Of Whizz-Bang Fizzle March 5, 2010
Posted by Jen in : Journal, Novel , 13 commentsOk, ok, I confess. The novel-writing has sort of ground to something of a halt. I’ve been, ahem, a little distracted with what I laughingly call ‘real life’. There has been rather a lot of it lately. Work is ridiculously busy. Tweed Clad Colleague mysteriously gets louder in direct proportion to workload. I am wearing ear plugs and wondering whether people have forgotten there’s supposed to be a recession on? Working 72 hours a day is not conducive to fabulous novelling you know.
Excuses excuses. I know. I have, however, managed to produce yet another short story. I struggle and struggle with them though no one in my lovely writing group has laughed yet. Well, not in a mean fashion. All I need to do now is summon up the courage to start subbing them. Voices rumble in my head. All aboard the nine-eleven fast train to Rejection City. Mind the gap, you clumsy berk. Eek. Editors should be like the Chitty Chitty Bang Bang child-catcher. Not that my stories should be caged, or even tied up. I’m just not convinced they’re ready to be free? But I will. Oh yes, I will for it is written on the blog.
Anyway, my novel is fermenting. Festering. Whatever. This weekend will see a tumble of words. No really, it will! If not, you are permitted to chase me round Tescos with a pointy stick while I stuff weak platitudes into my trolley along with some Bicarb of Soda and a bunch of tulips. The tulips are to make me happy (they will be purple) and the Bicarb of Soda is to sparkle up the words wot I have writted already. I’m not sure they have the right flavour. They don’t taste of string though, which is a good thing. I’m just not sure what they should taste of? Strong black coffee? No… vanilla cheesecake? Nope, too sweet… oh, I’ve got it. Space Dust. Sweet but bitter with a lingering fizzle on the tongue. Yes, that will do nicely. Or Flying Saucers – the orange ones. Ah, those were the days.
What d’you mean I haven’t told you about meeting Man from the Past? What can I say? It was better than a Wham bar. Even better than Gold Nuggets bubble gum. ‘Go easy on me on the blog,’ he pleaded. This means he may read what I say. I’m saying nothing. First rule of theatre, darlings, always leave them wanting more. Leave you wanting more, I mean. Not him. But actually… oh dear. Perhaps it will another 22 years until we meet again. (Him, not you.) I do hope not. *Blushes*
Must dash, she said, changing the subject. My aubergines are griddled. This is not a euphemism. What flavour will your day be today?
