common. I kept a diary from about the age of ten or eleven right up until I was in my late teens. One day I must look at these again - that is if I can bear to read the terrible purple prose and daily outpourings of teenage angst. Undoubtedly it will be full of dull, petty arguments and repeated fantasies involving Simon Le Bon.

More recently I've turned some of my experiences into comic turns - a couple I've posted here in this blog, quite a few can be found on various internet forums, especially those which ask a question each week - I submit anonymously of course. Most recently the divine Domestic Sluttery held a competition asking for culinary tales of woe, the winner receiving a gorgeous pair of 'I love cake' earrings from Love Hearts and Crosses - I posted the following story and won!

"A couple of years ago I was having some friends round to supper and I'd planned a very impressive rolled pork loin with apricot and herb stuffing all tied together with bacon, home grown vegetables - I was out to impress. I'd gone to the local farmers' market and bought the pork loin, then left it in the kitchen under a gauze umbrella thing ready for me to begin my creation once I'd got the veg. I went out to the garden (in my floral dress, of course) collecting mange tout, carrots and fresh herbs - impressive...but I was married to a farmer - none of it was my doing - I spent my days reading books and drinking wine!
So, there I was, Lady Bountiful, returning to the kitchen with my veggie haul, only to discover the large black farm cat had dragged the pork loin onto the floor and eaten half of it! It was still raw!

I cut off the chewed bit, rinsed it under a tap and carried on with the recipe, adding some more bacon and pretended it hadn't happened.
Later that evening once my guests had drank half their body weight in wine I told them - they don't talk to me anymore."

Here's the cat that did the deed, he goes by the name of Mog.

The new year starts in September!

2009-08-26T12:04:00.002+01:00

I'm sure I can't be the only one who feels that the new year really begins in September - the shops are full of Back to School stuff, the days are a little shorter, a little chillier and we all feel fairly rested and ready for new challenges.

So, as the new year is only a few days away I'm making some changes around here as I've spent the summer writing and 'consolidating my career' (I've sent out lots of emails). The first change I'm making is to open up this blog more - it began for me as somewhere to put down a few thoughts, the occasional short story, Question of the Week post, bits and pieces really - since I've jumped onto the Twitter bandwagon I realise how much I've been underusing my web presence (see, I've even paid attention to some of the web marketing spam!). Here's my list of resolutions...

- This blog will now be clearly linked to my Twitter account - I'll stick a wiget thing on it

- If you write a blog that is particularly concerned with writing or publishing (especially if you're in the UK) then please send me a link and I'll post it up here

- I will try to post something worthwhile for writers (and readers) each week - that's going to be the hardest resolution to keep once the University term begins

- If you'd like to write a guest post on here (especially when I'm snowed under with undergraduate essays to mark!) then let me know

Ummm....that's all I can think of for now, if you have any other suggestions do get in touch.

"Once Upon a Time...Artists and Storytelling" Embankment Galleries, Somerset House 26 June - 26 July 2009

2009-08-25T16:24:00.010+01:00

One of my favourite childhood memories is lying on my stomach in the local public library reading The Orange Fairy Book by Andrew Lang - I'm still searching for a copy of that book even now, it was large in my eight year old hands and had an orange cloth binding - just the thought of that book and I'm back there deep within the worlds created by the Grimms, Perrault, and the Arabian nights. So when I saw that the Courtauld Institute had an exhibition on in the Embankment Galleries called 'Once Upon a Time...' I wanted to go. The exhibition was the culmination of the year long MA Curating the Art Museum course at The Courtauld and therefore jointly curated by those students led by Martin Caiger-Smith who was previously Acting Director at the Hayward Gallery. Artists have told stories ever since there have been stories to tell and artists to depict them and the first section of the show, Childhood Stories, about the link between illustration and text show was the personal equivalent to Lascaux cave paintings - the earliest attempt to make sense of the world around us based upon Snow White and Cinderella rather than the caveman's woolly mamoth. While not particularly groaning with Fine Art as such - although some particularly fine Paula Rego illustrations feature - the familiar Victorian Cruikshank and Crane prints of Beauty and the Beast, Jack and the Beanstalk, Three Blind Mice and so on, lulls the audience into a cosy rememberance of times past and in fact a quick glance around at my fellow visitors to the exhibition on a wet Wednesday afternoon confirmed this - plenty of nostalgic smiles and contented sighs. Personally I would have loved to have seen a few Ladybird book illustrations in there too - my version of Snow White was Eric Winter's, not Walt Disney's. However, one of the strengths of this section of the exhibition was that the dark and almost gothic side to our childhood tales was emphasised instead of the ubiquitous cartoon versions.

And like all good fairytales and stories the exhibition took a turn to even darker things...the second section of the exhibition was devoted to personal mythologies. Rather than taking an obvious line and showing some William Blake drawings, the MA curators had chosen Twentieth century prints and contemporary video works. Oskar Kokoschka prints waited in atmospheric subdued lighting alongside the dark curtained doorways to Tracey Emin and Gillian Wearing videos.

Tracey Emin's film Why I didn't become a dancer brought up memories of Hans Christian Andersen's The Red Shoes very strongly - this piece from 1995 is so much more than just Tracey from Margate telling us about her crap childhood as if she was on television with Jeremy Kyle. Unlike the fairytale Emin has built a successful career on her lack of vanity and a strong personal mythology which finds itself deeply rooted in our celebrity culture - Tracey as Cinderella.

Part of that same conversation is Gillian Wearing's Confessions which really does tread the same ground as Jeremy Kyle and Jerry Springer but with ridiculous disguises that remind one of the Channel 4 comedy show Bo' Selecta. The interesting thing about all these television resonances is that Wearing's piece - fully titled Confess all on video. Don't worry, you will be in disguise. Intrigued? Call Gillian dates from 1994 so this is a true case of life (or television) reflecting art.Kokoschka, Emin and Wearing are also part of the same conversation that Sartre championed in Being and Nothingness and that politicians, actors, pop stars and even shop assistants all buy into; that our past is what we make it and truth doesn't have to feature in that. The exhibition makes a strong case for our past as story, our lives as story and art to make sense of our lives and ourselves. Intriguingly all the curators of Once Upon a Time... are women and so often, certainly in Western tradition, women were the storytellers - Mother Goose and the Wise Woman. This exhibition scratches the surface of a fascinating discussion which certainly continued for me as I went home to get out my copy of Marina Warner's From the Beast to the Blonde: On Fairy Tales and Their Tellers and Angela Carter's The Bloody Chamber a wet afternoon in a gallery started out with me enjoying childhood memories and ended with dark thoughts about blood and beasts, just like all the best afternoons.

The Job of Writing Poetry

2009-08-20T09:48:00.008+01:00

I'm mother to twin boys, I do a bit of teaching at a local university in the English department and this coming academic year the Art department too. I'm hoping to start studying for a PhD soon on the links between art and poetry. I also do a bit of freelance writing for magazines and I write poetry, some of which gets published.

In short, I'm a busy person, especially if you factor in my Twitter/Facebook/b3ta habit, reading approximately one novel a week, cooking and gardening too.

I find that I do most of my writing - the poetry and the occasional short story/half written novel - during the university vacations when I have no other demands upon my time except family ones. My children know that during the school holidays they can stay up a little later and they can laze around in bed until 10am if they fancy because I'll be writing until about lunchtime and then the afternoon and evenings are theirs.

So all of this means that writing poetry in particular tends to be done in these splurges and because of all the rest of the stuff I need to get done I have to be organised about redrafting and submitting work otherwise it would all simply sit in the virtual dusty drawer of my Documents folder on my laptop. How I organise this may be of some help to you...if you're not organised properly for writing you're not treating it like the job that it is!
Here's how I do it....

First Drafts and 'The Muse'

I don't believe in this notion of 'The Muse' and waiting for it to strike, some people (even some published writers) that I know do go along with the idea that they'll only write poetry when they get the feeling that it's about to strike. They're the lucky ones - that doesn't happen for me and if it did I have a feeling my Muse would strike at 3.00am and I hate having a broken night's sleep.
I try to write to a routine. I aim at sitting down every day Monday to Friday from about 9.00am until at least lunchtime and writing/editing/submitting - doing all the stuff that's involved in my job - the job of being a writer/academic/mother/dogsbody! Some days and some weeks I write every day, other times I might spend a week or two sorting out lecture plans, magazine submissions, job applications or even - and this is a guilty secret - watching YouTube and reading junk online - I feel bad about those days even though those are the times when my subconscious is probably working really hard at a new poem....okay, I don't really believe that either, but hey, I'm human.

I also go out and write because then I don't get distracted by the internet, newspapers, the internet, gardening, the internet, cats and the internet. Cafes work best for me because I can watch the world go by wrapped up in my cocoon of caffeine and there's something very special about writing longhand in a nice notebook.

So, what do I do once I've got all these First Drafts?

The Redrafting Filing System

Everything I write gets typed up either straight into Word, or more recently I've been using Evernote - it's free and you can save your work both on a laptop/pc and online and synchronise the two together to keep it all up to date. It also takes screen clippings from sites so you can keep all your research together too.
I then put this first draft into a folder marked redraft for two months time e.g. REDRAFT OCTOBER 2009 - everything I write this month, August, will go into that folder and I won't look at it again until October. I always like to leave at least six weeks to two months before revisiting a piece because I will have almost forgotten it and that gives me some distance and I'm more able to be subjective about it - I won't feel bad about cutting out all of my 'darlings'.

I've redrafted the poem, what next?

Where to submit poetry

The best thing any writer can do before beginning to write, let alone submit work, is to READ. If you want to write poetry then read poetry - I read somewhere that there are huge numbers of people writing poetry in the UK and the rest of the world but there aren't huge numbers of people reading poetry...strange...That's a bit like a rock band saying they never listened to music.
Once you're reading lots of poetry you'll have some idea of where you'd like your work to end up that's because you'll want to know more about your favourite poet and you'll Google them or find them on Poem Hunter (I'm on there!) and soon discover which magazines published their work. In addition to that you can look at the excellent lists at the Poetry Library's site or sign up to a writers' newsletter like Writer's Relief which will send you a list of calls for submission every month along with hints and tips for writers.

These are just a few ways you can find out where to place your work. Don't forget that it is easy to get work published online with plenty of obscure websites - anyone can set up a site and put whatever they like on there, that's the beauty of the internet - but if you want to build a good reputation for yourself and to be taken seriously as a professional then you have to keep to the professional sites. That's not to say that a new online poetry magazine isn't worth submitting to, but just make sure that it's the sort of place you'll be proud to be a part of in the future.
Don't ever pay to have your work read - if it's good enough for a reputable magazine to accept then they will not charge you a reading fee. Most magazines sadly won't be able to pay you for your submission - if you want to make money from writing you'd be far better off going into journalism. Magazines will often send you a free copy of the edition in which you've appeared. The only time you're likely to spend more than just the postage fee is if you're entering a competition - that's how most poetry competitions are run - the winner(s) get a cash prize or published copies of their work.

You've selected some likely magazines, what now?

First of all read the submission guidelines - you won't even make it to the long list if you've formatted your work incorrectly, emailed it as an attachment when they've asked for work to be in the body, sent it to the wrong person, sent free verse to a sonnet magazine and so on.
Secondly read the submission guidelines again and make sure you've complied with all their demands - this is very important.
Then write your covering letter - make it simple and to the point, remember to be polite because good manners cost nothing and you never know when you might meet this person in the flesh at a literary festival, book launch, writers' workshop or even in the pub.
If you're sending something via snailmail then make sure you include a stamped self-addressed envelope so they can either return your work, send you a rejection letter or even an acceptance letter! Remember though that you'll probably send out at least ten to twenty submissions for every single acceptance, if you're lucky.

How to keep track of all your submissions

This is the bit that I really wanted to write about - the whole reason for this post! Most poetry magazines accept and encourage simultaneous submissions - this is where you have a poem that you send to four or five magazines at the same time. If one magazine accepts it you then contact the others and ask for it to be withdrawn from you submission explaining why. Magazines do not encourage multiple submissions - this is where you send one or more poems every week without fail - that's the work of a stalker not a poet. Bundle up your submissions and send one containing up to five or six poems (depending on the magazine guidelines) and if they are all rejected or accepted you still wait a reasonable amount of time before submitting again - this is also usually mentioned in the magazine guidelines.

Once I've received a rejection or acceptance from a magazine I do two things: first I re-read the rejected poems and see if I think it needs rewriting, tightening up or 'rested' (in the dustbin), secondly, if I think it's still a piece that works, I get it straight out to another magazine.
I use an Excel spreadsheet for listing all my poetry ready for submission and all the magazines where they've been submitted.
Each poem submitted gets a date - month and year when it was sent off and where, once I get a reply the date is either changed to red - rejection, or moved onto another spreadsheet. I keep a separate spreadsheet for all the successful pieces as once they've been published they can't be sent off to another magazine generally. The screenshot above is for my current poems awaiting acceptance - I've taken out the titles of both poems and journals. I also put in a hyperlink from Excel straight to the journal website and also to the document folder where the poem is saved.

This works for me and gives me something practical to do once I receive a rejection. Of course I spend a bit of time moaning about it and feeling down but if you want to be in print you have to be like a cowboy - grow a thick skin - it comes in handy for all those times you have to get back up on the horse!

Developing confidence as a writer

2009-08-19T12:36:00.005+01:00

I've been writing professionally for about three and a half years now and it's only very, very recently that I've developed confidence in my writing to believe what we're all told - that editors turn your writing down sometimes not because it's necessarily bad but because sometimes it's just not what they're looking for.

Writing for Magazines

I've done a bit of this - I had a regular column in a national magazine for three years and because I found it fairly easy to write I didn't always see any value in it. I truly believed that if something is worth doing it should be hard to do it well.
That's simply not true.
Some things are easier for me because I'm good at them - as writers we should print this out and pin it up somewhere!

That said, just because you're good at something it doesn't mean you shouldn't practise it and try to get even better!

Today I'm taking the athlete Usain Bolt as a case in point - he was the fastest man in the world last month yet last week yet he went out and beat his own record. I'm sure if that had been me I would have simply dined out on the first record...well, for at least a few months.

As everyone knows - you're only as good at the last one. Bolt knows that he's only as good as that last record, and what a record! Writers, poets, musicians, artists, we're all only as good as our last piece so we owe it to ourselves to keep writing, keep practising and keep getting better.

How do you get better?

Keep reading, keep writing and keep learning with an open mind, it's as simple as that. The more good quality writing your read the more you'll absorb and then begin to produce good writing yourself. A good writer is always a reader first.

Okay so preaching over for a while.

The reason I think I've become more confident is because I believe in what I've written. I believe it's clear, concise and sounds like me, it's not me trying to fit with some style I think I should be following. I've read a few blogs recently that advise just this - write in the style that suits you - if you're a crime writer or a romance writer, write that! That's not to say you shouldn't try your hand at expanding your repertoire and improving your writing but don't turn your back on what you find easy just because you think it should be difficult.

In writing this blog post I've also realised something for myself....I don't like the standard bookmarks feature in Firefox (which I use)and I need to find something easy to use to collect up all those excellent blogs that I've read so I can share them with a wider audience. There is a wealth of knowledge out there and I'm losing a good deal of it by not cataloguing it properly.

Hmm...something for me to work on next.

Twitter and other useful stuff

2009-08-18T13:41:00.007+01:00

I know, I know, I'm really bad at keeping this up to date and I just end up making myself feel even more guilty (good Catholic Guilt) every time I read some of the amazing blogs that are out there.

Anyway, recently I've become rather fond of Twitter. First of all I did the whole fan thing and followed Stephen Fry - you have to really, it's a given in the UK that he's a National Treasure and all that, sort of on a par with the Queen Mother (God rest her soul, Knees up Mother Brown, Blitz Spirit and all that). Then I began to nose around a bit and see who else I should follow...

blah, blah, blah
more about my entry into Twitterland
blah, blah, blah

Hugh Laurie, blah, blah, blah

Mrs Stephen Fry, blah, blah, blah

Then...

I began to follow writers, publishers and agents and now...just like every good advert, I'm finding many different interesting things all over the place that I'm using regularly to write with - prompts and so on and also lists of magazines looking for submissions.

I realise that this is the potted version and those of you looking for some real meat to this post will be rather disappointed so far...I know, I need to do better with posting blog entries - I'll try.

Meanwhile, I'll share with you a couple of things that I now use regularly because they help me to plan and to write.

The first thing is Free Mind which is an open source piece of software for Mind Mapping - if you've never given MM a go, do try it - especially if you're at all creative and tend to think in clusters or images.
I've been working on a few Fine Art lectures I've got to give next academic year and Mind Mapping them is the ideal way for me to throw down as many ideas as I can and then begin to link them and organise them effectively.
I've also used MM to plot and develop short stories, it's also great for developing a character. It's easy to list lots of attributes or possible events without tying yourself down to a list of and then, and then.
How to do Mind Mapping is explained nicely here at Lite Mind.
Try it!

Now, the second bit of useful stuff I've discovered on Twitter is an evil way of making you write more which is always an excellent thing to do but as most writers are terrible procrastinators (as I'm writing this I'm avoiding writing an article I've been asked to do) being forced to write is a Good Thing. So, I found this web page called Dr. Wicked's Writing Lab - Write or Die.
Well obviously you don't actually die if you don't write - at least, not on this site - but it is a fiendish way of making you get words down.

And that's what writing and being a writer is all about - getting words down. No one said anything about Great Words - they come in amongst all the rubbish. Writing is a bit like mining for gold I find - lots and lots of spoil comes out and in amongst that you might find something nice and shiny and worth holding on to...sometimes.

Right, that's enough for today.

I'll try to be better about keeping this up...maybe I need to make it more a part of my procrastination.....

My First Poetry Review

2009-06-15T11:26:00.006+01:00

I've been talking about including reviews and other such stuff for some time to friends and in my continual dialogue that goes on in my head between me and myself and I - that makes it a trilogue I suppose. Anyway, I'm digressing, the point is I'm finally getting around to doing a review of some poetry I read recently by Maria McCarthy, also known as Medway Maria. She comes with a great poetry pedigree as she studied under both Sarah Wardle and Susan Wicks.

I've known Maria for a few years now and have had the great pleasure of reading some of her short stories. Maria's work tends to be concerned with Irish immigrant family life - much of her work is based upon memoir but also in the grand tradition of Irish writers her work is often playful, truthful, heartbreaking fiction. This time, however, I'm looking at one of her poems, 'Story'.

Story by Maria McCarthy
I know this story.
It’s one of nuns and Christian brothers;
of drawing water from the well; of delivering
a sister when the midwife couldn’t come;
of finding a man in the barn, hanging;
of sailing to England with one suitcase,
bearing two of everything, of sending money home;
of working like a navvy; of cinemas
and dancehalls and clinging to your own;
of meeting my father at a dance
above the Gas Showrooms; of the wedding
in the blue suit, three months gone,
on a day you had the flu, of letting you go
home while he stayed and drank; of his mother
who said he didn’t have to marry you;
of sharing her house till she complained
about a mark made by the baby’s arm
on the bedroom wallpaper; of going homeless,
in a hostel, where the men could only visit;
of how he did nothing to find you somewhere to live;
of travelling to Ireland with my brother;
of the man who would have taken you on,
baby and all, married or not, and of the other man
in England, who you knew before my father,
who took you to a show, Chu Chin Chow on ice,
but was too nice, too old, too caring,
who came walking his dog past your house
every day until he died, the house that the council
gave you once you had five, where my father
led you a hell of a life with the drink and the babies
and the miscarriage when the hospital doctor
accused you of doing it yourself;
of hiding from the rent man; of holding
your head up in the street with us all turned
out nicely, so the neighbours wouldn’t know;
of how you did it for us, stayed with a man
who was home when the pubs were shut,
or when the horses had run the wrong way.
I know this story. It’s yours, not mine.
I’ve stopped listening.

This poem is just like the suitcases that the woman takes with her to England, yet instead of holding ‘two of everything’ it’s stuffed full of her life, her story. That’s what this poem is about – one woman’s story that is rolled out again and again in all its gritty misery only to fall upon the deaf ears of her own daughter who’s heard it all before. We’ve all heard the stories from our own parents or grandparents about how we don’t know we’re born, we didn’t have to walk twenty miles to school like they did in a blizzard without shoes or have a night out on five shillings and sixpence (a night out? That fortune would last us all year!). This poem is for all the daughters and granddaughters who have listened to their mothers and grandmothers trotting out their tales of woe.

It would have been a cheap and easy shot for Maria McCarthy to just poetically roll her eyes and ignore the stories of a hard life. Likewise there are plenty of nasty histories that just become Misery Memoir and set the reader up as the voyeur. She’s avoided this by giving us line after line of clipped story – just what you’d hear at a family party; have you heard about the time when.... We’re transported at first to a world that’s almost Biblical in its simplicity – water drawn from a well, populated by nuns, Christian brothers, missing midwives and hanged men. Already in the first five lines there’s enough plot for a novel.

As the poem unfolds we hear the common tale of a woman trapped in a marriage out of religious duty, living the hard life of an immigrant and it’s this that makes this poem more than just a story of one Irish woman’s life, it’s the story repeated all across the world whether the religion is Roman Catholicism or Islam; arrive with one suitcase, work hard, send money home and cling to your own.

As I was reading ‘Story’ I was reminded of the Galway poet, Rita Ann Higgins and her wonderful poem, ‘Some People’ which deals with similar territory of poverty, Catholicism, motherhood and hiding from a rent man.

The thing that made me come back to this poem again and again though was the bitter last line - 'I've stopped listening' it makes me want to go back to the beginning and pick through all the stories there - what was it that made the daughter turn away from the mother? Was it the promise of a better life with the man who would have taken her on baby and all? Or was it the constant repetition of all the stories, all the stories that are the mother's, not the daughter's - a distancing, a marking out of territory, of independence - you've told your story, you've lived your life, now let me live mine.

And I for one want to keep hearing the stories of these Irish women.

A week in North Wales

2009-06-08T12:41:00.004+01:00

Just back from a lovely week in North Wales. We went to Llanberis - the Mecca of mountain biking, hiking and rock climbing. We spent a day at Coed Y Brenin mountain biking - I did the Cyflym Coch route and then spent a couple of hours with my feet up lazing in the grass reading Popco by Scarlett Thomas while P went off on another two trails. I got the best deal, undoubtedly.

We also spent a day hiking up Snowdon - we took the Pyg Trail up and the Miners Trail down - in hindsight this was a mistake and next time I'd go up Miners and down Pyg - Miners is a far gentler pathway up and Pyg is apparently the hardest. The strangest thing of all was that my hands began to swell up on the ascent and didn't finally return to normal until late in the day well after we'd got back to town. A quick Google search tells me just what I'd suspected - the warm weather combined with walking and swinging my arms while wearing a heavy back pack all combined to stop the blood flow from my hands travelling back to my heart. Added to which I was drinking plenty of water which would have diluted the electrolytes in my blood.
Science!

The best bit of the holiday was without doubt the climbing of Flying Buttress which is a Very Difficult (or VDiff) route on the Dinas Cromlech crag in the Llanberis Pass. It was my first outdoor climb of the year and P's first ever outdoor climb and his first multi-pitch too. The sun was shining, the air was warm and the climb was wonderfully easy, apart from the final pitch with the nasty polished chimney which resulted in me making rather a lot of odd noises and swearing quite a bit too. The worst bit of the entire day was the walk/scramble up to the crag and back again. I hate scrambling. I know you're supposed to stay upright and walk but I always seem to end up sliding down on my backside and moving very, very slowly. Just stick a rope on me and let me abseil down!

Anyway, back now and onto more mundane things - exams to mark and poetry to submit, read, write and review.

I promise to write a long review of a wonderful poem written by Maria McCarthy (Medway Maria) which is long overdue.

I also promise to write about the poetry collections I've been reading and buying lately.

Later.

Posting and waiting for feedback

2009-05-06T18:49:00.003+01:00

I've just posted a sonnet I wrote a little while ago on a poetry workshop website. I'm waiting for feedback and almost biting my nails down to the knuckle...well, I would if I bit my nails, but you get the idea.
It's ridiculous because I've had poetry published, I've had articles published - I had a regular column in a magazine for goodness sake! Yet still I'm worried about how this piece will fare in amongst potentially hostile waters....and it's quite a challenging piece as it includes text speak and references to Facebook, the Poetry World, if there is such a place, may not like that.

That's tough.

I like the poem and I think it's got potential. When it gets published somewhere I'll post it here. Most recently I had a poem called India, March 1992 published on Angelic Dynamo. The only problem is that there are a couple of rogue commas in there and every time I see it they make me cringe!

I guess that's always a problem for writers - tinkering.

On having a crisis of faith

2009-03-30T10:29:00.004+01:00

I’m currently having a creative crisis of faith – not any religious faith you understand, although I suppose that would be rather useful for me right now – faith in my writing and its (my?) abilities. It’s the nature of writing to be rejected at every turn until at last it finds some receptacle – be that a journal, magazine, publisher, or wastepaper bin. I know that writers have to be thick skinned, believe in their work, keep refining their writing, keep reading, keep networking and all those other worthy pursuits. I realise that the readership for new poetry is tiny and by my reading more and publicising more other new writers I’ll increase my own slice of the literary pie – or at the very least there’ll be a few more crumbs to go around.

It’s hard work keeping the faith and getting out there, it just is. I feel like a petulant child – I want to be taken notice of but equally if someone did make a big deal about my work I’d be suspicious mainly because I’m not sure I’ve paid my dues or have enough knowledge yet. I think that’s the biggest obstacle for any new writer – looking at what’s gone before and realising that you probably can’t match up to most of it and you probably never will. It’s the Socratic idea of knowing that you know nothing – how bloody depressing.

Notting Hill? Nah...more like William Hill

2009-03-25T10:31:00.000Z

I had a Notting Hill moment just now – I’ve come into work to catch up on paperwork and concentrate my mind. So I’d just got off the bus, stopped in Starbucks to pick up my usual (grande skinny wet almond latte as you asked), turned on my iPod (a gift of course – I wouldn’t spend that sort of money on a label myself...but I’d ask for one for Christmas...), walked out listening to Hard-Fi – ‘Living for the weekend’ and on into the market square. The sun was shining and as I glanced over at one of the stalls the guy manning it caught my eye and he smiled at me – a big full on Hollywood smile as I’m sipping my fancy American coffee and listening to British indie music...I was Julia Roberts for ten seconds. The music became the soundtrack to my filmic life. A half smile played on my lips for the remainder of my stroll to work – even as I passed an al fresco art class where (just like the best cinema traditions) the teacher was a chap I’d been an undergrad fine art student with and his class were sketching statues that not only I’d seen erected but I even know the artist personally.
I am a camera.

And I drink waaaay too much coffee.

Books - or "How well read am I?"

2009-03-23T09:58:00.002Z

I love the opportunity to show off and I don't believe I'm that different from most people, so I found this list of books that you tick off to show just how well read you are. I suppose it's a form of bragging but geek bragging. Sort of similar to seeing other parents at the school gate or on the rugby pitch in September, first day of term and asking where they went on holiday during the summer. Normally my answer is embellished with Enid Blyton-esque homespun goodness with imagined Kath Kidson accessories - never would I reply that we'd stayed at home all summer because we couldn't afford to go anywhere, good grief no! I'm far too concerned with others opinions of me, yet sufficiently Catholic enough to abhor total deception, and sufficently of the Hyacinth Bucket school of snobbery to imply I'm better than in reality I am. In short, I'm all about spin.
So in keeping with making me look good (and feel free to copy the list and stick it in your own blog with your own reading history) here's this list.

You are supposed to:

Look at the list and:

1) Bold those you have read.

2) Italicise those you intend to read.

3) [Bracket] the books you LOVE.

4) Reprint this list on your own blog.

1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen

2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien

3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte (I want to read Wide Sargasso Sea so I think I ought to read this first)

4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling

5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee

6 The Bible (not the entire thing but I would say undoubtedly that it's the most important work of literature in the history of man and therefore everyone should read at least parts of it)

7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte (this has been sitting on a shelf with the first chapter read and reread over the years, really must finish it)

8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell

9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman

10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens

11 [Little Women] - Louisa M Alcott

12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy

13 Catch-22 - Joseph Heller

14 Complete Works of Shakespeare (okay, not the Complete Works, but more than enough to list them here singly)

15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier

16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien

17 [Birdsong] - Sebastian Faulks

18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger

19 The Time Traveller’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger

20 Middlemarch - George Eliot (I did read Mill on the Floss and remain cross with Maggie Tulliver twenty years on)

21 [Gone With The Wind] - Margaret Mitchell

22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald

23 Bleak House - Charles Dickens

24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy

25 The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams

26 Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh

27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky

28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck

29 Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll

30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame

31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy

32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens

33 [Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis]

34 Emma - Jane Austen

35 Persuasion - Jane Austen (but I could add in Northanger Abbey which was excellent)

36 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis

37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini

38 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres

39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden

40 Winnie-the-Pooh - AA Milne

41 Animal Farm - George Orwell

42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown

43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins

46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery

47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy

48 The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood (felt a bit cheated by The Blind Assassin but I did enjoy the film of this book)

49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding

50 [Atonement - Ian McEwan]

51High Fidelity - Nick Hornby

52 Dune - Frank Herbert

53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons

54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen

55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth

56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon

57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens

58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley

59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon

60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez (recently read My Melancholy Whores and loved it so I want to read this one next)

61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck (read The Pearl and that put me off Steinbeck but I know this is a classic…maybe I should read it)

62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov

63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt

64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold

65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas

66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac

67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy

68 Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding

69 Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie (read The Enchantress of Florence and adore it so must read this too)

70 Moby-Dick - Herman Melville

71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens

72 Dracula - Bram Stoker

73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett

74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson

75 Ulysses - James Joyce (Dubliners is sitting staring at me from the To Read shelf)

76 The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath

77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome

78 Germinal - Emile Zola

79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray

80 Possession - A. S. Byatt (another one staring at me from the To Read shelf)

81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens

82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell

83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker

84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro

85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert (halfway through and guess where it now sits with its metaphorical arms folded with disapproval)

86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry

87 Charlotte’s Web - EB White

88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom

89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

90 [The Faraway Tree Collection] - Enid Blyton

91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad (and another on the shelf)

92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery

93 [The Wasp Factory] - Iain Banks

94 Watership Down - Richard Adams

95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole

96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute

97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas

98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare

99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl

100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo (on the shelf too…)

Pasted from <http://pinksunshine.wordpress.com/2008/07/29/how-well-read-am-i/>

Snow Day

2009-02-02T18:00:00.003Z

The most snow we've had in 18 years apparently. The south east of England is currently being hit by snow - the trains were cancelled, buses stopped in London and the major, Boris Johnson cancelled the congestion charge for the day.
My kids stayed home and we had a snow day - I had to cancel my class this afternoon because the weather was closing in again, in fact it's snowing now as I write this. We went walking with P in the woods and it looked like Narnia. I love the way the entire countryside becomes silent when it snows as if it's taking a pause, waiting for something to happen.
That's how today has felt - like a pause in between the weekend and the week proper starting. Certainly my week now feels fractured - I didn't teach my class, a meal we had planned with friends in London tomorrow night looks very doubtful, my yoga class was cancelled and my pilates class tomorrow is not looking good.

With a mention of both yoga and pilates I do realise that sounds as if I've somehow become a WAG (a footballers' Wives And Girlfriends - you know the type - they look very groomed and have perfect figures, perma-tan, plenty of bling but often no brain) but after a mountain bike accident back in June 2008 and a couple of climbing falls in September 2008 my back needs some work.

This post feels sort of aimless, it's wandering about and not really doing anything of use.

Rather like me today. I'm taking my silent pause and waiting for real life to happen tomorrow.

Are you busy?

2009-01-28T16:02:00.003Z

I'm sitting surrounded by books, notes, course handbooks, assignments and other bits and pieces all to do with work. My laptop is perched on my lap (of course) and shares the space with a sleeping cat.
How much work have I done today?
Very little.
I keep telling myself that if I had a proper office or study I'd get loads of work done - I'd be able to leave things out and come back to them, I'd be able to shut the door on it all and go back during the early hours if I wanted.
I think I'd be just the same as I am now - avoiding work.

The really strange thing is that I love my job - it's the best job in the world. I get to have interesting conversations about literature or art every week. I get to read and study things that I would probably just skim over because now I have to know about them in order to teach them. And on top of all that I even get paid.
So why don't I just get down to it and work?

I enjoy the procrastination of reading blogs, of checking Facebook, of updating Twitter, of laughing at the latest posts on b3ta.

Take the internet away from me and my productivity would rocket. I'd also probably read more too.

The answer is clear.

But I don't want to change.

Indepence and getting out there

2009-01-21T10:42:00.003Z

I bought some books online last night - buying books is a huge weakness of mine. Where most people have a vice like eating too much chocolate (I have that too), or smoking, or drinking, I can't walk past a bookshop without just popping in and leaving with two or three potential hours of escape.

These books were slightly different though, they weren't my usual fare of novels but rather these were poetry books. Not well known anthologies containing Elliot, Keats, Byron and Hughes but contemporary poetry written by poets who have to fund their writing through working in bars, bookshops, the Post Office, teaching. In fact all the 'normal' jobs that the rest of the population does. Yet these few souls also have the drive, the necessity of spirit to make time to write. The same could be said of many artists - they pull pints or teach sullen teenagers just so they have the money to create their real work.

And I'm looking at a card I bought in a bookshop a couple of months ago, it has a quote from Goethe printed upon it,

"Whatever you can do,
Or dream you can,
BEGIN IT!
Boldness has genius,
Power and magic in it."

So if you're one of those people who has always dreamt of writing a novel or climbing Everest, begin it now. Make plans now.

And if you want poetry published then start to read what's already out there, what's being written now, today by your postman or your neighbour. A good place to start is at either of these websites -

Blackheath Books - they're also on MySpace
and
Fortune Teller Press

That all feels like an advert or a motivational speech! But I suppose I'm feeling very fired up by all of this at the moment - I think it's because it's the beginning of the year - new year's resolutions and all that, and because the sun is shining and I always feel like achieving something when the weather is good.

Okay, sermon over.

2009-01-05T17:45:00.005Z

ST. AGNES’ Eve—Ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;
The hare limp’d trembling through the frozen grass,
And silent was the flock in woolly fold:
Numb were the Beadsman’s fingers, while he told
His rosary, and while his frosted breath,
Like pious incense from a censer old,
Seem’d taking flight for heaven, without a death....

These are the opening lines to Keats' poem, 'The Eve of St.Agnes', published in 1820. It's one of my favourite Romantic poems but it's particularly fitting at the moment because the Eve of St.Agnes is on the 20th of January, so only a couple of weeks away. These lines completely sum up how cold and bleak it is right now with snow on the ground and that grinding bitter chill that the wind has in January. Snow always brings a silence and draws in the world as sound no longer carries over the soft white blanket.

I was looking for a photograph which exists in my head - a snow covered field with a broken down fence picked out in black charcoal lines against the white canvas of the sky and to the left in the distance stands a solitary hare, the only sign of life in a wintry scene.

Very poetic.

However, no one appears to have taken this photograph or painted this image yet, so after a brief search on DeviantArt I found this rather beautiful one by Polaroid Dragon, it's called Dying Daylight.

And now after thinking about the cold I'm off out to a yoga class.

The Prose Poem

2008-11-30T12:06:00.004Z

As promised, here's the link to the prose poem that I had accepted by Shadow Train.

The Seahorse

It's a prose poem which many of you may be unfamiliar with. Poets.org explain a little about prose poetry but I guess the simplest way is for you to read some prose poems.
Largely speaking they are published in a rectangular form - yes, I know, explaining how they look on the page seems a little strange, but it does mark them out as different from normal poetry. There are no hanging line breaks as you see in traditional poetry but in common with other forms of poetry they use rhythm, imagery, metaphor and symbolism.

I suppose I'd say that for any poem to have real resonance and therefore be any good in my opinion, it should stay with you - something about it should continue to haunt you for a while. Recently I bought a copy of Poems for the Retired Nihilist, Volume Two and one poem in particular has continued to sit in the corner of my mind rather like a fat angry moggy waiting for its lunch and watching my every move just in case I should drop a morsel of food which it can pounce on. The poem is Turquoise and it was written by Mark Hartenbach, I can't find it online but he has a blog full of his work - please go and look at it because it's not about flowers or fluffy animals but because it's about living now and that's the most that any poem can do - tell us what it's like to live now, here and this way.

And being accepted

2008-11-19T15:08:00.003Z

Yesterday I wrote about having work rejected and how hard I often find it to actually do the work to start with.

Last night I received some bad news - the magazine that I normally write for has decided to have a shake up in its normal columnists and as I've been with them with the same format for three years it's time for me to go. Bad news for me but not really unexpected news - many magazines would have had me out after six months or a year at the most. So I've been very lucky and had a great opportunity to get my words out there to a fairly wide audience in the UK - you can even buy the magazine in WHSmiths and Tesco - it is a reasonably well known one. However as we all know, nothing lasts forever, not even the good things.

So that left me feeling even more rejected!

This morning I felt like crap but I knew I had to get back up on that literary horse and write the pages.

I'd also received an email late yesterday (the same time I got the email telling me my column was cancelled) rejecting some poetry of mine but telling me that perhaps another journal would be more suitable and giving me the name of the editor....

Climbing up into the saddle I emailed off the same four poems to the suggested publication.

An hour or so later I received a reply.

I can't say I wanted to open the reply - I didn't need to see yet another kind 'thanks but no thanks' message.

But I guess you already know what was there....

They want to use one of my poems in their next issue.

Now while it may not provide me with any money unlike the magazine job, it has got a certain cachet - the other contributors all appear to have been in print in very worthy publications and many have collections in print too.

And how do I fit into all this?

Well like just about any other writer I'm beginning to wonder when they'll discover that I'm a fraud and not really very good at this lark.

It has managed to kick start me into writing more poetry though and I can assure any concerned readers of this blog that I don't write terrible doggerel about animals.

But what do I write?

Once this poem is online with the magazine I'll post the link.

Meanwhile it's back to writing for me, now with the renewed expectation of possible acceptance!

Writing and being rejected

2008-11-18T13:57:00.005Z

Again it's been ages since I posted here - I've gone from being a regular blogger to a sometimes one and the only excuse I have is that I've been writing so much more elsewhere.

I've been trying to be very disciplined with myself and to follow the Stephen King advice of writing at least 1,000 to 2,000 words each day.

That worked for at least two weeks. I was very proud of myself.

My problem seems to be that life just gets in the way - kids to take to and from school and other places, parents who need dropping off at airports and hospital appointments, friends who have to be kept up with, animals needing vets, cupboards needing filling, wardrobes lacking shoes....

Try and keep writing through all of that!

But of course I do because that is what I do. It tends to be a bit haphazard and some days I get a few hundred words down and other days I don't. I do need to write more but haven't we all got things that we really need to get done?

I read on a website the other day about the idea of setting yourself a specific target within a particular time frame - nothing exactly earth-shattering in this, but it did resonate with me.

And it's no good whining on about not having as much in print as you'd like if you don't actually submit stuff to editors - no one knows you're there unless you tell them.

And what's the worst they can say?

Email is a fabulous invention - I can send off half a dozen poems and I never have to see or speak to anyone about it. When I receive my rejection emails I can weep silently into my coffee without anyone knowing the reason why.

At least they're sending out rejection emails now, I used to just be ignored so I guess I must be doing something right somewhere along the line.

And even including this particular image of writing says so much about my idea of Good Writing and the value I put upon it. It gives away my intentions and expectations for my own writing but most of all it shows how terribly romantic I am about writing.

The other day I was talking about Salman Rushdie's latest novel, The Enchantress of Florence and I was saying how much this was my type of book because it reminds me of my earliest reading memories. I remember being taken to the library in my village and chosing a large cloth bound book of fairy tales. There were three that I can recall, one orange, one red and one yellow. Each contained stories from Grimms, Andersen or the Arabian Nights I think. I know now that these were the famous colour collections from Andrew Lang and in fact I managed to find an image of one of them - I found this on an auction house's site, the book is valued at around £50-£75 and dates from the 1920s - it's the same sort that I read as a child in the late 70s. It seemed old and smelled old even back then but that added to the precious nature of it. Thick yellowing pages and the smell of old wood and mushrooms.

And that's what keeps me reading and writing - I love returning to the world that was contained within those colourful books.

A long break

2008-06-16T14:27:00.003+01:00

Two months since I posted last...that's appalling and I'm truly sorry if you've missed me!

I've just come back from a week in Scotland - taking the air at Ayr (sorry...).

Recently I wrote an article for a magazine all about the good work that the Forestry Commission is doing up in Scotland to help support rural businesses and rural pursuits. In the last year the Scottish economy was boosted by around £9,000,000 as a result of the huge interest in mountain biking. Scotland is now one of the world's best places to go both mountain and downhill biking outside of North America - in particular the 7Stanes - seven Forestry Commission owned sites in Dumfries and Galloway.

So last week I had a crack at the blue route at Glentrool and it was quite easy, I'm pleased to say! In fact I did it twice and didn't get off and walk at any of the downhill tricky bits. All of this sufficiently buoyed up my confidence for me to believe I could have a go at the red route at Ae, also known as the Ae Line.

Foolish woman.

It says it's 25km, but the day we did it a large chunk of the route was blocked off as they're harvesting the trees. So they'd constructed an extra route in order to keep everyone 'entertained'. The first bit of this new route was a half mile hike up a wooded hillside.

Well, that's okay, you'd think...er....no. Hillside is perhaps a bit of an understatement....a mountainside covered by a carpet of pine needles would perhaps be a better description. The hike was almost vertical and certainly impossible to ride a bike up! It was also very dark in there as the fir trees produced a Hobbitesque atmosphere - sound deadened and only a weak yellow light made its way through the arboreal gloom.

The next section was a little more opened out but still deep in the forest. Fortunately this section was flat...well, if you can call a path littered with ancient trees and stumps flat. I could barely get a single bike wheel between the fallen trees yet clearly other more experienced (mad) and braver (barking) souls had skipped and jumped on their bikes from bough to bough.

I walked and lifted my bike over the hazards. I'm sure the ride is now around 30km - the Forestry Commission recommends anything from 1.5 - 3 hours.

It took me nearer to 5 hours.

5 hours of terror, pain, exhaustion, shredded nerves, excitement, exhilaration, adrenaline, crying, screaming, laughing and a large bruise on my backside caused when I had my one and only stack.

My fall from grace....

I've described the route as being like a roller coaster on two wheels...in a quarry with a side order of Lord of the Rings and an Ewok village. Scary stuff.

So, was my fall a huge stack taken on a table-top jump? A huge drop off? A steep bermed curve perhaps?

No. I was in the woods on a gentle bit of single track....I'd just had a short walk as my nerve had deserted me and one side of the track was a rather steep drop down the mountainside. I got on my bike and ever so slowly tipped to the right - the same side as the steep drop. I fell in a heap with my head much lower than the rest of me, my legs still entangled in the bike frame. I narrowly avoided sliding all the way down the grassy drop....how? My backside decided to fix itself to a large and very hard rock. The bruising is particularly nasty and not fit for photographic reproduction.

Once I sort through my photographs I may post some of the more challenging parts of the holiday!

Weather

2008-04-15T17:24:00.004+01:00

Here we are, two weeks on since my last post. The sun is shining outside and I've done a little writing today - not much I grant you, but a little.

As a reward to myself for writing a bit I've been surfing the internet (well, Stumbling actually) and I came across this picture -

Black and white photographs are always atmospheric I think and the rain is always a little romantic, so this photo does it for me. I want to know what's around the bend. I imagine a young couple sheltering under an umbrella, both of them drenched to the skin. They are French and smoking gauloises. She is very beautiful and he handsome. They don't smile at each other, instead she stares off into the distance and he watches a woman walk past with a dog on a lead.

Why does my imagination produce French Art House Cinema?

Follow up....

2008-04-02T09:53:00.003+01:00

This morning I checked my emails...there was one from the Ebayer. The 'holes' in the skirt are apparently in the lining - so not visible. They would like to keep the skirt as it would be nice as a gift to a relative of theirs, but could I still give some discount?

Ten out of ten for sheer cheek.

My reply?

Sorry I can't afford to give discount.

It was £5 for goodness sake! And to then give that as a GIFT?!?! Okay, I understand and fully accept that not everyone has money to flash about on expensive gifts for friends and relatives, but to buy something on Ebay, decide you don't like it yourself, ask for discount and then suggest you'll give it as a gift! If that was supposed to tug at my heartstrings it failed miserably. And what's wrong with the Ebayer getting out a good old needle and thread and sewing up the holes? To my knowledge they were not there when the skirt left me - suspect they 'appeared' when the skirt was either worn or just tried on by the purchaser....

Can you guess that I don't like meanness?

Ebay - good or bad?

2008-04-01T19:36:00.003+01:00

Lately I have been trying out the wonders of selling stuff on Ebay. All seems rather good fun, I thought. Take a photo, write a few details down and then sit back and wait until someone purchases your old junk. They pay you, you send it off and everyone is happy. You end up a little richer and you have more room, hooray!

So far I've sold half a dozen things - nothing major : a couple of pairs of climbing shoes which I'd bought, worn a few times and discovered they just didn't suit me, a pair of china ornaments my mother had picked up at a boot fair and also a couple of items of clothing.

The clothing has proved to be the most difficult item of all to shift. Understandably people want to get a bargain on Ebay. They want to purchase designer names, or at the very least well known High Street names, at a fraction of the original price.

So I attempted to sell a beautiful silk skirt which had once had pride of place in my wardrobe. I'd only worn it once or twice, but these days it's just too big (hooray!). So I sold it for just over £5. A silk skirt. A very nice silk skirt from a very well known up-market shop. A classic silk skirt, wear anywhere, dress it up, wear to weddings, parties, etc. etc. You know the sort of thing. All for £5. Within 24 hours of the auction closing the buyer had contacted me - had I posted it yet? Erm…no actually I hadn't, but I would do the following day. The next day I was contacted again - this time the message was barely readable and it would seem that the buyer has some problems with the use of everyday English. Basically the gist of the message was that I had not put the correct postage on the parcel and the postman would not deliver the package to the buyer. Could I please sort this out. I had only just put the item into the post not more than two hours before, so this message was utter rubbish. Rather than reply with remarks along the line of, 'This is utter rubbish', I decided to wait until the weekend had passed (this was Friday) and contact the buyer to see if they'd received the parcel. On Monday they had indeed received it. Hooray. However, they now wanted a discount as the skirt had two holes in it. Erm…not when it left me it didn't.

So my reaction has been to suggest, politely, that they simply return the skirt.

I haven't heard anything since so I'm guessing that one of two things will happen - they'll send back the skirt because it was too late for an event they wanted it for (just my suspicion), or they'll keep it and I'll hear no more because they were just after an even better bargain and it was all a try on.

We shall see.

Oh boy, my life is exciting!

On Not Writing

2008-03-31T13:43:00.004+01:00

So it's about four hours since I posted that last blog entry. You know - the one where I swore I'd write 1000 words a day. So far I've looked at a couple of 'finished' stories I had - they're both over a year old. At the time I thought they were pretty good and even now I can see some value in them. But the thing is that neither story has any real purpose. A story should have a beginning, middle and an end. It should be about something. It should have a story! Both pieces of writing are incomplete. They are small sketches. Short set pieces about nothing. Perhaps this has been my failing all along - maybe I simply write things and miss the entire point.

I need to draw myself away from the abyss of self-pity here, it can be found alongside the sea of pretentiousness - a place I know well.

Maybe I would be better served by my old Question of the Week answers - perhaps some of them could simply be shaken up a little and turned into pieces of fiction....

And then again, I'm sitting here, in someone's flat, I'm looking at their trainers on the floor in front of me. Shoes conjure up the spirit of someone so much better than their clothes for some reason. Why are shoes thrown out of cars? How often do you see a single, solitary shoe lying by the side of a dual carriageway. There's a story in that.

On Writing

2008-03-31T10:26:00.003+01:00

How is it that I can see in other's writing where they have gone wrong? Yet in my own I am entirely blind? This isn't particularly the case for writing prose - that's a little simpler for me to see, but poetry…poetry is almost impossible. I can happily teach my students to magnify one moment, one important fact, keep it tight, tell the audience in detail about that one precious thing. Don't distill your ideas by having too many of them in one poem. All these little nuggets of advice, yet can I apply them for myself? No. I suspect I'm still too close to the poems I have written - I need to let them wallow for a little longer - to ripen off. But I want to start to submit poetry to various places, I need to get stuff out there…but I feel as if I have nothing right now, nothing at all.

The simple answer to that is to write more. Write anything. Just write. And perhaps it would be a good idea to go back through the things I have sitting in my virtual drawers - folders and documents within my laptop where old stories sit mouldering away. Revise, redraft, rewrite. Resubmit.

Work.

I could quite happily spend many, many hours reading advice on how to write, how to redraft, where to submit things. But how will this get me to write any more? Truly I am the queen of procrastination.

I think maybe I have to set myself a target of writing at least 1000 words a day. Every day. 1000 words of anything. Anything at all. Just write.

I'll see how that goes…expect regular updates as I shall count writing in my blog as part of that 1000 words.

Body ideals

2008-03-29T15:15:00.009Z

Removed these two images - one of an extremely underweight woman, the other overweight as the blog was getting labelled as Pornography - yes, the naked female form without any genitalia or breasts in view is still pornographic - who knows how Botticelli paintings online get labelled....

For the first time ever in my life I've finally reached a feeling of equilibrium with my body - most women fight against their desire to consume vast quantities of chocolate and pies as it will make them horribly fat and therefore unattractive - of course. I'm not even going to get into the arguments about female body image, fashion, size zero, blah, blah, blah. We all know, we've all read it and quite frankly I'm sick of it. The fact of the matter is I'm happier when I'm slim, fit and healthy because my clothes fit better, look better and I feel better and look better. Right now I've got a good balance between eating and exercising - in the last week I've done around 20 miles (mainly off road) on my bike, about half a kilometre swimming and climbed around 120m. None of these are particularly impressive but they mean that I don't have to worry too much about what I'm eating. If I want to have that bar of chocolate I can. I'm a great believer in all things in moderation and eating what I chose to eat, when I want to, is all part of it.

For my part I believe that being healthy is far, far more important than being skinny. I don't want to be skinny. I want to be fit. I like having enough muscle to be able to pull myself up a wall or cycle hard up a hill. If during the process of all that exercise I lose some flab then that's terrific. I don't want bits that wobble, but equally I don't want my bones showing. Women, and men for that matter, all look better when their skeletons are not visible but their musculature is visible a little. I'm not keen on over muscled bodies, male or female, but both climbers and cyclists tend to have little fat and great lean muscles. That's the look I'm after - lean but most importantly, functional. No point at all, to my mind, in having either skin and bone or bulked up pecs. I want to see people who look as though they could work outside all day lugging around things or throwing themselves up or off things. I believe that's the idea for the human frame. In fact so did the Greeks and Romans...when I was doing my A levels I spent many happy hours looking at ancient sculptures....

There is of course a huge pressure on us all to look a certain way. The pressure isn't entirely fuelled by the Media as I believe a good deal of the pressure is from within - because I like the athletic look I want to emulate that. Likewise if I thought that the likes of Jordan or other glamour models were beautiful - which in many ways they are - and more importantly, ideally achievable, then I'd be working towards looking like an Essex Babe. But that doesn't do it for me. Added to which the day to day pressures of just what's going on in our lives does have a bearing. I'm not afflicted by fame - despite my magazine column with accompanying photograph - so I don't know how I'd deal with the constant hounding that some stars seem to attract. Stress always has an adverse effect on some personality types leading to either the gaining or losing of large amounts of weight. Drug or drink habits don't help. I can't stop being reminded of a picture I saw the other day of Amy Winehouse - not the terrible spotty one, but the photos showing the change she's undergone in the last few years from beautiful young woman to a bag of bones. It would seem that there isn't much hope for her as she appears to be self-destructing right before our eyes.

I want to Google my memory!

2008-03-25T12:17:00.003Z

Have you ever had that? Somewhere in the filing cabinets and dusty boxes of your brain there is a name, the name of an artist, one artist in particular. I know he's a Russian artist - well, at least born in Russia, but living in exile. I think he's Russian…Anyway, I can remember one piece of his in particular - it was a series of photographs hung in frames along a corridor - the corridor was badly lit and the wallpaper reminded me of something you might find in the home of a serial killer, or at least an aging uncle - bad taste circa 1975. Under each photograph was a small write up which seemed to be a story explaining the photos - the people in the pictures, where they were taken, how their lives were unfolding at the point in which the image was captured. As you went along the corridor however, you began to have the slow realisation that the story was not a simple linear narrative - in fact it wasn't one story at all. The entire thing was just growing and growing and with each new piece of writing your mind was desperately trying to fit it in with what had gone before, until, in my case, I gave up and stopped reading.

Now I want to remember or at least find out, who that artist was, is. I know I've seen more of his work - in fact I've been a fan of his work for a number of years - and each time I try to recall his name down come the metaphorical shutters and I'm left grasping helplessly at the ether. I'm pretty sure it's not Christian Boltanski - although I am a fan of his work too, but when I think of him large rooms of woollen coats come to mind and not photographs.

I found it!

It occurred to me that the artist for whom I searched is an installation artist - so I searched that term on Google - as an aside, wouldn't it be good if we could google our own memories? Up came the Wikipedia page and on it a name was mentioned - not the one I wanted, but beginning with the same letter - K. And at that moment my brain fired up and the name KABAKOV suddenly lit up in neon.

If only it were so easy to access other bits of information.

Procrastination and other stories

2008-03-18T14:54:00.004Z

This evening I'm off with my friend Jo to see Madame Butterfly at the local theatre. We went to the opera for the first time together in Berlin - I think I may even have posted about our trip. So this is by way of keeping up some sort of cultural life for us both.

I'm not sure what I should wear...should I go in full evening garb? Velvet, lace and satin and add the pearls! Or (more likely) should I simply go smart casual? Hmm....I shall have to ponder this one alongside all the other stuff that is currently floating around my head.

Today I should have been working on my short story, working on an article (due for submission on Thursday) and possibly having a crack at getting ideas for some poetry down too. Oh, and putting my seminar notes up online for my students.

What have I done today?

Erm....

I've looked at YouTube. I've read parts of the BBC website. I've read most of the Metro website and added comments to some stories. I've also spent far, far too much time reading B3ta.com and looking at Facebook and adding photographs.

I know, I know - lazy and the queen of procrastination. I hang my head with shame.

I've also eaten the last chocolate chip cookie - you know the giant ones that supermarkets sell in bakers' paper bags? Five in a bag - I've eaten two of them this week. It's only Tuesday.

High Culture!

2008-03-17T15:02:00.002Z

I'm currently working on a new short story and thinking about how it could relate to or indeed actually become an exhibition piece - Art. I don't mean that my writing is so sublime that it has become elevated to Art (ha! ) but rather that the ideas I have would work well if placed in a gallery space.

Now I could go on about intertextuality , juxtapositions, and other such poncy terms….which I have to admit to loving just because they sound so elitist. However, it would be truer to say that I'm really drawn to the idea of telling a story to people with pictures - both created in their heads and also accompanying - possibly photographs, but not illustrations.

I'm rambling now about Work…

I do find myself so often in two camps - that of Artist and Academic - with all the juxtapositions and other such high falutin language. And also that of the ordinary 'punter' - despite having studied Fine Art for a number of years I can honestly say that sometimes I'll go into a museum or gallery and be totally at a loss, not able to understand or even grasp what it was the artist intended to communicate. Sometimes it does appear that contemporary art is the Emperor's New Clothes.

But….

I guess we could say that about poetry too - sometimes poems can be impenetrable until we return to them again and again and their meaning trickles through. In the same way some art work can be like that - one glance doesn't give the viewer the whole story.

On the subject of poetry…at the moment my favourite is a Ted Hughes poem - The Full Moon and Little Frieda - simply because it makes me think of cryptic crossword puzzles. I'm utterly useless at cryptic clues, but this poem seems to work in the same way - the hints are all there…it's devilishly clever.

Ted Hughes

Full Moon and Little Frieda

A cool small evening shrunk to a dog bark and the clank of a bucket --

And you listening.
A spider's web, tense for the dew's touch.
A pail lifted, still and brimming -- mirror
To tempt a first star to a tremor.

Cows are going home in the lane there, looping the hedges with their warm
wreaths of breath --
A dark river of blood, many boulders,
Balancing unspilled milk.

'Moon!' you cry suddenly, 'Moon! Moon!'

The moon has stepped back like an artist gazing amazed at a work
That points at him amazed.

-- Ted Hughes

Pasted from <http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/723.html>

Can also be found in Staying Alive p.231

Reading and Writing

2008-03-14T11:52:00.001Z

At the moment I'm reading a Bukowski short story collection (The Most Beautiful Woman in Town and other stories). The writing reminds me very much of Henry Miller in Tropic of Cancer - it's vigorous, bawdy, honest and funny. But as both books are memoirs (of sorts) and therefore about writing as much as what happens in their day to day lives, it's making me think about how much (or how little) I write. And read.
There are simply not enough hours in the day for me to plough through my waiting list of books to read. So much information and tales that I want to gorge myself on yet time slips through my hands like sand.

I need to work out some sort of system for myself whereby I read a book that I class as Literature and then something purely for pleasure. Sometimes these might overlap, but generally the Literature requires me to engage my brain whereas the stuff I look at purely for pleasure doesn't. I suppose it's a bit like food - Literature is a good meal at a top restaurant, pleasure books are the literary equivalent of MacDonalds and Burger King. That said, there are the rare occasions when I pick up what I consider to be a MacBook and it turns out to be a real feast.

Stephen King said somewhere that anyone wishing to pursue writing as a career should read for at least four hours every day. Some days I can probably do that - although most of that will be made up of reading on a pc screen - not what I think he meant at all. I certainly used to read for a good four hours each day and in all honesty it's not a huge amount out of 24 hours. But in our busy 21st century lives it's a massive hole. Audio books I suppose could help - at least for those of us for whom driving is unavoidable.

Hmm…I should be reading now and not writing aimless musings to myself.

A Quickie

2008-02-22T16:17:00.003Z

Just a quick one before I head off out into the gale that is currently battering the South East of the UK - okay, maybe it isn't a gale, but it's certainly very windy.

I've been thinking about changes and how our lives develop over time...the old thing of 'what if?' Not always a good thing to consider as you can so easily wind up feeling full of remorse and regret - If only I hadn't eaten that last doughnut! If only I'd walked instead of taken the bus!

Recently I've been teaching a bit and one of the problems some of my students have come up against is distance. Not how far they need to go to get to classes or to the pub, but how easy it is to put distance between them and their readers in their writing. I think often we keep the entire world at arms length - as children we are shielded by our parents (hopefully) from the worst that life has to offer and as parents we do the shielding. As childless adults we often protect ourselves from the outside world and avoid unpleasant experiences. Self-preservation and protection. Not a bad idea.

But what if it's stopping you from experiencing life?

What if your fear of the unknown because it might be nasty, is preventing you from having some amazing life-affirming experiences?

As I write this I'm reminded that I wrote about this subject months ago - clearly it's still something that bothers me - it's my personal bee in my blogging bonnet.

You know what? Switch this PC off and go out - go into your life, do something, anything but mostly something which scares you a little but will make you feel alive.

That's what I'm off to do.

Bibliophilia

2008-02-20T22:37:00.004Z

No real secret about me – my love of books. It’s something I share with many of my closest friends and in many ways marks out individuals with whom I’m more likely to spend time.

Descartes said “I think therefore I am” for me I would alter that to “I read therefore I think”. In my opinion reading is an active pursuit not a passive one – when I read I am the author’s audience. I am the screen upon which the author’s imagination can project its images – yet they are always my images. Have you ever seen a film of a book you’ve read? Then you’ll know what I mean – you watch and think to yourself, ‘But that’s not how it was’ or ‘That’s not how they looked’. Reading is an active pursuit because one needs to conjure up the images in ones head – the author suggests them but the reader makes them real, fleshes them out in their head. Readers are also active in piecing together the clues left in the plot – even when the story isn’t a mystery or crime novel. All stories are mysteries – what will happen next? How will things turn out? Will it end happily? As readers we are constantly watching for clues and signs – even when we think we’re not. I could go on at length now about semiotics – film semiotics in particular is a love of mine. It reminds me of crossword puzzles – something in truth I’m lousy at – but the semiotics of a film – the why and how, the grammar and language of film – that gives me a perverse kick. Likewise the critical examination of a good book is something I have come to appreciate over the years.

But it’s not just what’s contained between those cardboard leaves but the actual bookishness of the book itself – its form, its smell – the promise of far off lands, other times, other lives, new ideas, new adventures, new people – all those things and the weight, the smooth page under my fingertip, the small file filled up in my head once I’ve finished the story.

Is it any wonder I once made an art installation of a book repository – a storage room full of shelves and on each shelf row after row of neat piled shoe boxes – each with details printed on the outside of a book I had read, the main or most resonating character for me and the age at which I was when I read it. Small children’s shoe boxes for “What Katy Did Next”, “Ballet Shoes” and an entire shelf devoted to Enid Blyton. One thing I forgot until the piece was being shown was a dark corner where I could have shoved all the Jackie Colllins and Danielle Steele boxes so they would have been almost out of view, my shame nearly hidden…

And then today I came across this wonderful bookcase/staircase – if ever I have the opportunity to design a staircase I want one of these!

And you can see more details of the staircase here.

Anger.

2008-02-12T09:56:00.000Z

Anger is a strange emotion and one that thankfully, I don’t often experience. Right now though, I’m extremely angry.

I’ve had the last few days in a real oasis of calm and relaxation – good company and doing things I enjoy like getting out and about, talking and all the usual stuff that we do as our Leisure Pursuits. Today though my return to normality has been blighted constantly: first of all a horrendous traffic jam on the M25 which saw 10 mile tailbacks (it could have been 100 miles – it certainly felt like it) so my journey was not just doubled but actually near on quadrupled. The weather was beautiful and I was stuck in a car. Then I got home to a letter – a large bill actually for something unavoidable but equally something which I’ve been pushed into you might say – it’s too personal to go into but suffice to say after opening the letter I was ready to express my feelings in the strongest terms possible. Then I had to pick up my children from a match they were playing against another school. Firstly I had forgotten all about this until I reached their school and saw they were not there (yes I know - go on call me a bad mother!). I dashed to the other school and fortunately made it just in time to pick them up – the only redeeming feature of the day actually as I’m so often late.

Now this evening the kids wouldn’t go to bed, the house is so noisy I can hardly hear myself think (and that’s not just the kids, but that’s another story entirely) and to cap it all off the internet has gone down so I can’t even check my email.

All the calmness and serenity I picked up over the weekend is entirely ruined. I’m angry.

Unfortunately anger is one of those emotions which really harms the person experiencing it and also has a detrimental effect on those around you too. It’s an unpleasant emotion in every way. I don’t like being angry and I can’t see how it can be a healthy emotion to experience. Right now I could willingly go and kick or thump nine bells out of something (not someone – no matter how tempting that may be) and I can see that kick boxing would be a great sport to take up were one regularly troubled by anger.

Maybe when the bloody internet gets back up and running I’ll start to look for a kickboxing class I can take.

Writing

2008-02-04T22:08:00.000Z

Just a quick one as I really ought to be sleeping now as I'm teaching tomorrow, but I have that nagging itch to write.

No idea what to write about this evening....I've written a short piece of erotica-lite for b3ta today in reply to another poster's request. It was fun to put myself into another character's mindset for a short while and reminded me just why I enjoy writing fiction so much. I do find though that I tend to write in two ways or rather, two styles - one which is rather distant and quick, almost journalistic and therefore Tells the story rather than Showing it. The other style I take is my favourite but far harder to do - that of Showing the story - avoiding adverbs, using lots of active verbs and rich description, really allowing the reader to inhabit the scene for themselves. It's more demanding to write, requires a real crafting of a story and a high level of skill which is hard (for me) to maintain. Often Showing a story can result in a filmic piece of writing - my aim most of the time as I want to put the pictures right into the readers' heads. However, when writing something short or with a short deadline then I fall back onto the journalistic style - quick and snappy and hopefully throw in a more crafted line here and there.

I need to get back to writing. Proper writing.

Must start thinking about plots and ideas for writing.

Perhaps I'll even post some of them here....

The Book Thief

2008-01-30T16:11:00.001Z

I know, I know, it's been ages again since I wrote anything here. I have no excuse except that I've started this new job (I mentioned it in the previous post - it's temporary and only a few hours each week, but as it's an academic job it's demanding and I'm enjoying it).

I'm reading a great book at the moment - The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. It's a story set during World War Two in Germany. It tells the tale of an ordinary German family living in Munich who hide a young Jewish man. It's very much a cross between the Diary of Anne Frank and the film, The Pianist. It's also unusually told by Death. This morning I was sitting in a cafe reading a chapter over a coffee and it had me in tears with the following moving passage....

"On June 23 1942, there was a group of French Jews in a German prison, on Polish soil....

Please believe me when I tell you that I picked up each soul that day as if it were newly born. I even kissed a few weary poisoned cheeks. I listened to their last, gasping cries. Their French words. I watched their love-visions and freed them from their fear.

I took them all away, and if ever there was a time I needed distraction, this was it. In complete desolation, I looked at the world above. I watched the sky as it turned from silver to grey to the colour of rain. Even the clouds tried to look the other way.
Sometimes, I imagined how everything appeared above those clouds, knowing without question that the sun was blond, and the endless atmosphere was a giant blue eye.

They were French, they were Jews, and they were you."

Yes, I know it's very sentimental but personally I adore sentiment and strong feelings in writing - I want to feel the heartbreak of the characters or their passion, their fear, their joy - I'm not happy to simply read a clinical or cynical take on events. In fact in my opinion this writing isn't sentimental at all, but instead the huge events taking place are handled very gently without overblown baroque outpourings.

If only I could write that way myself...unfortunately I tend towards the baroque at all times in my writing.

Happy New Year

2008-01-10T15:53:00.000Z

January is a depressing month I think. It's the depths of winter and here in the South of England we get wind, rain and grey, grey skies. It's cold and damp. No snow, no startling blue skies just turgid miserable weather.

I feel unbelievably tired - I'm getting a good 7-8 hours each night, I'm exercising regularly (climbing at least twice or three times a week and even some cycling in there too) yet I feel that I could retire to bed for the next month or so. Hibernation looks inviting.

Despite all my feelings of sloth I'm actually going through a really good period in my life right now - new friendships and relationships have developed, a new job has been started - even if it is temporary and with very few hours, nonetheless, it's an area in which I wanted to work. So things are good right now, much better than they've been for a long time.

Yet.

If you can imagine the slightly dreamy way you can sometimes feel when you've had a couple of drinks...no drunkenness but a sort of heightened awareness and increased sensitivity. That's sort of how I feel right now - a bit spaced out I guess, and tired.

Maybe it's because a good deal of my life is beginning to finally settle. I do feel a little like a giant snow-globe - I've spent the last year being picked up and shaken frantically and now, finally, everything is settling and becoming clear. No wonder I feel tired...and very probably a little seasick.

Alternatively I could simply be coming down with a cold.

Beautiful Music

2007-12-29T09:44:00.000Z

I've just received a message from Dan with a link to the Cocteau Twins song Pur in it, so I shall embed it here for all to see...although it is with subtitles because it's impossible to hear what she's singing about. This is very much like listening to poetry - ignore what the words actually mean and just listen to the sounds her voice make - the words are pretty poor sadly but Elizabeth Fraser's voice is sublime. Interestingly according to her Wiki entry she suffered a nervous breakdown during the production of the album Four Calendar Cafe on which Pur appears. I guess that goes to prove that behind most great talents there hides a sadness and so often that sadness is some sort of mental illness. That said I'm sure there are plenty of talent people out there who are not the tortured genius, but that doesn't fit into our Victorian view of the artist.

Anyway, I'm rambling again...

Pur

And while I'm at it have some Sigur Ros - this band seem like the natural successors to the Cocteau Twins and even better when it comes to their videos. This one, Glosoli, is a beautiful film aside from the music.

Glosoli

I suppose I really ought to finish this off with a bit of Portishead, but it *is* still early (ish) and as much as I love Portishead they can be a bit depressing...beautiful, but depressing. I get the feeling that were I to be a teenager now I would probably be wearing far too much black make up and long black clothes.

Roo, if you're reading this no comments on our teenage years thanks!

Stuff and Nonsense

2007-12-28T23:18:00.000Z

I'm not sure what to write about today but I have the itch to write. I think since finishing off the first draft of the novel I've not wanted to even attempt to write in any form at all. I've just about managed to reply to peoples' emails and that's been pretty much it for me. Now however the need is returning and it *is* a need - as tangible as hunger or thirst. You know how some days you're just desperate to get outside and take a huge deep lungful of fresh air because sitting inside feels like being underwater - suffocating, slow moving, turgid. That's how I feel about writing some of the time. Other times I have an idea I need to express fully and often I can only properly think in the written word - I need to see it in front of me - hearing it out loud just isn't enough, it needs to be set down, fixed, pinned down like a poor pathetic dissected frog in a biology lesson so I can understand precisely what it is.

I'm sure I've referenced this before, but recently I've been listening to a great deal of music I discovered when I was in my teens. I received a beautiful iPod for Christmas and now once again my head is full of the Cocteau Twins and the odd smattering of Japan amongst the contemporary stuff. It seems to me that regardless of what form it takes I'm a huge lover of beauty.

I also suspect that at the moment I'm rambling....

I'd really like to post some audio here too - ideally Pur by the Cocteau Twins or Nightporter by Japan, but sadly Pur isn't to be found on any of the usual sites that will allow linking *sigh*
If you get the chance do listen to these two lovely songs.

YES, I'VE DECIDED TO CHANGE HOW IT LOOKS!

2007-12-26T16:46:00.000Z

As the New Year is approaching and I'll have been keeping this blog for a whole year, I fancied a change.

Hope you like it.

Festive Fitness

2007-12-26T16:01:00.000Z

There are many, many things I want to put down in my blog at the moment so I anticipate a flurry of postings...I hope.
For now I'll just stick with what's at the front of my mind - most recent events. Sorry to say it's not something deeply interesting, no scandal or anything like that...rather about the state of my current fitness...

Those of you who know me in the real world will know that the last year or so has seen me return to who I was a long time ago.
Hang on.

*Tangent alert*

Aren't we always who we were, or who we are? Why does this happen? I seem to do this a lot - I'm my own person, independent, free-spirited, strong-willed and then I get involved with a man and over time the very person I was becomes the person that maybe he wanted, or not, but anyway, not 'me' anymore. Generally this coincides with me losing confidence, putting on weight and generally losing my way and losing me. The result is that I end the relationship, lose weight and find me again. I've done this all my life it seems. Perhaps now that I'm in my late thirties I just might be able to hang onto myself and not lose it again in the face of a relationship.

I always feel that I return to myself but is it 'me', the Old Me, or is it, as I suspect, a New Improved Me. I hope so because if by evolving my personality and in effect 'growing' (bit too new agey and touchy feely for me I suspect)then maybe I can be just like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day and eventually beat the constant round of self-fulfilling prophesies or maybe that's destinies....

Anyway, back to the original idea for this post....

So, my general fitness has pretty much returned to what it was some years ago. Oh god, it feels like years ago that I used to go to aerobics classes twice a week (actually, can you still go to aerobics classes? Or have they been superseded by Spinning classes or Boxercise or something else more fashionable?). I think I was doing aerobics twice a week (and clubbing all weekend) about fifteen years ago, so it was years ago. And around eleven years ago I used to cycle for miles - in fact I used to cycle over to a friend's parents' house some 6 or 7 miles away from me and then swim for a few hours (yes, that's why we went to the parents' house, POOL!). And I took part in a charity bike ride - borrowed a friend's road bike and was amazed at how fast and light it was compared to my lumpy ATB - thin tires are lovely when you're zipping down a main road.

Well, I've just come back from a very short bike ride - I've just checked it out on Google Maps and discovered I cycled the long distance of TWO whole British miles! To be fair to myself (read *excuse*) my bike does need more air in the tyres and it's a rather hilly so that's why I didn't go too far.

Okay, the real reason?

I got one mile up the road and thought I was going to be sick - I think the mint chocolates I ate before I left the house might have had something to do with it. So I turned around and came back - the return journey was no problem - all gently downhill except one short steep bit.

Now I climb maybe four times a week and have done pretty much since June, about three hours at a go. I do yoga regularly, I think nothing of taking long walks - about eight miles would be a fair sized one. So why on earth did a mile long cycle ride nearly kill me?

Why?

Because I'm unfit and I've eaten too much chocolate over the last couple of days.

Ah well, never mind, that's the festive season for you.

Now I'm going to take a shower, have a glass or two of mulled wine, some lovely baked ham, sausage rolls and maybe a slice of Christmas cake AND chocolate yule log.

To hell with diets, I'll simply get back on the bike again tomorrow and try to kill myself again.

Oh! And another thing

2007-12-05T13:23:00.000Z

I didn't really finish that post below...but rather than edit it and make it possibly nonsensical, I shall make a new post nonsensical.

My point was, is...that all too often we lie to ourselves. We say we just want casual, we don't want to be owned, we don't want involvement. Yet when those things are taken out of our grasp we want them.

Maybe we do want to have our cake and eat it too...but the real problem with that is that if we try playing fast and loose with our feelings and those of others we can very soon end up with no cake at all.

I think Tanya's 'friend' was afraid of missing out on finding The One, which was why he wanted to constantly play the field. The problem with that is that The One, in my opinion, doesn't have flashing lights above their head...sometimes The One is right in front of you. Whether Tanya was The One for him, or he was The One for her is a matter for them to consider...but personally I'd leave game playing for the professional sportsmen.

Passwords, statistics and lies we tell ourselves

2007-12-05T12:51:00.000Z

I have just spent a frustrating morning trying to recover my password for this blog. I was almost tempted to just jack it in and start a new one...telling some of you where I'd gone, of course. Anyway, suffice to say all is now well, I sorted it out and I'm back.

The last few days have seen the reappearance of Tanya into my life...some of you may remember my hapless friend who seems constantly dogged by men and relationship problems. She sorted out the miserable man who wanted to dominate her life - they ended up in a make or break situation...it broke. So now she's onto pastures new, but thing don't seem to have improved any. I'm very fortunate to have a friend like Tanya as she always provides me with something to write about...my very own Bunbury you could say....

Her experiences have got me thinking about the nature of truth.

Yes, very deep this one.

Why do we all tell ourselves lies? Or maybe it's just that we tell those around us the lies and are surprised when they believe them. Case in point - Tanya's most recent escapade - she has had a long running intense friendship, yes, they've ended up as bed partners on more than one occasion, but both refuse to accept that they're anything more than friends.
He continues to see a long list of other women, some of whom know about the others, some who do not. She accepted his 'philandering' as she kept stating she didn't want anything more than just a casual friendship.
All went along reasonably happily until she met someone else who, potentially, she could have a relationship with....He is now unhappy...yet says he's very pleased for her, admits he's a little jealous, but still happy.

Who is lying to themselves here?

My experience of this type of romantic wrangling is non-existent. All I can draw on for similar situations is the usual stuff seen in romantic comedy films like When Harry Met Sally. So my advice to her, and I know she'll be reading this....move on. The only type of wrangling anyone should undertake is that of horse or cattle wrangling. Most people are simple and straightforward, and if there's a man on the horizon who appears to be just that....spend your emotional energy on him, he's a far better bet for happiness in the long run.

Hello again!

2007-12-03T13:21:00.001Z

Okay, first off, huge apologies for not keeping this up to date....

I am now the proud possessor of a shiny new Masters Degree in Creative Writing...what good it'll do me I don't know, but it was fun to do. I've been writing quite a bit for the magazine...those of you in the know will have noticed my face peering out at you from the pages with greater regularity recently.

I've also completed my first trad lead climb outside in the Wye Valley - the day was both exhilarating and terrifying in equal parts.

I've been out on a couple of dates and discovered that men are far, far more complex than me. Personally I'd settle for a good friend with whom I can go to the cinema, have a nice meal and a good laugh. I've been rather disappointed to discover that the caveman instincts which see women as possessions never seem far below the cultured modern surface....

However, I've never been one to tar all people with the same brush and I tend to take people as I find them...no doubt normality lies out there, somewhere....

Oh dear, this post does sound rather depressing....and as if I'm generally disappointed with all mankind...Which is not at all the case...there are some very bright sparks on the horizon...and the black spots are all behind me, I hope!

A quick update

2007-10-01T15:39:00.000+01:00

Time really does fly when you're having fun....

Almost a month since I updated the blog. What have I been up to? Well many of you may be aware that I've been writing a novel as part of a masters degree....I've finished it! Or at least, I've finished the entire first draft. The last third has now been handed in as my dissertation for the masters and I'll hear within the next two weeks about how I've fared.

That's the biggest reason for not writing anything here.

In other news I've been climbing a great deal - not much outside stuff, but really pushing myself at the indoor wall. I've been out a little bit, saw the Angry Pirates again, went out a few times with The Flatterer - he's now become a great friend at whom I can poke fun. I've also been out with The Climber - another one who has become part of my social circle and like the rest of them tends to keep me up to date on their love life and girlfriend troubles.

Now the deadline for the dissertation is past I've got to start thinking about the major rewrites for the whole novel and getting it ready to be turned down by publishers. I'm also preparing for a few days away in New York to see friends and family!

Today I came across this very interesting post on a blog all about reading and the state of reading in the USA. As regular readers know, I'm an avid reader and this piece reminded me why I love reading so much. Enjoy.

Reading in America

Moving On

2007-09-09T16:47:00.000+01:00

It's amazing how resilient the human spirit is...how quickly we get over things...how quickly we get over people, move on and alter our lives. Ten years ago my grandmother died as did a good friend who was only in his twenties. I wouldn't say that now it's as if they never existed, but I suppose the hole left by people simply closes up or gets filled with other stuff. The only real constant in our lives is us. Sometimes it can feel - certainly to me - that my life is like a bus journey and friends and relatives are with me for part of the journey but they either get on after me or before me...and some stay longer than others. Of course there are the figures in your life that you believe will be there for the whole journey but they're not...they leave before you'd like them to or maybe you get off their bus first.

Strange analogy I know, but it seems to make sense to me especially while my life is in such flux.

One never knows quite what is going to be around the corner, or who for that matter. And it's the who that now many of my friends are concerned about....I'm preparing myself for a flurry of invitations in the coming months...many of my married friends have taken it upon themselves to find what they believe I need - a single fit man in his thirties. It's great to know that my friends care about my well-being and so on, but more than a little disconcerting to know they're considering fixing me up....Perhaps my single status is disapproved of or maybe even feared - is it catching maybe?

A Thoughtful One

2007-09-07T21:52:00.001+01:00

I'm into the thick of writing these days - the final throes of the novella. So all that tight plotting and sentence construction does rather tend to make me fall back on myself. I can be a very introspective person at the best of times - I've mentioned here before that I like nothing more than to examine conversations I've had with a microscope - or Fine Tooth Comb as my mother would say. Considering how a character might act or react leads me to consider my actions and the actions of those around me too.

I do wonder about the whole notion of Nature versus Nurture - you know the idea that we are who we are because of our inherited genes, or because of what we may have experienced. I'm inclined to think that our genes provide a starting block and nurture - our experiences give us the shades and tones of our characters. As a child I believed quite firmly that before being born we each were given a film show of potential lives and then told to chose one - none being necessarily better than another, but each with hardship and happiness and more importantly the opportunities for learning. I believed that everyone was here for a purpose - to achieve something, to learn something or teach something, and once that purpose was met then our lives would be over - we would return to the celestial waiting room and go through the entire process again. I think a lot of my ideas came from reading things like Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha when I was at school. So I suppose that proves my theory too - I am a product of my own reading and education, but only because I already had certain leanings because of my inherited nature from my parents - a great deal of books that I read as a child came from my dad's huge collection. I was always encouraged to read anything I could lay my hands on and subsequently by the time I left school I had worked my way through popular fiction in the shape of Stephen King, Jackie Collins and Danielle Steel (shared those ones with my mum) and I'd also dipped into some great literature like Hesse, Nin, H.G.Wells, John Wyndham,Orwell,Hardy and loads more. Reading and writing have always been fundamental facets of my personality.

Strangely enough this post was going to be about the effect different people have upon ones life...hmm...I've ended up writing about books. That says a great deal about me.

I've always been of the opinion that I'm a very straightforward person - I was once described as an Open Book - easy to read and with no secrets. But I was told the other day that I am a difficult and demanding character - not in a bad way, but nonetheless, not straightforward at all. I suppose we all become more difficult and demanding as life's experiences shape us and leave us a little more wary and afraid of being hurt again. I'm often saying that I wish people would be honest with me. Why can't men be honest with women? Or women honest with men? Just a few exchanges with my friends opens a whole new can of worms about lack of communication and honesty in their personal relationships.

Honesty is a wonderful thing but sometimes we don't want to hear the truth.

This post is terribly obtuse I'm afraid...unformed ideas appearing on the screen springing from lots of deep thoughts and the usual chaos of my life...and as usual I'm unwilling to come clean about quite what is bugging me...partly to protect the innocent (who would that be then?) and partly to preserve some weak façade of privacy which is hypocritical to say the least - I keep a blog for god's sake! Suffice to say things aren't straightforward, quite the reverse.

Not the usual playful post. Deeply thoughtful. Perhaps when it all comes out in the wash I'll be able to unravel it.

2007-09-05T09:46:00.000+01:00

So, what have I been up to of late? I went climbing in Wales for the day the other weekend - that was a lot of fun. Good weather, good climbing and good company - all in all a very successful day in the Wye Valley. That's not me doing the lead climb here in this photo - I don't lead, I'm not even very keen on it at an inside climbing wall, I'd far rather push myself by completing a clean good climb without the sheer panic of placing gear and worrying that I'm going to fall off any moment. Call me a wimp, call me anything you like, I'm more than happy to second or top rope.

Apologies to those of you who don't climb and have no idea what the hell I was on about there...

Anyway, on with the show...

I went and saw the Angry Pirates again on Friday - this time with Jo and The Flatterer (who has now become part of the crowd of friends and no longer the object of Jo's lust). We had a great time and I ended up drinking far too much wine (for me...not for any normal human being - 4 glasses). Fortunately I wasn't too embarrassing although I did end up telephoning a friend and boring them and not surprisingly they've avoided me since then.

Last night I was lying in bed thinking about composing this post - I do that quite often - compose bits of writing in my head and then forget them. I know I should keep a notebook next to me at all times - actually I do that but I still often don't bother to record my thoughts and they're lost forever. This post was supposed to be very deep and thoughtful all about something to do with relationships with people. I can't even remember the main theme to be honest...Probably more navel gazing....although naval gazing would be more interesting (NOTE - wit hidden in spelling!). Talking of wit - I'm missing writing humour these days...I'm on the downward stretch for my novella - it's drawing to a close and I need to tie up the loose ends and complete it. I guess that those of you who have got to know me from my writing will know that one of the main reasons for posting this will be to avoid writing anything else, procrastinator that I am....

This post is rambling. Maybe when I can remember what I wanted to talk about I'll post something worth reading.

Oh! One thing I want to mention....the whole being Stood Up bit....
I forgot something vital that I learned some time ago - it's obvious really, but I still forget it sometimes -

You can only be responsible and in control of your own behaviour, your own reactions. Not anyone else's.

In other words, no point in getting irritated by someone's behaviour - you can't change it just by being angry with them, it's pointless and only hurts you.

Buddha-like serenity and equanimity henceforth shall be found here.
(Dictionaries can be found at the back...cheek and sarcasm has not dissipated).

Was I stood up?

2007-08-24T16:28:00.000+01:00

I've been back a couple of weeks now and the USA seems like a world away. After Vegas we headed down to Los Angeles, and after a few days there flew to Detroit, stayed with relatives and then back to the UK. Sorry the end of the tale is a bit brief, but that's so often the way...

Anyway, life here is resuming it's previous shape and form - article writing for the magazine, novel writing, some temping at some point, plenty of climbing and a little bit of catching up with friends.

The catching up with friends can sometimes be fraught with problems and it's not always the old friends who are difficult to catch up with...Why does being let down by friends who have suggested getting together end up feeling like you've been stood up! And it just ends up with me thinking that they are just plain rude. I don't like thinking that my friends are rude - I don't have rude friends. But in this technological world with almost universal mobile phone ownership, why can't someone just call and say "I'm sorry I didn't meet up with you...but I had a better offer"

Or maybe it's just me that puts too much emphasis on casual remarks...but I'm inclined to think that my gut instincts are right...I was stood up! By a friend! They had better have a good excuse and promise to make it up to me. And if you're reading this, you know who you are....

Las Vegas

2007-08-16T13:49:00.000+01:00

The desert and canyon country of Zion and Bryce were the last we were to have of peace and quiet and a little slower pace of life....Las Vegas beckoned...

There was firstly a few hours drive across the Mojave desert to be negotiated, passing by the largest thermometer in the world which I personally was thrilled to see. The driving was all that you would expect it to be - automatic car set to cruise control on a dead straight road - it was suggested to me by a friend that I could have played cards whilst going along to prevent boredom - not such a bad idea actually.

In Vegas we stayed at Circus, Circus which is as its name implies, a circus, or at least, it has a circus going on inside the hotel all the time...Well, actually it doesn't...what it has is a small stage set up inside a Big Top style area where every couple of hours some sort of act is performed - Jugglers, Acrobats, Trapeze artists, that sort of thing. The hotel and casino is probably better known in Vegas for its inside theme park which is a little smaller than Metroland at the Metro Centre in Gateshead but just as noisy. And yes, several hours were spent there going on the roller coaster and the log flume ride.

Vegas itself was a mixed bag. Plenty of Americans go wild for hotels like the Venetian where you can ride in a gondola under a fake Bridge of Sighs but for Europeans (read - Me) it was tacky on a grand scale...But then that's only because of the general arrogance of Europeans (Me) who have been to see the real Bridge of Sighs so why on earth would I want to have a go on the fake one? Some parts of Vegas are a must see but in all honesty, it would be far, far better to go on an adults only trip...It's not terribly family friendly despite the best efforts of Circus, Circus. The main road - the strip - is punctuated by guys selling tickets for clip joints and every newspaper stand (the ones where you put in your money, open the plastic box and take out the paper) was filled with porn magazines. Even the once thrilling Treasure Island extravaganza - a pirate adventure on full sized ships on water, which took place each evening outside the Treasure Island hotel, has changed...It's now called TI and the pirates have been added to....now there is a ship full of scantily clad 'Sirens' who do the whole pole dancing bit and entice the pirates aboard their ship. The show is on each evening and it's all free...people (mainly men) start hanging around waiting for the show to begin about an hour before the start....Add to this a Spearmint Rhino and Hooters, not forgetting the seedier places off the strip and you've got an Adult playground complete with the casinos and nightclubs.

All of that aside, half an hour's drive down the road from Las Vegas will take you to Red Rock Canyon National Park which is renowned the world over for its sport climbing. We took a drive out there and I rather grumpily drooled over the rock faces - I say grumpily because it was well over 100 degrees - too hot for me to climb and I hadn't organised it properly either, so I sulked, despite having no one to blame but myself.

I was quite happy to leave Vegas when the time came - it was loud and brash and I felt like I was missing out on the party most of the time. I would go back there again though, but it would be with climbing friends, all adults, and the days would be spent at Red Rock and the nights out on the town...Now that would be some trip!

Recap...continued

2007-08-15T17:44:00.000+01:00

I'll try to keep the details of the holiday fairly brief as it's all in the past now and I want to talk about the present...

So after visiting Zion Canyon we spent the day at Bryce Canyon which is utterly breathtaking and up so high that it's rather chilly too. All the canyons and red rock formations are stunning but I did find that I reached a point where I was at visual overload - it was amazing to look at but I was past caring and wanted a large glass of wine...which come to think of it I never did get around to having, which is criminal quite frankly bearing in mind we spent some time in California too...hmmm...I shall simply have to make up for it now I'm back in the UK (and coincidentally going out for a drink later with The Flatterer! And a female friend of his...it's all platonic, so don't get yourself worked up into thinking that I have suddenly found a 'Love Interest'! Ha! And really, if I had do you think I'd be broadcasting it to all and sundry on the internet? Well, don't answer that one....).

Tomorrow I'll post details of Las Vegas and onwards....

Back home and a quick recap

2007-08-13T11:52:00.000+01:00

I've been back home now a couple of days and I'm still suffering from a little jet-lag or is that just a reluctance to return to normal life? After we left Jackson I didn't get any internet access which is why the blog didn't get updated, so here's a brief recap....
The kids and I went White Water Rafting...that's me at the front on the left hand side looking like a drowned rat...the kids are nowhere to be seen but they are on board, just cowering perhaps... It was great fun but I was sitting in entirely the wrong position - I got drenched every time we hit even a ripple. Things didn't improve with the large lady who came to sit in front to Ride the Bull - somehow I still seemed to get wet.

We headed down from Jackson leaving Wyoming, passing briefly through Idaho onto Utah and Salt Lake City for the night. Attempting to rely on the SatNav system was not such a good idea as we ended up on the bad side of town...I stopped the car, locked the doors and consulted a good old fashioned map....ten minutes later we reached our destination. The following day after we had left we heard that there had been three murders in Salt Lake City while we were there. Gulp.
Then it was off to the beautiful Zion National Park which struck me as being the original setting for the Road Runner cartoons! It is real desert country around there and fires were a real problem. One of the things that Zion is renowned for is the Narrows
which is a stunning hike up through the river bed of the canyon. Unfortunately because of recent fires and some heavy downpours over the previous few days the river was fairly high, full of burnt debris and prone to flash flooding if another storm hit...So we only did a short walk along part of the river. The following day the kids and I did a longer hike higher up the canyon which quite frankly I found hair-raising as a single slip would result in death and when you're being accompanied by a pair of hyperactive nine year olds who would rather run on ahead than stay with their fretting mother....one's nerves end up somewhat frayed!
I could go on and on about Zion park, I took loads of photographs of the wildlife, the rock formations, the plant life and just the sheer scale of the place...

Anyway, there is more to tell, more pictures to show...Bryce Canyon, Las Vegas and Los Angeles! And of course the pimpmobile and the stretch limo....
So without wishing to sound like a cheesy US television presenter...tune in next time for another edition!

2007-07-21T05:37:00.000+01:00

So, the day before yesterday (Wednesday) the kids and I went on a trail ride. Great fun, knackered old horses that only walk along the same old paths, but it's fabulous scenery and the trail guide was a very cute cowboy called Trey. We rode for four hours altogether and I stupidly forgot to apply sunblock so I now have a very fetching t-shirt tan....We went off to see the Rodeo in the evening - mainly because the lovely Trey was going to be there - the kids thought he was great and I thought he was very nice and very, very young - I jokingly said I'd buy him a drink if we saw him later (as you do...) and he asked where I was planning to be....Oops, he's keen...Sort of made me feel a little like a dirty old man....only a little though...mostly I felt flattered! And then I remembered - he's a College student - offer any student a free drink and they'll be there no matter what...
The Rodeo was fun and just like watching a film - in fact most of this holiday has been like so many US films which I suppose proves that either their films correctly capture life here or else life really does imitate art....

Yesterday we had a really great day - we got a guide (Jed) and went off into Grand Teton National Park and climbed in the shadow of the Cathedral Peaks. The photo here is one I took.
It was really good climbing - all granite and really easy compared to Southern Sandstone which is all I've climbed on outside so far. However, it was in the high 90s all day, very low humidity and it's over 7,000 feet above sea level, so when I did a couple of harder routes I felt like I was going to die! One particular climb was a really interesting little route - a nice flake to start with and then into a wide crack-like chimney which had a fairly big overhang. I had three goes at completing it but the heat just got to me (climber's excuse #23) it's a real shame that I'll probably never go back there and nail that one....

On the way back we passed loads of people standing taking photos on a bridge and a park ranger standing guard - wildlife! So we pulled over and got out to take a look and were rewarded with the sight of a huge moose sitting in the middle of a shady stream ignoring the stupid overheated humans taking pictures.
Later that evening I could be found attempting to sleep with my eyes open while drinking Purple People Eaters (I'd never tried or heard of them before, but they come in a pint glass....)

Today we slept in until after 9am - all that fresh air and activity finally slowed the kids up (thank god!). After a little light shopping we went back to the ranch where we had taken our trail ride the other day, but this time we went for a shorter ride and had a Cowboy Cook-Out....Sadly Trey didn't join us (well, actually he did show up just as we were about to leave - looking all puppy dog eyed and asking if we were going to the Rodeo tomorrow night as he's doing Bull Riding....and we might go....but only because the kids want to see it!). And this time the ride was a little more eventful - first of all Ashley our cowgirl guide almost got thrown from her horse as it got spooked by something, and then one of my delightful sons lost his (new) cowboy hat to the wind which in turn spooked my horse who spectacularly threw me off....Fortunately I fell with tremendous grace (ha!) and didn't get hurt at all - well, perhaps my pride, but only slightly - I got hold of my horse, calmed him down and climbed back on....then I felt very pleased with myself, particularly as this was only the third time in my life that I've ridden a horse! But don't forget that these very docile horses are very similar to the tired out beach donkeys....so my fall and return to the saddle isn't quite as impressive as I'd like.....

Tomorrow we're planning to go to the local Farmers' Market, the town shoot out (happens daily Monday to Saturday) and then onto the Rodeo. Dear god, I feel like I'm trapped in either a Country and Western song or else a 1950s cowboy film....But hey, next week I'll be in Vegas and I can pretend I'm in either Ocean's Eleven or Casino!

Yellowstone National Park and no Yogi Bear!

2007-07-18T01:32:00.001+01:00

I'm here in the USA. I've seen Old Faithful, the Morning Glory pool, a black bear, plenty of geysers and lots and lots of burnt trees. Yellowstone National Park is beautiful and strange too - the hot springs and other geo-thermal features are quite breathtaking (not least of all because of the stink of sulphur!).
Disappointingly there is no mention anywhere of Yogi Bear and Booboo - so anyone who grew up in the 70s and 80s watching the Smarter than Average Bear outwit the Ranger won't find them here at the real Jellystone Park.
So, having seen all of that we've moved on and now we're in Jackson Hole, Wyoming - a real (tourist) cowboy town....Tomorrow I'm off with the kids to spend the day horseriding. Thursday we're going climbing in the Tetons (yeah, be jealous!) so it's busy, busy, busy...whitewater rafting later in the week, a rodeo tomorrow night and sometime around the weekend I shall be slumped in a heap somewhere!

One of the things I've really enjoyed since I've been here is French Toast (posh eggy bread) - I would never dream of eating it back home in the UK but here, with maple syrup drizzled over....mmmmmmmmmmmmmm! And I've been eating ice cream each day, huge ice creams - great flavours and toppings. Yes, I shall return carrying some excess baggage I suspect, in the shape of a few extra pounds...

Going Away....

2007-07-09T14:51:00.000+01:00

Later this week I’m off to the States with my parents and the kids – an epic road trip starting in Billings, Montana and ending up in Los Angeles, with a quick stop off with family in Detroit before returning to the UK. I’m hoping that while I’m away I’ll be able to post the occasional blog entry and certainly keep up with friends via email and as I’ve even been able to sort out a cell phone for the US I may be able to phone some of you too…

I have sort of mixed feelings about the trip: on the one hand it’s going to be great to get away, visit a beautiful part of the world, go climbing in some amazing places, spend time with the kids, with my parents, go horse riding, white water rafting and generally be on the go the entire time…But on the other hand I’m going to be spending the entire time with my parents, the kids, all up close and personal and I won’t have the usual outlet of seeing and talking to my closest friends on a daily basis….I know I’m not gone for ever, but I won’t be back until the beginning of August and right now that feels like a very long time….

But life is all about experiences and adventures and I’m about to go on a big one! Added to which, this time I’m in charge – those of you who know me well will also know that being in charge pleases me….Not that I’m bossy or anything you understand…..But in my experience things just tend to be much better organised when I’m in charge….Now please stop rolling your eyes.

For those of you whose addresses I have I shall endeavour to send postcards, otherwise, check back here for an update on the road!

Rollercoasters and Unicycles

2007-06-30T11:31:00.000+01:00

It’s been some time since I updated my blog for a variety of reasons, mostly because my life took off in some funny directions and it’s taken until now for things to regain some sort of equilibrium…although I know some of you will find that hard to believe – my life being the usual rollercoaster ride that it is…

Okay, a swift run down…joined a new climbing wall – very, very successful, lots of extremely nice people there so I’ve been climbing around four times a week for the last few weeks – yes, my arms are beginning to take on a slightly sculpted look, it’s good! I was there the other day and climbing with an Italian chap called Pierre which was fun particularly as he had persuaded his work colleagues to come along to try out some climbing – they clearly were not convinced but made all the polite noises. After we had finished climbing I went out to my car to find another climber trying out his unicycle in the carpark….so I also had a go….

In other news things have been very up and down….the next stage in anyone’s life after a major relationship break up is for both partners to move on to pastures new, so to speak….That leaves everyone with mixed feelings I guess…And maybe it’s something I’ll discuss more at length some other time….Life moves on….
Freedom is a hugely undervalued commodity in my opinion. It’s not something I wish to give up freely every again but the most important thing for me is that I now realise that fact – it’s taken me a very long time to understand just how vital and precious true freedom is to me and of course now I will only surround myself with like-minded people….fortunately most of them are also climbers….

2007-06-13T18:25:00.001+01:00

I’ve been laid up for the last few days with an insect bite that turned nasty and has made my leg swell to elephantine proportions – taking antibiotics, but really the only cure is rest…So my leg is elevated and I can’t do too much. Ideal you would have thought for doing some writing…erm…no…Maybe I’ve got Writer’s Block…I certainly can’t seem to just sit down and write the way I usually do…most days I fire up the laptop, open a document and go for it…write plenty of words (most of them utter rubbish, but still…). For the last week or two my brain has simply turned to colourless mush entirely incapable of stringing more than a few words together. So in the best procrastinators tradition I have seen far, far too much of the internet and far too many kittens….

Some writers swear by simply hitting the ground running and writing whatever comes to mind first – in fact that’s the way I do most of my writing – just write and worry about the sense in the rewrites. I’m not a believer in waiting for the ‘muse’ to strike – I think you’ll wait all year, or all your life. I often wonder if that’s how the likes of J.D.Salinger writes – after producing the wonderful Catcher in the Rye, nothing of any substance has been produced since…or certainly, not published. Reading about Salinger though, it seems that he writes every day but purely for his own enjoyment – the very best way to write. So he doesn’t wait for the muse or divine inspiration, but just gets on with it.

I think most things that require us to be active in some way are too easy to put off or put aside…everyone loves to procrastinate…there are always so many interesting things on TV, the internet, hidden under the bed, in the back of the wardrobe, anywhere in fact rather than sitting down and writing or doing your tax return…Actually that reminds me, I need to do mine…I bet I get it done before I get much writing finished….

Been here before?

2007-06-11T14:45:00.000+01:00

Firstly apologies for the length of time it’s taken me to post something new here….life has been busy.

I found this Rabindranath Tagore poem today...

Unending Love

I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times…
In life after life, in age after age, forever.
My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs,
That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms,
In life after life, in age after age, forever.

Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, it's age old pain,
It's ancient tale of being apart or together.
As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge,
Clad in the light of a pole-star, piercing the darkness of time.
You become an image of what is remembered forever.

You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the fount.
At the heart of time, love of one for another.
We have played along side millions of lovers,
Shared in the same shy sweetness of meeting,
the distressful tears of farewell,
Old love but in shapes that renew and renew forever.

It’s beautiful but it also made me think about the notion of reincarnation and our souls going on…Despite being brought up in a very strict religious community (that makes it sound quite terrifying…but then nuns can be…) I no longer consider myself of be someone of Faith, as such. I love the idea of reincarnation, Heaven, the Afterlife all of that, but I can’t really get it to square with science…and to my mind that’s the real nature of Faith – a willingness to set aside all that is known and simply believe in the unknown…I guess I’m too much of a coward to just give in and believe…I need hard evidence. Anyway, this poem added to that – I can’t say that I have experienced just what Tagore is talking about here – I would truly love to meet someone and believe that we had been together before, and were destined to always in each life, meet again and remain friends and lovers. But I can’t believe that. Each person I meet is so new to me, and those who I might have thought I had a deep connection to at some point, always manage to surprise me and therefore convince me that we, or maybe just I, don’t ever really know anyone….
One of my favourite pastimes (aside from people watching) is talking about what has happened – I love to chew over conversations I’ve had with people and will spend hours talking to my closest friends about what this or that remark really meant…as everyone of course has a sub-text….No one ever just says what they mean (apart from me, of course). So many happy hours are passed deciphering just what He really meant when He said that….Now surely if I’d known them in a previous life all of that would be unnecessary, as I would already know exactly what they meant, wouldn’t I?
But then again, just because I’ve not experienced what Tagore is talking about, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist…For example, I’ve never been to see the Pyramids, but I know they exist….So maybe if there is such a thing as the Afterlife or Reincarnation, maybe some of us are just very young souls and haven’t clocked up the necessary man-hours to know our soul mates when we see them…or maybe we just haven’t met them yet.

Passion

2007-05-27T22:33:00.000+01:00

Jo has met up again with the last guy she met at the Speed Dating and it would appear that although it’s very early days, this could well last a while. She’s really into him and him her – her face lights up when she talks about him and everything about him is described in glowing terms. This happening in the real world combined with me cracking on with the novel has got me thinking about the nature of passion….

It’s my belief that life lived without passion is no life at all. Life is a wild adventure full of excitement, wonderment and above all, passion. But you can only experience this high if you’ve had the low where everything in your life is utter crap. I constantly tell myself that nothing lasts forever, not even the good stuff; in fact I bet I’ve mentioned that in a blog entry already, but I can’t say it enough – we ought to remind ourselves of this fact on a daily basis. I’d hazard a guess that anyone who has truly faced mortality – their own or someone close to them – realises this….once you cut through the polythene vacuum pack of our safe comfortable 21st century life and realise just how fragile all of this is around us, then it’s clear that it’s all transient and could all be gone tomorrow.

When I look at friends and consider how their lives have turned out – the ones who have suffered with mental health problems, the ones who have faced bankruptcy, been homeless, walked out on their partners and children, got through major illnesses, operations…In other words, Life. I realise that no one reaches their 30s without dealing with some of the big stuff. It’s unavoidable. Yet these same people are every bit as normal and sane as the rest of us, in many cases, more sane and certainly more compassionate because they’ve been there and know that each of us treads a very thin line in life.

So with all that in mind it’s hardly surprising that the wise amongst us knowing that this could all be gone tomorrow, are willing and brave enough to live for the passion in their lives today. And I’m not especially talking about sexual passion, although that’s a good a reason as any to get out of bed each day…or should that be, Stay in bed each day! We each need something to motivate us – I know that paying the mortgage bills is a pretty strong motivation to go to work each day, but wouldn’t you, if you could, do a job that you loved to get to each day and the pay at the end of it was a happy bonus? Our society puts so much emphasis upon material goods these days and less upon the emotional or spiritual, if you wish to call it that. Who is happier do you think – the guy commuting to London each morning with a 4 hour daily travelling time and eight hours spent in a little grey concrete box counting beans, or the one outside every day cutting down trees or even driving a tractor? Undoubtedly the bean counter has a far higher material standard of living, but is he as happy? In some cases the answer is a resounding yes, and there are plenty of tractor drivers who have had enough of ploughing up and down the same old patch of land year in year out for precious little in the way of financial reward. I guess what I’m saying here is that following your passion, your dream, is always a better way to live your life.

Some years ago I was a teacher. Many of my contemporaries at Uni are now headteachers, heads of department, important careers, well paid and undoubtedly many of them feel fulfilled and satisfied in their work. I made the decision to leave teaching because I wanted to do something more creative with my life. Financially the decision sucked. But I followed my passions – art, the countryside and writing – to mention just three. It’s a cliché but true that no one lies on their deathbed and says they wish they’d worked more. Follow your passion – you may end up poor, but at least you’ll be happy.

And yes, before you all start adding angry comments about how you’ll be miserable when poor, I realise that too….the real secret is to find the balance – to discover just how little you truly need – you might surprise yourself.

Oh, this is a very preachy post…..They don’t come up that often….must be something I ate.

The May Ball

2007-05-26T16:37:00.000+01:00

Last night saw Jo and myself going off to the rugby club May Ball both dressed in slinky dresses, far too much makeup and industrial strength hair products. We had a great time, not least of all because wine was involved and after a lovely meal we went outside to the Entertainments….

After very little encouragement from one of the rugby coaches I had a go on the Bucking Bronco machine….bit hard to get up on the back of one of those things after a few glasses of wine, so the coach, in best coaching supportiveness grabbed hold of my rear end and pushed me up onto the mechanical beast….Rugby is after all a contact sport so I was in expert hands….Next we tackled the dodgems – great fun apart from the whiplash injuries sustained. Back onto the Bucking Bronco – unfortunately the wine had got the better of me by this time and I found it impossible to hold on either with my knees or my hands for longer than approximately 20 seconds – possibly less. After that the only thing that remained was to have a go at the reverse Bungee – basically you are attached to a rope, you run as far as you can and the elastic rope pulls you back rather rapidly. Again I proved to be useless at this – I believe a good deal of body weight is required along with strength and as I was running against a 17 stone 6’4” rugby player I really didn’t stand a chance…but at least he managed to keep his trousers in one piece this year – a couple of years back he ripped his trousers from front to back along the crotch – it was a hired suit (DJ or tux to those of you in the US) and his wife had to stitch it up before they could return it…This year fortunately he owns his own and his wonderful lady had already reinforced the seams!

Despite consuming a fair amount of wine I still remained sober enough to watch people which I love to do…. I am fascinated to observe how couples relate to one another in public…I would hazard a guess that because I have a recently failed major relationship behind me I have a greater interest than most…. I look to see if there are clues to success or else visible cracks in what other people have…. Watching friends and acquaintances I constantly wonder what makes some couples get together and stay together. Very often physical attractiveness doesn’t seem to feature – or at least, it doesn’t any longer, maybe it once did in the initial stages of attraction, but not now. And that seems a little odd at times – particularly if one partner appears to still be making a huge effort with their appearance and yet their other half just doesn’t bother. Or else they spend most of the evening with other people, not talking or even acknowledging each other…I wonder to myself if this is what a relationship looks like in its death-throes, or if this is just how this particular couple operate socially and behind closed doors the other is the most important person in the world. Because I think that’s what all of us want ultimately – to be the most important person in the world to someone. Some men and women would say that their children are the most important people in their lives but I disagree. I adore my two sons but I know that in ten or fifteen years time they will have their own very independent lives – in fact that will probably happen in less than ten years and I’ll be happy about that – that is what I want for my children – independence. My children won’t be there for me each night when I get home from work ready to listen to the petty details of my day, give me a hug and a glass of wine. They’ll maybe listen a bit and then want (I hope) to tell me of their latest achievements, high points, worries, and perhaps ask me for money or a lift somewhere! Children are only with us for a few short years and then they’re adults, off to conquer the world on their own. I believe that all of us want to have someone beside us so we conquer the world together, as equals. That’s not your child.

Funny, I seem to have wandered off topic again – I started wanting to talk about couple dynamics and have ended up talking about children, but I suppose it’s all connected…..

Moving to the front of the roller coaster

2007-05-25T16:58:00.000+01:00

It’s been a few days since I posted anything on here, sorry about that, but my life has been rather busy with work – both the temping and writing. The temping is going very well – I work for half the week in a fairly quiet office, the people are very nice and my boss is a climber so we can swap stories. The writing has moved on a bit, I have managed finally to write the masturbation scene – it was far more difficult than I had anticipated…If I had been writing for myself for fun or for someone as a ‘gift’ (ahem!) then it would have been fairly easy to get into it and enjoy it, but as this piece had to fit into the rest of a novel, to have a definite purpose, to move the narrative along, to make sense with the character and also be available to a wider audience then it ends up being more demanding for me. My supervisor was pleased with it and glad that I had bitten the bullet (so to speak!) and finally got something sexual into the novel instead of constantly hinting at it as I had been doing.

Sometimes I think we live our lives like that – constantly hinting at what we want from others and ourselves, but rarely coming out and saying it in plain language. I suppose if I had to make a New Year’s Resolution that is exactly what it would be – to tell people what I want from them, from myself, from life. To my knowledge and belief we only get one life so we should make it count.

I know from climbing that making a committed move takes courage – what do I mean? Well, sometimes when you’re on your way up a route there is a move you need to make that requires you to just trust and throw yourself into it, you might make it, you might not, but unless you try you won’t find out and you certainly won’t get to the top. I find it hard to make those committed moves – I mentally screw up my courage, tell myself I can do it and then attempt it. I can be heard on the rock face talking away to myself – “You can make that move. Think. It’s easy. If you were only a couple of feet of the ground you could do it. You can do it. Remember Yoga. You can do it. Just move. Do it.” Sadly I don’t always listen to myself.

I try in the rest of my life to do that though, and when it doesn’t involve physical danger it’s a little easier….I’m the sort of person who takes quite some time to come to a decision over major matters, but when I reach that point, then there is no changing my mind. And sometimes I can be impulsive about things and consciously don’t stop to think about the consequences – sometimes it’s good to just do things and not talk yourself out of them.

I guess I’m back talking about fear again…I seem to think about it quite a lot, but I don’t feel it so much these days. If my life was a roller coaster ride I would say I’ve moved from sitting in the safe part in the middle to a seat right at the front but I haven’t the courage to let go yet and put my hands in the air…..

Escaping

2007-05-15T11:05:00.000+01:00

I’ve just been catching up with the news on the BBC website and I was really interested to read about Antony Gormley’s latest artwork. For those of you who are unaware of Gormley he’s the man behind the Angel of the North and some would say our greatest living sculptor in the UK. His latest piece is simply fog in a box – a giant glass chamber filled with fog which you can walk into and wander around in, entitled Blind Light. Art that is interactive and experiential like this I really love – it gives you a real feeling for what the artist is trying to say and it takes you mentally to another place. For me good art is the stuff that does that – takes you somewhere else. In fact not just visual art does that – good music does it too and in fact for me climbing does it as well. It’s hard to explain quite what I mean because physical things like climbing lifts one out of the mundane world in an entirely different way from art and music – climbing in many respects is similar to sex – as you’re climbing up a route there is a good deal of physical exertion, maybe some huffing and puffing, taking leaps of faith, and sheer hard slog, but when you reach the top there is an amazing feeling of achievement and euphoria, oh, and your legs shake. Whereas art and music lift you out of yourself by making your consciousness shift over in your brain from the left side where it is logical and analytical to the right side where it is creative. When I’m writing fiction, particularly the novel, I have to be in the right hand side of my brain which may sound particularly odd to some of you, but it’s similar I suppose to riding a bike – you can’t really explain how you do it, but the more you practise the easier it gets. Except that moving over into the right side isn’t always easy sometimes it’s damn hard to switch off from the world around you and slide into the other you who isn’t concerned about bills and diaries and deadlines.

Writing this I’m beginning to see a pattern emerge in my personality and maybe I should rename the blog accordingly – I like to escape – everything in my life (almost) is about escaping. I only tolerate the mundane bits so I can go off and do what really pleases me which is to leave all this behind. All my life I’ve read voraciously – escapism. I used to do lots of yoga – escapism. Now I climb….I write….I daydream.

It’s just like Oscar Wilde said – All of us are in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.

If you get the chance to visit the Haywood Gallery where Antony Gormley’s Blind Light fog in a box piece is showing, go! The next time I’m in London I shall make a point of seeing it – it opens Thursday 17th and is on until 19th August. Maybe I should drag my kids up there on Sunday and see it as a birthday treat for myself….

Truth and Lies

2007-05-13T18:24:00.000+01:00

A couple of days ago I posted about what women say and what they mean regarding descriptions of men. I’ve been thinking further about what we say and what we mean and why we do that.

Sometimes we say what we believe to be the kindest thing to prevent someone from having their feelings hurt – “Yes, I still love you” or, “No, you haven’t put on weight” or, “That was great, I really enjoyed myself” Very few of us actually want to hurt someone’s feelings willingly, so we lie, either by omission, avoidance or sometimes just a bare faced untruth. Would the world be a better place if we all told the truth? Even if we could couch the truth in niceness and gentle tones, would we rather hear – “You’ve put on weight, but I still love you.” Or how about, “I just don’t fancy you, but it would be nice to be friends because you make me laugh, but I really don’t want to kiss you anymore”

What about when you have a relationship that you think is one thing – friendship perhaps, yet your partner believes it to be more, or less….And then when the truth emerges, as it always does because none of us can keep our mouths shut, someone gets hurt….

Is it better to just stop contacting each other? Just go ‘cold turkey’ and walk away until some day in the future when you bump into each other and can be polite. Listening to the stories of my single girl friends sometimes it would appear that just cutting all ties is often the kindest way forward – and they were talking about being on the receiving end not doing the cutting themselves. It’s a common topic of conversation – Why didn’t he call? Whole books are published on the subject – one that springs to mind (even though I’ve not read it, but seen the reviews) is “He’s Just Not That into You!” Sometimes it would seem that rather than being lied to we are complicent in this and we lie to ourselves. I’d guess that men as much as women tell themselves that the Object of their desire really does like them – they’re being a little offhand because they’re tired/stressed/hungry but deep down they like you, a lot. So when the moment comes that the reality of the situation is uncovered, one and possibly both partners are left hurt.

I’m not sure what the answer is here – whether we should all be more up front and just say what we feel but then running the risk that the Object of our desire doesn’t feel the same way and the result is hurt feelings and looking foolish. Or alternatively we keep our feelings to ourselves, drop little hints and generally play hard-to-get.

One of the inherent problems with telling all – aside from the obvious rejection problem – is that some people, women certainly, think through all relationships to the logical conclusion…Even if you’ve only had one date…..The Natasha Beddingfield song about Wanting His Babies is very, very true….not that we do want every man’s babies, but rather that we’ve considered it and if we don’t have a problem with the idea of it then he’s safe to date….

Be Specific!

2007-05-11T10:27:00.001+01:00

Today I have to get another chapter of my novel written. On Tuesday I saw my supervisor (some of you may know that one of the reasons I’m actually getting this novel written is because I’m completing a Masters degree and it’s a requirement) she gave me some great ideas and encouragement but she also wants me to push myself a little further…..

My novel is very much underpinned by eroticism - by that I mean that the plot and the language that I’ve used is very intense, sensual and yes, a good deal of it has this seething sexual tension which is unsaid, always just under the surface. So, the advice I have been given is to push this further by making it more apparent and specific…..my supervisor pin-pointed this exactly – “You have to have a masturbation scene”

So that’s my task for the day.

And it's not an easy one....Some of you may be thinking - What a great job! But to write about something intimate is tricky anyway, add to that the descriptive necessities - it can't be clinical, well unless it needs to be clinical....It has to be sensual, a bit of a turn on, intimate, in keeping with the rest of the book, in keeping with the character, further the plot. Yes it would be much easier if it was just a practical exercise!

Just thought you might be interested. I’ll keep you all posted on its development and effectiveness!

On Cute

2007-05-10T19:43:00.000+01:00

It’s got cold here again and the clouds have dropped down too so everything is grey and dull. This sort of weather always makes me feel down – unless of course I’m wrapped up, out hiking somewhere and have the promise of a hot bath and warm fire to curl up in front of when I return.

But at least life is taking a definite turn for the better these days. I have started a new temping job which will last for the next couple of months – it’s not the most exciting of jobs, but the people are nice and most importantly it’s all on flexi-time so I can set my own working hours so long as I do the number they need each week.

I’ve also got lots lined up with my girl friends – evenings out, girly nights in and plans for lots and lots of gossipy chats. I was discussing only yesterday with a male friend (hello Paul!) the nature of women’s conversation – what we say amongst ourselves and what we say in front of men….and also what we really mean when we talk to men…..Our conversation revolved around a chance remark about being “cute” and how men comprehend that compared to women’s understanding of the term….

In the interests of better understanding between the sexes I will recount some of my conversation….

Being called cute.....

Okay...here's the truth of the matter - most women are conditioned by society to find cute attractive, or else to use the term to describe an attractive man. If women (and I include myself in this one) had the courage they would be upfront and describe an attractive man in the terms they really mean instead of the short-hand of Cute. So, when I say a man is cute...what I really mean is "OMG, he is knicker-droppingly sexy" But wishing to remain a lady I describe him as cute.

Handsome is short-hand for either too young or too plastic. Good looking is acceptable, but usually used to describe your best friend's boyfriend - obviously you can't say, Wow, he's cute! Because she will know what you mean....

If,however, women are out on their own in a pub and see some attractive men they will say amongst themselves one of the following phrases...
"Look at him! He could do me anytime!"
"He is just sex on legs"
"Did you hear that noise? That was my knickers hitting the floor"
"Do you think he'll notice if I go up and start licking him?"

Now of course all of these remarks are made only in female company. If in mixed company - especially if the Object (of ones affections) is present, then it becomes,
"Oh, he's cute"
"What a nice looking man"
"Handsome"
"Do you know him?"
I hope this has cleared up any uncertainty and misunderstanding.
When I think of more, or indeed, have more conversations with my girl friends I will post accordingly.

2007-05-04T12:06:00.000+01:00

Sometimes sitting down and writing can be really easy, I just sit there and the words all fall out. Other times it can be as if I had to physically pull thoughts and words from my head. Often it’s not helped at all by distractions – I’m not referring to the internet but to those distractions in the real world like the carpenter coming to hang new doors or my mother deciding she’d like an in depth conversation with me about the proposed colour of her wallpaper….None of it major stuff, but sometimes I’m a bit like a hamster – I need a warm little nest in which to cocoon myself (bit of a mixed metaphor but I’m sure you get the picture).

I think writers are by nature insular or at the very least introspective – I’m always examining not just what I’ve said, but what others have said to me. Almost every conversation I have is turned over in my mind, examined from every angle – Did she mean that when she said it? What does he want? Why have they said that to me? And perhaps most importantly – I wonder what will happen next?

After yesterday’s rather down post things took something of an upturn in my life and I spent the remainder of the day with a smile on my face….Why? Ah…now that would be telling….But it’s good when things you thought had gone forever make a welcome reappearance in your life, and it’s only then perhaps that you realise just how much you missed them…..

Anyway, I went off last night and attended the launch of Patricia Debney’s novel, Losing You . Patricia read from the book and ended on a cliff-hanger, so of course we all bought copies in order to find out what happens next. Jo and Eve met for the first time and of course they got on really well so a girls’ night out is definitely in order in the near future!

This post is a bit of a mishmash of ideas, nothing fully explored or really explained. A bit like my current mental state….unexplored and unconsidered – despite my remarks above that I consider everything…Which I do, I just haven’t had time yet to think all the recent events through….

I was supposed to be going to another Speed Dating event next Tuesday, for the 30-40 age group, I’ve cancelled it. As amusing as they’ve been, as a chaperone, as a participant I felt uncomfortable and sadly I didn’t really enjoy the enforced conversation with people I wouldn’t have spoken to otherwise….hmmm, that sounds terrible, but I think what I’m saying is that I’d rather meet people who have something in common with me. Whether it’s a fellow writer, or a climber, or perhaps something a little more obscure, but someone with whom I have some common ground. The only thing I had in common with the men at the Speed Dating Event was that we were all in the same bar at the same time. I can do that any weekend and not have to pay for the benefit. Sadly it also had an air of desperation about it and I’m not in any way desperate…but I think many of the men were.

I guess getting out into the world again and regaining ones social life is no simple task when your life has altered so radically. And that thing of considering every conversation you have – maybe it holds you back, I don’t know, but I do constantly wonder about other people and why they act in certain ways….That’s not very clear, I know. I suppose what I’m getting at is that rightly or wrongly, and actually now thinking this through and writing it down I can see that I’m perhaps getting this wrong….Is that I constantly think – Why did they do that? Is it because they really like me or are they just using me? And I realise that some of my reaction is caused by an occasional dip in self-esteem (hard to believe of me, I know!) and what I should really do is to just accept things at face value – the easiest answer is often the correct one.

Sorry for the general crapness of this post – maybe I’m not entirely out of the low that I hit yesterday….

Feeling low.

2007-05-03T11:16:00.000+01:00

The weather has changed here – for the last few weeks we’ve had endless sunshine, blue skies and it’s been warm too. Today it’s overcast and cold. Maybe it’s the weather that’s causing me to feel low, or maybe it’s my biorhythms or something like that – not that I know anything about biorhythms.

Ups and downs are a natural part of life – the usual ebb and flow of our emotional state together with the ever changing state of ones day to day existence. Of course without the lows one can never truly experience the highs. That said the emptiness brought on by the lows is just depressing. A certain neediness begins to express itself in most of us – whether that’s in the form of eating more, drinking more, going shopping or crying down the telephone to your friends. But even doing those things doesn’t really fill the aching void that sits there within you.

For me now is a good time to sit and write – particularly the Novel – it relies so much upon the central character having extreme emotions that to attempt to write the passages when she is depressed is considerably harder when I’m in a good mood. I suppose that whether I like it or not I tend to write in a manner similar to that of a Method Actor – it’s necessary to experience the feelings for oneself in order to give a true representation of them. And sometimes that can be great fun – just removing the inhibitions of common sense and allowing my imagination to roam freely amongst the wilder areas that tend to see little of the light of day. Other times it can be almost cathartic to put down on (virtual) paper all that I feel in very brutal statements – getting all the bile out and away from me. Sometimes, like now, it just all makes me feel tired and I have a huge desire to just go to sleep, pull the duvet over my head and close out the world until I feel stronger.

I know that the low feeling will pass – they always do because nothing lasts forever, but just now I’m flat. I read somewhere, or maybe heard on a Radio 4 programme, that when you feel down – although thinking about it I believe the programme was referring specifically to proper depression, not just being a bit pissed off, but anyway….What they suggested was that you should ‘enjoy’ that time – see it as a time for withdrawing from your life and recuperating – taking time out for yourself, pampering yourself and not trying to be or do anymore than you are. That sounds just like I live my life anyway….

Generally my advice to others when they’re down is to count your blessings – yes I know it’s a cliché, but it’s true that there is always someone worse off, and we take so much for granted in our society that it’s too easy to forget how fortunate we are to have a roof over our heads, food, fresh water, all of those things that are just there. At the moment however, I can’t take my own advice. Nothing really to feel majorly miserable about, but as someone just put it to me, Life is a bit shite at the moment.
And funnily enough that made me smile, thanks Nick.

Speed Dating? Not again!

2007-05-02T11:16:00.000+01:00

As a writer I feel it’s my duty to have lots of adventures so that my writing can reflect the breadth of experience…or maybe I just like to get out and have fun….
Anyway, last night in the pursuit of fun and adventure I was persuaded by Jo to have a crack at Speed Dating – having now been an innocent bystander twice, she thought it was time to get my hands dirty, so to speak. The whole experience was made all the better by having not just one female friend there, Jo, but coincidentally, three others – one I’d met at the last Speed Dating event, she too had been a chaperone, and also two other fellow Rugby club members.

So there I was looking reasonably glamorous and above all, eager, sitting at a table in the window of a bar waiting for my first victim, erm, no, date. Jo was at the table next to me looking stunning as usual – imagine a near six foot, size 10 (UK) version of the actress Sarah Lancashire with a platinum blonde bob and that’s Jo – so she’s pretty eye catching. Jo jokingly says to me, wouldn’t it be funny if your ex was to walk past on his way to the cash point. Ha ha I say. And then Jo went white…..he DID walk past! Twice! Jo and I dissolved into embarrassed giggles – I was mortified and wanted to climb under the table – particularly as the organiser was giving her pep talk at the time, she saw us in uncontrollable giggles and asked what was wrong, “Her ex husband has just walked past!” shouts out Jo cheerfully. Thanks.

Well it did effectively break the ice and I don’t think that Jo and I were as nervous after that, well, not nervous of our ‘dates’, I was slightly nervous that my ex would come in and ask me if I had taken leave of my senses, or worse, stand outside point at my 3 minute victim and laugh….

So, the Dates. 17 men all supposedly within the ages of 35-45, were they? Maybe one or two was actually in his 30s, the rest were at least 45 but more likely nearer to 55 or even 65. If I was to attempt Speed Dating again I would either go to the 30-40 bracket or more likely 25-35 at least that way I would perhaps meet someone only a year or two older than me and not from an entirely different generation!

Most of the men seemed to be reasonably nice people, some were more charming than others, some more interesting than others. One was more mad than any other man I’ve met before….he had arrived with a mobile phone clamped to his ear and an ordnance survey map flapping out of the waistband of his trousers. He also possessed what I think is the last pair of NHS glasses in existence which is shocking considering we were only a couple of hundreds of yards from SpecSavers. He sat down and mumbled on about the recent earthquake that we experienced down here in Kent. Much of what he said I couldn’t hear but I did make out his general annoyance with local government who apparently contact him every time there is a natural disaster – the earthquake, a hurricane (this happened last month according to him, I missed it myself) – they contact him, ask for his ‘expert’ knowledge (on what I have no idea) and then they don’t even offer him payment or a permanent job. I made all the right noises and nodded encouragingly. He was clearly impressed by this and asked me if I listened to Radio Caroline….I didn’t have the heart to tell him it’s been gone for a long time, so I said I remembered it (that was a lie, I have heard of it, know some of the stories about it being the forerunner to Radio 1 and so on, but it was before my time I think). He then went on to tell me about a Dutch radio station that operates next door to Caroline (erm…wasn’t Radio Caroline on a boat?) he gave me the frequency to tune into and then asked me what my favourite song was….My mind went blank except for two things – James Blunt’s You’re Beautiful – no good, no good at all, it would give him all the wrong ideas! Or alternatively someone has been attempting to convert me to Leonard Cohen – now that would send out all the right messages, so Leonard it was. So if I tune in today I could hear a Leonard Cohen song which he would have broadcast just for me. Afterwards I discovered this man had told at least one woman that he finds it very hard to meet women for sex. That’s a great chat up line.

Aside from him I also managed to put my foot in it with a chap who works as a Safety Officer for a Nuclear power station – “You’re Homer Simpson!” I blurted out without giving it a second thought….

I also had a rather pained conversation with an older man who told me he drove a lorry. I attempted to draw him out and ask which firm – no reply. So I asked what he carried in his lorry – he told me the firm was based in London and did contract work for the local government. Oh, says I, that sounds interesting, and then I repeat my question, What do you have in your lorry? Finally I get a reply – Household Waste Management……Yes dear reader, he was a Bin Man. Now don’t get me wrong – there is nothing at all wrong with being a Bin Man – it’s an essential job that all of us rely on each week, or every other week in some areas around here…And not a job he should be ashamed of having, but he clearly was and didn’t have a sense of humour about it, and as we all know, humour cures all.

The end of the evening saw me with a score card filled with crosses all in the Miss column – maybe some of the men were very nice, but I’d rather stay single than settle. In fact I’d go so far as to say that I’d seriously consider taking up lesbianism as a lifestyle choice if the men last night were truly representative of the single men out there.

Dinner Dates

2007-04-27T16:49:00.000+01:00

It’s Friday afternoon and I should be looking forward to an action packed weekend….hmm….not really….

Tonight I’m out with Jo – she’s arranged for us to have dinner with the two chaps we had the drink with the other week after the Speed Dating. And while I’m sure it’ll be a pleasant evening and nice to share an intelligent conversation….hmmm….I don’t know….I’m not keen on going out with someone unless they entirely understand that this is only as friends – I don’t wish to lead these men on in any way, shape or form. So I don’t want them to end up feeling that they’ve wasted their time – but on the other hand, what’s wrong with going out for a pleasant evening, good company and Me? They’re onto a winner!

Tomorrow I had hoped to be out climbing in Tunbridge Wells again, but the guys I went with last week are all climbing on Sunday and I have to play rugby on Sunday – yes, I know that’s a bit of a shock – parents against coaches at my sons' rugby club…and even more shocking and slightly worrying is the fact that my ex is one of the coaches….it could get nasty…eeek! No, I’m sure it won’t get nasty - he’s a perfect gentleman (and he sometimes reads this blog…..). However, I have never played rugby in my life, hockey yes, but not rugby or football so it could be that come Monday I may not be able to move….

So tomorrow will find me at the indoor wall – which is still fun but just not anywhere near as much fun as climbing outside. Tomorrow evening Jo is having her housewarming dinner party – The Flatterer is going and is supposed to be bringing a friend. Hmm…why am I getting the feeling that Jo is beginning to attempt to set me up? Or maybe it’s just natural reticence. But I certainly don’t feel excited about meeting any of these men. I guess that’s only natural when one has been in a major long-term relationship and of course in no way reflects on the men – I don’t know them so it can’t reflect upon them. But getting “out there” just doesn’t feel terribly attractive at the moment unless it’s out there on a rock face.

Oh dear, a rather down and depressing entry I’m afraid. Maybe I’m scared. But I don’t feel scared of meeting men – I positively enjoy meeting new people and socialising. All of this though, just makes me feel awkward. I think maybe because it’s all a bit artificial – it is set up. And who knows, maybe there is also an element of jealousy on my part – Jo is the one who knows all these men from her Speed Dating escapades, and I’m used to being the one who talks to anyone and knows lots more people.

I have had suggestions put to me today that involve chatting up some random man in the bar where we’re due to meet and then disappearing with him for the evening….now while that may sound like quite an attractive proposition….chickening out and leaving Jo in the lurch isn’t my style at all. And I’m sure we’ll have a lovely evening – does it sound like I’m beginning to attempt to convince myself now?

The Yellow Wallpaper

2007-04-25T11:34:00.000+01:00

I’ve got one bit of work out of the way – an article written and submitted so that’s one thing crossed off the list. Now I’ve still got some redrafting to do and an academic essay to write too, but none of that needs to be in until Friday….

So I’m writing more for the blog…

Are you beginning to see a common thread here? It’s true what they say about writers – that we *have* to write – but that said it doesn’t mean that I get things done.

I’ve always been that type of writer – as a child I kept a diary, in fact sitting in an attic somewhere are volumes of my teenage diaries – tens of thousands of words, all teenage angst, all written in longhand, every day for years. I guess keeping a blog is no different – maybe a little less of the teenage angst and more of the thirty-something angst...

I know that if I went and looked at those old diaries now just opening them would slip me back into my 14 year old self – I would still remember writing those words, feeling those things and very possibly experience the same shock and embarrassment that we all suffer as self-obsessed teens. Or maybe I’d look at it all and not remember any of it and it would feel as if a stranger had written it – that often happens to me with fictional short stories I have written – I no longer recognised sections and wonder if I really wrote that – particularly when it strikes me as being good.

I think that keeping a diary is like holding a conversation with oneself and I suppose depending upon the state of ones’ mental health it will be calm and considered or mad as a box of frogs.

I had a long conversation with Roo the other day – we met for lunch (anything to thwart my deadlines) we were discussing mental health and as she is a nurse and my novel is about a mad woman we’ve both got bits of knowledge about some of the issues surrounding being barking. Aside from which as we both went to the same all girls’ boarding school we spent many years sharing confidences with plenty of crazy females.
One of the best fictional accounts of a woman’s descent into madness is the story The Yellow Wallpaper – it’s about a woman during the late 19th century who is suffering from post-natal depression, she’s alone in an attic room and pretty soon she begins to see figures in the yellow wallpaper and ultimately she swaps places with the wallpaper woman and loses her mind. The story is told in lucid detail and every step of the way the reader can see both sides to the story – yes she’s going mad, but also haven’t most of us seen faces in inanimate objects and then if you’re suffering with an elevated temperature the faces may move….It’s all within the normal bounds of experience and all too easy to understand this woman’s slide into insanity. I think that’s what frightens so many people about mental health problems – we wonder if it’s catching because we understand it so easily….

Or is that just me?

That formed part of my conversation with Roo too – if you’re aware that you’re unhinged does that mean that actually you’re sane? It’s a paradox…And Roo admitted that when she did her psychiatric rotation as part of her training she went to an open psych ward and didn’t know staff from patients….

Optimistic Fools

2007-04-24T18:58:00.000+01:00

The optimistic fool…I’ve been thinking some more about that since I wrote it earlier…and maybe it’s not such a good thing…

It is easy to end up being taken for granted and generally treated in a rather shoddy way if you are of an easy going and optimistic disposition…

Hmm, this is going to get rather deep, I can see that…Okay, on the one hand it’s got to be better to always see the best in people and to be giving, kind and approachable – I think we all like to see ourselves in this way, certainly that’s how I’d like to think I am…

But the flip side of that is that you do sometimes make excuses for people because you like them and don’t want to see any bad in them – even if they are treating you appallingly – in fact I’d go so far to say that sometimes because of the general laissez faire attitude you end up actively aiding and abetting their bad behaviour – you allow yourself to be treated badly.

But then again, it’s not always your fault that someone is a total pig-headed unpleasant individual who lacks good manners and seems incapable of behaving properly.

I could muse on about this stuff for hours….

And what about when we allow ourselves to be treated badly because we have a misguided notion that if we allow them to do this to us maybe they’ll love us/stay with us/want us. Everyone wants to be loved and some people are not so good at choosing the right person to invest that love in….

And how do you know when you have found the right person to invest in, as it were? Do any of us really know? I guess we just go on faith and hope that we’ve made the right decision – a wing and a prayer…Now that makes me think of one of my favourite films – The Wings of Desire which was then made into the Hollywood version called City of Angels. The story is about an angel who falls in love with a woman and then decides to fall to earth. It’s a beautifully melancholy story and therefore hits all the right buttons when you’re in that sort of mood.

Sex in the City? Sniggering in the Suburbs

2007-04-24T11:59:00.000+01:00

Leading life as a single woman again after more than a decade of being involved with someone is not always easy or straightforward. I have a few single female friends and thank goodness we all understand and commiserate and celebrate with each other. At times my life does feel very much like Sex in the City – except it’s a provincial town, even if it is technically a city, and there isn’t any sex going on….But we are all hopeful!

In the last couple of weeks I’ve met quite a few people who are also single – not that any of these events could be described as Dates…at the moment I’m still leaving the dating lark to my friend Jo who seems to have really got into the swing of dating. It seems to be so very common these days to be on ones second or third marriage, or to have recently split up with a partner. I guess that’s more due to me noticing it rather than the figures having leapt in the last six months….

Sometimes it seems that most of the men I and my single female friends have met are damaged in some way – still hung up on their exes, bitter, nervous, untrustworthy, or just plain mad. That said, I’m sure we single women are just the same. I know speaking for myself there are days when I’m as loopy as they come – on those days I do try to avoid heavy machinery and crowds….There’s a lot to be said for introspection, but equally there comes a point when all of us need to stop thinking Me, Me, Me and just get on with life.

Now after the sermon, here’s a quick update on the latest events in my Single Life….and it is more Shagging in the Suburbs (I wish!) than Sex in the City….perhaps Sniggering in the Suburbs would be closer the mark…

Friday night went out with my single friend Eve – she used to work in the music industry so she’s very cool, sassy and even a little scary…We caught up with a couple of her (male) friends, both still working in the music industry. All way too cool for me….I felt entirely out of my depth and rather like an awkward teenager sitting amongst hip 20 somethings – even though we were all the same age….And we drank cocktails – well, they did, I was driving – probably a good thing as if I’d been drinking I would undoubtedly have made a fool of myself, which would have made for great reading here, but I would never have been able to show my face in polite company again….I was particularly impressed when the two chaps began to insult one another in Latin – for some strange reason clever men are a huge turn on….So despite what I said the other day about a crush on Robbie Williams, I’m afraid that would be only for his physical appearance – yes, I’m shallow!

Saturday saw me having my first ever experience of climbing outside on real rock….and what a fabulous time I had. I met up with another climber down at Harrison's Rocksnear Tunbridge Wells and I was shown the ropes! I managed to complete four or five routes, all very simple ones, but nonetheless I felt a great deal of satisfaction and a huge adrenaline rush from hauling myself over the rock faces and getting to the top. I didn’t take any photographs, sadly, maybe next weekend – I’m really hoping I get out to Harrison’s again…and that has nothing whatsoever to do with the spectator sport that is watching very fit young men without shirts move gracefully over the rock…..
Sunday I went to Bowles Rocks to climb again, this time with another partner, but again had a really good time, only managed to complete two routes mainly because it was busy down there and loads of groups were hogging the simple climbs.

So all in all a great weekend, the only downside being that I got bitten by some insect on Saturday at Harrison’s and it’s gone septic – nice….So yesterday (Monday) saw me down at the doctor’s surgery picking up some antibiotics…that’s me off alcohol for a week then….Probably a good thing…..

And it was all entirely safe - which goes to prove my point, that people in general are nice....if you expect them to be kind and helpful, they will be. I know I'm a born optimist and the cynics amongst you will be pitying this poor fool, but I'm happy to remain an optimistic fool.

Fighting Fear and Being Brave

2007-04-20T11:45:00.000+01:00

The deadlines are rapidly approaching and so for that reason I’m writing my blog….procrastinating is one of my very best talents….

Here I am listening to Snow Patrol – I went to the climbing wall the other day, I was the only one there and they had ‘Run’ playing – I knew I knew the song, I was pretty sure it was Snow Patrol, but hadn’t heard it in ages, couldn’t get it out of my mind…so here I am playing all their albums now while I fritter away the day (again).
I have a couple of articles that need to be written, some redrafting that *has* to be done before the end of the month, an academic essay that needs writing, again before the end of the month, more needs to be done to the novel – it won’t get written on its own. But yet, you find me here writing my blog, planning my weekend (all very exciting stuff!), wasting time on my favourite websites and generally procrastinating….

I’m off out this evening with a female friend – we’re going out for Cocktails and are not planning a late night – but as she has been “asked to leave” at least one wine bar in town and I’m just as outspoken…and it’s the first time we’ve gone out on the town together…It could end up being a late and very wild one….Tomorrow I’m going down to climb some real rock near Tunbridge Wells – I’m meeting up with a fellow climber who I have chatted to (briefly) but never met….I’m adventurous I suppose you could say….Life is about experiences. Some of you may remember that I wrote about Fear some time ago – well both climbing and meeting new people are conquering fears for me – and I can honestly say that once you start taking control of things that make you feel a little scared you do become more brave (or should that be silly? Foolish? Foolhardy?). Someone recently used the word Gumption to describe me…I have Gumption – I’m sure that used to be a bathroom cleaner in the 80s….
Oh, and for those of you that may be concerned about my safety tomorrow, what with meeting someone I’ve never met before – I always make sure I tell someone where I’ll be, always take a mobile phone with me, always meet somewhere public – and although this is at a rural location as there aren’t many rock faces in cities, it does get very busy during the weekends. What more can one do? Yes I could take someone else along with me, but that’s my point – I don’t have a climbing partner at the moment – that’s why I’m going to meet someone to climb with….And I do think that sometimes we overstate dangers around us…it’s far more likely that I’d be injured in a road accident than either injured while climbing or by a stranger. But that said, clearly it’s on my mind as I’ve brought it up here in this post….but again I think that’s because so many of my female friends worry about this. Although my dear friend Roo – who left a comment on an earlier post – the one about walking and thinking – she has never, ever worried about talking to all sorts of people – quite often the weirder and odder the better! Roo has always trusted in the kindness of strangers and is quite possibly the most friendly person I know – I can’t think of anyone who ever has a bad thing to say about her or anyone who doesn’t love her to pieces – mind you now I’ve said all that I’m beginning to go off her a bit…Anyway, back on subject, Roo talks to everyone, is calm, relaxed and friendly to everyone and I’m sure this helps…and it’s not that she hasn’t been in tough situations, she is a nurse and trained in London in a large and very famous hospital in the Mile End Road in the East End….so she’s seen plenty of “colourful” life….
Maybe we’re all so tied up with the idea of being Safe and how everything is a threat – Health and Safety overloads – that we can’t imagine that most people are just the same as us…reasonably harmless…

Writing my thoughts down

2007-04-19T11:16:00.000+01:00

Unusual post this one – I’ve just written it and it’s really what would appear in my writing notebook – a discussion with myself – I have them regularly. This time I decided to put it down here…most of the time I can’t actually think properly, or articulate properly any thoughts I have unless I write them down…or at the very least talk about them, but talking isn’t as satisfying as writing….as much as I love talking to people, I can’t really think things through properly unless I write them down… So here’s what I’m thinking about this morning….

Sometimes sitting here alone while I write I feel like I’m going around in circles – never talking about anything new, the same old problems, desires, wants and needs just echoing around the empty space inside my head. Particularly when I’m working on the novel – which coincidently has to be finished (or pretty damn near it) by September – I do tend to go into an almost “method acting” mind set… The novel is a stalker story, a thriller if you like, but also a love story…The stalker is a woman – she falls in love with a man she sees each day on the tube on the way to work and the story is told entirely from her point of view. That feeling of desperate infatuation, an extreme crush, on someone you will never really know, someone you can never have, but you watch them each day, you hope each day for some small scrap of information, something that lets you into their life a little more….Most of us experience this at some time in our lives and generally it’s when you’re young – a crush on a popstar or actor, or even a teacher, maybe a fellow pupil….It’s something that I believe we tend to leave behind when we grow up and start experiencing “real” relationships…Or do we leave it behind? I’m beginning to think that we simply shove those obsessive feelings into a metaphorical box in the back of our mental wardrobes…And perhaps we get them out again when something major happens in our lives: perhaps what used to be called A Mid-Life Crisis….Certainly from my own experience I’ve seen and heard about men and women – but mostly men, actually – who become obsessed with a woman they can’t have or don’t even know…I wonder sometimes if it’s a safe way of experiencing the excitement of a new relationship without screwing up the existing relationship they already have with their wives…

And I guess that’s the thing – we all want a little excitement, something new and adventurous in our lives at some time or another…And if we begin to think that there is someone out there who will understand us better, find us more attractive, be better in bed, make us feel special, more loved, more desirable….well, sometimes that may seem worth turning your life upside down for….

In my novel this isn’t the case – her life is empty and he brings some colour into it, so she doesn’t have to give everything, or anything up for him. She's a far more dangerous proposition than someone wanting a fling which is why essentially I’m writing a thriller, albeit a slow-burning one dressed up as a love story…and yes, I do know how it’s going to end – that came first – there would be no novel if I hadn’t had the idea of the ending.

Anyway, I’ve been thinking, how do you let someone know that you’re infatuated with them? The reason I’m asking this is because in my novel she is unhinged and has a very skewed view of the world so it’s good to think how people achieve their ends with normal means – I can then consider how she would go about such matters….
And on this one I’m stumped – it’s such a long time since I had a crush on someone and to be honest I did nothing about it – well Robbie Williams was never going to ask me out, was he? And if I had a crush on someone today then I’d maybe do something practical about it – like talk to them, flirt with them and become friends until they could no longer resist my charms! But she’s not in this position – she’s still stuck emotionally as a teenager despite holding down a responsible job and generally appearing to be an adult.
If she ignores him and tries to play hard to get he might just forget her, move on and she’ll be lost, utterly crushed. So how should she get him to notice her? Or should she just wait until fate takes a hand and events take an unexpected turn…

Speed Dating, Again.

2007-04-18T11:40:00.000+01:00

Last night I went out with Jo to another Speed Dating event – I was Moral Support (or Chaperone…) again. This time she had booked into the 40-50 year old age group (she’s only just into her 40s although you wouldn’t know it). Anyway, we got into the bar, as before I was sent to sit in the corner, this time with four other Chaperones. Glancing around the room I felt a little uncomfortable – everyone in there had at least a decade, or far more on me…I think I was young enough to be the daughter of at least half of the Daters…..But, well, everyone is entitled to have a go…Although I did think Jo’s chances of picking up anyone here who still had their own teeth and hair was fairly remote….
The first guy she had to chat to looked like a cartoon character – one from the Simpsons, no, not Homer…He was short, round, wore glasses and all in all looked like someone you would go out of your way to avoid. Sad really because he might have been the nicest chap there last night…but somehow I don’t think so because while first impressions do count, if anyone has a dazzling personality then that comes across – looks aren’t everything and none of us looks model perfect – not even models before Photoshop has done its work…Jo didn’t tick him.
When the event was over I stood up and waited by the door while Jo went to retrieve her coat. I was pounced upon by a tall grey haired gentleman who asked why I wasn’t taking part (I’m guessing this is a standard chat up line as The Flatterer used one similar at the last event) and was I available? I told him that yes, while I was currently available I wasn’t taking part because this was the wrong age group for me, I’d be in one of the younger groups if I decided to do it…..I said this before I’d considered how his feelings might be hurt….He looked crestfallen and then very quickly asked if he and his friend could join us while we went to the bar next door….Fast movers.
We went next door and I happened to turn around when I reached the bar only to see that around half a dozen of the men had followed us in here but none of the women….And the two chaps we were with both managed to look like dogs with two tails – they were buying drinks for the Single Women!
The four of us sat down together and had a very pleasant time chatting about the usual stuff you chat about at the pub – jobs, kids, holidays, hobbies….And I think we maybe frightened them a little as both Jo and I explained that we have paying jobs, creative jobs (the ones that don’t pay), kids, Jo runs and swims, I climb and hike…And we even managed to fit in an evening out….Them? They went to work, watched Top Gear and …um…about it really….

So yes, Jo and I are fantastic.

Jo had ticked one of the chaps we had a drink with and she hopes he’s ticked her because she’d like to meet up with him again – as a friend…..But I think it's because she enjoyed having a man hanging on her every word and quite clearly in awe of her...I enjoyed that too! Hmmm, maybe I should start hanging around with older men!

Bars and cars

2007-04-15T18:24:00.000+01:00

Jo has just moved into a lovely little house and to celebrate her move we went out on the town. Originally the plan had been for her to host a dinner party – I was invited along with The Flatterer and a couple of other people. For various reasons this didn’t happen, so Jo and I went out to try the local pubs….We ended up in one called The New Inn which was quiet when we arrived and then became packed out as the local rugby team came in to celebrate their victory over another local team that afternoon. Before long I was in deep discussion with the Winger about how rugby is a better game than football and within ten minutes of starting this conversation half a dozen other members of the team had joined in too….Now Jo is quite shy, I’m not – hence me chatting happily to the rugby team and Jo watching while looking slightly horrified – they did look a mean bunch but were actually very nice and very friendly. All in all it was a fun evening: quite a laugh, not too much to drink and Jo and I were back in her house (Alone) by 11.30pm. This morning Jo asked me if I’d noticed the dirty looks I’d been getting from one of the rugby wives….I hadn’t seen that at all, but apparently this woman spent most of the evening giving me the evil eye….Jo, being the brave sort had stared hard at this woman.
So today I was supposed to go watch the kids play rugby down near Tunbridge Wells….a journey of around an hour from Jo’s house….the M20 was closed at one junction and I got stuck on there in the 7 mile tail-backs…then I got caught up just after an accident had happened just outside of Lamberhurst…all in all the one hour journey turned into a FOUR AND A HALF HOUR journey! In beautiful weather – I could have been hiking, biking or climbing outside in the sunshine instead of being sat in a bloody car in traffic….ggggrrrrrrr! And I missed the rugby too.
Next weekend I intend to return to the Tunbridge Wells area but it will be to go climbing on the Southern Sandstone down there – just wait, I guarantee now that the rest of the week and next weekend will be wet.

Roller Skating and More Knickers

2007-04-13T23:38:00.000+01:00

A couple of posts all rolled into one….
Busy week for me – kids off school for the Easter break so they needed entertaining and exercising – nine year old boys are rather like Labradors – they must be regularly exercised or they get bad tempered and wreck the house…. So I took them to the local Roller Rink down at the lovely Herne Bay – also known locally as Rupture Cove: partly because the average age of the residents is somewhere around 90 and also because it is Hern(ia) Bay…yes, very poor joke…
Anyway, discovered that I am far, far better than the kids at roller skating – I didn’t fall once and managed after ten minutes or so to leave the safety of the sides of the rink and skate unaided. When I was in my early teens I used to go each Saturday morning to the very same rink and even took part in Speed Skating …and just like riding a bike, you don’t forget how to roller skate….
Later that day I went off on my own (thank goodness the little devils were worn out!) down to the climbing wall…Fine you may think…..And that’s what I thought too…until I got home and caught sight of my rear view in a mirror under bright lights………
I went shopping the other week to buy some nice knickers purposely for climbing in – ones without lacy bits that wouldn’t ‘ride up’ – it’s not terribly pleasant to have to keep tugging at your knickers every time you get down from the wall and your black climbing leggings end up with chalky hand prints all over the backside….Anyway, popped into La Senza as they had a knicker sale on, bought a load of very nice cotton ones that sported slogans….didn’t think any more about it…until I got back from climbing and noticed that my knickers (hot pink) were slightly evident under my leggings…well, actually it was the printed slogan that was evident….
On the front of said knickers was a picture of a donkey….and yes, I bet you’ve guessed by now….on the back, emblazoned across the cheeks of my butt are the words "NICE ASS"

No wonder the guys at the wall were all offering to spot me when I climbed….and offering loads of advice and encouragement to get back up on the wall….

Walking and deep thought

2007-04-08T19:48:00.000+01:00

Had a bad night’s sleep last night – there was a rave going on in the nearby woods and they could well have placed the speakers outside my bedroom window it was that loud….Not that I object to anyone enjoying themselves, et cetera, et cetera, but when you’re woken at 4am and then can’t go back to sleep because of the banging bass….it wears a bit thin…
Anyway, beautiful day today (Easter Sunday) decided to go off for a bike ride – aimed to do around ten miles and take in a couple of big hills (I’m useless on hills) – did around four miles – mainly because I ended up at the woods where the rave had been held..no was still being held….and decided I would be taking my life in my own hands trying to negotiate the huge amount of traffic and the large police presence…So back home and a rethink…
Decided to drive down to beautiful Graveney (near Whitstable), parked up and went walking along the sea shore. I thought it would be relaxing and I do love to walk alone with just my MP3 player for company – pretty much regardless of the weather this always cheers me up no end. I walked along the coast past Seasalter – private beach, big houses and lots of speed boats, reached the outer edges of Whitstable – Islington-on-Sea, a total Cath Kidson overload on the beach huts, but admittedly it does look very pretty. Ended up in Whitstable High Street, thought I’d go for a coffee somewhere and then stroll back (actually I never stroll unless I’m with someone, my walking pace is not far off Yomping…so I’ve been told). Wandered past the Whitstable Oyster Bar (very famous, very small and rather pink)
and couldn’t decide upon a café – there were only two that I could see and neither looked terribly Single Woman friendly…Daft I know, and it doesn’t usually bother me, normally I’ll go in wherever I chose, but for some reason – maybe because I was hot and sweaty from the walk – I just didn’t fancy going in and sitting alone – I also didn’t have a book to read or a note book and pen either with me.
So I ended up retracing my steps and going back. On my return journey I started to think about endings again…something I know I’ve touched on before here. How we say goodbye to people, things, parts of our lives….I can’t remember what it was I was listening to something by Jack Johnson I think – it’s appropriate music as he’s a surfer…and yes, I know Whitstable isn’t known for surfing, but it is known for Windsurfing….and his music is ideal for walking along a beach.
Lives are just about change…it’s the only certainty in life – that everything will change, sometime. How you handle that change is up to you and partly dependent on your previous experiences. Sometimes it takes sheer force of will to deal with change in a different manner.
What am I talking about?
Say for instance that when you leave a job or for that matter a friend or partner, you usually cope very badly by either falling apart or by treating everyone involved very badly – leaving by sending a text for example. Anyway the result is always the same – that you never manage to keep the thread of friendship from earlier parts of your life.
Now, say you’d like to change that – you want to stay friends with your old boss or your old boyfriend/girlfriend….You can’t change other people’s behaviour – you have no control over them – the only behaviour you have control over is your own. So that’s where you start – you change fundamental things in your own behaviour – you don’t give someone the push by text, you discuss it with them like adults. You write a nice letter of resignation thanking your boss for all the support (it is appropriate to tell a few white lies or embellish at this point) during your period of employment.
And the result? You get a really good reference from your old boss and he/she takes you out for a leaving pub crawl too…And your ex boy/girl friend wishes you all the best and you remain on reasonable terms…even if it’s only to say “hello” politely when you bump into them at the local pub (while you’re on that crawl with the boss)…And who knows, maybe the exes (boss included) may still want to have something to do with you in the future….
And you know, I’ve still not managed to discuss what I really wanted to talk about here…
I wanted to talk about how sometime it’s just time to move on….How sometimes friends that you thought you’d have forever just don’t end up being that…..How sometimes one day you wake up and realise that it’s just not meant to be…How sometimes life just doesn’t turn out the way you’d hoped….And how hard it is to both recognise these things and act on them. It’s easy to maintain the status quo – keep things as they are, just ticking over, but everyone ends up sad and lonely that way…change is the only way forward, for better or worse.

And the song that kicked all this off was Jack Johnson’s Bubble Toes from Brushfire Fairytales – I could give you all the links to the lyrics, but I’m not going to this time….If you’re interested you’ll find them and maybe you’ll know something more about me….