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Almost August (and Associated Angst) July 31, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Journal, Novel , 35 comments

Cor blimey. Another month drawing to a close already? In this stamp-sized square of Sussex, it’s oh-so-quiet. My gruesome twosome are away in Barcelona for two weeks and, as each day passes, I miss them a little more.

Lovely bf displays his repertoire of eye-rolling and sighing as reality slips past me unnoticed and I start thinking of my babies as adorable, apple-cheeked Victorian children, huddled round the Aga with flour on their noses waiting for our homebaked goodies to cook. After five days away, they are no longer stinking grunting beasts at all.

In other news, instead of homebaked goodies, I have been devouring Sol Stein’s Solutions for Writers. Of course, with the RNA New Writers Scheme thingummy looming in just under four weeks, I’m wondering why I didn’t read this sooner. The more I learn, the more I realise I don’t know. And I’ve stopped being all parental about The Novel. I can already see which bits are crap. Sadly, it’s most of the bits. The Novel is my child, being sent out into the world for the first time. It won’t be admired or loved. Not only is it the pasty kid who whines, it has greasy hair, sticky-out ears and picks its nose in public. I may just be a little embarrassed about it. How to turn it, in four weeks, into a rosy-cheeked Eton candidate with a spiffing hairdo?

In jolly news, the latest diet is going very well, thank you for asking. I have lost almost a stone which means my fat clothes trail along forlornly behind me, rather giving me the look of Dawn French’s trailer trash sister. I am having to sneak into work in jeans every day. It’s that or my pyjamas. Luckily, lovely as he is, I doubt my boss would notice if I went to work dressed as a pantomime horse so long as I do the work and try not to talk too much.

So. Let’s sum up shall we? Is all v quiet with only delusions of having nice children to keep me sane. Have gone off The Novel which used up a year of my pitiful existence to write. Resemble a noisy jumble sale.

Is this the life I ordered? No, I think you will find it is not.

Of Being a Bit Bitchy July 20, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Journal , 87 comments

One of the things I’m guilty of is impressing upon people that nothing much happens on this patch of the world I call home. Last week, however, in the small market town where I work, there was excitement afoot. There were rumbles, rumours and billboards to convey the impending event.

The local Co-op has been refurbished. On Thursday, there was an official opening. You know, one of those swanky openings that have a superstar celebrity. Sadly, the Co-op being the Co-op, Jude Law was mysteriously unavailable so they got they next best thing: Keith Chegwin. Gawd. I don’t know who was more desperate, Cheggers or the Co-op.

Music burst through my office window as the off-duty local deejay shouted into his microphone at the collection of local primary school children and smattering of dusty old dears.

‘Let’s make some noize,’ he yelled at their bewildered faces.

The music was pumping as the posse of pensioners body-popped through gritted dentures to Steps and the Macarena. Cheggers appeared just in time to count down excitedly to the 10am opening. I could hear him smiling inanely through my window but, no matter how hard I watched, I didn’t spot his limo. I think he may have come on the bus?

Once the automatic doors were opened, the marauding grannies flooded in, one at a time. The Co-op had been shut for three days, you see, and they’d run out of Rich Tea and Stork margarine.

Cheggers gamely tried a bit of pork pie* before checking he had his bus pass and shuffling off home.

I actually felt a bit sorry for old Keith. Oh, hang on, no I didn’t. Sorry about that.

* I made this bit up. I am quite sad. The body-popping pensioners rocked though. Hip displacement as entertainment. Mesmerising. It’ll be on Britain’s Got Talent before you know it. **

** You know I’m just joking, right? Being nice can be terribly dull sometimes.

***** Edited to say: please do read the comments. They are far better than this post. Thankyouverymuch.


Of Non-Highbrow Hilarity (or Needless Nerves) July 15, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Journal , 25 comments

And so it was that Saturday morning saw me running about like a mad thing, whipping off snippy comments to lovely bf and generally behaving as if I were embarking on the biggest blind date ever. Which I was, in a way.

Why I ever thought I would be brave enough to meet 16 strangers all in one go, I’ll never know. The Novel Racers, as a group, has been oomphing along for 18 months or so now. As an online writing group, it’s brilliant for helping those of along who are hesitantly groping our way along this writing lark in the dark. Without its encouragement I would probably have abandoned The Novel, given up writing and adopted a general air of misery.

So, online writing group = fab. Actually meeting and having to talk to real, proper writers who, unlike me, actually write stuff = absolutely terrifying. I woke in the morning with my tummy feeling proper scared. It was a washing machine, churning and gurgling away on stain-buster mode. If it wasn’t a blind date, it was a blind blogging orgy. What to wear? Which book to take in case anyone sneaked a peek? Should I sport a carnation waxed moustache for the purposes of identification?

‘So will you be taking one of those clever books you put on your blog or one of the cheesey ones you actually read?’ asked lovely bf. He can be quite cutting you know.

I took Mike Gayle’s Wish You Were Here. I hid it in my pyjamas though. No one will ever know.

Sitting on the train, I decided to jot, scribble and write my fears away.

Do not sit by Cal, it says. She is too clever, glamorous and tall and I will not be able to speak or stand up until she goes for a wee. Oh yes. When my notebooks are found after my death, I will be hailed a literary genius. Sigh.

My fears were unfounded. We managed to talk about bums and sex just like normal people do after drinking our own body weight in wine. Or was that just me? Oh.

Of Feeble Photographic Frenzies July 9, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Journal, Photos , 26 comments

Jolly good then. Photography course finished, portfolio submitted. Well, when I say portfolio, I do of course mean a set of ten surprisingly rubbish and random photos, edited and snappily titled. ‘Sky in Saucer’, anyone? (It’s a play on words, see, rhymes with flyin’ saucer. Geddit? No, me neither.) I was quite pleased with my whizzy titles until I bothered to read the guidelines which said ‘do not give images whizzy titles’ or somesuch. I’m glad I read that. After I’d submitted the rotten bloody thing. Yay.

So. Some lucky clever-clogs will get to peruse, amongst others, a ghostly, aging, sepia-toned local cottage, mainly obscured by a hedge; my new music stand; some honeysuckle wot I squirted wiv a squirter; some bits of deckchair in the dark. Oh yes, I bet they can’t wait.

My one example of being experimental, however, got the best feedback from No. 2 Son.

“Oh dear, Mitzy, what have you done to it?”

So, back the writing. Thank goodness for that eh? I’m feeling cheery that it’s done despite the fact that, now that I no longer need to be sellotaped the PC or coursework, the outside world appears to have become some film set for the re-making of Noah’s Ark.

To celebrate my joy, I am singing Ronan Keating songs in the style of Pavarotti. This sounds rather like Pavarotti with a peg on his nose, singing quite crap songs. I knew you were wondering.

Of Vile Verbiage July 4, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Journal , 32 comments

I do, dear reader, wonder whether I might have some advanced form of verbal Tourettes. I do, despite evidence to the contrary on this blog of nonsense, try to conduct myself like an intelligent, sane person. This illusion is sadly shattered when I open my mouth. Is it not attached to my brain at all?

Here, have yesterday’s example.

Wise boss: ‘The important thing is to always be one step ahead of others.’

I nod sagely, full of gravitas, before adding my own salient point. ‘Of course, being one step behind them means you can look at their bum.’

Bugger. I suspect it’s not Teletubbies that got me where I am today. It’s my inability to stop saying stuff with my mouth before it has been filtered through my Brian. It’s a puzzle because I never waste my Brian power on anything less than intellectual and stimulating. Sigh.