A sequel...

I am rather pleased to report that the first draft of the 'novel' is now complete.

It has now gone to four separate corners of the globe (well, the UK) to be dissected, discussed and mocked by those in the know.

Four poor unsuspecting souls who are quite prepared to read the worst insult to the English language, have offered to proof read my 'novel'. All 73,000 words (and counting) of it...I will owe them much beer, wine and a fatted calf.

It was not easy to choose four different people to read it and I thank those others who have offered to subject themselves through such pain. Please do not take offence at not being asked, as I may yet ask you for your services in the future. However for now I chose these four people because I trust that they will tell me if it's crap, where it must be re-written or alternatively burnt in some strange ceremony involving three feathers, a candle made by witches, the blood of a toad and a match.

I have everything ready but the match...

We are still a long way off from being complete. There is bound to be draft 2, 3 or 4 yet...but initial signs look hopeful and positive.

However what these four poor souls are subjecting themselves is not just reading it the once, but it is quite possible with their feedback that they will be reading it so often that they will be having nightmares about it in their sleep.

So I wanted to thank them. Lady London, Big A, Intelligent Totty and Mr 'I will motivate you if it kills me' S. I do not want to detract how important other people have been in supporting me through this venture, Pootle, L, my Dad...however the big four mentioned were all chosen for a very specific reason.

Lady London and Big A have been pushing me to write a novel for years. They have been behind the scenes encouraging and boosting my self esteem to make me feel like I should at least try. When you have friends who believe enough in you to make you want to try something that feels like it has been a dream for too many years to mention, it is incredibly empowering.

They individually have a role however, as Lady London will check my grammar whereas Big A will judge certain scenes with a fine tooth comb and check timelines and research. Being an ex-teacher and all.

As for Mr S; not only do I value his opinion greatly and am a little bit in awe of his knowledge about how to write, he has also been motivating me gradually and gently since I first told him I wanted to write a book. An excellent writer himself, he has actually been quietly giving me advice on how to overcome re-write panics, editing hang-ups, character definition and much much more. His advice has been invaluable and I know I wouldn't have finished the story by now if it wasn't for him.

Finally there is Intelligent Totty; the woman who not only has to deal with Mr S on a daily basis, but also her over anxious, stressed out friends; she is much like the feeling of calm after a storm.  I know she will read it with the freshest eyes of all and read it as it is intended to be - simply a novel. It will be her that I will look to as to whether or not it has a market, whether it really is a page turner - or just an acknowledgement of some stuff that I threw together in a few months and called it a book.

As for me, I confess to feeling a little bit of a loss while they dissect my words and make some sense out of them. The thing that has occupied my mind for far too long to mention has now been passed over  to those who will possibly make me cry with their feedback.

Hard isn't it? To let go of something that you love and know that it is quite likely not going to come back in the same way you released it.

So, I have discovered that I am a little bored of an evening now, I have a bit of extra time on my hands...well, I did...until Pootle suggested writing a sequel.

Now that is an idea....there is always gotta be a sequel eh?

You have been warned...

Pootle bought me a present today...wise advice eh?

No Boys on Spa Day...

How do you get six women to stay quiet for more than an hour?

An impossible task surely? One that would require some sort of bondage, a chick flick or anaesthetic effect inducing drugs.

Well no not really; all it takes is a pool, some massage oil and a heated bed and you would be surprised at what they are capable of achieving.

Five other ladies and I spent the day yesterday being pampered and massaged on a treat that we had been looking forward to for some time. The children were all safely ensconced at school and would be picked up by the dad's, so we had a chance to submerge ourselves in some time just for us...without boys.

We had a swimming pool all to ourselves where we discovered that actually we hadn't forgotten how to serenely complete the breast stroke without being used as a turtle/dinosaur. There were lovely ladies who treated us to facial treatments, painted nails and back & shoulder massages....and then there were the beds.

Mrs W and I feel the cold generally before anyone else. We have established between us that 19 degrees is about our limit before jumpers are put on and layers are actively encouraged. So these giant heated beds were heavenly; covered in stones and shaped for ultimate relaxing, chatting and reading the latest celebrity gossip.

Mrs H discovered the beauties of the sauna room, and one by one we all relaxed as we enjoyed the peace of the day listening to a mixture of our dolphin music and the rain hammering down outside.

We could get very used to this...

However, as we are lying on our giant warm stone beds one of the doors opens and our tranquility and peace is disturbed by some loud pop music, and some men working on something out of our eye shot.
"Nooo," says Mrs S in a despondent voice, "No, no, no - there are no boys on Spa day."
We all look at said door and agree, and grumble quietly at the two workers who have disturbed our slumber...thankfully the door closes and we are left in peace once again.

Nevertheless about ten minutes later Mrs S kicks me in a white fluffy slipper to get my attention. It turns out that there is one boy allowed on Spa day. I turn to where she is intimating and see a very nice looking 'boy' coming out of the shower and slipping into the swimming pool.

Using the skill of my peripheral vision I manage to watch him shower, walk, swim and come out of the pool looking like James Bond, and I did this all without dribbling. The only boy allowed on Spa day was a very nice looking man complete with tattoos and muscle definition.

Oh come on, you can't blame a girl for looking surely?
"I thought that might make you happy," says Mrs S with a smile.

The drive home was a lot less raucous than the one from the morning. Six ladies were far more subdued and chilled out, and Mrs S even fell asleep before we were even back on the motorway.

So gentlemen, how do you get your ladies to be quiet for more than an hour? Send them away on a Spa day...it was the best 'No Boys on Spa Day' day I have ever had.

Nearly...

Good morning.

The power of adrenaline has once again seen me awake at an early hour. Well, that and a touch of excitement.

At about midnight last night I hit the 60,000 words mark in 'the book'. That in itself is a massive achievement for me. Huge. Monumental.

I am celebrating every 10,000 words with a small dance and the magic 60,000 was the turn of Dolly Parton's good old 9-5.  However be warned, if I am twerking at midnight to dear old Dolly at 60,000 words, what on earth will I be like at 70,000, or even 80,000?

Don't get me wrong, I still have no true idea of whether or not what I have written is good enough to be unleashed onto the public (gulp), exposing myself to serious criticism and potentially leaving me in a sobbing mess.

However, at the moment it is still all mine. It is still my own personal dream. All of these verbs, adjectives, nouns etc are things that I have told my fingers to write and it is quite personal. I suspect that every writer feels that.

Of course I want people to enjoy it, that is essentially the ultimate goal. Nevertheless before that I am striving to achieve something that I have wanted to do since I was young.

I can honestly say I have never written as much as I have now, and whilst I know that even at 80,000 words it will still require shining to make it into an A+ book, I am really pleased with what I have done so far.

Because you know what? As a good friend told me this week, writing a book is a bastard; and he is right.  I never truly appreciated how much goes into a book, content, rewrites, getting feedback from others saying that your baby is not as good as you thought it was; deleting whole paragraphs or even chapters that are not good enough or are irrelevant, meaning that the 2,000 words you just spent three hours writing are meaningless.

I have changed my ending three times already. This on top of normal life is exhausting.

However no matter what happens, I can say I did it.

Well, I can't say that yet, but I am hopeful. I can see light at the end of the tunnel, because even though I still have several thousand words to go, I can see that my little dream is coming forward and I can see the completion of it through a hazy outline in the fog.

That is far closer than I have ever been before. I don't think I could have come this far without the understanding and patience of friends who have been encouraging in every way, and there are those (you know who you are) who have been there at the end of an email when I have fallen into a blob on the keyboard having a diva fit blubbering, "I can't do it."

They have taken time out of their own busy schedules to pick me up, slap me with a wet fish and restart the engine again; from advice about editing to choosing a colour to highlight rewrites; from reading the first chapter several times to making suggestions about the names in the book. They have also, just simply, given me the permission to have a night off too.

It is just around the corner. In my minds eye I can see the front cover of the book poking its shy head around a wall teasing me, shaking its newly typed pages at me in some sort of shimmy, knowing that I am nearly within reach of my dream.

Nearly...it only took 40 years...

Motivational...

I got a present last night.

Pootle gave me scrubs. She writes her essays in a wooly hat and scrubs - and finds that it gets her in that writing mood.

Therefore after suffering from writers block this week and after staring wordlessly at a keyboard that didn't magically produce the next bestselling novel - I tried the hat.

I couldn't just use any old wooly hat, so I went through my collection of hats to find the right one. I have a few so Superman helped me;
"This one, mummy..." he says tossing me a wooly beret type thing.
I look at considering and then pop it on my barnet, "Well?"
"Yep - it looks like a clever hat."

Ok, well I needed a boost so a clever hat is the next best thing I suppose. Superman insists that I don't look silly sitting at my laptop in my wooly hat and even Batman and Spiderman walk past without acknowledging it. I suspect they have seen Pootle in hers too often and it is now the 'norm'.

So I sat here yesterday afternoon with my hat...and waited for inspiration.

Strangely, it came. The wooly hat with its warmth and comfort, seemed to magically set me off typing at a speed and I am amazed at how much I achieved.

Whether or not what the hat produced is worthy of being read by anyone else only remains to be seen, however I was pleased with the effect so I text Pootle a photo of me in said hat.
"You have converted!"
Pootle was pleased...now if I could only be a vegetarian and join the next green march through a local countryside she really will love me.

Twenty minutes later she came through my front door with her gift. A set of nursing scrubs - just for me.

I am absolutely delighted by them - I love them, and this evening I have put them on along with the hat and I am blog inspired. I am honestly sitting here in front of my laptop with my wooly hat, glasses and scrubs...I cut for a fine looking woman...who could resist me?

I also have another friend who is requiring a little bit of motivation tonight. He is just not feeling it today and he has a lot of work to do. So, I promised that I would help with motivating him.

Babe go now and find yourself a wooly hat. It has to be a decent one, one that inspires you and makes your head feel just right - I promise you, you won't be disappointed. I would lend you my scrubs however I am currently wearing them and I am not lending them to anyone.

However, I am sitting here considering that there is room enough in them for two...
...would that be motivational enough?

FAO Mark Zuckerberg...

This morning a very good friend of mine posted a photo of her baby on her Facebook page.

Alas, it wasn't a photo of him playing, it was the day he sadly passed away. It was in memory of him and today was the anniversary. It was a beautiful photo and I for one was honoured that she decided to share this with us.

Unfortunately by this evening somebody had reported that photo. They felt that it wasn't something that should be on Facebook - well, pray tell me what should be? Violent images? Groups that spout hatred towards others?

It turns out that if we comment on something, that belongs to another friend - that this could easily show up on other people's timelines - therefore what is the point in making your Facebook only for the attention of friends? If I like something, or comment on something it should be for that person's attention - not for anyone else that happens to be on my timeline.

I am absolutely disgusted that anyone would choose to report a photo of a very lovely looking boy, looking peaceful but sadly gone. I am outraged that someone would do that to another person, and make them feel crap after what was probably already a very emotional day.

I hope that whoever did that, under the cover of anon, is the one that Facebook responds to. That my friend's photo is respected for what it truly is - a memory.

I use Facebook for many different reasons - but quite frankly, it is becoming more and more like a dictatorial leader...get a grip Mark Zuckerberg and do the right thing by the people who use your product.

Pootlism...

You know that moment when you make that clear definite decision, and then something happens to change your direction completely?

It's a bugger isn't it?

I can say with confidence to myself, that I will be doing this. I will not be doing that...and on occasion I will consider doing this but not right now; and I mean it.

Then, call it divine intervention (although that sounds like a Pootlism to me), a higher power or just call it the law of sod...but someone somewhere disagrees with you. This higher power who is sitting on their Italian leather sofa with a built in drinks cabinet and says, 'Aha, I don't think so...'

Ah, best laid plans eh?

Do you stick with your original plan and ignore the new option? Or do you re-look at the map and think that perhaps this wasn't a pathway you noticed before when making your decision; that it is ok to re-consider a different journey because new roads are being built all the time?

I know L would say to me that, 'well, that's life babe,' and he would be right. Life changes constantly, it is evolving and moving forward and because of that we either meet new people or our experiences change our opinion.

The lovely B would say, that it is ok to change our mind. 'We made the decision that was right at the time of the presenting evidence.' We couldn't have made a different one, because we didn't know all the facts.

So, a new pathway popped up recently. I can not see the end of the road, because that would be cheating and I have a feeling anyway that this road isn't quite yet finished. Nevertheless, I am putting a nervous foot on the gravelled path to see where it leads...

In effect to quote another Pootlism; Expect the unexpected.