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Of Umbrella-Induced ‘Um’… November 21, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Journal , 18 comments

Oh. Hello dear reader. Um… how are you? Where’ve you been? Nowhere? Really? Oh. Me neither.

Gawd. I’ve gawn right off this Winter malarkey. I mean, bring on the snow if you like but all this rain… and darkness. One thing I hadn’t considered when taking a full time job is that I’d be working in the dark. I truly do not like it one little bit. The dark is for dressing gowns, glow-y lamps and a tipple or two. Not stumbling about in the gloom, trying to convince your brain that the day hasn’t actually ended.

Anyway. Excitement. Erm… let me think. On Tuesday, I accidentally went to work dressed in a long, dodgy Victorian-style bustle skirt. This, in itself, might not have been too weird. I think it was the biker jacket on top that made me look slightly deranged. I don’t think anyone noticed. Luckily, today is dress-down Friday – even though we don’t actually have dress-down Friday. Dress-down Friday occurs on any day that finds me clutching longingly at my jeans and woolly socks. Oh dear.

What else? Lovely bf nearly got arrested by the fuzz for something he didn’t know about. Luckily, after looking him up and down, the rozzers immediately ascertained that he could not possibly be any sort of criminal mastermind. I think it’s because of his beard. Facial furniture is the way to go when deflecting attention from criminal mastermindery.  Top tip there.  You can what you pay for on this blog, I tell you.

Um… no, sorry. I’m afraid that was the combined contents of both my brain and week.

As you were.



Of Dastardly Dictation November 12, 2008

Posted by Jen in : A363 Open University , 23 comments

Ahem. Studying, as I am, play-writing (the writing of plays, for those unfamiliar with such wizardly technical terms) the lesson has turned to speech. Dialect and accents. Now, I’m finding this a bit tricky. Any characters I write with an accent sound like halfwits. And to add to the wordy woe, apparently – when speaking colloquially – we’re all tripping our tongues tightly over iambic pentameter*. Erm… I’m not. I’ve checked: I’m mostly spouting crap.  Oh dear. So far, so bad. And, spending all day as I do typing words that my boss has said with his mouth, I’m quite sure he isn’t talking iambically pentameter-ish either. I wonder whether I should point this out to him? I’m sure he’d want to know about such dictatorial shortcomings.  No, maybe not then.

I have, of course, tried listening to lovely bf but he is from the North and therefore unable to speak properly anyway. Hmmmmmm. The course book suggests eavesdropping adventures. But, with all the studying and obsessing about play-writing, I am looking rather scruffier than usual which, combined with my lack of stealth-like stealth, means I am quite likely to be arrested for looking suspiciously sinister. But in prison, at least, I will learn some good lingo. And I will fit in well, the lack of time also producing what lovely bf lovingly refers to as ‘prison legs’. This play-writing lark is becoming more hazardous than I could have imagined. I bet Big Willy Shakespeare never had this trouble.

But (and don’t tell anyone) I am utterly bloody hooked on the idea of dramatization. It’s never occurred to me before that it’s something I could do. And at my A363 tutorial on Saturday, as I sat huddled up with 2 strangers and the motley collection of characters we’d just invented in our Brians, we wrote a play. And laughed and laughed and laughed… I am addicted. Obsessed with teasing tiny nuances out of simple sentences.  Even when I sleep, my characters are cartwheeling and clattering about in my mind.

I think this lark will make me slightly mental. (Iambic pentameter, that. Hope you noticed.) Gawd. Pass the posh characters. I feel a touch of the luvvies coming on.

* Lovely bf is insisting upon referring endlessly to pant-ometers, i.e. the measuring of knickers.  I, on the ther hand, am mindful of panto-meter which could be useful in working out whether there’s room for that fully dressed horse after all.


Of Existential Excitement (and the lack thereof) November 6, 2008

Posted by Jen in : A363 Open University, Journal , 28 comments

Yoo hoo, my little pumpkin pies, here I am. Not that I’ve actually been anywhere. I had a week off work, didn’t go to Gozo or anywhere else, but spent it tippy-tapping away at my OU assignment. My writing meltdown now seems slightly less overwhelming (thanks to B for feedbacking and to everyone who left jollifying comments. Aw, you guys…) and I’m waiting to see what that crisis will be replaced with.

Actually, I don’t think I am having a writing crisis – it’s more of a life crisis. Mid-life, perhaps. Or too-much life. I don’t know. There’s always time for the things one’s passionate about but what happens when you’re passionate about everything? Of course, there are things I’m not so in love with… housework, being slightly lardy and spending 8 hours a day typing stuff about bits of grass. But sadly, it seems to be the non-hurrah bits that take up all the time. Hmmmmm.

The idea of toiling through an OU degree has been, for the past 10 years or so, to train as a primary school teacher. But I’m beginning to think that not liking children very much might make this a slightly dodgy career choice. And, yes, while I dream of earning my pennies as a writer, chances are I’m gonna have to do something lucrative too.  But what could I be when I grow up?  Any suggestions?

In the meantime, I’m studying dramatization. Play-writing. I will not let my stomach churn at the thought of trying to write words meant for real people to say with their mouths. And, if a real person would like to be in my unwritten play, please do let me know. There are only two criteria: you must have a beard and be proficient at cartwheels. Or knitting. Form an orderly queue, if you please…