My uncle's been down to visit and it always makes me smile to chat with him as he's a mouthy little Scouser. Someone who hugs you by cracking you on the shoulder and opens a conversation by taking the piss out of your haircut and tattoos. He's been telling me how he's gotten into Tai Chi, on doctor's orders and has found it really beneficial. It's something that's been recommended to me before as a way to deal with stress and I'm all for having a crack if I can find a local class. I'm no stranger to martial arts, but if I tackled Tai Chi I'd probably not be doing a fighting system.
But: if I get all centred and stress-free, will I have anything to write about? Writing's about conflict. I mean, how many calm writers do you know? I'd be interested to hear about anyone who's tried Tai Chi.
Wednesday, 21 October 2009
Monday, 19 October 2009
Mental Blogs
As someone with irregular Internet access, I rarely get to sift through all the things there are to read on the Internet, which is a shame. And sometimes a blessing. This time at home has had me wandering through cyberspace when I can't sleep. You see something on MSN that reminds you of something on Amazon, that reminds you of something on Facebook and then, whammo, you're retina deep in blogs.
Somehow I've ended up finding dozens of blogs about mental health difficulties, mental health professionals, and mental health professionals with mental health difficulties. An exotic world indeed. Some have made me giggle, some have made me feel a bit uncomfortable, and some have made me sad. Mental health is just at the bottom of the barrel when it comes to support and funding, isn't it?
And some have made me very angry. People who aren't exactly furthering the cause for reducing stigma of mental health difficulties. Particularly those pink-coloured blogs by girls who claim not to whinge and then go on and on about their various insecurities, symptoms, family history, medications and hospital admissions. I don't know, maybe it's the Celt in me, my past unresolved feelings of rejection, my creaky fingers, lopsided family, Nurofen intake and NHS Direct hits creeping out that says private life means private. Still, at least I got to laugh for half an hour. "Oh, God! My partner says I'm beautiful and he loves me just the way I am, but how can I trust him??!? I mean, just because I'm a size 10 Oxford graduate Gymkhana-entering trustafarian doesn't mean I'm HAPPY! That controlling misogynist! I'm leaving him immediately and then he'll be sorry! Oh, I'm off to drink some Chardonnay and blog some more..."
Mwahahahahahaha!!!
Somehow I've ended up finding dozens of blogs about mental health difficulties, mental health professionals, and mental health professionals with mental health difficulties. An exotic world indeed. Some have made me giggle, some have made me feel a bit uncomfortable, and some have made me sad. Mental health is just at the bottom of the barrel when it comes to support and funding, isn't it?
And some have made me very angry. People who aren't exactly furthering the cause for reducing stigma of mental health difficulties. Particularly those pink-coloured blogs by girls who claim not to whinge and then go on and on about their various insecurities, symptoms, family history, medications and hospital admissions. I don't know, maybe it's the Celt in me, my past unresolved feelings of rejection, my creaky fingers, lopsided family, Nurofen intake and NHS Direct hits creeping out that says private life means private. Still, at least I got to laugh for half an hour. "Oh, God! My partner says I'm beautiful and he loves me just the way I am, but how can I trust him??!? I mean, just because I'm a size 10 Oxford graduate Gymkhana-entering trustafarian doesn't mean I'm HAPPY! That controlling misogynist! I'm leaving him immediately and then he'll be sorry! Oh, I'm off to drink some Chardonnay and blog some more..."
Mwahahahahahaha!!!
Sunday, 18 October 2009
Apple Week
In other news, I am away from Manchester and in my home town. Exciting indeed, as I was unaware it was Apple Week. Apparently, in their infinite wisdom to boost local town spirit and ignore the recession despite being 45 minutes from London and essentially a commuter town, the council is giving over a whole 7 days to celebrate our local produce. Because that will really get farmers and local tradespeople going. A week for apples. Apples. APPLES!
However scathing I may be, there were fireworks last night in celebration of the pipped fruit.
I am suffering from severe City withdrawal symptoms. I haven't been physically intimidated, seen a Magic Bus, had a frappe latte, heard an accent north of Luton, or grappled with my gas key card for seven days. Seven more to go. On the plus side, I'm seeing old friends, looking at stars, and spending time in pubs filled with people who cross their local accent with Snatch dialogue. Oh, you wish you were here.
However scathing I may be, there were fireworks last night in celebration of the pipped fruit.
I am suffering from severe City withdrawal symptoms. I haven't been physically intimidated, seen a Magic Bus, had a frappe latte, heard an accent north of Luton, or grappled with my gas key card for seven days. Seven more to go. On the plus side, I'm seeing old friends, looking at stars, and spending time in pubs filled with people who cross their local accent with Snatch dialogue. Oh, you wish you were here.
Breaking The 60,000 Word Mark
What is it about the 60,000 word mark that makes everything grind to a halt?
Infused with ideas, snappy dialogue, nice neat scenes, a novel seems to carry itself up to the 60,000 word mark in good speed and then...smoke spirals out of my ears, every sentence looks like something I concocted on speed, and I sob into my copy of The Writers' and Artists' Yearbook. It's like the writing fairies know that the book has reached the legitimate word count for a novel and then skip off to sow their thought dust on other writers. At 60,000 words I feel the pressure that comes with a new idea for the novel. Just the idea of reordering scenes feels immense because of the sheer number of pages. And yes, yes, yes, you shouldn't write and edit at the same time, but if you hammer on to the end of a first draft knowing full well that you wanted something in a different order, won't it just be crap?
Although, having a first draft in any shape is a bonus. I admit it; I'm a bully. I beat myself up for not being able to churn out 20,000 words in a weekend, being unable to see how scenes could build on each other automatically and being unable to find decent surnames for my characters.
Perhaps I should stop whinging, hit the stimulants and wear out my new keyboard to get that first draft done. The irony is, I love editing a draft. It's just hitting the low of the 60,000 words that knocks my confidence and makes me think I should consider a job in marketing. This happened with my last, abandoned novel. Hit 60,000 words, got smug about my favourite scenes and then realised there was fuck all story.
This weekend's progress then: I have changed the title.
Woo.
Infused with ideas, snappy dialogue, nice neat scenes, a novel seems to carry itself up to the 60,000 word mark in good speed and then...smoke spirals out of my ears, every sentence looks like something I concocted on speed, and I sob into my copy of The Writers' and Artists' Yearbook. It's like the writing fairies know that the book has reached the legitimate word count for a novel and then skip off to sow their thought dust on other writers. At 60,000 words I feel the pressure that comes with a new idea for the novel. Just the idea of reordering scenes feels immense because of the sheer number of pages. And yes, yes, yes, you shouldn't write and edit at the same time, but if you hammer on to the end of a first draft knowing full well that you wanted something in a different order, won't it just be crap?
Although, having a first draft in any shape is a bonus. I admit it; I'm a bully. I beat myself up for not being able to churn out 20,000 words in a weekend, being unable to see how scenes could build on each other automatically and being unable to find decent surnames for my characters.
Perhaps I should stop whinging, hit the stimulants and wear out my new keyboard to get that first draft done. The irony is, I love editing a draft. It's just hitting the low of the 60,000 words that knocks my confidence and makes me think I should consider a job in marketing. This happened with my last, abandoned novel. Hit 60,000 words, got smug about my favourite scenes and then realised there was fuck all story.
This weekend's progress then: I have changed the title.
Woo.
Tuesday, 22 September 2009
The Force Cannot Battle The Force of Tesco
Okay, it’s nothing to do with writing, but I feel compelled to share this.
Jedi religion founder accuses Tesco of discrimination over rules on hoods
Helen Carter
Friday 18 September 2009 15.29 BST
Daniel Jones says he was humiliated and victimised for his beliefs following incident at store in Wales
Tesco has been accused of religious discrimination after the company ordered the founder of a Jedi religion to remove his hood or leave a branch of the supermarket in north Wales.
Daniel Jones, founder of the religion inspired by the Star Wars films, says he was humiliated and victimised for his beliefs following the incident at a Tesco store in Bangor.
The 23-year-old, who founded the International Church of Jediism, which has 500,000 followers worldwide, was told the hood flouted store rules.
But the grocery empire struck back, claiming that the three best known Jedi Knights in the Star Wars movies – Yoda, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Luke Skywalker – all appeared in public without their hoods. Jones, from Holyhead, who is known by the Jedi name Morda Hehol, said his religion dictated that he should wear the hood in public places and is considering legal action against the chain.
"It states in our Jedi doctrination that I can wear headwear. It just covers the back of my head," he said.
"You have a choice of wearing headwear in your home or at work but you have to wear a cover for your head when you are in public."
He said he'd gone to the store to buy something to eat during his lunch break when staff approached him and ordered him to the checkout where they explained he would have to remove the offending hood or leave the store.
"They said: 'Take it off', and I said: 'No, its part of my religion. It's part of my religious right.' I gave them a Jedi church business card.
"They weren't listening to me and were rude. They had three people around me. It was intimidating." Jones, who has made an official complaint to Tesco, is considering a boycott of the store and is seeking legal advice.
Tesco said: "He hasn't been banned. Jedis are very welcome to shop in our stores although we would ask them to remove their hoods.
"Obi-Wan Kenobi, Yoda and Luke Skywalker all appeared hoodless without ever going over to the Dark Side and we are only aware of the Emperor as one who never removed his hood.
"If Jedi walk around our stores with their hoods on, they'll miss lots of special offers."
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2009/sep/18/jedi-religion-tesco-hood-jones
Tesco’s response has made my week and I’m tempted to start shopping there more often as a sign of solidarity. Clearly the employees of Tesco are resistant to Jedi mind tricks. Maybe they’re tricking us into thinking there’s more 2for1 offers than there really are.
A thought: in 2,000 years time will there be crusades in the name of Jediism? I mean, at the moment, most people decry Jediism as ridiculous and geeky as it’s been based solely on a FANTASY FILM of MAKE-BELIEVE characters, but now that it’s officially recognised due to the results of the 1997 Census, will “Jedis” be afforded the same rights of protection as other religions? At the end of the day, the Bible is also just a string of stories and characters.
NB. Surely being a Jedi in the 21st Century is severely limiting and disappointing when you discover that you can’t make items levitate, train your telepathy skills, or wield a lightsaber that isn’t made by Argos?
Jedi religion founder accuses Tesco of discrimination over rules on hoods
Helen Carter
Friday 18 September 2009 15.29 BST
Daniel Jones says he was humiliated and victimised for his beliefs following incident at store in Wales
Tesco has been accused of religious discrimination after the company ordered the founder of a Jedi religion to remove his hood or leave a branch of the supermarket in north Wales.
Daniel Jones, founder of the religion inspired by the Star Wars films, says he was humiliated and victimised for his beliefs following the incident at a Tesco store in Bangor.
The 23-year-old, who founded the International Church of Jediism, which has 500,000 followers worldwide, was told the hood flouted store rules.
But the grocery empire struck back, claiming that the three best known Jedi Knights in the Star Wars movies – Yoda, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Luke Skywalker – all appeared in public without their hoods. Jones, from Holyhead, who is known by the Jedi name Morda Hehol, said his religion dictated that he should wear the hood in public places and is considering legal action against the chain.
"It states in our Jedi doctrination that I can wear headwear. It just covers the back of my head," he said.
"You have a choice of wearing headwear in your home or at work but you have to wear a cover for your head when you are in public."
He said he'd gone to the store to buy something to eat during his lunch break when staff approached him and ordered him to the checkout where they explained he would have to remove the offending hood or leave the store.
"They said: 'Take it off', and I said: 'No, its part of my religion. It's part of my religious right.' I gave them a Jedi church business card.
"They weren't listening to me and were rude. They had three people around me. It was intimidating." Jones, who has made an official complaint to Tesco, is considering a boycott of the store and is seeking legal advice.
Tesco said: "He hasn't been banned. Jedis are very welcome to shop in our stores although we would ask them to remove their hoods.
"Obi-Wan Kenobi, Yoda and Luke Skywalker all appeared hoodless without ever going over to the Dark Side and we are only aware of the Emperor as one who never removed his hood.
"If Jedi walk around our stores with their hoods on, they'll miss lots of special offers."
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2009/sep/18/jedi-religion-tesco-hood-jones
Tesco’s response has made my week and I’m tempted to start shopping there more often as a sign of solidarity. Clearly the employees of Tesco are resistant to Jedi mind tricks. Maybe they’re tricking us into thinking there’s more 2for1 offers than there really are.
A thought: in 2,000 years time will there be crusades in the name of Jediism? I mean, at the moment, most people decry Jediism as ridiculous and geeky as it’s been based solely on a FANTASY FILM of MAKE-BELIEVE characters, but now that it’s officially recognised due to the results of the 1997 Census, will “Jedis” be afforded the same rights of protection as other religions? At the end of the day, the Bible is also just a string of stories and characters.
NB. Surely being a Jedi in the 21st Century is severely limiting and disappointing when you discover that you can’t make items levitate, train your telepathy skills, or wield a lightsaber that isn’t made by Argos?
Valium Writing
I have discovered the benefits of writing on Valium. All anxiety disappears, you have a light sense of euphoria and you can happily pad away at your keyboard for hours, creating spare writing that is strangely effective. Your brain doesn't want to mess around with purple prose, it just goes for clarity, which ends up being quite powerful. Sentences are shorter, the lexis is tighter; overall, I've got to say, I like it.
And then the next day you start to agonise over the writing again. So you take another Valium and happily pad away. Outstanding. It should be handed out at readings and creative writing workshops.
Maybe editing whilst on Valium would also be something to bear in mind for the future.
And then the next day you start to agonise over the writing again. So you take another Valium and happily pad away. Outstanding. It should be handed out at readings and creative writing workshops.
Maybe editing whilst on Valium would also be something to bear in mind for the future.
Bitterness
I've just had the misfortune to have been re-directed to a flourishing author's website. You know the sort: "My novel, How The Flowers of My Childhood Blossomed and then Withered, was recently published by Teeny Weeny Barely Noticeable Estrogen Themes Small Press and was long-listed for the Middle Class Housewives Literary Prize. Go to my site to read more."
Why did I press the link? Because I'm a glutton for things that fuel my bitterness as God forbid it should ever run low.
After reading about this writer's self-described idyllic childhood, their supportive partner, charity work and Aryan children, I feel deeply annoyed, like having an itch in my kidney; somewhere I just can't scratch. Their bio headed over the line of quiet accomplishment into the badlands of blatant smugness. That life is beautiful, writing is beautiful, tra-la-la-la-la.
Is it bollocks.
I want to introduce some sort of penalty. A penalty for these supposed well-adjusted writers, presenting themselves as such, because in reality there's no such thing. Because deep, deep down, they're just writhing balls of inky scar tissue like the rest of us. This gives me comfort.
I am not sure what form this penalty will take. I'm guessing something inappropriately violent on my part.
Why did I press the link? Because I'm a glutton for things that fuel my bitterness as God forbid it should ever run low.
After reading about this writer's self-described idyllic childhood, their supportive partner, charity work and Aryan children, I feel deeply annoyed, like having an itch in my kidney; somewhere I just can't scratch. Their bio headed over the line of quiet accomplishment into the badlands of blatant smugness. That life is beautiful, writing is beautiful, tra-la-la-la-la.
Is it bollocks.
I want to introduce some sort of penalty. A penalty for these supposed well-adjusted writers, presenting themselves as such, because in reality there's no such thing. Because deep, deep down, they're just writhing balls of inky scar tissue like the rest of us. This gives me comfort.
I am not sure what form this penalty will take. I'm guessing something inappropriately violent on my part.
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