Spiral Skies

Six Quick Quirks January 31, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Bits and Pieces , 20 comments

I’ve been tagged. Not by the police, of course; always one step ahead of the law, me. Tagged, in actual fact, by Liz and Sarah and Angie. I know, too many ‘ands’ but it makes me feel more popular than a shorter list with commas.

So. Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.

I had some cold Shepherds Pie for breakfast today. I didn’t have wine with it though.
I am too scared to go to coffee shops on my own. I have never done it, ever, even though I really want to. I panic: do I wait for the coffee or do they bring it over? What if I wait and get the coffee and then there’s nowhere to sit? There just seem to be too many things that could go terribly wrong.
I am rather rubbish at supermarket shopping. I can only buy what I fancy eating that very day which means the pantry’s always empty except for dog food and out-of-date muesli that I clearly do not fancy very much at all.
I never fancy film stars/pop stars/celebrities. This, I believe, is due to two traumatic incidents in my childhood: a) My heartless mother ripping down my beloved David Soul poster when she was in a rage about something or other (but which David Soul was probably not responsible for). b) Discovering that the super-duper Nick Beggs from KajaGooGoo was a Christian and therefore unlikely to want to marry a 13-year-old schoolgirl.
Erm… I am never, ever on time for anything. If I actually leave home before I’m supposed to arrive wherever I’m going, I think I’m doing quite well. I’m not. Obviously.
At primary school, I came last in every sporting event on every single occasion. The only exception to this rule was a running race on Sports Day when I was 10. I was nearly crying with joy to be only second-last until I saw that Sarah Skittrall had fallen down a molehole. I was really glad she was in the hole. I’m still glad.

I’m sure everyone has already done this. I’m, um, a little late with it…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u_HyS94O2h0

Of Further Foolishness January 28, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Journal , 24 comments

Ooh, ‘eck. Despite my crazed ramblings about pyjamas and other pitiful demonstrations of alleged intelligence, I have a second interview this afternoon. I have been contemplating my interview homework and have Had Some Ideas. Unfortunately, most of the ideas occurred during the night and now my brain is seizing up and my eyes have disappeared inside my head.

It has occurred to me that my brain thinks it is living on Ozzie time. During the day, in Great British time, I can talk only of pyjamas. At night, I become a ruddy genius. This is rather a drawback.

As luck would have it, my lack of sleep is not making me drowsy. I am worryingly perky. This has nothing to do with the fact that I have rather gormlessly run out of oil and have no heating. Becoming an Eskimo is not a career choice I’m considering. Endless warming tea-drinking is quite nice. However, its subsequent necessary wee-based activity is most tricky when wearing seventeen layers of clothes. Brrrrrrrr.

(Dear Prospective New Boss,

I promise that I will not say this sort of thing out loud, with my mouth, if I am in your employ. I am really quite normal in every way. Honest.)

When I am not too busy Having Ideas and being an Eskimo, I may have to consider a way of writing a blog of nonsense that is not linked to the being-sensible-most-of-the-time real me. Sigh.

Of Triple Ineptitude January 24, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Journal, Novel , 25 comments

Hmmm. Would you like some advice on how to have a happy career? Marvellous. Here you go then:

Do not write an email on spec to a tip-top publishing company proclaiming your fabulous tea-making abilities. Especially after exceeding your daily caffeine intake in one hour. This could give the impression of lunacy.
Do not accidentally out yourself in your blog of nonsense. Your prospective new employer will google you and read things you may not wish them to know before an interview. This, also, could give the impression of lunacy.
When, despite the odds, you have secured an interview on the very same day as your email, do not start the conversation by talking about pyjamas. This could give the impression of lunacy and laziness.

Good Lord. At least, as Prospective New Boss commented on my rumbly tumbly, I did not mention the fact that I was crammed into too tight suit trousers. After an hour and a half, breathing was tricky enough; performing any sort of digestive activities would have been a miracle.

And, as if that wasn’t enough dimwittery for one week, I had a dishwasher-related incident last night. This has caused my little finger to go completely black with bruising. I look as if I’ve had an ancient curse placed upon me.

And, just to top it all off, I have discovered – 80,000 words into The Novel – that I have characters called Kittie and Kat. Oh, bloody hell.

Writerly Rabbittings-On January 20, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Novel , 20 comments

Wahoo! Just as I’d run out of lucid thoughts, Leigh tagged me for this mega-long meme. Whoever thought I could write a cure for insomnia?

What’s the last thing you wrote?

1600 words of The Novel yesterday. I’m going to do some more this morning before I tackle the garden. Just imagine how irritating it would be if, just as Pan Books offered me a publishing deal, my weeds took over the world and we all died before anyone had read the blimmin thing.

Was it any good?

Some of it was ok. After a celebratory glass of wine, I realised that the final 500 are complete tripe and need to be chopped. Hey ho.

What’s the first thing you ever wrote that you still have?

I used to write loads of really insightful diary entries, contemplating life and so on. Absolute rubbish. But I haven’t got them anymore. My parents got so fed up with me and my brother/sisters all moving out then coming back when life went wrong that they moved into a flat with no space for us. In the process, my mother threw all my stuff out. Probably just as well, eh?

Write poetry?

Sometimes. It’s a different kind of writing, isn’t it? Uses a different part of the noggin. I love writing Haiku. It makes me feel quite serious, frowning in concentration as I mumble and obsessively count syllables on my fingers.

Angsty poetry?

Nah.

Favourite genre of writing?

Sort-of chick lit. Not shoes ‘n’ shopping stuff but, you know, contemporary. I’d actually quite like to write something like Birdsong and make people weak from crying. I’m rubbish at that sort of marlarkey though. Hey ho again.

Most fun character?

I have a most jovial old duffer in The Novel: Max. He’s rather eccentric and louche and a complete womaniser but does it all with such panache you can’t help but love him.

Most annoying character?

Rajni. Bitch, snob, major chip on her shoulder. She’s always putting people down and making them feel crap. I want to stab her.

Best plot you’ve ever created?

How about weirdest instead? Take one crystal-hugging hippy chanting under the full moon. Make her a bit dippy so she confuses waxing and waning and her spells all come out back to front. Add a potentially lesbian vicar. And what do you get? Rejection letters, that’s what you get.

Coolest plot twist?

Pffff. None of them are ever cool enough. I used to devour Roald Dahl’s Tales of the Unexpected as a teenager; they kind of set the bar at an impossibly high level. Crumbs, it’s at least 20 years since I read any of those. Must… not… buy… more… oh, sod it. It’s research. *Coughs a bit and looks round to make sure lovely bf does not notice the open Amazon page*

How often do you get writer’s block?

Not very often. I did have a couple of days when I knew exactly what I wanted to write but the words just wouldn’t come out. My stumbling block is getting going. I hate writing but love having written – Dorothy Parker.

Write fan fiction?

The very fact that I had to look up ‘fan fiction’ to see what it is suggests a ‘no’ here.

Do you type or write by hand?

Type, if I’m working on The Novel. Poetry must be written by hand. With my lovely Mont Blanc fountain pen. I need brown ink though. That would make my poems far less rubbish. Freewriting – both. I go off on more tangents if I write by hand. I might go off on a tangerine one day and then where would we be?

Do you save everything you write?

Yep. I love finding old notebooks that I’ve written stuff in that seemed utter nonsense but, years later, seems all mysterious and interesting. It’s a bit like finding old faded photos; you’re there, smiling with other people, but you can’t quite put it into a context. I like random.

Do you ever go back to an old idea long after you’ve abandoned it?

Yeah, I still think of ways to improve anything I’ve written. I even do it to old blog posts, just tweaking a word here or there. Obsessive? D’you think so?

What’s your favourite thing you’ve written?

I quite like this. No idea why, I just do. So there.

What’s everyone else’s favourite thing that you’ve written?

I don’t know. If I had some psychic senses, I could tell you. As it is, I do not believe anyone when they say they like something what I’ve writ. It’s a tricky old business.

Do you ever show people your work?

If I’m feeling brave or squiffy, yes. I do think blogging is brilliant for building confidence – just the sheer fact that I can sit here on my little patch of English countryside and someone in Alaska will read something that has come from my tangled mind is awesome. Even if they did only find it by googling ‘adult nappy domination’. Freaks.

Have you ever written a novel?

Nearly finished it, since you ask. I was supposed to start a two-week temp job on Monday. Lovely bf, possibly in order to stop my incessant whingeing, has paid me the money I’d have earned to stay home and finish it. He’s not bad for a Northerner.

Ever written romance or teen angsty drama?

I have a stinky teenager. Making up more misery would be mental. Romance? Well, yeah. But my romance is a really bitter organic truffle with a shot of chilli in it from Montezuma’s. It’s not a Milk Tray orange cream thingummy that sticks to your teeth and makes you feel sick.

What’s your favourite setting for your characters?

The Novel (I must think of a title!) is partly set in a small art gallery. One of those trendy backstreet places that have huge, bold oil paintings of a single scarlet petal in the window.

How many writing projects are you working on right now?

Just The Novel. I’ve got some ideas for articles I want to write once The Novel’s tucked away to ferment before editing/re-writing/burning as a sacrificial offering to the gods of good sense.

Do you want to write for a living?

Oh yeah. Bring it on. Now. Please?

Have you ever won an award for your writing?

Sigh. No. Ain’t never won nuffink. I did get a distinction for the OU Creative Writing course though. And a complete stranger emailed me after reading my blog to wish me luck with the novel. Such a brilliantly kind thing to do; it absolutely made my day. I would like an award one day though. An award with sparkly silver glitter all over it. The sort that comes with a cheque for £5000.

Ever written something in script or play format?

Nope. I might do one day though. I like dialogue. That’s why I talk non-stop.

What are your five favourite words?

Rubbery. It makes people sound a bit Chinese when they say it. Yes, I am pathetic. I also like: malarkey, pantaloons, twizzle and bum. I am most highbrow and clever, no?

Do you ever write based on yourself?

Sometimes. I am terribly dull though.

Which character have you created that most resembles yourself?

Kat in The Novel has quite a big bottom…

Where do you get ideas for your characters?

Real people but mangled about in my fevered imagination. Oh, I do sometimes just make them up too.

Do you ever write based on your dreams?

I would be certified immediately.

Do you favour happy endings, sad or cliffhangers?

I love books with sad endings. Sobbing helplessly so I can hardly read the final words is something I love in other people’s writing.

Have you ever written based on artwork you’ve seen?

Yep, frequently. Especially for freewriting. I often use ‘Stumble’ and pick the first photo it finds as a prompt.

Are you concerned with spelling and grammar as you write?

I used to be a proofreader. And I am obsessive and finicky. Bad grammar makes my teeth itch.

Ever written something entirely in chatspeak? (How r u?)

Please. It’s more than I could bear. Even my text messages have to have proper capitalisation and punctuation.

Entirely in L337?

Sadly, I cannot count.

Was that question completely appalling and un-writer like?

Haven’t the faintest.

Does music help you write?

Ah, now, I know exactly which music my characters listen to and it gets lots of mentions in t’book. If my characters are listening to music, I play it while I write. Sometimes, if I’m stuckified and trying to write some funny, I work in the sitting room with Friends on the tellybox. It works, honest! ‘Lunatico’ by Gotan Project is going to be the music for the opening credits when the book becomes a film…

Quote something you’ve written – the first thing to pop into your mind.

‘Her mouth was like a letterbox and I was all male.’ Oh dear. Sorry about that.

Um… I should tag people. Fiona? Helen?

Of Metropolitan Meanderings January 17, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Journal , 29 comments

Bloomin Nora, I have a dose of the trembles. Well, maybe not the trembles. The grumbles, perhaps.

Tomorrow evening, I’m going out on the tiles. I visit the metropolis of Londinium far too rarely. That is a Bad Thing. On the other hand, it is a Good Thing because I get to wriggle in my seat with excitement and smile like a spaz as I spot the wheel thing and the Japanese tourists taking photos of each other on the bridge. It never fails to make my tummy bubble with excitement.

(Please do not read any more of this, lovely bf. It will make you sigh.)

I’ve nothing to wear. I used to be quite with-it. I suspect my use of the term ‘with-it’, in itself, gives the game away that I’m not ‘with-it’ anymore. In fact, I may be entirely without it.

The thought of drinkies in Covent Garden is making me angsty. Somewhere on my wiggly timeline, I have turned into a muddy bumpkin. My range of Boden sparkly cardies and tailored trousers has disappeared into another dimension.

What do people wear in the outside world these days? I’ve really no idea. I can manage daytime without too much trouble. But going out in the dark? Hmmm. I don’t do ‘dressing up’ anymore. More lame than lamé, that’s me.

Part of me, I confess, would like a shot of glamour. But it sounds rather like hard work. I shall have to have a wash and everything.

I have decided to spend the whole of tomorrow beautifying myself. It takes a long time to make it look as if you haven’t made an effort, apparently.

In the meantime, I had better go shopping.

Of Doing Things Differently January 14, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Journal , 22 comments

Crumbs. I’m feeling a bit odd today. Nothing new there, I hear you say. Har. You’re funny.

Seriously, though, I’ve been intrigued by the No Diet Diet that has been running in The Independent. It works on the premise that we (oh, ok then, I) don’t need to count carbs and calories or any of that malarkey. All we (grrr, yes, me then) need to do is change our habits. I know, it sounds a bit daft. Maybe that’s why it appeals to me. I’m fascinated by the concept that I can munch a bacon sarnie instead of sipping a skimmed soya milk smoothie so long as I’m reading something different to usual. I must confess, though, even I am sceptical that reading Grazia instead of yet another writing manual is going to turn me super-skinny anytime soon.

I do, however, very much like the idea of getting out of my usual routine. Last night, for example, instead of watching trashy TV, lovely bf and I went to see Once at the Trinity Centre in Tunbridge Wells. Blimey. I truly have not the words. Oddly, the film is hardly about anything at all but, oh, it’s utterly compulsive. I loved that it was made on such an obviously low budget; it really reinforces my belief that imperfect reality is so much more enthralling than airbrushed perfection.

When the film ended, lovely bf stroked my cheek, expecting a trickle of tears. I think he was surprised not to find any. I smiled bravely and didn’t tell him that I’d been deliberately not watching the film but counting the wooden arches on the walls instead. Unfortunately, because I was too embarrassed and determined not to cry last night, my well is flowing over today.

My head hurts, I’m so overwhelmed with whatever that film did to me.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=938XY6DX02w

I think I might love Glen Hansard. And, actually, I think I might be just ever so slightly in love with Marketa Irglova too. I expect we’ll be back to Dancing on Ice next weekend. Sigh. Just as well. I’ll be worn out from crying by then.

Of Being on the Breadline January 9, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Journal , 25 comments

Good grief. I am feeling a little grumpified.

With no job or financial frivolity on the dull grey horizon, I visited another employment agency yesterday. Sigh. I had applied for a job online through them so had to go in to be ‘processed’ or something.

Rushing through the rain, I clutched my passport tightly – proof, apparently, that I am not merely a figment of my own imagination. I had wondered.

On arrival, I spoke into a pressy-button thing which magically made a blonde 12-year-old come out with a clipboard and questionnaire which asked me questions I’d already answered. I answered them again.

Forty minutes later, the young strumpet re-appeared. ‘Have you finished yet?’

‘After forty minutes? To fill in my name, address and previous two jobs? Yes, just about,’ I didn’t say. I thought it really sarcastically though. You’d have been ever so proud.

I smiled at the strumpet as best I could. She gave me a funny look. I suspect I may have looked slightly mental, wonky or as if I were being throttled by an invisible nutter.

She couldn’t find my CV on the system and had no idea who I was or what I’d spent the past twenty years doing. The job I was being grilled for was already interviewing so I was too late for that. Never mind, eh?

The room was approximately 40 degrees Celsius. My face turned a most becoming shade of beetroot as I hysterically explained my life history to the 12-year-old who hadn’t even ironed her jumper.

Luckily, I had a telephone call from another agency at the end of the day. Would I like to go and work for a bakery, chasing up bread orders for supermarkets and doing data input?

Um, no, not really, thanks very much for asking. I’m too busy writing my novel, doncha know? Sod the money, I shall live on porridge until I am published. Hurrah.