The Word Cloud

I started writing 'The Book' some ten or so years ago.  I was obviously ten or so years younger and had different priorities, experiences, situations to draw on then, however I now find such things have changed.

I have the onerous decision whether to go with the original plot of the book (however I still don't know where it was heading as far as endings go) or start all over again, drawing on my experiences up to now.  Whereas, I suppose, "The Book" was predominantly Chick-Lit (please whoever that is, stop gagging!), I now find myself veering off on a different tangent with it all.  I would even go as far to say, that I have ideas pointing in the direction of a character committing a crime, a twist in some sense of the your usual Women's Fiction book?

I then struggle with thoughts of how although my book would, I'm assuming, be predominantly read by women, but I want to involve the feelings of men in my writing also.

So often, Chick-Lit or the like, revolves around "Will she get the bloke", or "Will she get married" etc etc.  I have yet to find one in this genre (although I'm sure there are may out there, more's the pity for my sake) that deals with the feelings of a man in a particular situation, after all, some of them do have feelings you know ;0)  I agree that they can come across (can someone find me another word for 'come across' or in fact a book that gives you ways of saying things differently!) as fluffy and predictable, I don't want mine to be like that.  I want it to deal with REAL issues however fantastic/unbelievable/unimaginable they may seem, because they DO happen.  I want to show the rawness of life in all extremes, whether that be happy or sad, cruel or calculating, bitter or twisted.  We all have our own take on it.

I am also at present, struggling with this little demon sat firmly on my shoulder saying "LIBEL LIBEL LIBEL" no matter how hard I try to disguise some of the more personal experiences I feel should go in there.  This is not a case of writing because I want to 'get my own back', I really feel that people will connect to the situations I can write about, to scream "OH MY GOD that's me, that happened to me!" and enjoy how perhaps the character gets her comeupance, in perhaps a more than bargained for way, criminally in fact.

I need some encouragement and advice and to stop thinking that people will think it's crap, to stop feeling that although I don't have big words strung across the page, that it can still be a great piece of writing?

Much Love x

The Road is one of those books where it doesn't have a number of analogies constantly being written on every fucking page till I want to think "how much shorter would this book be if the author cut down on the analogies?" one author who comes to mind is Stephen King who's great (no denying) but may make his books longer then actually needed (just saying) because The Road is a simple affair of father and son making their way across a world that is completely fucked (fucked like Blade Runner except worse and nightmarish).

The book tells the reader where they are and doesn't feel the need to throw in a analogies where you might end up thinking "how the hell does he know that fits to describe something?" I mean Stehpen King always writes a assload and uses some of the most obsure stuff as an analogy....something worries me on the whole "he might actually test actual stuff to find the best analogy".

The Road (along with a number of books I've read) seem to feel comfortable with telling the reader what they need to know rather then "throw something out of the blue to knock you five metres to the right and then into obcure avenue". But I'm picking pointless string since I do enjoy Stephen King stuff, but regardless it does explain how he makes it possbile to write books into the thousand page realm "HOLY SHIT!!!".


The Road was written by Cormac Mccarthy

I am in Hong Kong and I’ve just been on a long flight with Virgin Atlantic. Does anyone remember? Was it last year or the year before? And it appeared on the national news about some complaints of the airline food for Virgin Atlantic by one of its dissatisfied customers who posted it on the internet? It was hilarious because the man photographed every detail of the unappealing flight dinner and criticised Richard Branson about it. ‘Look at this Richard, what is this? Would you eat this?’ And he was offered a job by the man on advising on food matters on board flights?  Did he take it or not? I don’t know, because if he did, he’s not doing a very good job at all; the food is just as awful if not worse, maybe it is just for the upper class who’d get all the nice foods and us in the steerage get what dogs wouldn’t even sniff at.

    Every time I go on board and see the first class cabins where they can stretch their legs and sleep horizontally, and me in steerage, sitting and sleeping upright, as comfortable as ever a sardine can feel in a can, makes me hate the class system and feel sympathetic to the Communist cause even though I have been called a Capitalist pig by my friends. In that short moment when I pass the first class cabin, I look with envy before I am quickly ushered down to steerage because I see the first class passengers being pampered with drinks as soon as they sit down, served by comely looking air stewardesses whose only purpose in life seem to be to make you happy, and me, in steerage, next to the toilet and get woken up every time when people flush the toilet (because there’s a great rush of air during the flushing and it’s even more sonorous than an elephant’s fart) and have my foot trodden on if it wondered too far out onto the isle. Such is life eh?

    Talking about comely looking air stewardesses, that TV advert was a bit misleading; I didn’t see any flight attendants or ground staff like the ones they had on the TV advert. When I return, I’ll have to write a very strongly worded letter to Mr. Branson about this. Or could it be that it only applied to first class only?

Flyman

Wrote this for a special friend of mine earlier this year, figured why not post it up... It was fun to write - perhaps you'll enjoy it, perhaps you won't. Just a little innocent fun.... (wicked grin) hee he

I lean back against the bar, bored, my hazel green cat like eyes roam the pub, searching.

I hear the sound of rich laughter, accompained by a mesmerising smooth voice.

My eyes flicker to the entrence of the pub, to where the sound is coming from, resting on you, as you enter the doors.

A little gasp escapes my lips, I suck in my breath, my gaze intense - as my eyes slowly roam the length of you, taking in every little detail, until they return to gaze upon you face.

You feel the heat of my gaze and glance across the pub, our eyes lock.

The heat of my gaze intensifies, as I tug at my lower lip with my teeth.

The corners of my mouth lift into a smug smile, as a wicked sensual thought enters my mind. 

There's now a hunger in my eyes, as they narrow slightly.

My body trembles as the caged animal inside of me tries to break free.

This tiger wants to play......

 

....whinge?

I can't put pen to paper or finger to keyboard to write anything remotely interesting for the book so I thought I might as well get some words down on a blog, vent some frustrations of life in general and perhaps that will give me the push I need to take some ideas and mould them into what I need.

I see people every minute of every day in my job, and I'm blessed in one way I suppose given the stories I get told.  Some are depressing, some are hilarious, some are downright ridiculous but of course, by listening to people and their point of view, their experiences etc gives any writer plenty of material surely?

My local council is now made up of three separate boroughs and recently commissioned (?) a contract to a company to renovate and improve local council houses and flats through all boroughs.  I have just been told by one of the managers of said contractor, that 60% of the tenants that are having their houses renovated/improved DON'T pay rent, it is met by the government!  I would like to know what the percentage is of those people who are genuinely not able to go out to work before I pass judgement upon them all.  Now the reason you might wonder as to my whinge, is that these people are having their houses practically gutted, re-fitted and redecorated in some cases, even new gardens laid and sheds/out-houses built.  All well and good for the deserved small (I fear) percentage of the people in this borough.

However...........

I hear horrific stories from the contractors and their employees as to the state of the houses they are forced to enter and work in.  Please remember at this point that people are actually living in these houses.   When I say 'state', I'm talking animal and human faeces, some contractors vomiting on the kerb side and refusing to go back in, dirty laundry spewing all over the house (women's dirty underwear in one case...have they no shame....clear not!),  the carpets (if there are any) black with dirt and god knows what else whilst the tenants sits and watches television with the soles of their feet entertaining what they recently stepped in whilst trudging through their own filth.  One particular story made me gag.  A contractor went to the bathroom to ...well re-fit it obviously....and was met with a laundry basket on top of which was a sanitary towel, USED, and left for all to see with it's contents.

I'm sure I could go on and on as the list is endless but my whinge is this.  If this government is prepared to meet such immense cost from these filthy lazy bone idle pigs, then surely they should be lumping on them some sort of fine or penalty as far as their benefits are concerned should they commit such an 'offence' again.  It is us the tax payer who foots the bill and something needs to be said or done and quickly to avoid such costs in the future.  Is it any wonder that this country is in the state it's in?!?!?!

One more little gripe before I leave to assist my customers, are some people who frequent council houses, both work, yet are having their houses renovated.  Now you may say I'm being unfair here, but I own my own home and have to pay for such repairs or renovations myself!!!!!!!!!  If I lose my job (which I did not so long ago) who came along to help ME?!  NOBODY! 

The government, you see, are clearly much happier to see a person lose their job, have their house reposessed, claim benefits and provide them with a council house which they then end up paying for anyhow!

I shall apologise in advance!

Apologies also for the fact that I haven't published the last few blogs publicly but I only just figured out how :0)

I seemed to be without inspiration yesterday, so missed my blog (well that and the first poor effort vanishing into the ether again).

Today I wish to treat you to a silly little ditty I wrote when I knew how to rhyme.  I hope you all like it.

Lycanthropy

I’ll tell you of a Saturday the 19^th of July

When the full moon shone down coldly like a blind accusing eye.

I was sitting reading quietly in front of my log fire

And the tongues of flame licked softly at the dead wood on the pyre. 

I could hear the noise of night creatures, the hooting of an owl

And then far in the distance a wolf began to howl.

I knew then that my time had come, that I must surely change

As my old familiar features began to rearrange.

I could feel the fur start growing from my head down to my tail

(Which didn’t fit inside the suit I’d bought in Burton’s sale).

With a rip it gave away and fell down to the floor,

And so I padded silently out to my own front door.

Just then my wife came down the stairs and said “Is that you Fred?”

I tried to say “It’s only me”, but gave a bark instead.

My wife, dear absent minded thing, mistook me for our dog

And let me out to go and do my thing against a log.

Then with a bound I leapt the gate and, landing on my feet

I started my adventure and loped off down the street.

 

Well morning came and I was slowly making my way home,

Thinking what a change it made to be allowed to roam.

I stopped off at a lamppost (I simply had to go)

But was spotted by an officer who said “Hello, hello

“What is it with you perverts running naked round the town?

“You’d better put my helmet on, and then I’ll take you down”

“I’m only lycanthropic; you can’t bust me for that”

“You say that word again” he said” “I’ll take away my hat.

“Not only are you standing there with nothing on at all,

“You’re also swearing at me now, my word you’ve got some gall”

 

Well they took me and they charged me and the court fined me as well

And my wife thinks I’m a lunatic as far as I can tell.

 

The moral of the tale is clear, if you’re a lycanthrope

On full moon nights when change is nigh you’ve got to try to cope

With staying in and making do with howling at your wife,

‘Cause being caught without your pants can bugger up your life.

I write because I enjoy it, not because I want to become someone with more money then will ever be used in a lifetime. Simply I want to write and make a living to go on in life with--a sort of Fooly Cooly new modality of bohemian lifestyle but without as much wandering about with some ties....is it that much to ask. I want to be a writer who does it because it makes sense to try and convey ideas through words, to have a life that simply says "I make less then you, but I'm happy to be a writer who takes each day to learn something new".

I suffer from writers block but I wouldn't care because I know I was doing something with my life that means something rather then "What can give me a decent job with good pay"....I don't like to see myself become someone more concern with a job that pays well but I know "This isn't what I want".  Conforming to ideas that don't work for me--never become part of the ideas of life.

Sorry if this is a bit annoying, but I want something to write and currently I'm having trouble to write the first words of a novel I'm writing simply named: The Snow Stalker.

I'm sitting at this very moment in a gorgeous hotel in Athlone the night before my brother in law's brothers wedding. I'm babysitting my nieces while my sister and brother in law go to the bar with his family. There is the most amazing lake not four feet from our room. Its all part of the Shannon and the sun set was spectacular.

The point I supose to this ramble would be that there is sometimes the oddest moments when insperation strikes. And who can you thank? Your family? Your hotel staff? The scenery?

Is there something there in the beauty around us that lends eligent phrases to our minds? Perhaps there are muses. Transparent figures gliding in the orange streaked sky to whisper their gifts in the ears of writers and artist of any kind.

So here at summer's end I wonder what it was that lent beauty to the season? I take this verse that I can not claim as my own for the sun set.

The western wave was all a-flame,

The day was well nigh done!

Almost upon the western wave,

Rested the broad, bright sun.

This I did write but I do not dream of comparing it with the above.

The glowing sun sank away,
And we bid farewell to the day,
The sound of merry voices and
The feel of soft lakeside sand,
Cheer the soul as we enter night,
The clink of glasses by candle light.
But spirits whisper in my ear,
Sweet words that to my heart are dear.
So how can I but lift a pen?
To groan and start again, again,
And struggle so to lend a phrase,
To befit these last summer days.

This morning I was delighted to inform the cloud that after months of stress my son got into the university of his second choice - Liverpool - to read physics. A little adjustment was required to realise ABC was fine, and remember he had found it hard to choose between Liverpool and Leeds - first choice - anyway.  So I was happy, he was happy and we as parents looked forward to visiting Liverpool again (as elder daughter had studied music at LIPA some years ago)

But when he went into college to see friends and tutors the whole picture changed. Apologies to Annie here as she knows the story by now, but for the rest of the cloud members be warned, it could happen to you.

The physics tutor had quickly realised the exam board EDEXCEL had not included the second half of my sons course work  so his marks in the coursework unit were well down.

All coursework entries had been sent in at the proper time etc etc but for some unknown reason human error had prevented that entry from being included in the data base - and 'not present' was entered instead.

I owe this tutor much thanks and praise - he got onto the exam board this morning, demanded urgent rectification of their mistake and was told the correct entry would be in place during this afternoon.  We had the information by half past five. In that unit my son didnt get 27 out of 120. He got 91. Which meant the C in physics was now a B. And overall his  results were ABB. Which meant that Leeds should have accepted him. But they didnt because they had been informed he only got ABC. So they have dropped him off their system and tomorrow we have to fight to put him back.

And there will be more problems - accepting he would rather go to his first choice uni for physics - as it is in the top three for the subject in the country - the exam board not recording his results accurately mean he may lose the place he earned, his guaranteed accommodation (as his application has now been dumped), and the student loan may be delayed while they sort that all out too.... GRRRRR

My point is this - if as parents you look at your childs results and have a doubt or they do,  get it checked out. Look closer - get the school or college to check, it may not have been marked properly, or even marked at all, and they may have lost the relevant papers to check.  And as we discovered today the exam boards themselves can cock things up too....

I am not a grumpy old man. This is something I repeat to myself at regular intervals. It is a mantra that I hope will ward off the grumpiness that I suspect may be inevitable. I am sure it is working but I have to admit that there is evidence to the contrary. I do appear to have become less tolerant of what I regard to be rampant foolishness. Stupidity is what I would say in private, but in public I would say those things done by “The Ability Challenged”. I always rage at junction 10 on the M40, as approached along the A43 from the north. It used to be an unremarkable junction until some idiot redesigned it and in so doing crossed the paths of the two main traffic streams, immediately causing massive traffic jams where there were non before. My wife, who may be keeping records, says that I always shout at the windscreen as I approach it. This crime was committed about six years ago, but I am not over it.

Then there is anything said by leading politicians, well actually any politician. They just tell such outrageous porkies and expect that because they say something is so, then it is so. “The recession is worse than anyone expected”. No! The recession is about as bad as anyone who is not in politics expected. “No-one foresaw the collapse in house prices”. Yes they did, just you lot of crooks hoping you could get through and out before you were found out. And it goes on. So I shout at the TV news.

Actually this is something of a trend as I seem to shout at the TV a lot these days. Well not shouting in the raised voice sense but “dark muttering at the TV” doesn’t quite sound right.  TV has begun to annoy me because the content has become such utter rubbish. It seems to be that TV executives will only commission stuff that has been written by their mates, people they already use and frankly people that can’t write. So I annoy my family by pointing out the utter improbability of events in films or movies, the plot mistakes; the reasoning behind things like “Desperate Romantics”, which is that it has to appeal to people that think that they like costume drama without representing the period or way of life in which the events are set and does a passing imitation of Eastenders in tall hats and cravats. I almost expect one of the characters in introducing an argument about his new “whatever” theory and debating it with his associates to begin his counter argument with “No, Right, Listen, Yeah”. This of course irritates me intensely because I am convinced I can do much better. Actually I am utterly confident I can and am constantly outraged that I never get any response whenever I try to get anything taken on by the media – the fact that I have almost given up and rarely send anything in has more to do with it than I like to admit. Demoralised – me?

Then I go to the movies with  my wife. The Time Traveller's Wife is a book that I first read when it was initially published and thought it was exceptionally good. I expected a Hollywood sponsored destruction of a fine novel akin to the murder of Captain Corelli’s Mandolin. The movie ruthlessely pulled all the sentimental strings I expected. The plot was rendered even more illogical, given that it is an entirely ludicrous premise in the first place, by the compression of the novel and the leaving out of essential elements so that it can be picked apart with ease.

What can I say. Go see it. It’s marvellous.