The Word Cloud

My computer is my best friend, think about it, all our friends live in it.  So when it is attacked you want to protect it. You mourn the loss of daily interaction with the keyboard where your fingers play sensitively upon those keys. Your life or day is not the same.

This happened to me!  At 9.17  pm precisely on Wednesday I clicked on this pop-up. I was not thinking.  The pop-up told me that trojans and worms had attacked my friend and to click ' here'  to remove them.  This I did, wrong!

The 'security tool' disguised under a firefox persona was the virus .. damn .. it flew through programmes  like a dose of salts rendering them impossible to open.  Initially I was exposed to 40 trojans and numerous worms. By going into
add/remove I managed to reduce the quantities , then somehow the virus knew what I was doing and attacked.  I could do nothing, wherever I went there they were.  I could have cried.

Pulling out the internet access, I closed down and went to bed. Could I sleep? Could I heck, all I could see when I closed my eyes were worms slithering and trojans marching through my programmes and files.

This morning I took my friend to a man who knows about these things and explained my plight.  He has now joined the ranks of best friend after spending six hours of his time taking care and restoring my computer back to health.

So there you have it - Don't you just hate it when that happens?

Hands up when you have had those days when you have a block or cannot remember where you jotted down that wonderful idea you had for a story such as the back okf an envelope at hand, torn out your hair and everything around you. Calm down, help is at hand.  OK you have writer's block and you lost that piece of paper or rather mislaid it with a bit of luck and find it later where you least expected it. 

First, go out for a walk and buy yourself a large ring binder folder.  Large one I hear you say, that's right, you will be quite surprised how quickly you will fill it, believe me.  Oh yes, might as well get yourself a reporter's notebook but any kind will do really but it is the one tool you can never do without.  Make sure the cover is bright, yellow or red, you will never lose that, even bright green. 

Now for sleeves or dividers.  You can use those plastic sleeves then slip used sheets of paper, that is on one side, scored through.  With the help of clip art, you can create your own dividers, the design is up to you but type for each, the month of the year. You can have a different one for fiction or articles of course if you prefer.  Now type your ideas when you have them, having noted them down and you will never be lost again

Does our image reflect our personalities...  And would our personalities still be the same without image?

I'm a spiritual person so surround myself with objects to reflect this, but if they were taken from me, would I still be the same person.  I know we all surround ourselves with belongings that reflect who we are, but what if we didn't have them, what if they didn't exist...  would we still be the same person? 

Did Neanderthal man have as many different personalities as exist today - did one, just one feel better with a parot feather through his nose I wonder?  And what did the others think... 

I judge people (which I know is wrong) by their shoes:

white trainers = lives with mother
deck shoes = a bit mad
sandals = laid back as long as you agree with everything they say
shiny shoes = anal
boots = strong opinions but with empathy

If image reflects our personalities, then what about bank managers?  You don't see them sporting a Mohican, so does this influence their personalities and who they really are or are they the same person they would have been without being able to reflect this in their image? 

Would we be more wary of a 6' biker with a nose ring, than a smartly dressed bank manager, even though the bank manager may have a completely different personality to his image, as with the biker? 

Where would our personalities be without the image that accompanies them...   Would we still be who we 'think' we are... 

Minxie

I started off with a story I was very pleased with (I'd finished it, which is always a good sign).

Since I've been doing re-writes, I have been red-pen happy. I have slashed red lines through pages of my chapters, striving to improve chapter beginnings and remove story points that - well - had no point.

The last straw came last Thursday when, not satisfied with several scene rewrites, I came to the conclusion the beginning moved too slowly. My solution? Why don't I completely re-write the Prologue through to Chapter 3?

In other words, pretty much cull all that writing, and re-writing, and start the beginning over!

So that's what I'm currently doing. I've changed scenes all around, written new scenes, and got rid of a lot. I only hope, after all this work, I actually make the story better, because it would be rather depressing if it went the other way!

Dear Unspecified Agent,

          I came upon your profile through eharmony.com.  After reviewing your agency website, I firmly believe my manuscript could be puddy in your well formed hands.  I also like long walks on the beach and sing Sinatra lyrics in the shower.

 The world of ‘SAVATAR’ will blow your proverbial socks off.  Agent Marmucker has been dealing with the loss of his limbs since the bubblegum factory explosion of 2087.  On a secret mission to planet Hooters, Agent M. will have the occasion to live a normal life once more.  Through technological mindmelding means, he will incarnate the body of an eleven foot tall native boogyfry named ‘Crut’ and infiltrate their tribe.  The knowledge he acquires will change his perception of the human race forever.   He alone can prevent a war between the two planets by taming the flaming Spleagle-whats and becoming chief of the boogyfry tribe.

 Oh yes, and he SAVES THE WORLD.

 This is my first almost finished book and I have been writing for non-stop for…..five whole days.  I think this could really be the next big thing- bigger than Harry Potter and Twilight put together.  I am dead serious.  Dead.  Serious. Even my neighborhood psychic Sabine says there’s no doubt that SAVATAR will take the world by storm, and she totally predicted Michael Jackson’s disappearance (he’s still alive, btw) - so trust me when I say that this is a win-win.

 

 Thank you for your time,

Sleep Deprived in Detroit

http://creepyquerygirl.blogspot.com/ 

(First ever attempt at poetry, I've never been taught anything to do with writing aside from comments from you guiz, so comment away! help me.)


My Fair Maiden by Andrew Williams

You are a snowflake
Naturally beautiful and perfectly formed
Yet due to fear and peer-
pressure;
You paint yourself orange,
Ruining it all.

Here they come
No longer the gallant knights of old
Any gentlemen here would be a rare sight to behold
Instead of brightly polished armour it's shadowy North Face,
Not respecting you enough to remove their hands from their pants
'Ay girl gizza chew!'
The nearest lad shouts aimed at you
As you walk by with your friend
She snaps at you
'What are you doing? He obviously likes you, lets talk to them!'
'I don't want to' you protest in vain
'Don't be such a baby, time for you to grow up!'
She about-turns and marches off to greet them,
You reluctantly follow suit.

Yet you're soon to fall for them
Giving in to their assault,
Victim to the 'bad boy' image they live to uphold
Each one a wannabe Eminem
They ask for your number,
Bashfully, you hand them your phone.

They call you the next day;
Inviting you to a party on the park with a few of their 'mates',
Not wanting to offend or appear immature,
You accept
And arrive later with your friend from the day before.

A drunken mess of a night is soon to ensue;
Catalysed by a fight between the two most drunken of these fools
They wage war on each other 
All for your love
Fuelled by gallons of Stella and cheap 'Sammy Boo'
The victor strips your emotions away
Robbing you of your innocence despite your reluctance
Then leaves you cold and alone
On this park bench
A home away from home

It's all just a game to them,
They compete to see how many girls they can destroy
They laugh and they cheer;
But I smile to myself, I see the irony of it
The winner of their game is the real loser here.

Following a mini-rant to my sister yesterday about media priorities/headlines (on last night's 6pm BBC news, Duchess of Cornwall's "broken" leg that was actually only fractured was second top story ahead of the USA and Russia signing their arms treaty and the rising fuel costs in the UK...) she sent me this link today...

Never posted a link in a blog before so hope this works...

http://www.youtube.com/watchv=5eBT6OSr1TI&feature=youtube_gdata

Enjoy!

Exclusive short story online from acclaimed television writer, John Fitch - Family at War, Sam.

Running time; 16 mins

http://www.shortstoryradio.com/player/stories/the_return/player.htm

The cobwebs are winning. Their fragile structures prove far stronger than my will to do something about them. Apparently, my hoover pipe morphed in the night, the lightweight aluminium magically transformed into the heaviest lead. Alchemy as an excuse for being a poor housewife; you've got to admire my inventiveness.

In reality, of course, the success of the gossamer strands owes itself to nothing so spectacular. It's just fibromyalgia, my faithful friend, illustrating my life and scrawling its presence in every corner. Other people would tackle the ceiling with ease, arms stretched above their heads, utilising the special attachment supplied by Dyson for just these circumstances. Housewives and husbands up and down the land are; right now, cleaning the bottom of the oven with abandon. The smell of oven cleaner – or cigarette smoke, fish, pencils, cheese crisps and so on – does not overpower their senses as it does mine. My next door neighbour, who is 70, puts her own rubbish out every week and I once saw her shovelling snow away from her front door. I am 31 years old and I cannot manage to change my own bedding without having a little lie down halfway through.

I try ignoring the state my house is in, pretending that I don't care about the crunchy carpets and that bit behind the toilet I can't get to. I'm a writer, after all, working on a novel with plans for a series. What importance should one attach to domestic tasks when engaged in serious literary pursuits?

The novel can be written in bed, propped up on overstuffed pillows, heating set at 'full' so my poor son is sweltering while I call for another blanket and a nice hot cup of tea. I wrestle sentences into submission, push characters around, making them do what I want them to. I create worlds from my thoughts, shape destinies and make sure bad guys get their comeuppance.

Some days I am in too much pain to type so I write in my head, dreaming scenarios and solutions while under my duvet, blocking out noises and light. I read, devouring books for research and for pleasure, living multiple lives in my mind.

Today, I managed to get downstairs to make a feast of cornflakes and hot milk. Tomorrow I might be able to do all those things I wanted to do today, like going to the bank and popping into the supermarket for cheese and a loaf.

These hands don't look good in rubber gloves, they're far better suited to an ergonomic keyboard. Fingers hash marked with paper cuts shouldn't be anywhere near bottles of bleach. I balance the Yellow Pages on my lap and flick through before grabbing the phone.

'Hello, is that the Acme Domestic Cleaning Service? I'd like to book a regular appointment.'

Some people aren't cut out for cobweb fighting, I think, snuggling back under my blankets with my notebook and pen.

 

I've put all the pics of Clouders who will be at York at the weekend on to an A4 page, plus the names of the other attendees with no pics. I'm hoping it will help in the recognition process. Trouble is you can't upload a Word page to the Cloud. So, if anyone wants a copy, you can access it in Googledocs, at this link:
https://docs.google.com/fileview?id=0B0BOimhKuoL5MWExYTQxZmItOGYzZi00NWE4LWJmOTktNzJhOWExMGM4ZmE4&hl=en_GB

You can print it out if you click on the blue 'print' immediately above the page and then select File/print as usual, in the new window that opens.
see you there, everyone.