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Of Weekend Whingeing March 30, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Journal, Novel , 30 comments

Well, there it is. The Novel. All printed out and bound, new pen at the ready. Crikey. There’s quite a lot of it. All those words wot I thunked with my Brian. Oddly, flicking through, I barely remember writing much of it. And no, this would not be a good time to point out the wine glass on my desk.

Hmmm. I realise now, of course, that I should have been reading about editing over the past four weeks instead of fannying about. I really have no idea where to start, short of reading it through with fresh eyes. Even that feels a bit daunting on a rainy Sunday afternoon.

A year to write. God, is that mad? I’m giving myself three months to edit. Re-write. Roll my eyes. Sob bitterly. Whatever. The delete key is looking quite alluring at the moment. If my keyboard had a fuck it key, I think I’d be quite tempted to press it.

But. I have to get it sorted before August so that I can submit it to the RNA New Writers Scheme people for crit. Yes, I’ve joined the Romantic Novelists Association. They sent me a magazine last month called ‘Romance Matters’. Bet that gave the postman a good laugh. How embarrassing.

A year of my life to write a novel that’s probably crap. God. And, if that weren’t bad enough, I signed up for the A363 Creative Writing Course with the OU this morning. That, in itself, is a good thing. But I have just bought all the past course materials for the other half of my degree which I’m doing in French. I’ve got a bit rusty since I took the foundation module. The reason for this? According to my OU academic record, it’s 10 years since I last studied French. Ten Great British years. How did that happen? I could’ve trained to become a brain surgeon or astronaut in that time. But no. I’m still just me, sitting here with a glass of wine and a pile of piffle to edit.

I think I may be on the brink of a mid-life crisis. Fat, forty and a failure. Ok, so I’m not 40. But I will be one day. Pass the bottle.


Of Morning Moaning March 25, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Journal , 25 comments

Hey ho, back to work this morning. I’m a bit cross with myself that I didn’t manage to get any of the things done over Easter that I meant to. The worst thing is that, as usual, I only have myself to blame. I suck, I really do. Which reminds me that I didn’t even do the hoovering and housework that was on the agenda. The pile of clothes that needs putting away practically reaches the ceiling. The school uniform’s not ironed yet. No 2 son has spent half the night vomiting so I’m tired and grouchy.

And today is supposed to be the day I start my keep fit and editing campaign. Pfffffff.

On the other hand, I did have a very nice day flouncing about Canterbury yesterday. The sun shone. There was an Italian food fair. Mmmmm, goats cheese and rosemary focaccia, scrummy. And I discovered a new downfall, Hotel Chocolat. Ooh, ‘eck. Dangerous stuff.

I’ve also spent quite a chunk of the weekend learning to touch type properly on my new ergonomic keyboard. I’m going to take it to work now that I’ve gat thw jang of it si woll.

Bogger. That was time well spwnt then.

I’m actually looking forward to editing the novel. But maybe I’ll start my new life tomorrow. I’m not entirely with it today. Hopefully, after another cuppa, I won’t be entirely without it either.

 

Of Dithering not Doing March 21, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Dieting Misery, Journal, Novel , 23 comments

Four days off. Goodness me. Whatever will I do with myself? The boys are spending Easter with their dad and grandparents. I’ve had bold notions aplenty about what I could get up to. Having put my foot down, as it were, I finally collected my new car last week. I envisaged zooming about like they do on the adverts, looking fab ‘n’ funky with my flossy hair billowing behind me as I gad about from one cool place to the next. Sadly, much as I tragically love my new Corsa, the only other people I’ve seen driving them are grannies or people wearing anoraks. Hmmm.

Anyway. Four days away from work. I’m gradually acclimatising to the going-to-work-every-day thing. Time is magically expanding (along with the ironing mountain) and I’ve started writing again in the mornings. I even managed a 40-minute romp through the woods before my working day yesterday. Sadly, it did mean that the hair-straightening time was obliterated but I don’t think anyone noticed my large Russell Brand hairdo.

So. Shopping this morning. I do so love being pushed about by simpletons in a supermarket. But, once the fridge is filled with M&S goodies and the bathroom crammed with pamperingness, I shall relax. R-e-l-a-x. The snow will be falling and I will be chilling.

Apart from lazing about, there is the small matter of The Novel to edit. Yikes. Oh, and I ordered some new running shoes yesterday. Yes, I’m moaning about lardiness again. This weekend is the start of my stop-being-fat period. I hope the shoes get lost in the post arrive soon.  I know someone who’s looking forward to a daily early-morning run.

Crumbs, dieting for two hours has clearly made me weak and soppy. Pics of my pets indeed.

That’s better.

Of Graphic Gutsiness March 16, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Journal , 19 comments

Hurrumph (as they used to say in the olden days). Lovely bf is going through another one of his phases of thinking he’s funny. Take Friday evening for instance.

Me, sighing: ‘Ugh, I feel grotty. A bit bleurgh. Hormones, probably.’

Him, rolling his eyes: ‘Again? Surely you just mean grumpy? Bad tempered. Your usual self. Hormones only happen once a month, don’t they?’

I scowl a bit, as you can imagine, and bang some doors. I have a little drink of wine and contemplate what it would be like to go out with someone nice. I have another glass of wine and think that it’s a good job lovely bf is keeping a low profile and wonder how long it will be before he dares to emerge from his study with a posy of apologies.

Eventually, he emerges from his study. He does not look sorry at all. In fact, he looks a bit smug.

‘I’ve emailed you,’ he smirks.

He’s brave, you’ve got to give him that.

 

Of Random Ranting March 11, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Journal , 31 comments

Baked beans. Celia Imrie. Car salesmen called Steve who are patronising plonkers.

I usually like to think I’m the laid back sort. Mellow. But I’m feeling grumpy this morning and scowling at the sunshine. So I thought I’d have a little rant. Just for fun and by way of a change. Grrrrrrrrr…

Baked beans. Ugh. Double eurgh. All tiny and furry, like eating little hamsters’ feet. And liver. I am sooo not a veggie anymore but the very thought of chewing internal organs just really doesn’t do it for me. I seem to remember my mother feeding us this vile combination all too often. She would yell and wail and make us eat it during our school lunch breaks. None of us four children liked it so, as the oldest, I’d have to eat everyone’s while Mother shouted at us from the sitting room. Oh, joy. Happy days.

Celia Imrie. Smug on a stick. Sorry Celia. Even the fact that she was in Bergerac doesn’t help. She’s not as bad as beans though.

Steve the Salesman. Gawd. You’d think coughing up the best part of ten thousand quid for a super-duper, brand new car would be a pleasurable experience. But no. I am clearly the most dim-witted, cretinous customer poor Steve has ever had to deal with. What a revolting little man. And he was wearing a short-sleeved shirt. Git.

Wrong side of the bed? Who? Me?? Grumpy is the new black. So there. Normal smiley service will be resumed soon. Maybe.


 


Of Being Braindrained March 7, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Journal , 19 comments

Gawd. Another week gone without doing any writing. Oh dear.

My 5am writing slot has disappeared. I don’t know where it went. It used to be there but, since I started this going to work lark, it has ceased to exist. Whisked away to another dimension. Perhaps it’s in the same place as my sensible thoughts?

Evening writing slot. Ha! I have a strict timetable after work.

6pm: Stumble in from work. Look at children and grunt a bit. If I’m lucky, they will grunt back.

6.15: Pour glass of wine and put on pre-warmed pyjamas.

6.25: Cook dinner. Bang saucepans very loudly indeed and shout a lot. Turn the funny up on Radio 4 to drown out moaning of ungrateful children that pesto pasta every single night is boring.

7.00: Mumble incoherently about chicken sheds that aren’t actually chicken sheds.  Realise that no one’s listening anyway.  Shout at horrid children that I have to watch Emmerdale or else I may die. Drink a little bit more wine.

8.00: Get woken up and scraped off settee and patronisingly sent to bed by vile children.

Hmmm. See what I mean? In a bid for me to eat before nodding off, lovely bf is taking me for an Indian tonight. Sadly, we are going to the place where I made an exhibition of myself last time. Still, I’m sure they won’t remember me. Will they? And. This weekend, when I am fed, I will be writing. Non-stop. Non-stop rubbish, probably, but hey ho.

Since it’s Friday, have a writerly joke (stolen shamelessly from Karen’s blog)…

 

How many mystery writers does it take to screw in a light bulb?


Two: One to screw it nearly all the way and one to give it a twist at the end.


Of Yin & Yang March 4, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Journal , 15 comments

Good and bad. Right and wrong. Negative and positive. Or –ve and +ve for the scientificcy-minded.

So. Let’s see, shall we?

Nay: Quite horridly burnt back of hand at work whilst failing at tricky procedure of not holding said hand over spout of kettle while steam whooshing out during boiling-related steaminess.

Yay: Managed to maintain string of Tourettes-like obscenities, during aforementioned scalding process, in addled mind without them bursting forth through my mouth into workplace.

Nay: Have not written anything remotely writerly for several weeks.

Yay: Do not have any thoughts in head to write about. Emptiness is the new black.

Nay: Mouse has invaded house. Pastry brush eaten.

Yay: Um. No. Sorry. Can’t think of a plus about mouses eating kitchen utensils. Wildlife in my drawers cannot be seen as a good thing. Ever. Have failed miserably at yin yang yong mellowness.

I’m sort of missing writing a bit. Another week or two and I shall have to start editing The Novel. I will drink coffee and eat cake in my lunch hour, while becoming enormously fat and disillusioned as to my novelly ambitions.

In the meantime, I plan an early night with Ailsa Cox’s Writing Short Stories. Crumbs, I am so rock ‘n’ roll.