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Of Snivelling Snotbuckets November 30, 2007

Posted by Jen in : Novel , 17 comments

S’funny. Well, depends on your definition of ‘funny’ I suppose. Anyway. When I started The Novel, I had this great big idea that music and art were going to feature really strongly as some sort of metaphor or catalyst. (Catalyst? No, I have no idea what I’m talking about either.) Somehow, though, it didn’t quite happen that way.

All that time ago, 90,000 words seemed like more words than I even knew. What on earth will I write about to fill in the 80,000 between beginning and clichéd end? I thought. Admittedly, the tosh that I wrote meant that I got to know my characters better. But now, somehow, I’ve just hit 70% and it’s all happening. All on its very own. And I’m wondering how to cram all the good bits in before the finishing line? The huge swathes of tosh will have to be pruned with a machete and the good bits written instead. Gawd.

Things, serendipitously, are still clicking into place. I have been asked at the last minute to play with Cranbrook Symphony Orchestra in a concert tomorrow night. And they’re performing one of my favourite pieces of music. This spurred me on this morning to write a section of The Novel that is pivotal, bringing in all the things I wanted to include and drawing everything together. But writing it, while listening repeatedly to this, has made me cry so much that I’m now a quivering emotional wreck with a rosy red cheeks and stuffed up snozzle. See? A funny business, this writing lark.

 



Of Hardy Histories November 26, 2007

Posted by Jen in : Bits and Pieces, Journal , 8 comments

You know, I never used to be interested in history. It was just stuff, old fashioned nonsense that didn’t matter anymore. But I’m beginning to be intrigued by change, now that I’m becoming something of a relic myself.

Yesterday, I stood shivering in the porch of a village church, waiting to go and play some Bach. Yes, I know, some would say I’m Bach-ing every day. Anyway. In this church porch was a man we’ll call ‘Lance’, for that is indeed his name. Now Lance is proper old, with snowy hair, stooped shoulders and a Sunday-best suit. As a boy, he used to attend the service in that chilly church every week.

He smiled and whispered to us:

‘My mother entertained us during sermons by making rabbits out of her handkerchief. And my grandmother’s hat, bearing in mind this was Edwardian times, was too big to fit through the doors but she always refused to take it off.’

I wonder how it must feel to go back to a place that I’d visited in Edwardian times, a place that looks and smells and feels the same. It has made me feel sort of insignificant, an inconsequential speck in the story of time. Perhaps I’ll start carrying a handkerchief and being a little more dignified. Or perhaps not. Times have, sadly, changed.

I seem to have spent the first half of my life not really understanding what’s important but quite glad that I’ve discovered the bits that are. Just need to figure out how to put the missing bits into action now before my history is all wrong.


 


Clicking into Place November 22, 2007

Posted by Jen in : Journal , 16 comments

Oh, isn’t it fab when things magically fall into place? Thanks to Nice Caroline, I found my way not only to Sarah Salway’s Leading the Dance but also, click click clickety-click, to Sarah Salway’s blog. And as I’m something of a serendipity sucker, I’m thinking the angels were with me when I got an email back that very afternoon to say I’d snaffled the last place on Sarah’s writing course on 6th December.

Needless to say, I am really quite excited by this prospect. I mean, yes, give it another week and I will be panicking madly, hyperventilating as I lurch round Tunbridge Wells trying to find the right clothes to make me look proper writerly but not a nitwit. And on 6th December, I won’t be speaking. Oh no. Gulp. I will be too terrified for any of that speaking spazzily malarkey.

I’m not sure how to dress like a writer, actually. I’m thinking macramé cardigan and aubergine corduroy flares. And a beret. And a necklace made from beads bigger than my head. That’ll blend me in perfectly, no?


Name-driven Nonsense November 17, 2007

Posted by Jen in : Bits and Pieces , 16 comments

Hurrah. Just as my brain had drained, Kate tagged me. Thank the Lord for that.

“List one fact, word or tidbit that is somehow relevant to your life for each letter of your first or middle name. You can theme it to your blog or make it general. Then tag one person for each letter of your name.”

J – Jollification. You can’t beat a good laugh. One of the things I like most about lovely bf is that we really are very similarly spazzy in our sense of humour. One of the best things ever is when you meet someone randomly who is on the same chortling wavelength. And I’m going to see Sean Lock tomorrow. I mean, I’m not just going to turn up at his house or anything. He’s doing a gig. In Tunbridge Wells. Ahem. That’s Royal Tunbridge Wells to you.

E – Eggs. I really like eggs. They’re very nice. I wouldn’t want to be one though.

N – Nervousness. Despite being outwardly gregarious, I am terribly scared of meeting people. I always like the idea of ‘other people’ but have been known to take to my bed in the manner of a fainting Victorian at the thought of socialising with strangers. What if I wear the wrong clothes, or I’m too noisy, or I drink too much and am sick, or if everyone is a zillion times cleverer than me and they think I’m gormless? Luckily, despite all those things having happened, the strangers are always politer than me too and kind enough not to mention my shortcomings before pudding.

N – Nitwittery. This is clearly my speciality. At a drunken dinner party, the menfolk were discussing, for some reason, whether they would sleep with any of the others’ women. (Needless to say, the women were in the kitchen at this point. Or doing tapestry. Something like that.) I came out bottom of the list. “She’s just not really all there, is she?” said Anonymous Bloke. “I mean, you’d want to look after her, not shag her.” Sigh. Didn’t fancy him anyway.

Y – Yakking. I do love a good natter. Being of the butterfly-brained variety, there’s no end of nonsense I can either spout or tolerate. I miss being able to bump into old school friends and catch up on spurts of gossip. This is something that has been bothering me lately. But. I happened upon a friend I haven’t seen for over a year in the corner shop yesterday. And she’s coming for coffee in a minute. I hope I’m wearing the right clothes and that she doesn’t think I’ve become short or spazzy. Sigh.

So, I’m supposed to tag five peoples but that smacks of favouritism. I think you should all do it. Go on, I dare you.


Of Ticking Time November 13, 2007

Posted by Jen in : Journal, Novel , 18 comments

Well, having been signed up for a further five weeks in the no-longer-hellish hospital, I’m limping along with the novel. I am sooo determined to get the thing finished by the end of the year – if I don’t, I can see it slipping by the wayside and that’s not what I want at all.

I actually got up at 5.30 this morning to scrawl out some words. To be honest, it was the lure of the dog and his bladder-bursting running-up-and-down-the-stairs antics that dragged me out of bed, rather than any writerly compulsion but still. 600 words before brek’s not bad. I sort of like delirious dawn typing, huddled up in blankets while Venus blinks in at me.

Being a mathematical genius, I have calculated that, in order to get the last 30,000 or so words written by the end of the year, I will have to get up early quite a lot. Bugger.

I will though. I really will. Sometimes, just sometimes, you have to go that extra mile if you want something badly enough.

Watch this space. Yawn…


 


Saturday Scaredy-Cats November 10, 2007

Posted by Jen in : Journal , 10 comments

I don’t want to go to the outside world today. I want to stay in my warm, comfy bubble. I want to write. I really want to write. Instead, I am going to Folkestone. That, in itself, would not be a bad thing. The trouble is that I do not actually know where Folkestone is. On the edge somewhere, I think.

Reader, if you never hear from me again, I will have died in a sea of sardine sarnies, surrounded by warbling sopranos. Your worst nightmare too, eh? What a curious coincidence.

A few weeks ago, I was looking forward to this day of musical adventure, the thrill of meeting new people. Musician-y people. But now I’m all twitchy. I don’t really like meeting new people. People are quite scary. Horrid too, sometimes. I suspect that there will be no giggling foray to the pub for lunch. Instead, there will be ‘church tea’, watered down so as not to overexcite anyone. I will be the only one who has not taken a packed lunch and will have to share someone’s sandwiches. The sandwiches will contain margarine and pilchards and Spam but I will not realise this until they are refusing to go down the hatch. They will get stuck in my teeth and get blown around the room when I play my flute. Oh dear.

I wish I could be more oomphy. I wish I could grab the initial excitement that fills me at the prospect of doing new stuff. Instead, my stomach is churning as I just know that I’ll get lost on the way, rush in late, drop my music so that it’s all shuffled up and thus play the wrong piece at the wrong time. People will notice that I’m a spaz and my face will go all red.

Sigh.

The dog has decided that he will accompany me on this musical mission. He is quite proficient on the bassoon. He has been all along, apparently, I just never thought to ask him.  I’m so crap.  Who needs the outside world when they’ve got a bassoon-playing pooch anyway?

 


 


Of Birds on the Wire November 6, 2007

Posted by Jen in : Journal , 13 comments

They pushed and they shoved, three shouting teenagers with their lank hair escaping from their hoodies as they tried to force their way past me into the house. I called and called for lovely bf to help me but he was probably plugged into his pc as usual and didn’t hear me.

Finally, I managed to slam the door shut, breathing heavily with relief. I knew they wouldn’t go quietly and, later, I saw it. Throat cut, the chicken gazed at me helplessly as it swayed, pegged to the washing line.

To make matters worse, I forgot to put my trousers on before heading off to work. On the rickety, noisy train people stared at me. They didn’t stop looking at my lardy legs even as I pointed out that we were passing the Statue of Liberty.

Sigh.

I’m wondering whether giving up my generous doses of caffeine and booze is a good thing after all.

And as for lovely bf… he should be made to suffer for failing to save me, don’t you think?