This day should have been spent working on my WIP - except my printer had other ideas ...
I managed (only just) to avoid my initial instinct to crawl under the duvet and stay there until someone made things work (which would be a l-o-o-o-n-g time).
Instead, I finally got round to creating a separate blog for the Revo posts published on this blog in 2008/9.
I've been promising myself I'd do it for ages. I wanted the posts to all be in one place for ease of use for anyone doing research - or just curious.
For those of you who weren't hanging out here back then, the posts are about my time living in Grenada during the revolution, coup, US invasion and aftermath 1982-1983.
For some ridiculous reason, I can't seem to add links in the sidebar, and some of the photos seem to have gone AWOL so it's still a work in progress, but it's there and it's real.
Comments are disabled on the new blog, but feedback will always be welcome here.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
There is much spitting and gnashing of teeth chez Alper today
Look. I'm not difficult. I don't ask for much. I do believe I give more than I take in life.
So why oh why, when all I want to do is print my own sodding MS, has my printer chosen today to act up? I print other people's MSes all the time without any trouble.
I spent yesterday working on the 1st draft of Book 6 online for the things I already knew about.
Next stage is to print a hard copy and work through to produce a 2nd draft.
I have the time (which is rare in itself).
I certainly have the inclination ...
What I also have is a malevolent printer who's squatting next to my desk chuckling to itself as I sweat and swear over its inner workings.
It is, I tell you.
I'm held in thrall by a useless piece of crap technology that has worked fine(ish) for all the years that I've had it and has chosen today of all days to act out the part of a recalcitrant gremlin.
The way I see it, I now have 3 choices:
1) I can take to my bed and refuse to get up until the world goes away.
2) I can get the saw out of the cupboard and spend a pleasant day hacking bits off the printer.
3) I can go for a walk and attempt to breathe while I do so.
Right. I'll try for option 3. But I tell you this, if when I get back there's no change in the attitude of hpdeskjet 990cxi, you'd better lock your doors and stay away from the windows 'til I tell you it's safe to come back out.
Me and my mates are on the warpath. Shit technology is in our sights and its days are numbered.
Be afraid ... be very afraid ...
So why oh why, when all I want to do is print my own sodding MS, has my printer chosen today to act up? I print other people's MSes all the time without any trouble.
I spent yesterday working on the 1st draft of Book 6 online for the things I already knew about.
Next stage is to print a hard copy and work through to produce a 2nd draft.
I have the time (which is rare in itself).
I certainly have the inclination ...
What I also have is a malevolent printer who's squatting next to my desk chuckling to itself as I sweat and swear over its inner workings.
It is, I tell you.
I'm held in thrall by a useless piece of crap technology that has worked fine(ish) for all the years that I've had it and has chosen today of all days to act out the part of a recalcitrant gremlin.
The way I see it, I now have 3 choices:
1) I can take to my bed and refuse to get up until the world goes away.
2) I can get the saw out of the cupboard and spend a pleasant day hacking bits off the printer.
3) I can go for a walk and attempt to breathe while I do so.
Right. I'll try for option 3. But I tell you this, if when I get back there's no change in the attitude of hpdeskjet 990cxi, you'd better lock your doors and stay away from the windows 'til I tell you it's safe to come back out.
Me and my mates are on the warpath. Shit technology is in our sights and its days are numbered. Be afraid ... be very afraid ...
Thursday, February 18, 2010
The Long List
I've just sent my regular 'what I'm up to' email to my agent. It's always good to take a step back and remind myself exactly how it is I spend my time, so I thought I'd reproduce it here.
- I've been approached by a new publisher, Glasshouse Books, and asked to contribute a short story to an anthology with a story set in each of London's 33 boroughs. Mine is set in Croydon.
- I've been doing an enormous amount of editing, mostly through Writers' Workshop, but some also direct to me. I've also been mentoring an unpublished writer, which has been very rewarding.
- I've been hosting creative writing workshops, some alone and some in tandem with Emma Darwin.
- I've been asked to be one of the 'high profile' (their words) judges for the Brit Writers' Awards.
- I'm participating in the Festival of Writing in York in April: co-hosting the mini course, running a workshop and taking part in Book Doctor one-to-one sessions.
- my writers' group has set up its own imprint and published an anthology - the first print run of which has sold out. My contribution is a tighter version of the first chapter of Me, John and a Bomb (largely due to the local link)
As far as I'm concerned though, the most important piece of news is that I've finished the 1st draft of Identity Flawed and I'm very excited by it. My top priority now is to work on this whenever I have time. I hope to get the final draft to you within the next few months.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Puff the Magic Dragon
I'm under no illusions. I know perfectly well that the one thing that could make a difference to my ears as well as my general health would be to stop smoking.
I assumed all smokers knew that. Surely there are none of us left still in denial ...
Check this conversation I had yesterday while huddled in the cold with a fellow addict.
Her: I've got a hole in my lung.
Me: Oh dear. Shouldn't imagine smoking is a good idea ...
Her: Aha! That's where you're wrong. my doctor told me on no account should I give up smoking.
Me: Really?
Her: Yep. Apparently, the tar is blocking up the hole. If I stop, the tar would go and the hole would open up and get bigger.
Me: And the doctor told you this?
Her: (rolling another fag) Yep. I've got asthma too. I've only got about 60% lung function. D'you know what the doctor told me to do if I have an asthma attack?
Me: Let me guess. He told you to smoke a fag.
Her: Yep. He said that way I'm concentrating on taking deep breaths in.
Me: Was this by any chance the same doctor who told you about the tar ...?
Now, like I said, I'm not in denial about the health-giving properties of tobacco, but any activity that has the upside of giving you insights like the above conversation has to have something going for it ...
I assumed all smokers knew that. Surely there are none of us left still in denial ...
Check this conversation I had yesterday while huddled in the cold with a fellow addict.
Her: I've got a hole in my lung. Me: Oh dear. Shouldn't imagine smoking is a good idea ...
Her: Aha! That's where you're wrong. my doctor told me on no account should I give up smoking.
Me: Really?
Her: Yep. Apparently, the tar is blocking up the hole. If I stop, the tar would go and the hole would open up and get bigger.
Me: And the doctor told you this?
Her: (rolling another fag) Yep. I've got asthma too. I've only got about 60% lung function. D'you know what the doctor told me to do if I have an asthma attack?
Me: Let me guess. He told you to smoke a fag.
Her: Yep. He said that way I'm concentrating on taking deep breaths in.
Me: Was this by any chance the same doctor who told you about the tar ...?
Now, like I said, I'm not in denial about the health-giving properties of tobacco, but any activity that has the upside of giving you insights like the above conversation has to have something going for it ...
Thursday, February 11, 2010
I got the power!
It's like this.
My bionic ears, aka Desdemona and Hortense, are callibrated to my maximum hearing loss (approx 70%).
But here's the thing: my hearing fluctuates.
So when it's not too bad, D & H amplify every sound so that I can hear worms turning the earth. In Australia.
The volume control is not sufficently adjustable to turn it down to a more normal level.
I don't mind really. It makes life ... interesting.
Yesterday, for example, I was sitting on the bus and found I could hear both sides of other people's mobile conversations. Which was even more remarkable as I can't hear my own phone.
Like I say, interesting. It would have been even more so if the conversation I was eavesdropping on had been in English, but you can't have everything.
Anyway, I'm thinking about auditioning for Heroes if only I can convince them my power isn't dependant on digital devices. Please don't shop me ...
My bionic ears, aka Desdemona and Hortense, are callibrated to my maximum hearing loss (approx 70%).
But here's the thing: my hearing fluctuates.
So when it's not too bad, D & H amplify every sound so that I can hear worms turning the earth. In Australia.
The volume control is not sufficently adjustable to turn it down to a more normal level.
I don't mind really. It makes life ... interesting.
Yesterday, for example, I was sitting on the bus and found I could hear both sides of other people's mobile conversations. Which was even more remarkable as I can't hear my own phone.
Like I say, interesting. It would have been even more so if the conversation I was eavesdropping on had been in English, but you can't have everything.
Anyway, I'm thinking about auditioning for Heroes if only I can convince them my power isn't dependant on digital devices. Please don't shop me ...
Saturday, February 06, 2010
Brace yourself
The orthodontist has told First Born he's a borderline case but will probably be able to get braces on the NHS. But here's the thing ... his teeth really aren't bad. The incisors are very slightly out of line but that's it.
So he needs to decide whether he wants to have a mouthful of heavy metal train track braces for a year followed by several years wearing retainers at night to correct a very slight misalignment that would have no health consequences.
'Top and bottom?' I asked. 'Because his bottom ones look perfect to me.'
'Yes, we'd do both,' she replied. (Her own teeth were very white and very straight.) 'We want him to have a perfect smile, don't we?'
Do we? Perfection. Are any of us perfect? Can we be possibly be so without painful corrective measures? Should we even want to be? Aren't imperfections what make us unique and distinct from each other? If we have the attitude that every small 'imperfection' has to be dealt with, is there not a risk we could all end up as bland anodyne versions of the same template?
What is a 'perfect smile' anyway? I'd've thought that has to come from within, not be the result of straight teeth.
What do I know ... if he wants them, of course I'll support him and I have urged him to think carefully.
Anyway, while I'm talking teeth I thought I'd share this story my mum once told me about her mother.
Apparently, the whole family made a rare trip to the seaside and my grandmother went for a paddle. Don't ask me how, but somehow she managed to lose her false teeth in the sea. Gallantly, the men set up a search party.
No chance, you'd think. Yet some time later one of my uncles emerged from the sea, proudly holding up a set of gnashers.
What are the odds against that, would you reckon?
But if you want real improbability, wait for the punchline.
They weren't hers.
So he needs to decide whether he wants to have a mouthful of heavy metal train track braces for a year followed by several years wearing retainers at night to correct a very slight misalignment that would have no health consequences.
'Top and bottom?' I asked. 'Because his bottom ones look perfect to me.''Yes, we'd do both,' she replied. (Her own teeth were very white and very straight.) 'We want him to have a perfect smile, don't we?'
Do we? Perfection. Are any of us perfect? Can we be possibly be so without painful corrective measures? Should we even want to be? Aren't imperfections what make us unique and distinct from each other? If we have the attitude that every small 'imperfection' has to be dealt with, is there not a risk we could all end up as bland anodyne versions of the same template?
What is a 'perfect smile' anyway? I'd've thought that has to come from within, not be the result of straight teeth.
What do I know ... if he wants them, of course I'll support him and I have urged him to think carefully.
Anyway, while I'm talking teeth I thought I'd share this story my mum once told me about her mother.
Apparently, the whole family made a rare trip to the seaside and my grandmother went for a paddle. Don't ask me how, but somehow she managed to lose her false teeth in the sea. Gallantly, the men set up a search party.
No chance, you'd think. Yet some time later one of my uncles emerged from the sea, proudly holding up a set of gnashers.
What are the odds against that, would you reckon?
But if you want real improbability, wait for the punchline.
They weren't hers.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Google Shmoogle
The lit blogs and forums are buzzing as deadlines loom (and pass) for Google's plan to digitise every book published in the US, Canada, UK and Australia.
(The original plan covered the whole world!)
Agents are giving conflicting advice to their authors.
The Society of Authors says 'opt in'. My agent says 'opt out'.
'In' gives you greater control, theoretically - and you can always ask for your books to be removed later. You will also be eligible for any money that may or may not come your way.
'Out' means your books will be removed from Google's site but doesn't guarantee they won't scan them in future.
Few authors have the staying power and attention span to wade through the reams of complex information and work out how it applies to them.
Those who do, come to different conclusions.
They've divided us, and now they'll rule us.
Most authors, I suspect, have their heads under the duvet and are hoping it will all just go away.
And there's the rub.
If you do nothing, by default you've opted in.
(It was this factor that has caused the greatest controversy and is still being contested in the courts.)
But if you continue to do nothing, you don't lay claim to your books.
Which means you have given your 'permission' for your books to be digitised and sold but won't get any money.
In other words, doing nothing is the worst possible course of (in)action.
Yet I suspect that 'nothing' is exactly what most authors are going to do.
Now excuse me for being cynical, but if I'm right about the low take-up, that must add up to a humongous pot of unclaimed money.
Google say this will be held in a fund for future claims, but meanwhile it's presumably not going to just sit there doing nothing ...
So what exactly is Google's objective?
Why the controversial 'opt in by default' angle?
And the off-putting labyrinth of information?
***
What am I going to do?
I'd just made the decision to opt out ...
... and found the deadline was yesterday!
So I'm presumably in - and should now get in there and claim my books ...
Meanwhile, I may be new on Facebook, but I've just started a We Hate the Google Book Settlement group.
Because that's one thing I think we can all agree on.
(The original plan covered the whole world!)
Agents are giving conflicting advice to their authors.
The Society of Authors says 'opt in'. My agent says 'opt out'.
'In' gives you greater control, theoretically - and you can always ask for your books to be removed later. You will also be eligible for any money that may or may not come your way.
'Out' means your books will be removed from Google's site but doesn't guarantee they won't scan them in future.
Few authors have the staying power and attention span to wade through the reams of complex information and work out how it applies to them.
Those who do, come to different conclusions.
They've divided us, and now they'll rule us.
Most authors, I suspect, have their heads under the duvet and are hoping it will all just go away.
And there's the rub.
If you do nothing, by default you've opted in.
(It was this factor that has caused the greatest controversy and is still being contested in the courts.)
But if you continue to do nothing, you don't lay claim to your books.
Which means you have given your 'permission' for your books to be digitised and sold but won't get any money.
In other words, doing nothing is the worst possible course of (in)action.
Yet I suspect that 'nothing' is exactly what most authors are going to do.
Now excuse me for being cynical, but if I'm right about the low take-up, that must add up to a humongous pot of unclaimed money.
Google say this will be held in a fund for future claims, but meanwhile it's presumably not going to just sit there doing nothing ...
So what exactly is Google's objective?
Why the controversial 'opt in by default' angle?
And the off-putting labyrinth of information?
***
What am I going to do?
I'd just made the decision to opt out ...
... and found the deadline was yesterday!
So I'm presumably in - and should now get in there and claim my books ...
Meanwhile, I may be new on Facebook, but I've just started a We Hate the Google Book Settlement group.
Because that's one thing I think we can all agree on.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Debi's deafisms
Part 1 in an occasional series giving an insight into my muffled world.
Little Guy: Everyone I know says Avatar is amazing!
Me: What's so special about apple tart?
Little Guy: Everyone I know says Avatar is amazing!
Me: What's so special about apple tart?
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
It's in the Bag!
I've been teetering on the edge of finishing Book 6 for some time.
I love that final stretch where the words spill out, tripping over each other in their haste to reach the finish line.
Last night, while the boys watched the footie, I unplugged Desdemona and wrote the epilogue, lying on the settee.
Then - I danced round the room ...
poured a large slug of Malibu into my camomile tea ...
ate some chocolate ...
a packet of crisps ...
two satsumas ...
Yeah, I really know how to party.
I'm looking forward to the 2nd draft refinements, which will be my first opportunity to see how it all hangs together, pruning the bits where the pace drops off and fleshing out the scenes I've skated over.
Then on to the the 3rd and final draft where I make sure I've always chosen the best word/phrase/image, before I enter the nail-biting phase where I send it off and wait for my agent's feedback.
Meanwhile, I have another 2 MSes to edit, so I'm izzy wizzy. Add that to continuing email problems and it means I might not get here much for a while.
But I'm close ... very close ...
What a ride!
I love that final stretch where the words spill out, tripping over each other in their haste to reach the finish line.
Last night, while the boys watched the footie, I unplugged Desdemona and wrote the epilogue, lying on the settee.
Then - I danced round the room ...
poured a large slug of Malibu into my camomile tea ...
ate some chocolate ...
a packet of crisps ...
two satsumas ...
Yeah, I really know how to party.
I'm looking forward to the 2nd draft refinements, which will be my first opportunity to see how it all hangs together, pruning the bits where the pace drops off and fleshing out the scenes I've skated over.
Then on to the the 3rd and final draft where I make sure I've always chosen the best word/phrase/image, before I enter the nail-biting phase where I send it off and wait for my agent's feedback.
Meanwhile, I have another 2 MSes to edit, so I'm izzy wizzy. Add that to continuing email problems and it means I might not get here much for a while.
But I'm close ... very close ...
What a ride!
Monday, January 18, 2010
Eek mail woes
Damn and damn again.
It seems that once more I have annoyed the lords of the cyberverse, and they've decided to punish me by blocking my emails.
If you have recently emailed me at my debialper dot co address, I won't have received it.
Please try this one instead, replacing the words 'at' and 'dot' with the appropriate symbols:
Right, I'm off to sacrifice a goat or something to try to appease them.
Do you reckon a wood louse would do the trick?
Bit short on goats in our neck of the woods ...
It seems that once more I have annoyed the lords of the cyberverse, and they've decided to punish me by blocking my emails.
If you have recently emailed me at my debialper dot co address, I won't have received it.
Please try this one instead, replacing the words 'at' and 'dot' with the appropriate symbols:
debialper at talktalk dot net
Right, I'm off to sacrifice a goat or something to try to appease them.
Do you reckon a wood louse would do the trick?
Bit short on goats in our neck of the woods ...
Friday, January 15, 2010
Now hear this!
I saw the audiologist yesterday and he souped up my left hearing aid.
(Can't use the right one yet as that ear's still v inflamed.)
Anyway, I now have the Lamborghini of listening devices ...
The Harry Potter of hearing instruments ...
The Diamond Standard of deaf aids ...
He's not only bounced up the volume, he's also cut out most of the extraneous noise so that I no longer have the distraction when someone opens a crisp packet in Sterling or turns the page of a book in Aberdeen.
Yippee! Hello, world!
So while I'm feeling cheerful, here's my list of things that are good about being deaf.
(Cos there have to be some, right?)
1) A large percentage of what many people say is not worth hearing
2) You spend a lot of time inside your own head, which is great for writing fiction.
3) Ditto cos there are fewer distractions.
4) Family arguments in which you're not directly involved float over your head.
5) The internet is a great leveler.
6) A deaf aid can always be removed or turned down if you want some peace and quiet.
7) You can bond with your aids - grateful for the difference they make to your life - instead of resenting them. Have I introduced you to Desdemona and Hortense?
(Can't use the right one yet as that ear's still v inflamed.)
Anyway, I now have the Lamborghini of listening devices ...
The Harry Potter of hearing instruments ...
The Diamond Standard of deaf aids ...
He's not only bounced up the volume, he's also cut out most of the extraneous noise so that I no longer have the distraction when someone opens a crisp packet in Sterling or turns the page of a book in Aberdeen.
Yippee! Hello, world!
So while I'm feeling cheerful, here's my list of things that are good about being deaf.
(Cos there have to be some, right?)
1) A large percentage of what many people say is not worth hearing
2) You spend a lot of time inside your own head, which is great for writing fiction.
3) Ditto cos there are fewer distractions.
4) Family arguments in which you're not directly involved float over your head.
5) The internet is a great leveler.
6) A deaf aid can always be removed or turned down if you want some peace and quiet.
7) You can bond with your aids - grateful for the difference they make to your life - instead of resenting them. Have I introduced you to Desdemona and Hortense?
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
At Deaf's Door
My dad finds my deafness hysterically funny.
(NB: He's the only person allowed to laugh!)
I think he gets a kick out of someone much younger being in a worse state than he is.
Yesterday's conversations went a bit like this:
Dad: Mumble, mumble.
Me: What?
Dad: (cheeky grin) Oh, nothing. Just talking to myself.
Dad: Mumble, mumble.
Me: What?
Dad: Mumble, mumble.
Me: Nope, still can't hear you.
Dad: Mumble, mumble.
Me: Eh? Hang on. Let me lean close to you. Now, what did you say?
Dad: Incomprehensible mumble.
Me: Come again, one more time.
Dad: Louder mumble.
Me: Hang on - that's not English. What is that?
Dad: (cheeky grin) It's Russian!
Me: I didn't even know you could speak bloody Russian!
(NB: He's the only person allowed to laugh!)
I think he gets a kick out of someone much younger being in a worse state than he is.
Yesterday's conversations went a bit like this:
Dad: Mumble, mumble.
Me: What?
Dad: (cheeky grin) Oh, nothing. Just talking to myself.
Dad: Mumble, mumble.
Me: What?
Dad: Mumble, mumble.
Me: Nope, still can't hear you.
Dad: Mumble, mumble.
Me: Eh? Hang on. Let me lean close to you. Now, what did you say?
Dad: Incomprehensible mumble.
Me: Come again, one more time.
Dad: Louder mumble.
Me: Hang on - that's not English. What is that?
Dad: (cheeky grin) It's Russian!
Me: I didn't even know you could speak bloody Russian!
Monday, January 11, 2010
Snow joke
So there was I this morning, preparing to cross London,
... bundled up like a Polar explorer
... anticipating digging myself out from snow drifts
... leaping from ice floe to ice floe
... wrestling with bears,
penguins,
seals
and those funny floppity things with tusks ...
Eh? Hang on ... Where's the snow gone?
Anyone else notice the past few days seem to have assumed a certain dreamlike quality ...?
... bundled up like a Polar explorer
... anticipating digging myself out from snow drifts
... leaping from ice floe to ice floe
... wrestling with bears,
penguins,
seals
and those funny floppity things with tusks ...
'I'm going out. I may be some time.
If anything happens, remember how much I love you all ...'
If anything happens, remember how much I love you all ...'
Eh? Hang on ... Where's the snow gone?
Anyone else notice the past few days seem to have assumed a certain dreamlike quality ...?
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
Life and deaf
I'm standing in a queue at the bank.
Only one till is open and I'm 14th in line.
More people are piling up behind me.
The woman in front has a small child with a scooter.
She has grazed knuckles on her right hand and looks well 'ard.
The boy scoots over my foot.
I say nothing.
I think there must be an argument or something at the back.
Probably about the queue.
Everyone's turning round and staring.
The woman behind me is speaking to me.
I can see her lips moving.
I smile and say, 'Sorry, I'm deaf. I can't hear you.'
But I must say it too softly and she can't hear me either because she carries on talking.
I broaden the smile and hope it's not an inappropriate response.
I'm at the till at last.
The cashier is telling me something.
I fix on the all-purpose smile.
'Sorry,' I say. 'I'm deaf. I can't hear you.'
She starts mouthing at me and waving a form.
I have no idea what she's saying, but conscious of the queue behind me, I nod and hope she's not imparting crucial info.
Back on the street.
I avoid eye contact, pulling my hood over my eyes, hoping no one will recognise me.
I pass an old friend without seeing her.
She calls me and I don't respond.
Luckily, she taps me on the shoulder and I explain I wasn't deliberately ignoring her.
'Sorry,' I say. 'I'm deaf. I can't hear you.'
I wonder how many other people might be thinking uncharitable thoughts about how rude I am.
I stop every time I cross the road, looking in every direction several times before stepping out and continuing to glance every which way until I'm safely across.
I'm aware that to the casual observer I must look like an over cautious neurotic.
But I know it's all too easy to step in front of a car you didn't hear approach.
Back home.
After just one day back, the boys are off school because of the snow.
They know better than to try to communicate with me unless it's for something urgent.
I give thanks for the internet.
Apologies for the whiny post. Smiley happy Debi will be back in the next post.
Only one till is open and I'm 14th in line.
More people are piling up behind me.
The woman in front has a small child with a scooter.
She has grazed knuckles on her right hand and looks well 'ard.
The boy scoots over my foot.
I say nothing.
I think there must be an argument or something at the back.
Probably about the queue.
Everyone's turning round and staring.
The woman behind me is speaking to me.
I can see her lips moving.
I smile and say, 'Sorry, I'm deaf. I can't hear you.'
But I must say it too softly and she can't hear me either because she carries on talking.
I broaden the smile and hope it's not an inappropriate response.
I'm at the till at last.
The cashier is telling me something.
I fix on the all-purpose smile.
'Sorry,' I say. 'I'm deaf. I can't hear you.'
She starts mouthing at me and waving a form.
I have no idea what she's saying, but conscious of the queue behind me, I nod and hope she's not imparting crucial info.
Back on the street.
I avoid eye contact, pulling my hood over my eyes, hoping no one will recognise me.
I pass an old friend without seeing her.
She calls me and I don't respond.
Luckily, she taps me on the shoulder and I explain I wasn't deliberately ignoring her.
'Sorry,' I say. 'I'm deaf. I can't hear you.'
I wonder how many other people might be thinking uncharitable thoughts about how rude I am.
I stop every time I cross the road, looking in every direction several times before stepping out and continuing to glance every which way until I'm safely across.
I'm aware that to the casual observer I must look like an over cautious neurotic.
But I know it's all too easy to step in front of a car you didn't hear approach.
Back home.
After just one day back, the boys are off school because of the snow.
They know better than to try to communicate with me unless it's for something urgent.
I give thanks for the internet.
Apologies for the whiny post. Smiley happy Debi will be back in the next post.
Saturday, January 02, 2010
Tail Tale Tit
Breaking news!
Hoovering the Roof, the East Dulwich Writers' Group anthology, has gone stellar!
Well, OK, maybe not quite stellar, but we are going to have to reprint mere weeks after our launch and even allowing for the recent gift-giving season, that's got to be pretty good going, eh?
And My Man in Spain, Steve Redwood, has said some very kind words that he's agreed to let us use as a cover quote.
So far, so good.
But things are rarely that straightforward in the world of wordsmiths.
I sent Steve's quote to the anthology contributors, and they were suitably flattered.
Just one small problem.
In his review, Steve had used the words twist in the tail.
'Surely that should be tale,' said one contributor.
'No, I reckon it's definitely tail,' said a second.
'Bloody writers,' grumbled a third. (That was me). 'Look, I've Googled both versions and there's contradictory advice. I reckon it could be either. But these are Steve's words, so I reckon the decision should be his.'
So I emailed Senor Redwood.
A nice polite email asking if he wanted to go with a twist in the literal tale or the metaphorical tail.
What a fool I am! You'd really think I'd know better.
Next time I opened up my Inbox I was greeted by a veritable flurry of emails from My Man in Spain.
Each was brief and to the point - and increasingly infuriating.
(I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing I nearly wet myself reading them.)
The time has to come to be decisive.
I'm staking my claim for tail and offer the following as justification:
If you say the tale of the tail, you mean a story about a tail.
If you say the tail of the tale, you mean the ending of the story, which may have been about anything, including but not exclusively nether quarter apendages.
A twist in the tail, implies an unexpected ending and that's what I reckon Senor Redwood meant, even if he refuses to settle the argument and is having far too much fun watching us squirm.
Voting is now open.
Which is to be?
Support your local tail.
Hoovering the Roof, the East Dulwich Writers' Group anthology, has gone stellar!
Well, OK, maybe not quite stellar, but we are going to have to reprint mere weeks after our launch and even allowing for the recent gift-giving season, that's got to be pretty good going, eh?
And My Man in Spain, Steve Redwood, has said some very kind words that he's agreed to let us use as a cover quote.
So far, so good.
But things are rarely that straightforward in the world of wordsmiths.
I sent Steve's quote to the anthology contributors, and they were suitably flattered.
Just one small problem.
In his review, Steve had used the words twist in the tail.
'Surely that should be tale,' said one contributor.
'No, I reckon it's definitely tail,' said a second.
'Bloody writers,' grumbled a third. (That was me). 'Look, I've Googled both versions and there's contradictory advice. I reckon it could be either. But these are Steve's words, so I reckon the decision should be his.'
So I emailed Senor Redwood.
A nice polite email asking if he wanted to go with a twist in the literal tale or the metaphorical tail.
What a fool I am! You'd really think I'd know better.
Next time I opened up my Inbox I was greeted by a veritable flurry of emails from My Man in Spain.
Each was brief and to the point - and increasingly infuriating.
(I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing I nearly wet myself reading them.)
The time has to come to be decisive.
I'm staking my claim for tail and offer the following as justification:
If you say the tale of the tail, you mean a story about a tail.
If you say the tail of the tale, you mean the ending of the story, which may have been about anything, including but not exclusively nether quarter apendages.
A twist in the tail, implies an unexpected ending and that's what I reckon Senor Redwood meant, even if he refuses to settle the argument and is having far too much fun watching us squirm.
Voting is now open.
Which is to be?
Support your local tail.
Friday, January 01, 2010
I am a weak and weedy woman
I nearly held out for the full decade.
Until late last night ...
Guess what I was doing in the dying embers of the year.
Yes, holding my hands over both ears and saying, 'Ow', but I don't mean that.
Yes, friends, it's confession time.
In a moment of supreme weakness I went to the place where I had always sworn I would never go.
Yes, dear friends, I allowed my kids to set me up on Facebook.
And today, oh joy of joys (smell the irony), my Inbox is filled with messages.
Just what I needed ...
I'm not even sure what I'm going to be using it for, apart from yet another online distraction to stop me doing more important stuff.
But I'll tell you what I won't be using it for.
I won't be using it for creating some sort of idiotic virtual farm for people who have dust from the keyboard under their fingernails instead of earth.
I won't be using it to join random cyber groups designed to beat meaningless records for numbers of people signed up to random cyber groups.
I won't be using it to poke people, whatever the hell that is. Nor do I wish to be virtually poked by others, thank you very much.
I won't be using it to send messages into the world that are so shallow they wouldn't even moisturise the soles of your feet.
Any messages I do send will not now, nor ever, contain the letters LOL.
Nor will I be learning complex codes in order to insert banal emoticons into said messages, whatever they consist of.
So, having stated all that, if you'd like to meet up with me at the forbidden planet, you can connect with me here.
Just don't poke me.
Oh ... and Happy New Year.
Until late last night ...
Guess what I was doing in the dying embers of the year.
Yes, holding my hands over both ears and saying, 'Ow', but I don't mean that.
Yes, friends, it's confession time.
In a moment of supreme weakness I went to the place where I had always sworn I would never go.
Yes, dear friends, I allowed my kids to set me up on Facebook.
And today, oh joy of joys (smell the irony), my Inbox is filled with messages.
Just what I needed ...
I'm not even sure what I'm going to be using it for, apart from yet another online distraction to stop me doing more important stuff.
But I'll tell you what I won't be using it for.
I won't be using it for creating some sort of idiotic virtual farm for people who have dust from the keyboard under their fingernails instead of earth.
I won't be using it to join random cyber groups designed to beat meaningless records for numbers of people signed up to random cyber groups.
I won't be using it to poke people, whatever the hell that is. Nor do I wish to be virtually poked by others, thank you very much.
I won't be using it to send messages into the world that are so shallow they wouldn't even moisturise the soles of your feet.
Any messages I do send will not now, nor ever, contain the letters LOL.
Nor will I be learning complex codes in order to insert banal emoticons into said messages, whatever they consist of.
So, having stated all that, if you'd like to meet up with me at the forbidden planet, you can connect with me here.
Just don't poke me.
Oh ... and Happy New Year.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Sweet 'n' sour
The bad news ...
I spent yesterday in bed with a perforated ear drum, feeling shite.
The good news ...
We don't celebrate Xmas, so the day is not as significant as it would be for others.
The bad news ...
It's the ear that until yesterday was known as 'the good one'.
The good news ...
I can see the sea from the bedroom window.
(We're cat sitting in Brighton. Which I guess is also good news ...)
Hope the news where you are is unmitigated good stuff.
I spent yesterday in bed with a perforated ear drum, feeling shite.
The good news ...
We don't celebrate Xmas, so the day is not as significant as it would be for others.
The bad news ...
It's the ear that until yesterday was known as 'the good one'.
The good news ...
I can see the sea from the bedroom window.
(We're cat sitting in Brighton. Which I guess is also good news ...)
Hope the news where you are is unmitigated good stuff.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
People and planet
It would be so easy to feel downhearted by the feeble ending to the Copenhagen summit. But we can't afford to give up. There's too much at stake.
From the Avaaz site:
The Copenhagen climate summit ended up in failure: an unambitious, non-binding accord that leaders themselves admit won't come close to tackling climate change. Their failure is a disappointment -- and their failure is a challenge. We must work harder, demand more and never resile (sic) from our fight for our children and our planet.
That fight continues now. In just 6 weeks time leaders of each country will lock in their nation's emissions reduction targets under this week's agreement.
In Copenhagen, leaders didn't make history—but the world's people did. A year of unprecedented action on climate change reached unimagined heights in the last two weeks: thousands upon thousands of vigils, rallies, and protests; floods of phone calls and messages sent; millions of petition signatures—all calling for the fair, ambitious, and binding climate treaty we still need and still will win.
We're in this for as long as it takes. For now, let's look at what we've done, and thank one another for joining this journey. Take a moment to ... draw hope from the countless people of all nations who are joining together for a better world.
If you leave a comment here, you can watch your words slip downwards as they are joined every few seconds by other people around the world who share the same hopes and fears.
From the Avaaz site:The Copenhagen climate summit ended up in failure: an unambitious, non-binding accord that leaders themselves admit won't come close to tackling climate change. Their failure is a disappointment -- and their failure is a challenge. We must work harder, demand more and never resile (sic) from our fight for our children and our planet.
That fight continues now. In just 6 weeks time leaders of each country will lock in their nation's emissions reduction targets under this week's agreement.
In Copenhagen, leaders didn't make history—but the world's people did. A year of unprecedented action on climate change reached unimagined heights in the last two weeks: thousands upon thousands of vigils, rallies, and protests; floods of phone calls and messages sent; millions of petition signatures—all calling for the fair, ambitious, and binding climate treaty we still need and still will win.
We're in this for as long as it takes. For now, let's look at what we've done, and thank one another for joining this journey. Take a moment to ... draw hope from the countless people of all nations who are joining together for a better world.
If you leave a comment here, you can watch your words slip downwards as they are joined every few seconds by other people around the world who share the same hopes and fears.
Friday, December 18, 2009
My Book of the Decade
I have always been a voracious reader.
These days, I'm very fussy.
I don't want to waste my valuable reading time on books that don't come up to my exacting standards - and some of the bestsellers fall a long way short IMO.
But there are some wonderful books out there.
I've reviewed many of them on this blog before.
... triumphal horns and drumroll ...
Book of the Decade.
And the winner is ...
The Killing Jar by Nicola Monaghan.
At first glance, it seems a simple book with a first person linear narrative.
No clever frills.
No obvious literary devices.
Just the most compelling voice, spot-on pacing, vivid characterisation and gritty grimy realism.
Nicola shies away from nothing, refusing to romanticise the poverty and violence that define life on the grim Nottingham housing estate where the action takes place.
She shines her unflinching spotlight onto the lives of marginalised people too often dismissed - or simply feared - by 'respectable' folk.
Kerrie-Ann, the narrator of The Killing Jar, lives a drug-fueled life of crime and violence as both victim and perpetrator. The book begins when she is five, the daughter of a junkie single parent who soon disappears, and continues through her struggles through adolescence, including a desperate and lethal kind of love, to a bittersweet, life-affirming ending.
At times the book feels so painful, it is almost hard to carry on reading, yet, at the same time, I was unable to put it down. Kerrie-Ann haunted me and I know she will remain with me always.
But don't get the idea that this is a hard book to read. In these pages you will find humour and energy and a zest for life that you rarely see in the written word.
Nicola has done well with The Killing Jar and its successor, Starfishing (a different demographic but, in its own way, an equal triumph). Sales have been steady and respectable. She has won awards.
Yet her name is not on everybody's lips and she's not at the top of the bestseller charts, where she deserves to be.
I wonder why this is.
I suspect it may be because many people don't want to know about the people she has depicted. It's too hard, too confusing. Easier to maintain preconceptions, batten down the hatches and take refuge behind high fences, peeping out from behind net curtains.
Take up the challenge.
Read the book and then let me know if it failed to enthrall you.
These days, I'm very fussy.
I don't want to waste my valuable reading time on books that don't come up to my exacting standards - and some of the bestsellers fall a long way short IMO.
But there are some wonderful books out there.
I've reviewed many of them on this blog before.
So you'd be forgiven for imagining it would be difficult to come up with one worthy of the title of
... triumphal horns and drumroll ...
Book of the Decade.
And the winner is ...The Killing Jar by Nicola Monaghan.
Dear blogmates, I have to tell you it wasn't a hard decision at all because this book stands out for me as not just a book of the decade but one of the best books I've read - ever.
Every aspect filled me with respect and admiration for the author.
Every aspect filled me with respect and admiration for the author.
At first glance, it seems a simple book with a first person linear narrative.
No clever frills.
No obvious literary devices.
Just the most compelling voice, spot-on pacing, vivid characterisation and gritty grimy realism.
Nicola shies away from nothing, refusing to romanticise the poverty and violence that define life on the grim Nottingham housing estate where the action takes place.
She shines her unflinching spotlight onto the lives of marginalised people too often dismissed - or simply feared - by 'respectable' folk.
Kerrie-Ann, the narrator of The Killing Jar, lives a drug-fueled life of crime and violence as both victim and perpetrator. The book begins when she is five, the daughter of a junkie single parent who soon disappears, and continues through her struggles through adolescence, including a desperate and lethal kind of love, to a bittersweet, life-affirming ending.
At times the book feels so painful, it is almost hard to carry on reading, yet, at the same time, I was unable to put it down. Kerrie-Ann haunted me and I know she will remain with me always.
But don't get the idea that this is a hard book to read. In these pages you will find humour and energy and a zest for life that you rarely see in the written word.
Nicola has done well with The Killing Jar and its successor, Starfishing (a different demographic but, in its own way, an equal triumph). Sales have been steady and respectable. She has won awards.
Yet her name is not on everybody's lips and she's not at the top of the bestseller charts, where she deserves to be.
I wonder why this is.
I suspect it may be because many people don't want to know about the people she has depicted. It's too hard, too confusing. Easier to maintain preconceptions, batten down the hatches and take refuge behind high fences, peeping out from behind net curtains.
Take up the challenge.
Read the book and then let me know if it failed to enthrall you.
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