The Word Cloud

Well, it was 'no' from the agent. And this time it's a real, definite, don't-send-the-MS-to-me-again kind of 'no'.

For a bit of background, the agent originally read the MS (in a very different guise) way back in 2007. She liked it but pointed me towards a major rewrite which I did whilst figuring out the life-changing-hit-by-a-bus experience of having our first son.

Fast-forward through dirty nappies, sleepless nights and lots and lots of rewriting to early 2009 and this time she really liked the MS but again pointed me towards a rewrite which started out quite minor and became rather major, including the execution of a protaganist and a two-year wrangle with Chapter 1.

Fast-forward again through a family crisis, writer's block, four months of morning sickness (yup, son number 2 coincided with rewrite number 2 - not trying to create a pattern here, honest!), York Festival 2010 (yay!), more dirty nappies, more sleepless nights, a lovely, long, creative maternity leave, a bit of Emma and Debi and some invaluable collaborative editing with fellow Cloudie, John and I really thought that this time, I'd got it right.

And it does appear that I've not got it wrong just not right enough. The main problem for the agent is that she doesn't get the link between my past and present plots - I'm too gutted tonight to know whether or not I agree with her. I've invested 5 years of rewrites in the hope of persuading her to represent me and it feels like I have nothing to show for it.

Though I know that's not really true. The MS I have now is vastly superior to the one she read in 2007 and I have learned a huge amount about writing along the way. And while I lick my wounds, she did finish off with a very positive comment:

"You do have a lovely style though - loads and loads of potential so I'd love you to keep in touch. Any other ideas brewing?"

I do, as it happens, but with two small children in the household, it may be a while yet before the ideas become anything close to an MS.

So, don't mind me if I wibble nonsensically in the corner for most of the weekend. I'm not giving up. It'll be back to business on Monday.

I just have to scratch this itch that has been on my mind for two months. I simply have to deal with it.

I have often posted about my enjoyment of the craft and art shows I attend on behalf of MrsP. In the run up to Christmas there are lots of them. I had my share of pleasures and nice moments and will do the same next year, no doubt. For some reason this year the same Christmas CD was being piped into many of them. It featured Frank Sinatra being dreary, Bing Crosby groaning and was generally dire.

Perhaps it was the generally dreadful nature of the music on offer that caused me to have what I can only describe as the most unsanta-ish thoughts as Ella Fitzgerald’s turn came round and once more she cheerfully piped:

Santa Claus got stuck in my chimney,
Stuck in my chimney, stuck in my chimney
Santa Claus got stuck in my chimney
When he came last year

But once the idea had entered my head I couldn’t hear the tune without having the same thoughts. I wonder if I can get pills for it, because it's happening again.

Food can be sexy as all heck. Its used in all manner of ways within the film industry to gloss over events or allude to certain actions. What romance novel is worth its salt if there isn't a bit of melted chocolate dripping from a buff chest - in desperate need of the heroine to ..well.. thats enough of all of that... you get the picture.

We all know how sexy food can be – but how boring are some recipe books?  This innocent question was posed at an online writers group a few months ago and received a flurry of suggestions and comments; prompting Sylvia Petter and I to launch a collaboration in order to bring balance back to the universe.  Think about it - erotic stories backed up by luscious recipes drawn directly from the action within the tale - a match made in heaven.

Raunchy Recipes aims to put a halt boring recipe books,  turning up the heat in the kitchen with a  resource spilling over with sensual stories, backed up with glorious recipes and simple line drawings. Given the popularity of kindle, ipads and the like, we believe this collection of short steamy stories and recipes are best delivered in electronic format.  We intend on launching it through ether books  initially and branching out to other outlets later on.

Depending on the popularity, we might consider some print on demand hard copies in 2013. Apart from the fame and glory of being involved, successful contributors ( authors and artists) will be sent a copy of the ebook version; with the promise that if the edition is published in hard copy format the following year, a copy of this will be forwarded to them. So! Sylvia and I are excited about working together to produce a fun, saucy and delectable anthology of erotic short stories, liberally peppered with luscious line drawings.  We welcome emerging authors and artists as keenly as seasoned creatives.

Submissions are being accepted between the 14th of February and the 1st of August 2012. Publication for the ebook is aimed for mid Dec 2012. Full details and submission guidelines can be found on Submittable. For more information about Raunchy Recipes check out  the  website , follow on Twitter or stalk on Facebook Fan Page  or contact us via email

You know how that need for a sandwich suddenly sneaks up on you? It’s not like it’s a gradual thing; there’s no ‘I may be in need of a sandwich shortly’, it’s just a sudden, violent need to be cramming bread, meat, cheese and whatever else you can find into your gob like a meth-head smoking his first hit of the day. That’s not to say that you cannot enjoy the sandwich making process. Some of my finest moments have been during a particularly good period of sandwich artistry. I even named one of my incredible creations ‘The Jeremy Clarkson’ as it was the best sandwich in the world…

   I felt that this may be one of those moments that I would look back on fondly as an epic sarnie of our time. During that ever so long and arduous trek from the sofa to the kitchen, I was already mentally digging through the fridge and grabbing any and all ingredients that could assist in creating this beautiful monstrosity. With shaking hands, I grasped the cold, hard handle of the great white beast, the keeper of all things nom and good, and yanked its jaws wide open with wild abandon. The holy light clicked on, revealing the beast’s succulent innards that I had eagerly procured from Tesco not so long ago. My dilated pupils scanned the heaving shelves with the eagerness of a horny boy at a strip club and landed on the first essential ingredient; a virginal packet of mouth-watering cheese, wrapped tenderly in its plastic clothing. I extracted it and place it on the gleaming breadboard that rested upon my kitchen counter.

   The next part is the meat, the juicy guts of any worthy sandwich. I was no neophyte when it came to meat selection, no naïve purchaser of inferior products. There would be no mottled wafer thin ham or stringy reformed chicken in Valhalla and neither would there be in my art. Only the thickest, most tender cuts of supple flesh would do. I selected some oak smoked ham and roast chicken breast and placed them gently beside the cool, firm cheddar. I knew instinctively that this was not a time for greasy mayonnaise, though I had used this white glaze before, no, only locally sourced organic butter would do to softly moisten my creation. I positioned the butter dish besides its worthy comrades.

   For the final layer, I delved into the hard, crisp world of the vegetable drawer and extracted the necessary fruits and greens. Juicy, firm tomatoes, a beautiful shade of blushing red, velvety soft to touch, their outsides giving no hint of the saturated world that hid within. Perfect, lush green leaves of fresh gem lettuce, rustled together as though whispering secrets as I placed them on the counter.

   My bread, no ordinary chemical filled sliced nonsense but whole, crunchy baker’s goods with a light brown crisp shell that protected the yielding white cushion within.

Add the next piece to to story. The only rule is that each section is 60 words or fewer.

Birds don't chirp. Who thought of such a thing? Warbling, cooing, even arguing with squawks, if they're herring gulls. But not chirping. New model cars when you lock them with one of those electronic keys. Some mobile phones. But not birds. Roy was a chirper. Right from when he was a baby. But then again, most crocodiles are.

Not my usual screenwriting blog this week because I spent last week at the silent comedy festival in Bristol, Slapstick 2012. I managed to see five events including the Friday night Gala at the Colston Hall featuring Buster Keaton's The General supported by shorts from Laurel and Hardy and Charlie Chaplin.
I've got nothing but good things to say about the festival (with the possible exception of Griff Rhy Jones' unbelievably self-serving introductions to other people's films), but the high spots for me were the two events hosted by Oscar winning film historian Kevin Brownlow. There is simply no one who has done more for silent film and Brownlow's films and books on the subject are definitive and, annoyingly, as commerically unavailable as the films he's talking about.
Which leads me to my topic; there is a vast body of silent film that remains unavailable despite already having had money spent on them for restoration purposes. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse was one of the most successful films of all time, it features Rudolph Valentino's first starring role and was a personal favourite of David Lean who always referenced its director Rex Ingram as an influence, and yet you cannot go into a shop and buy a decent copy (there's probably a few ropey and illegal ones knocking about). Even currently popular stars like Buster Keaton suffer; The Camerman and Spite Marriage are so seldom seen that they have been at best glossed over by film history and at worst considered sub-par (which they are certainly not).
Can I do anything about this? I don't know but I think I'd like to try. At least I can raise awareness, so watch this space.
Oh, and so this is still technically about screenwriting, let's have a round of applause for the teams of gag-writers who helped make the great silent comedians so great!

Ever since I joined the cloud the concept of POV has caused me a lot of torment.  Even though I have listened and followed the advice clouders give on this, I still find myself reading published books that do not follow the rules...  So, in plain english - pretend I'm a child - can someone explain the different types of writing narrative, i.e. 1st, 2nd and 3rd.  And if possible, let me know what the popular one is.

I get the impression 1st is in for YA novels.  Then again, it depends on the story.  I have read some YA novels written in 2nd (I think).  And Harry Potter is written in 3rd - am i right?

To put it in context...I prefer to write from a female POV, but at times I want to slot in the male POV.  How do I do this, without having to switch all the time?  How can I do this smoothly?  I am just working on a brand new novel, and I want to get it straight in my head before I get sucked in and then have to edit a lot!

Thanks a lot for you help... it's really appreciated.

When I was at primary school (many years ago), I read a book called 'King of the Copper Mountain'. It is a story that has lived in my memory for years, but I have never seen the title since the 70's.

Last year, I was prompted to search for any remaining copies of the book, assuming that by now, it was out of print. Oh, yes, I could get a copy - for nigh on £100! I wasn't that desperate...I shelved the idea, feeling a bit sad.

Now, at work, I help with some of the not-so-confident readers in Y6, and part of that role is helping them to choose books. Whilst checking out the 'ruby' shelf with one of the pupils, I made a fantastic discovery! I think Kieran thought I'd gone mad; I could hardly speak - there, on the shelf...now in my hand...was the very book I'd been searching for!

King of the Copper Mountain - re-published! It even had pictures - the same ones I remembered; the king with his enormous flowing beard...the bees buzzing round his head as they told their story, the faithful hare. I was, quite frankly, blown away. I toyed with the idea of sneaking it out there and then - I didn't care that it was there for the kids - I wanted to read it. I resisted.

 Instead, after explaining why I was so excited and the impact the book had had on me as a child of about his age...Kieran decided to give it a go. Now for someone who's normally into 'BeastQuest' and action stories, I had reservations about how he'd receive this magical story. But getting the kids interested in a book is the first hurdle, and he'd just jumped over that one. 

Last week, he told me how much he was enjoying the book.

I am delighted that the book continues to weave its magic to a new generation...and I'm watching the post eagerly so that I can dive into my brand new copy when it arrives.

 

 

The Winner of our Joke Competition has only recently been subjected to a rather in-depth 'probe' from the gorgeous Debi & Emma. It has left his work in a near perfect state but unfortunately he is still quaking in a corner and not up to another session with them!

With the blessing of Guero Davilo the Cloud is passing the prize to the next best joke...so the new winner is Steve for his tattoist joke:
Bernard goes into a tattooist’s.
“I’d like you to tattoo my girlfriend’s name on my penis. Can you do that?”
“I can,” says the tattooist. “But it’s very painful. I’ll have to give you an anaesthetic. What’s your girlfriend’s name?”
“She’s called Wendy.”
So the tattooist does his stuff, but when Bernard comes round all he can see is a ‘W’ and a ‘Y’ on his cock.
“Don’t worry,” says the tattooist. “When you get an erection, your girlfriend’s name will be there in full. If you like, go into the toilets in the back and check it out.”
So Bernard goes into the toilets, does what he has to do, and there is his girlfriend’s name in all its glory. He’s very pleased. But just then another chap walks into the toilet and he’s got ‘W’ and ‘Y’ on his cock as well.
“Is your girlfriend’s name Wendy?” Bernard asks.
“Naaaah, mine say Welcome to Jamaica and have a nice day.”

Brace yourself Steve - Debi & Emma will be heading your way!

Some of you have acknowledged that I cleaned up a nice bit of writing that’s been around on the internet for a while and posted it here in the blog section. There was reasoning behind it, flawed or otherwise: it made a nice introductory lead in to this, which otherwise may not have held its own in the intriguing stakes. Frankly, it probably won’t anyway.

 

 

Health and Diet Versus Price and Cost

 

66 years have passed since the end of the Second World War. Many advances have been made in technology, medicine and health during that time, but in some ways we have regressed.

 

During World War II, it has been clearly demonstrated that people in general actually lived healthier lifestyles. This is contrary to what one might initially think, but rationing meant that luxury products (particularly fattier and sweeter food stuffs) were in short supply, so most people ate rather less of them. For that matter, most people ate considerably less food overall and obesity was not so... er... widespread. In relation, however, more fresh vegetables, fruit and wholemeal produce were consumed.

 

The availability of white bread was scarce because it required more processing, ingredient extraction, time and expense.  Therefore most people rarely had alternative bread-based options to full wholemeal brown bread, which was cheaper and easier to produce.

 

Somewhere between back in them days and now, marketers shifted the value perception of healthier food and we generally pay more for wholemeal or brown bread than the previously more expensive to make white loaves.  Right now, I don't know the cost breakdowns of brown versus white because they are more related to factors such as long-term economies of scale, overall unit sales and popularity. One thing is for certain, though: pricing strategies have caused a mindset shift in the population to such a degree that we now expect to pay more for healthier food, regardless of whether it actually costs more to get it on to store shelves and sell it.

 

What really gets me worked up is the wider picture of profiteering from healthy or environmentally friendly products and practices. In general terms in the UK, the more educated section of the population are more likely to want to be healthy and/or green. Or at least be seen to be. Education also correlates with wealth. Wealth correlates with an ability to pay more for things. So, for the most part, marketers set pricing strategies to deliberately take advantage of this, and their companies make tidy profit margins out of selling a healthy lifestyle.

 

It means that we pay a premium if we want to be healthy or green.  And it means that the less well off are priced out of the market, whatever their intention. Frankly, I find it immoral. And in a time of imposed austerity, that goes double.