Tag Archives: Writing

Final Furlong

[Bored, Received Pronunciation Commentator]

We’re under starters’ orders… and we’re off! Leading the pack is Good Idea, following up is Intriguing Plotline, and close behind is Convincing Theme. Setting a good pace for the pack is Hard Work, always necessary to see in the field and also from the same stable, Long Hours. They’re making good time now and we see the field go around the first corner.

[Bit surprised, becomes alert] But what’s this? Lagging in the Middle and Loose Thread are suddenly leading, followed up by Self Doubt and Inner Confusion, making this a race anyone can still win. It seems Good Idea has lost their rider, and that’s now confirmed by the steward, Good Idea has lost their rider.  

[Utterly excited, yelling at the top of his voice] But as we come around to the final sprint, all horses straining now with the effort, and the sheer weight of the course behind them, we find that it is neck and neck, with Not Giving Up Now and Sheer Bloodymindedness looking likely to lead. And as we come to the photo finish, we see Sheer Bloodymindedness winning the race, with a photo finish, and making us all very proud. Well done. Hopefully that will see them to the winners’ enclosure. 

“Aha ha, yes.”

Any ideas?

I wish I could come up with something wonderful for you all, but it is Sunday. Beloved son is asleep. In fifteen minutes I’m going to get up from this chair, put on a load of laundry, get things ready for the rest of the week and start linner (cross between lunch and dinner). This is the down time, here, right here. The coming week will see me at work, with a very busy day Tuesday, a very busy and long day on Wednesday, and an increasing storm as we approach Professorship interviews here in work.

This going to be a doddle.

And that is in fact the day job. The real work is the little man, making sure he is developing, looked after and okay. This weekend he’s had ear infections in both ears and had to have meds four times a day. That’s not going to stop just  because his mother has plans, as it shouldn’t. So I’m going to draw a line under this blog now, go off and enjoy the rest of this next fifteen minutes and then get stuff done. Talk to you all soon.

Sunday Night feelings.

So, it is Sunday. Sunday night, to be exact. I would love to give you a blog full of wisdom and good cheer, that extols the virtues and raises you up to inspiring heights. Or rather, create a funny, cheeky blog, full of wacky adventures that make you grateful for your own ordinary life, your own ways and mannerisms.

Instead, though, I’m just tired. I’m really tired, the kind of tired that is uninspired, unwise, and a bit whiny. I want to stop, stop writing, stop working, stop trying. I want to have my hard work acknowledged by all around me and my goals to come down and meet me half way. I want to be recognised as a good person without any flaws and to have those who seem blind to this fact beg me, just beg me for forgiveness. I want to be the only car on the road, the only voice in my ear, the only paradigm of success for others. I want to be rich, thin, pretty, smart and content.

All this. I’m ungrateful for my lot in life, my son, my husband, my work, my writing, my home, my happiness. There are people out there who would love my problems.

Doesn’t mean they don’t still feel like problems, though. Is it the time of year, do you think? The darkness just goes on and on, and we all get restless and discontent and hunt for things to make us sad? Don’t know. Don’t really care, either. Just wish I could get five more hours sleep per night and more time at work and everything and everything… Anyways. The writing is continuing. The work is all. We’ll get there. And we’ll use the whines as inspiration.

A Tired Seamstress

A Tired Seamstress Angelo Trezzini

Something Has To Give.

Hello, sports fans. Hopefully you’re indoors on this rainy, play-called-off Sunday. I’ve the headphones on listening to Chopin, himself is cooking listening to ACDC (hence the headphones), and the child is either asleep or burning something around here somewhere. So I thought I’d take the opportunity to get a few lines down.

In terms of writing, still managed to get into the desk twice this week at 6.30am in the morning. We have now reached the thirty-one thousand word mark, and I’m reaching the inner landmarks of this novel that I’ve carried around with me for so long. One of them was reached this Thursday, in an early morning session that was just wonderful. One of these characters is, after a dreadful period in her life, regaining her sense of humour. As she lies in bed at the end of a long day, her imagination takes on a long fantasy so comically outrageous, she makes herself burst out laughing, the first time she’s laughed in years. I’ve carried that moment around in my head over and over and over again, a glass snowball of her life and her heart in that exact moment that I have had to write out to finally make free. And this Thursday she and I finally got there, we finally got to see it together.

A lot of paddling to get to that shore…

But all this is taking its toll. I’m exhausted, and really I don’t have much in the way of mental … character left in me by doing this. I normally am scrupulous with what I eat, but I just can’t keep that up this week. I came home and made Chicken Casserole with tonnes of potatoes. It tasted amazing, but the carbs should have been a big no-no. I’m finding my hands full, of all these loose fraying threads, and there is only so much energy I can give to everything. Someone took too long at a traffic light on the way home on Friday and the fury I felt was irrational, exhausted, just nonsense.

By the end of this I’m going to be a basket case. Seriously. I’m going to be nuts.

Don’t care. I think.

Me and the Writing

So, first week down. I’ve been getting up at 5.30am to get into work by 6.30 am and write. It has been an interesting week, for several different reasons, but I will say that I have found it easier than I would have thought.

And… Up we go again!

Firstly, as to my security. I work on a campus, and so the place is open to the public. I’m also not terribly eager to explain myself to security each and every time. So I go in, and unlock the door, then lock the door behind me, thereby insuring I’m safe while I work, and not freaking out security who come to lock it at 7.30am.

Secondly, playing catch up. So far, I’ve made myself up to date on my list of submissions. It really is a wonderful sensation to do so. Most of these things require bios, synopsis and such, so even if the damn thing is written you have to supply ancillary text to back it up. And that is now done, two novellas submitted. I’ll hear about one in December and one at the end of this month, so I will get to stagger the rejection, if nothing else.

Finally, coffee. My veins must be made of it at this stage…

Also, I managed to plot out the novel. I’ve seen the characters change hugely even in the short time I’ve been writing it, and so I am pleased to finally get that acknowledged and get a new plot done. We will see what the next week brings.

Happy Glenroe day to the lot of ye.

This is good.

The practical way he writes about writing makes me want to pound on the keys of my keyboard.

We’ve all watched a lifetime’s worth of TV and movies that put big and often violent events into the first five minutes as a hook to get our attention. The assumption is that we have the attention span of chimpanzees. But hooks are hard to live up to; you can’t stay at that level. Besides, screen culture does violence better than written culture — leave the big violence to the movies. Better to start with a small mystery and build up to a bigger one. The truth about a situation is always big enough to sustain someone’s attention.


Write a blog post? Are you Crazy?

I don’t have time to write a blog post! Have you seen the amount of laundry I have to do, the dirty windows I have to clean, the dishwasher that needs emptying, the floor to be washed? Have you seen the sink full of dishes, the bins that need emptying and then being brought back in?

I sure as heck won’t be writing this weekend, I can tell you. What, get up early and write? While the dawn is distant and the mist is heavy? Madness I tell you!

And it is not that I will be writing. Instead I will be letting the damn story out of my brain to fly free, to flutter wings it is banging inside my head, and to let it greet the air with the freedom I can’t give it yet.

Me? Write? Madness!

100 Days without Sugar – 54 Exciting Days to Go!

New newers be doing something here; Our heroine had successfully lost over 60 lbs, but has slowly gained back a stone. Shocked at the shocking state of her, she resolves to do without sugar for 100 days.

And that you all should hear about it, you random chance favoring people.

Now read on…

Thursday 26 June 2014: I’ve been sick one way or another for most of this week. A flu-like stomach bug hit me on Sunday and I have only really recovered since yesterday. And when I say recovered, I mean it has now become a wet-nosed cold.

Like this fella.

I managed to keep the swims up bar this morning, as I can feel the cold moving to my chest and just didn’t need to add to that. But I’m here, I’m alive, all is well.

Speaking of all is well, can I direct you to the marvellous news? Re Susan Lanigan, the brilliant and marvellous and brave Susan? You can order it on Amazon, you know. Gwan gwan gwan, do. Be your best friend!


Wednesday Write In #90

The prompts are; jungle  ::  matchbox  ::  sparrow  ::  hog  ::  mull

The matchbox room was a comedown after the jungle. She stood next to her luggage and stared at the tiny room.

“It is a bit small, I grant you,” said the cockney landlord behind her, “but I think you’ll find it will grow on you.”

Like mildew, she thought. “It’s fine, thank you. I hope you received the deposit on time?” She turned to look at his hog-like face, that managed to glisten with sweat in the cold room.

“I did, indeed. I trust that the rent will be forthcoming shortly?”

“Yes, on the fifth, as arranged.”

“Excellent. Then I will leave you to your new abode,” he said, giving one last greasy smile, and then finally shutting the door behind him.

She sighed as she looked around her. The room was big enough for a sparrow, really, nothing more. Her large trunks looked ridiculous bundled up against the wall, but she she had no idea things would be like this.  It had seemed the norm when she had taken the steamer back to London. She would have to prioritise what to unpack, use only what she needed. She dreaded what the bathroom must be like. None of that mattered, anyway.

She sat down on the bed and mulled it over. He had been gone since January, that was four months now. She had no intention of letting him remove himself from her life without explanation, without some idea of what was going on. That was unacceptable. She was going to find out what had happened to him. And then she was going to go home, back to her old life and her own country.

Home. She thought with misery of the starlings and birds that fluttered on the veranda at home, the heat and the light so breathtaking and familiar at the same time. She wanted to go back there so much. But first she had a job to do. Find him. And then go home. Even if it was over his dead body.