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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 Midnight Madness February 8, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Journal, Novel , 37 comments

That’s it. I’ve finished writing The Novel. I was quite prepared to stay up until it was time to get up if I had to.

I wish I could say I felt happy. But I don’t feel anything. Well, utterly knacked out. That’s not very writerly or funky, is it?

Time for The Novel to ferment now. A month should do it. Yeah, right. I’m already thinking ways to tweak the ending. And bits I want to add in. Obsessed.

But. Tomorrow I am not going to think about it. Well, not much, anyway. I’m going to walk the dog, do yoga, snip at things in the garden. And we have tickets to see Mark Watson. Friday evening comedy. Bliss.

‘I’ve finished,’ I wearily told Lovely Bf. ‘That’s it, the first draft done.’

‘That’s brilliant,’ he exclaimed. ‘Any chance you could have a wash now?‘

Oh, yes, sheer glamour my life.

Of Timely Travail February 4, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Journal, Novel , 28 comments

Crikey. I’ve nearly finished writing The Novel. And do you think I feel happy about the impending end of this year-long toil? Nope. Instead, I feel all swirly in the tummy department. I don’t know why I feel so odd about it; I thought I’d be galloping towards the finish line, yelling and screaming and planning my prize. In fact, I actually feel physically sick that it’s coming to an end. Has the whole thing driven me quite mad?

I spent the weekend sobbing and wailing about being useless – being without a job or any source of income becomes a bit of a worry after a while. Needless to say, the fact that I’ve been slaving away on a novel didn’t count for anything. But it’s rubbish, I wailed to anyone who’d listen. The dog, mainly. The hairy bugger agreed with me too. Sigh.

Today, however, things are falling into place. I have a temp job lined up, starting on Monday. Phew.

But. All this sitting about, writing stuff down which I have thought of in my brain, has not done much for the diet. And I have become awfully scruffy. In fact, I have become so shamefully grotty, lurching about in either jim-jams or mud-splattered dog-walking gear that lovely bf presented me with a parcel today.

He had ordered me some clean clothes. Not going-out clothes, just staying-in-but-not-being-a-complete-state type clothes.

He had done his research by reading up on what Tranny and Susannah recommend for my body shape, apparently.

‘Oh yes?’ I asked, scowling. ‘And what body shape did you decide I have?’

Lovely bf looked a bit worried at this stage, knowing that there was unlikely to be a correct answer to this particular line of questioning.

‘You’re an egg-timer,’ he declared.

Oh good. I’m so happy now.

.

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:

  1. 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.
  2. 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.
  3. 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 Spooky Serendipity January 2, 2008

Posted by Jen in : Journal, Novel , 32 comments

You may find this hard to believe, but I’ve actually written some words in between the bursts of festive jollification. I’ve writted and writted and writted.

I’ve also done some stamping about and moaning.

‘What’s the point of writing anyway? Come 3rd January I’ll be boring myself to death, working in a crappy building society. It’s going to be rubbish, especially when I tell customers they can only give me money in multiples of ten cos I can’t count properly except on my fingers. I don’t want to go to horrid work. I don’t I don’t I don’t! I’m nearly at 80% - just another couple of weeks and I’d be finished. Waaaaaaaaaaaah.’

Lovely bf was, as always, most helpful in his wise words.

‘You’d better get on with it then, hadn’t you? You have to go to work or we will be poor and be forced to eat Safeway Saver food which is not right for the Posh Island Princess.’

New Year Resolution number 1: Scowl grumpily and think more mean thoughts about lovely bf.

On New Year’s Eve, just half an hour after my tearful tirade, the temp agency called. My three-month building society sentence had been cancelled – they’d just forgotten to mention it.

I am poor. I have no money and no work in the pipeline. But. I’ve been given the chance to get this thing finished and you know what? I’m bloody well going to do it. And you know what else? It’s going to snow tomorrow.

2008 appears to be rather spiffy and whizzy. Thank goodness for that eh?


Of Steely Stubbornness December 17, 2007

Posted by Jen in : Journal, Novel , 18 comments

Over on the Novel Racers’ blog last week, I raised the subject of sacrifice.

I confessed that I had just turned down a job in publishing, something I’ve been hankering after for ages. Instead, I’ve taken a boring Customer Service job in a building society. Why? Because it gives me two more days a week to write.

What I didn’t mention, for fear of being laughed out of Blogland, is that I’ve also decided not to sign up for the next module of my degree. This decision is actually making me feel a bit sick. But. I have been oomphed. I have also discovered that being oomphed can be surprisingly horrid, rather like having your bare bottom beaten with a wet Woman’s Weekly.

Several of the lovely Novel Racers have been chosen for the Messages book. I moaned and groaned all weekend to longsuffering lovely bf.

‘It’s not fair,’ I whinged. ‘Cally only submitted six pieces and two of them have been picked. It’s not faaaaaiir…’

‘And how many did you submit?’ he asked bravely.

None. Bloody none. Well that’s it. It really is. I’ve started my early-morning freewriting again. I am even holding myself accountable to this ritual by posting it, warts and all. Crazy, bubbling, frothing nonsense tumbling from the depths of my mind. Crikey.

Seriously. No more excuses. Hedgewizard was spot on when he succinctly pointed out that I’d find the writing a whole lot easier if real life would just fuck off for a bit. I don’t suppose it’s going to though. Like the people I’m envying right now, I’m just gonna have to get on with it.

 


Of Present Perceptions December 11, 2007

Posted by Jen in : Journal, Novel , 19 comments

Just like Mr Benn, I decided to try on a new life when I was 14. I was starting a new school and planned the re-vamped me all summer: come September, I would be trendier, cooler, less square and, after a bit of dieting, less round too. Instead of being a flute-tooting bookworm, I would be like the other girls who had boys chasing them. I would snog in public and everything.

Yeah, right.

Just over four years ago, I left Jersey. I left behind all my friends, family and the claustrophobia of growing up on a small rock. I can re-invent myself, I thought. I would be trendier, cooler… ahem.

You know what? I’m now 38 and still the bloomin same. And I’m beginning to think that might be alright. Ok, so I’m not a jazz pianist or a psychotherapist and I only have two kids instead of a set of triplets or a hippo who lives in the bath.

But it’s just occurred to me that this is what my novel’s about: being grown up enough to be yourself.

I still want to be a writer. I still want to run away to France and speak French to real French people. And even though that’s not really what ordinary people like me do, I’m going to do it anyway. And even when I do all that, I’ll still be me. Just as well really; it seems that I’m only just getting the hang of it. There again, I would quite like to become a gladiator. Or a spaceman. Maybe I’ll go on a bit of a diet again tomorrow.

Oh dear.