‘We are all individuals.’ ‘I’m not.’

I had a chuckle at A.Writer’s blog the other day. She was talking about our upcoming Novel Racer meet in Manchester and she linked to a post from Jen at Spiral Skies who’d written about what to wear to look writerly. I think it involved macramé cardigans, aubergine cord flares and big beads. A Writer suggested that we might all turn up wearing that, which I think is hilarious.

Anyway, I do get slightly anxious about returning to the UK for holidays because of clothes. I have a friend who lived overseas for many years and when she came back she looked … uhm … a bit odd; like she’d been outer space or in prison for a while (I’m sure she hadn’t). Nothing was wrong exactly, but there was something indefinably, slightly not right about what she wore.

I would be right up there at the front of a riot yelling that everyone has a right and the freedom to dress as they wish, but since a horrible, socially scarring incident circa 1982 I don’t personally express any individuality that way. It’s funny, but only in the writing of this post have I realised that the reason for this is probably down to one incident.

Being a child of the 80s I was a New Romantic. Adam Ant and Duran Duran - you were my heroes. I remember being right out there with the clothes (oh dear god, some of the things I wore to Non Uniform day make me cringe just to think of.) I have one memory where I wore a new look into our town when … well … it really wasn’t quite high street yet. It involved a ra-ra skirt and legwarmers – just go and look here and for the eye make up, have at look at this. People looked at me as though I was from Mars.

Clearly I’ve never recovered from this incident. I moved here as a jeans and t-shirt (don’t notice me or my clothes) person but the expat women dress pretty smartly and I was constantly turning up to things and feeling embarrassed at how slobby casual I was. So I have smartened up a bit … I’m not quite accessorised and coiffed to within an inch of my life, but I’m more together than I’ve ever been. (Sometimes I get my nails painted.)

So today I dug out my jeans (it’s too hot for them here) but I’m still left with a slight anxiety about whether or not I should be trying to find purple macramé before I leave for the UK.

*Phew*

HELLOOOOO...

I’m full of the joys of being humanoid again. I realise that this is partly a feeling created by the comparison of feeling crapulous but, hey, I can live with that ‘cos I feel fab.

I was extremely cross about my contact lens. I wear wore gas permeable lenses so there’s no flipping another little disposable number out of its packet. Right lens has gone; disappeared and left lens is no good without right. It so happens that my folks have made me an appointment to change my lenses when I come to the UK BUT that still means spending the next 6 weeks in glasses and really, I just don’t like them. Lenses feel part of me – glasses are an appendage sit on the front of my face and the gap between my eyes and the lens means by vision isn’t so good. So I have solved my contact lens crisis. I’ve ordered some disposables so that I don’t have to wear glasses ‘til the end of my English trip. I’m told they’re easier to wear than gas perms (which are better for your eyes) so I’m hoping they won’t feel too different.

Having joined the land of the living again I stayed out after a family lunch to organise my new lenses and then I went to the lovely, gorgeous and life affirming Kinokuniya bookshop. I bought three books – god, I love buying books, and now I’ve come home to stroke them, dip in and out of them, blog and get back into my characters.

Oh life is good again…

Remember 'Spot the Ball'?

If YOU can see my contact lens on my bathroom floor, draw a circle around it and send it back to me.

Whoever is the closest (and remember, I don't know where it is yet) you will win my eternal gratitude.

In truth, I am still feeling a little bit under the weather. Getting drunk is not big and it's not clever.

I'm sorry.

Things I need to ask myself on this morning after:

Why?

Whose idea was last night?

Why doesn’t my tongue fit in my mouth anymore?

Where did all my money go?

What happened to my contact lens?

I'm never drinking again.

Quietly optimistic

Oooh, I have to report … tentatively … that I am rather excited about my story.

I feel a tiny little bit of faith appearing. I noticed it when I responded to yesterday’s comments and I reported here that I didn’t yet have it for writing yet.

But well … I am enjoying myself; I’m feeling my characters.

OMG.

No more mention of Bangkok nightlife

It must be two weeks ago that I was told off on my comments for lambasting myself over not writing. I know it’s two weeks because the Bangkok Women’s Writers’ Group has made its fortnightly appearance in my diary tonight.

In that post I issued myself with: “a get writing deadline or quit this pretending to write thing.”

Now *collects thoughts* I have made some ‘progress.’ I have purchased, over several different shopping expeditions, thousands of index cards … and … AND, wait, oh ye of little doubt, I HAVE written on 50 of them. Now. That’s not bad.

I’m not in to flagellation (though I dare say one could acquire that kind of service somewhere in my adopted city … oh bugger. I was trying really hard not to mention BK’s saucy nightlife as I seem to have scared off quite a lot of commentators … or are they away over Easter?)

*Clears throat* So, no I’m not into flagellation, but two weeks HAVE slipped past and it is only four weeks until I come to the UK …(Hurrah, *does a little dance* phew, thank god there’s no webcam), and I want to remind myself of my “get writing deadline or quit this pretending to write thing.”

I was particularly scared and upset by the lovely Pacha’s post about her decision to quit blogging, because she wasn’t writing because she was blogging, and … well … yes …I do understand this. If I didn’t blog, maybe I would write more. But I love to come here and do this. Still, it's important to remember that this is what might happen if I don't write.

Having issued myself with this deadline, I got a bit worried by the time slipping by (though I’ve done lots of website stuff recently) so I spent most of yesterday drafting two main characters. One of whom, I can see and feel now, where I couldn’t before, which is fab. And today, I’m going to carry on. And not blog; well, apart from this, and saying hello to people occasionally…

Also my life

I feel the need to declare that I’m not often in the company of folk who are swinging and a-flinging their g-strings to the degree that it might compromise my Gin.

I called it ‘colourful’ but much of SE Asia has a reputation for its lascivious nightlife. Some tourists come in pursuit of that specific activity: others are here for the temples and the beaches, but most are curious about the other, equally well known attraction.

Whenever a friend/colleague/relation tells us that someone they know is coming to Thailand, we always offer our address and an invitation to get in touch while they are here. In the event that they need help, it’s always reassuring to their family and friends that they have Western contacts here who know the place. No-one has ever needed serious help (beyond some clean sheets, a hot shower and - in the case of two young lads who’d been living very cheaply in China before they came to us - unending supplies of toasted ham and cheese sandwiches.)

L is our current ‘backpacker’ and she is the cousin of the wife of someone we were at University with. It was in this capacity that we found ourselves hosting a tour of the more outlandish and flamboyant sides of the city. We’ve done it before and I dare say we’ll do it again.

The truth is it isn’t only the few famous red light areas. It’s everywhere and it is roughly this subject that my book is about. What it is like living, as a Western woman, in a place so openly flaunting sexual availability.

Impious post for Easter

Last night I uttered words I never thought I’d need to say:

“I just don’t want her g-string landing in my Gin.”

Bangkok, it’s a colourful place.

This is my life ...

... or at least it will be very, very soon I think.

This time it was about history homework.

I think Harry Enfield has done a great service to parents everywhere. This should be shown to all couples as a form of contraception. It's true and real. Kevin is home and living with me.

Change of Plan

I was all keyed up this morning to write about something else, but I've been out today and it's too hot. (Sorry, bloggers, but it's uncomfortably HOT, can't walk about in the open for very long without expiring, hot.)

It's so hot I started to fantasize about the Dorset coastline in Winter. This is one of my favourite pictures of a special place with three of my most cherished people (the two little ones are now two considerably bigger ones who wouldn't dream of dancing in Daddy's footsteps anymore. Sad eh?)

But why?

After my last post, Laurie made comment that simple words and short sentences are the way to go. There are several quotes to that effect by various successful novelists; Laurie quoted Mark Twain.

Lots of the ‘how to’ books talk about not using a big word where a simple/straightforward/the first one you thought of will do.

One of the pieces of feedback I got at Christmas on my WIP was that I wrote clearly without trying to be too clever. I took this as a compliment.

But. Why is it that after a break, when I read back something I’ve written I think it’s total pants? Am I the only person to think my own work stinks? Will I ever think it sounds okay?

Smug Sunday

I was pootling around blogger this morning, and I found this test on someone's site.

The guy whose site it was on had scored 'Genius' level which was somewhat intimidating. Being a bit of a sucker for this type of thing I thought I'd type in my URL to see what level they rated my blog. If it said 'Kindergarten' I needn't have posted it here, right? I could just keep quiet.

So do you dare take the test? Maybe slip a couple of keywords into your blog before you start: antidisestablishment anyone? Or maybe supercalafragalisticexpalydocious.

Just an idea.

Making

Friday’s post was well received – thank you. My subconscious went off and dredged up something that I had all but forgotten about.

This is a piece of work I did at the beginning of my final year at Art College. It was photographed by the hugely talented Kris Emmerson, who doubled as a student and technician while I was doing my degree (he went off to the Royal College of Art when he finished his BA).

We had to produce a piece of work to go into some promotional material for our degree show, or the website or something.

And guess what? I was having a creative crisis. This was, though I joke, extremely serious and a horribly bad time to have it. The work for the degree show is hugely important if you want to go on exhibiting, applying for MAs etc. It requires extensive research and development so that the result is as good as it can get. I was fairly certain that I didn’t want to continue – though I loved doing the degree – but I have always been a perfectionist and I wanted to do as well as I could. (Ha, that’s a mature student for you!)

This creative crisis was proper block. I don’t use the word very easily these days because having been there I don’t want to make light of what I experienced. I’ve had all sorts of ‘I’m bored /not motivated/think this stinks’ moments but this block was close to depression (yes, I’ve had that too, so I can make that statement.) For the first time in my life I got close to understanding what faith really meant, and I only knew it because it had gone. In fact I didn’t know I’d had it, until it had gone. It wasn’t a religious faith – it was a faith in myself; my ability and my process.

I couldn’t have told you faith was crucial to my process and ability to make art. I suspect it’s got something to do with writing too, but I’m not sure I’ve been doing that long enough to know if I have it or not. It’s close to confidence (I am SO NOT confident in my creative ability) but not the same thing either.

It’s interesting (to me) because my story is about faith (the non religious type) and I think may have been identified to me as part of my crisis in my last year at art college. So, anyway, I produced this for the promotional photo, and it is very quintessentially me; my work.

And no wonder really that the basket picture on Friday reminded me of my sculpture work. Now I’ve gone and done it, and posted some stuff I’ve made, I thought I might post some more too. Watch this space.

Friday Photo

For details on the Novel Racer Meet, please go HERE.

On my way along my soi (road) yesterday I spotted this vendor who'd stopped for a snack just down from my apartment.

I'm particularly fond of the contents of this a rot khen, (push cart) because its contents speak to me in my previous life as a scultptor. Not only that, much of my work focused on the body, often the pregnant body, and I would've killed to have made some kind of installation with those bulbous baskets. Or to learn to make them.

The canopy behind the cart and customer hide a building site (makes it look like a big Christo) and that explains why the 'restaurants' have sprung up in the street here. Almost out of view on the right, behind the white van, is a table with food for purchase for the workers on the site.

The peddlers push the carts around the streets, and they sell anything and everything (not at the same time) and it's a mystery how the customers know when to expect the carts in their street. I suppose it's because so much life is lived outside here that the people just see him...

Planning and Planning

Thanks for the supportive comments.

I’m not feeling too bad about the writing thing. Now that I’ve got going on the index cards and have acknowledged Julia (Bell)’s comment at Christmas that I do have to make decisions in order to write a story, I am scribbling away on the little cards. The pile is growing, and I’m now stapling bits of paper with my original notes on to the back of some of them (so the reference is there).

It appears that I may be a writer who needs a fairly detailed plan. That’s okay with me; I’m delighted to discover anything about my process. I always sort of knew it, but couldn’t work out how … how.

Right I’m off. I’m not navel gazing today. I’m going to write index cards, staple bits of notes to them, and chuck them in piles of Act One, Two and Three.

See ya all.

PS Okay it’s Manchester. Sunday 27th April. Check out Lazy P’s comment on Novel Racers about booking two weeks in advance for £13 tickets to Manchester - I think you need to nominate which train you'll be on for this deal. Please confirm your attendance! More information to follow.

Deadline

I’m forever finding ways to procrastinate. Sometimes they’re genuine and other times … well they’re not. Yesterday I had the whole day to write and there was no artwork due, nothing else I had to do. I looked at my screen most of the day, fiddling. I toyed with tidying my desk to accommodate my new scanner. I need to replace my contact lenses; need my hair cut, but I haven’t got time, I’ve got to write. I am not writing. I finished Julia Bell’s Dirty Work (loved it); watched a bit of crappy TV, and then out of sheer boredom I began to think about writing.

This story just will not go away. My not writing would be so easy if the story just slipped out of my head, but it’s demanding to be written, and it’s nagging away at me. I can’t get away from it. It’s clamouring at me like a child with verbal diarrhoea. Every now and again I realise – often out of desperation to stop the din in my head – if I just wrote it, it might leave me alone.

I was due out at the Bangkok Women’s Writers Group last night, but with nothing to share, what is the point? I’m not a writer if I’m not writing. I went out anyway, to sit in Starbucks with my planning folder. I bought some coloured index cards, in the stationery shop, and this is the bag they gave me. (What does it mean – apart from someone needs some grammar lessons? Was it a message for me?)

I gave each of the four sub/plots a different colour card and I began to scribble on them, ideas for all the conflicts, scenes, dialogue, with all the characters. Today I am taking my bag of index cards, my planning folder, my folder with the 25,000 words that need rewriting, all my notes etc. I am going to get my contact lenses organised and then I’m going to spend the day out in coffee shops to write all ideas on index cards. Then I will assemble them into some sort of order and start writing.

I am seeing my UK trip as a sort of deadline: a get writing deadline or quit this pretending to write thing.

What kind of writer?

I went and did the quiz that’s doing the rounds: ‘What type of writer should you be? I'm not posting the code because I just can't bring myself to say it outloud. Instead I've copied and pasted what it said about me.

The answer I anticipated was ‘Really, you’re so resistant to writing, you should go away and think of something else to do with your life.’

But, the real answer was almost as bizarre:

Your ideas are very strange, and people often wonder what planet you're from.

And while you may have some problems being "normal," you'll have no problems writing sci-fi.

Whether it's epic films, important novels, or vivid comics...Your own little universe could leave an important mark on the world!

Well, I know a few people who'd agree with that summary, but really ... a quiz being so personal: I'm slightly affronted.

Today

I can’t decide what to blog about today so for want of anything else to say …

My toenails are painted a very bright and gorgeous Versace Orange. (After all the handbag talk, this blog is looking most unserious.) I have already dented my little finger on my left, (not orange) which shows I’m not nearly grown up enough to have nail polish on my hands. I’ve just taken a picture of the spectacular orange, but I can’t post it for fear of scaring you all with my trotters.

I have to do some free writing on my main character’s husband. I never write from his viewpoint, but it’s essential that writers feel they know enough about him. I don’t know enough about him, so I need to do some work.

It’s looking likely that some of us can meet in Manchester for the weekend of 26/27 April (when I’m coming to visit). If you haven’t seen the Novel Racers’ blog post about this – head on over there now.

I am reading Julia Bell’s Dirty Work. I love the voice of Hope, who is at that inbetweeny stage of adolescence; not quite grown up, but not a child either. I’ve just reached the stage where she’s going to grow up pretty damn quick though. For those of you writing YA novels, do think about reading them – I also loved Massive (so did my son not quite 14). Julia told me at Christmas that schools have picked up on her books because of the issues and they are perfect support to the PSHE curriculum. (I hope I’m not misquoting here.)

I am meant to be reading Bleak House for Book Club, but I have Bleak Expectations of that … no not really, I’m just not in the mood. It’s very large, not that that scares me, but I will have to get on with it after Dirty Work if I want to get it finished in time for the meeting.

Ho hum. I think that’s all for today. Got the whole day to myself for writing tomorrow. Yay.

Optimistic

I am feeling strangely optimistic today. Not that I’m usually pessimistic; I like to think of myself as a realist. It’s a lovely feeling, this pure optimism thing, even though I’m not quite sure to what it should be attributed. These are what it could be:

• Husband is flying to England today. He’s gone to the airport already. (I know I will love to have him back in a week, but I’m looking forward to having the bed to myself and thinking of one less person for a few days.)


• I am flying to England in a few weeks. (I’m so sorry to say it again, but hell, I’m excited. Perhaps you could keep your eyes peeled for a post on the Novel Racers later today.)


• We may know in the next three to four weeks what is happening to us (will we still be in Bangkok or will we be coming home?)


• I’ve been caressing handbags recently, and am contemplating a purchase, maybe when we know what’s happening to us. Even if I don’t buy one, I get pleasure from the meditation. (God, I’m sad, but hey, cheap too?)


• I’ve nearly finished the artwork owed.


• I’ve bought myself a scanner – no more fiddling with Husband’s computer, a pen/thumb drive and the big complicated printer, that’s supposed to be able to do everything, yet really seems to do nothing very well.)


• I’ve finally submitted to the War Child ‘You’re Not The Only One.’ (I know how crapulous I would’ve felt if I hadn’t tried.) Please see below.

*********

I’ve sent in my War Child piece. Never one to do anything at the last minute (Ha ha ha) I finally hit ‘send’ this morning. Given, as I explained here, that my piece is about being a scaredy cat, I couldn’t really fail to submit because I’m scared, can I? (Err, yes.)

If there is anyone out there who hasn’t seen these details, this bit is for you. Peach was moved by some personal stories written by bloggers she’d tagged with a meme and the idea came about to appeal for stories, on the theme of ‘You’re Not The Only One’ to reflect the camaraderie of blogging.

With the help of a small team (Sarah from He Loves Me Not, Ariel from From Fuck Up To Fab, Ms R from Woman of Experience and Vi from Village Secrets), Peach is putting together a book for the UK based charity WARCHILD written by bloggers from these submissions – not all of course, will be published. The charity helps children all over the world so although the price tag of £9 may seem a lot, a generous £4.30 of it will go straight to the charity.

Lusty slut

I went bag shopping yesterday. I’m looking for a handbag for my sister’s birthday present to give her when I go home next month (HURRAH, DID I TELL YOU I’M GOING TO THE UK?)

For my birthday last October I was given a map to a secret location (I kid you not) where one can procure a certain type of receptacle (a nudge is as good as a wink, eh?) I took my friend with me. I did find what I wanted: good quality, imported leather, price tag to match. Honestly, getting friend to the secret location, was almost too exciting to bear.

Next we went somewhere much less thrilling but I wasn’t happy with what I saw. I came home and today, after some news about our future which I can’t share yet, I decided I wanted to go to the big mall, Siam Paragon to look at the bags. It’s a sad thing to admit that ‘looking at bags’ will make this simple creature happy. And it dawned on me that I’ve never told you all that I am … well … a bit of a bag slut.

My love of bags is, I think, about the search for the perfect bag. Of course most of you will believe that to be impossible and certainly one of the delights is to keep looking, purchasing and using the bags in the hope that it will one day I will realise that the current bag is The One.

How great is that? – a lifelong search for something as enigmatic as a perfect bag. How can any bag be perfect when there are different needs for them? I have, however, found the perfect purse, so now I feel filled with hope that one day I will find bag paragon. And of course, that means there's a need for further research.

My bag thing started twenty odd years ago when I discovered an English leather bag company’s factory shop an hour and a half drive away from where we were living. Husband was a research scientist in those days, and we had no money. I used to drive over to the Mulberry shop, for that was what it was called, and caress the bags. I lusted, readers, shamelessly.

Then one day I bought myself my first Mulberry bag. It was a black shopper – tote? And I bought it because I could afford it, rather than it being the bag I wanted. I still have it. It will never go out of fashion. My next one, again from the Mulberry factory shop was purchased by Husband for me for another anniversary present. This one is chocolate brown leather, think ‘old fashioned doctor’s bag’. I still have it. It’s a classic.

And I can’t take you through all the others – not because I don’t know their individual stories, sadly I do, but because it would bore you all to tears.

Can I also say that I’m not in love with all designer bags; I buy many, many cheap and undesignery bags, and actually only possess one other bag of a famous designer but I am worryingly in love still with Mulberry. In those days was a beautiful product but not hip and fashionable. I fell in love with the saddle bag connotations: beautifully crafted, quality leather. I am now the proud owner of several … not quite enough … Mulberry bags.

While I was hunting for a picture to show Husband when I got home this afternoon, I found this lovely site. Check out this orange suede number – I’m in lust.

No surprises here

81%How Addicted to Blogging Are You?

Two Posts in One Day

I am beyond excited. I'm fizzing, quietly in my chair.

Speaking is difficult – good thing I’m typing.

I’m visiting England: for 11 days, on my own. 22 April – Monday 5th.

OMG.

*****

And, I have drafted, scene by scene, the first four chapters of my novel.

Oh god, the excitement. I might have to order falafels, tomato salad and babaghanoush to celebrate.

*****

PS. Neice passed her 11+. Hurrah.

The kindness of Strangers

There are lots of things I appreciate about being part of the Novel Racers. I’ve found friends here that filled a gap in friends in Bangkok – mostly people who actually write. Friends here are very supportive of my writing and take me seriously (more so than I take myself sometimes) but they aren’t at different stages of the same writing journey, that means I can learn from them.

I don’t need to persuade you all; I know we all appreciate it.

And then, sometimes I’ve had a comment from someone who isn’t part of the Novel Racers – or the ‘regulars’ in this part of cyberspace - and their kindness has touched me.

Last month on this post David McMahon left some advice, which really helped me.

A couple of days ago I had a comment from AK which I appreciated on an old post. I was sorry to miss her at the Bangkok Women’s Writers’ Group (it was my ill week) but I was glad that she stopped and commented at one of my (all too) anxious posts. I went to her profile page and she writes too. She was born in England, lived in Bangkok and now lives in America. Thank you AK.

Last night I had a long comment from Victor on another old post. It was the post where I wondered if I was the only one who didn’t intuitively understand the process of creating a book. (I’m not.)

Victor left this message:

Ask yourself if you are drawing on your own past and experience or your interpretation of the "other" (other here being used as no more than a reference to a 3rd person point of view/reference that is otherwise wholly unfamiliar to your past and daily routine).

The first is often said to be easier for first time writers as it allows them to suffuse their characters with an intimacy and authenticity that might otherwise be lacking unless you intend to devote much research, observation and time into the background "set-up" of this novel.

Follow that up by asking the following questions. Who is your audience; what is the main plot; are there any subplots and for whom are you writing? Is this book intended for those who love good and masterful prose or a clever mystery? Is it a subdued but soulful tale of self-realization or an epic journey set against the backdrop of two battling empires? By answering these basic types of questions you will essentially be answering the question "WHAT IS IT THAT I MEAN TO WRITE".

Even the best of today's modern creative geniuses start with an idea and mould it into a conceptual structure then change it as need be in composing the final body of their work. It provides a framework within which to begin writing an opening vision and sequence for the storyline. It is not written in stone and they can alter it as they please (unless under contract, e.g. to deliver a mystery novel).

Unfortunately, well intentioned as it may seem and as good advice as it may be for A-level pupils, to heed the advice of the one writer to just put pen to paper and write the thing then have it edited, is, at best, a romantic notion.

Best of luck with your project,

Hope you are enjoying Thailand.

Victor

Hmmm, he seems to know what he’s talking about. My stats showed that Victor posted from Toronto, Canada and that he found my blog by searching for certain keywords. (Not related to me). ­His Blogger profile showed only one profile view so he’s not a regular Blogger commentator. I wondered, did he create his profile, just in order to comment? Whatever Victor was searching for, he took the time out to comment on my blog, to pass on some of his experience and knowledge. So I’d like to thank him.

So I’m moved, yet again, by the kindness of strangers. I don't think any of them are regulars - they could be lurkers - but they are kind and gave me some time.

An aside:

Today, I am working on my novel. I am not doing any designing of posters, or tickets, or headed notepaper, or compliment slips, or business cards. I am not doing any website stuff - though I will have to write my website report for the meeting tomorrow - I am writing. For me. My writing. My story that won't go away in my head, no matter what other things I am asked to do.

Sycophant - ooh I love that word

Thank you to Cally for this lovely Busy Bee award. Cally's given it to me because I don't "seem to stop! :o)" (I think she might mean I don't stop going on and on about wanting to write, or am I being a bit paranoid?)

This is lovely; I'm glad to be busy but frustrated to be so busy I can't seem to get on with the writing. (I am going to though, as soon as I've cleared the design decks.)

And, if I'm allowed a little reciprocal backscratching in my Oscar Busy Bee speech, I'd have to say Cally would win my industry award. Not only does she actually write and edit etc - as opposed to my talking about it - but she has a full time job; commutes a long way to work(not for much longer); appears to know the world wide web inside out and backwards (because she's always posting valuable articles I have to go and look at, and daft stuff too!)

I'd like to pass it on to Liz who was having a moment of despair last time I looked. I really hope that's all it is because Liz has always been a huge role model to me. Her industry, like Cally's , never faulters; her diligence puts me to shame and her constant attention and generosity to the Novel Racers and their adminstration is the best.

Stuff

I couldn’t come and blog yesterday because I would’ve said horrible things, and only a week or so ago, I posted that I was a nice person. Yesterday I wasn’t nice.

But, being not at all nice yesterday gave me a subplot I hadn’t already got, so I’m trying to persuade myself that I was doing a sort of 'method acting' version of collecting ideas. Have I convinced anyone?

I’ve worked hard all day on artwork. Carola Crayon and I have got our next commission for artwork (poster, tickets etc) for a big lunch for 300. It has a theme and I felt inspired so I started doing some stuff on it. The theme is tippity top secret, so I can’t tell you what it is yet.

I’ve got lots of website stuff to do too. But, as mentioned last post, I now have another assistant who’s doing the stuff I inherited when Susan deserted to Delhi (Hello Susan, *waves* - she lurks.) So finally I can get on with redesigning the front page and updating my book club pages – woefully neglected. It’s also been raised (again; damn it, it just won’t go away) that we have a noticeboard… this would need to be updated weekly, which I could do without, but it’s my ‘job’ so there we go.

I’m such a butterfly brain. I’ve been away and done something else about three times while I’m writing this. Perhaps if I concentrated on one thing at a time I’d get more done.

Maybe I should work all evening on the website stuff and then I’ll be freer tomorrow afternoon…
I WANT TO GET ON AND WRITE. Or at least plan.

I think from now on, I'm going to have to call all my posts "Miscellanea" because this is all so disjointed and woolly.