Camy's Idiocy!

Happy New Decade

2011-01-01T14:30:00.000Z

Yep, so here we all are at the start of a brand new and shiny decade. Personally, I can't quite believe the last one's over. Where the fuck did it (whoosh) go? The finitude of the 2000s is shocking. And, naturally, alongside of it all, one gets older too. See? Multiple shocks. Gah!

Nevertheless, enough of the bah humbugs. Happy new year and all that jazz. :)

How many words for snow?

2010-12-20T21:01:00.001Z

Too damn many, according to Icelanders. And too much snow according to me. Lovely and pretty though it is I wish it would stop.

16 days post NaNo

2010-12-16T00:22:00.000Z

I written a new short with the working title of Ceil. It is, of course, not what I should be doing. I should be thinking about Hellion. And I do, and am, but it requires so much umph that I'm not going to start the re-write until after Crimble, and possibly not until 2011 ...

... which is a frightening thought. Another year has shot by. Though as a positive I can say I've 'won' NaNo and that we've recorded an album. Now all I need to do is finish the novel and sell them both .

I don't suppose a managerial type is reading this blog?

On more mundane fronts: B and I have just finished tidying the house for an inspection by the agent. You'd think that provided you pay the rent and don't give them gyp they'd leave you alone. But no! Personally, I think it's a damn nerve and piss poor public relations. Ah well, one day .... ;)

Firefox 4 Beta

2010-12-08T03:46:00.000Z

I've just installed the Beta for Firefox 4 - though I'm very late to the party as it's already version 7. Sadly, my most used plugin - download em all - isn't available yet. Otherwise it's way peachy and shiny ... and shiny is just what Emus love.

Now, as it's 3.45ish I bed bound.

Ave.

Pondering, yet again

2010-12-05T02:18:00.000Z

It's sunday morning and I'm about to head off to kip. I spent yesterday thinking about characters, situations, locations and drama ... and how I can simplify what I've got and split the core story into two or, gawd forbid, three.

Logically I must be closer to knowing what to do, but it doesn't seem like it! ;)

Smashwords - definitely worth a look.

2010-12-03T20:30:00.002Z

Introduction to Smashwords - Ebook Publishing and Distribution Made Easy

View more presentations from Smashwords, Inc..

Humph :(

2010-12-03T01:52:00.001Z

Having read what I've written during NaNo 2010 I've decided two things. The first is that it's actually, in places, quite good. And the second is that it's far, far too complicated, with too many major characters. I'm working with story arcs that should span more than one, and possibly more than two books. So either I cut, tweak, fix and write a lot more - or I slice it into three. This isn't a bad thing. In fact it's rather a nice problem to have.

So that's where I am on the morning of the third post-NaNo day.

Day 30 - Oh yes!

2010-11-30T03:27:00.000Z

At just before 03:00 I hit the tit and was lauded as a winner. I won with 50,309, though that's not close to where Hellion will be, wordage wise, when it is finally finished. There's so much still to do.

On the one hand I feel smug and warm and wuzzly and am ready for kip. On the other I'm sort of upset that the November NaNoWriMo extravaganza is close to over - and not just because the rent is due on the 17th.

What I must not do is put Hellion away with a view to finishing it 'soon'. That's a disaster in the making. What I have to do is rip apart what I've written. Then write the outline, character outlines, Location descriptions, story arcs and sub plots that I should have written in October. Then I have to finish the rest of the first draft. Only then can I take a break, before starting the second draft.

The great thing about NaNoWriMo 2010 was the camaraderie with Bruin. Wonderful it was! :)

Day 29

2010-11-29T14:49:00.000Z

I'm at 47,367, on the penultimate day, and I'm feeling quite relaxed - even though I have to go out to rehearse and then drive M home.

What I don't need to happen - and it would be a good example of sod's law if it did - is to get this close to finishing and then miss the bleedin' deadline. Oh no. No way siree.

When I get to the BIG 50 I'm going to read what I've written, complete a real outline and character and location sheets, and then carry on writing. I think I have three interwoven story arcs - which are not interwoven in the right places, and a plethora of sub-plots that need pruning.

100k is my present guestimate for the finished novel.

Day 27

2010-11-27T13:27:00.000Z

Yes, it's Saturday, day 27 and you get no points for guessing I'm behind. I need to write 4,000 today and I won't do it if I'm yabbering away, blogging.

So I'll sod off and write, then. Catch you later.

Ave

Day 25

2010-11-25T13:07:00.000Z

Whoops, it seems I've missed out a couple of days. Never mind.
I'm now behind again, which is not peachy at all. 38,741 is not 41,667 - though by the end of play today I think I'll be there.

Load of people have already finished their 50k, and many are well on their way to 100k, which is proper noveling ;)

Now, no more waffling. I've got to get on ... things to do people to see novels to write. :)

Day 22 - part II

2010-11-23T00:02:00.001Z

Just past target and the best days writing to date. I'm really getting into the story now, which is what NaNo is truly all about. I think (fingers crossed) I should have a first draft of around 70,000 words.

Ave all.

Day 22 - part I

2010-11-22T03:31:00.000Z

I'm writing this at the beginning of day 22. Or close: it's 03.20. I've just caught up and past day 21's 35,000 mark and am off to the sack at 35,596.

I'm really getting into the story, but typically, I have so many threads and sub-plots going on I really do need a proper working outline. And something a tad better than Page4 to work on. Maybe Scrivener will end up being the tool of choice?

what I definitely need to do once I've got to the end is read it -- printing is the only way to go -- and start the first re-write before I put it to one side, as I've done with the other three NaNoWriMo novels I've written.

I very much want to hold 'Hellion' as in 'an actual book' and record it for Podcasting, too. Also, have it as a digital download. :)

Day 18

2010-11-18T22:37:00.000Z

Things are getting exciting in Hellion ... though I can't say what, other than Talek has returned to the Imperium.

Too many words to complete tonight, so catch up is going to roll over again ... bah!

Day 17

2010-11-18T03:28:00.000Z

Day 17 was a Wednesday (if you're interested).

I came soooooo close to catching up. Then didn't. Oh well, what I did do was write a chapter precis for where I am to date. AND it's very useful. :) Seriously, I wouldn't be where I'n not without it.

Night night y'all ;)

Day 16

2010-11-17T00:33:00.000Z

I nearly caught up and then watched TV instead. So now I have to catch up again. Ah well. C'est la vie and all that (wimp). I saw a great doc on 'The Heroes Tale' as it relates to Star Wars. Well worth seeing if you get a chance.

I'm past half way (25,731 as I write) and have to get to 28,334 by tomorrow night - or tonight, seeing as it's already 00:30.

Nighty night.

Day 15

2010-11-16T03:17:00.000Z

I caught up after midnight which actually means I'm still behind. Humph.
Never mind. The most important thing is that I'm well into what I'm writing, and though some bits are crap, that's what the edit is for! Wicked. ;)

Night night all (03:15)

Day 14

2010-11-14T23:42:00.000Z

I watched a great end to the F1 season, and though Mark Webber, my choice for Champion, didn't win, at least Alsonso was denied the title thanks to a pole to flag race by Sebastian Vetel - who is now the youngest ever F1 champion.

Then I had to go into Rye and spend a few hours helping a friend put stuff on eBay ... and then eventually she decided not to. :(

Saw Thorne Scaredycat on TV with food, and now I'm even further behind. Sigh. But I will do this thing. After all I want to write. I want to do this, and there's nobody with an Damoclesian sword held over my head ... is there? ;)

By end of play tomorrow it's the half way point: 25,000 words. I'm not going to worry about the quality of the work - as everyone says, that's for the edit. Words will be spilling out of my finger tips tomorrow. Oh yes they will!

Day 13 pt II

2010-11-13T17:38:00.000Z

After watching a very exciting F1 qualifying - which didn't produce the result I wanted, but nonetheless produced a very exciting grid for tomorrows race - I am now writing.

Almost too much to do to catch up ... but catch up I shall, and more. See? It's good to be certain of one's intent. I shall not be lacklustre and left by the wayside. :)

Day 13 - Saturday (F1 qualifying for last race of 2010)

2010-11-13T03:47:00.001Z

At least it's not a Friday and I'm not one of the Knights Templar. Thank heavens for small mercies.

Now to bed, and then, in a few short and dreamy hours I shall arise, watch a smidgeon of TV - F1 W00T! m'lud. And then tippy-type until I am all caught up. If I do not manage to do this thing today then I shall rise and repeat for Sunday. However I shall be all caught up by the end of the weekend. Hmm, let me just check my calculator. So (gulp) by the end of today I must be at 21,671 and I'm presently at 16,075 which leaves me (gnash, wail) 5,596 to do. Or tomorrow it's 23,338 - 16,075 which leaves 7,263 (Waaaaaaaaa).

I don't like this game. I don't think I liked it the last time I partook (2008) either. Why do we do these things to ourselves? Why?

Night night, sleep tight, hope the bed bugs don't thingy.

Day 12

2010-11-12T23:48:00.001Z

Much like day 11 with a bloody rotten rehearsal thrown in for good measure. My mate Bruin (Sinbad) is flying ahead, as is Ieshwar. I wish them both all the best, and long may they crow ... until I catch up again!

And catch up I will. See if I don't!

Ave, mes amies.

Oh, and do remember: The final round of the 2010 World Championship is on sunday with qualifying tommorow! Go Webber ... and if it isn't Webber, then Go Hamilton!

W00T!

Day 11

2010-11-12T00:50:00.003Z

Lucky old day 11 I say! It was also slated as an official non event.

Yep, nothing happened, no writing was attempted and thus no wordage was achieved. Parp and pronk.

In other news: Sinbad continued to rock the Casbah!

And so, well past sundown*, day 11 ended.

* "so far past sundown that in actuality 'twas the next day." Said the old Emu, re-counting her grandson's life story to her avidly listening clutch of eggs.

Day 10

2010-11-10T23:53:00.000Z

I'm claiming Day 10 as an official non event. Nothing happened, no writing was attempted and thus no wordage was achieved. Poop.

On the other hand, Sinbad positively rocked the Casbah!

Thus endeth day 10.

Day 9

2010-11-10T01:48:00.000Z

Getting to 15,000 wasn't easy. In fact it was a bit of a pig. I'm not sure - at the moment - where the hell Hellion is going, but after reading the NaNoWriMo gee-up email they sent today, I don't think it matters.

It is just fine, even good, I'd say, if at this point you have no idea what the point of your book is. You are exploring now; you are trying to find the book.

I guess Aimee Bender is saying much as they say in the music business: 'fix it in the mix.' Or, in the film business: 'make it work in the edit.'

She then goes on to say:

You are learning what comes out of you if you take your work seriously like this for a month.

Yeah, I know this! It's why I'm doing it. However ... I still wish I'd got up off my fucking arse and written a proper, peachy, all things sorted outline! Phew, now I've got that off my chest I'll sod off to bed.

'scuse the bad language.

Day 8 - pt 2

2010-11-09T00:44:00.000Z

I got there with four minutes to spare and the site was overloaded. Which means I really should get a life and not worry about word counts. Truly they are meaningless -- he said, weeping as he failed to officially make target. And then he looked and all was well!

By the skinniest of margins indeed. It was updated at 23:59

And Hellion? Oh, it's a novel with words. Lots of good, and some woody, words. I'll try and dig out a good bit to post tomorrow.

Day 8 - pt 1

2010-11-08T15:25:00.000Z

It's lashing down with rain, the garden is too soggy to walk in - not that one would want to - and the light levels are low enough to send a hampster into instant hibernation. [sigh] And so I shall struggle ever onward toward tonight's 13336. [wibble]

All I want to do is get under the duvet. Odd, really. If I still had blankets the idea of heading to bed wouldn't appeal at all. But now we've taken the Scandanavian idea of bedding to heart it seems ... comforting. A sage people. That coping with miniscule daylight hours should have brought forth such a wondrous bit of bedding is rather miraculous.

Argh. Look at all those words I've typed. and not one can I use for my Novel. [idiot]

Ave, and lang mey yer lum reek :)

Day 7

2010-11-08T02:18:00.000Z

Yep, today was the penultimate Grand Prix in Sao Paulo, Brasil. Damn good it was too! Vetel won, Webber came second and Alonso third. Which means, for those who care, that the drivers world championship goes down to the wire in Abu Dhabi, U.A.E.. Jenson Button is out and the four who can mathematically win it are Alonso, Webber, Vetel and Hamilton, though Hamilton would need a miracle.

And! I managed to get to 11,796 words ... some jolly good words, too.

Day 6

2010-11-07T00:10:00.000Z

Skin of the teath job, that was. I made it by 7 words ... then the NaNo site was over-capacity. Finally I got the word count in with just seconds to spare.

Not that the word count is important. ;)

Now, and for the first time in what seems an age, I'm off to bed. Early.

Goodnight. :)

Day 5, Day 6, F1!

2010-11-06T13:49:00.000Z

Day 5 went okay. I've managed to keep up and slightly over each day's word count - 1667 per day to keep on track. Now it's day 6!

Sinbad is doing very well, too. I say this not just because of his wordage, but because I've been lucky enough to have read part of his novel ... and I'm much looking forward to the next instalment, too (hint ;)).

It's saturday (day 6), and qualifying for the pennultimate FI Grand Prix at Interlagos in Brasil is this afternoon. W00T! I'm rooting for Mark Webber, an Australian who is, most people think, being royally fucked over by his team in preference of his younger teammate Sebastian Vettel. Much as I love the sport I think it's a shame that, yet again, it's all down to age. Webber is 34, and, as far as F1 goes, considered close to 'over the hill.' Vettel is 23 and the new golden boy. Michael Schumacher who is seven times world champion, and whose comeback has been truly (not Jarno ;)) awful, is 41.

F1 is a bit like ... well, I suppose all sports. Most armchair aficionados think they could do as well. Now, I know I couldn't really beat Vettel. Much like I couldn't win at worldclass tennnis, snooker, darts or morris dancing (shudder - Morris dancing, the one pastime you can happily keep). But I like to think that, given the chance, I could.

What isn't ageist is NaNoWriMo. Indeed, NaNoWriMo is a thing we can all do (he says confidently, on day 6). So onwards and upwards!

Day 4

2010-11-05T01:54:00.000Z

I made it, just. But then it's not down to wordage - really. It's down to 'is there a damn point.' so, at 6683, just 15 words over target I updated my count, frothed over the keyboard and sent the whole lot to print. Naturally I am so, so sorry for the paper use, but it will be re-cycled. Oh, what a maker I am.

So now, after watching 'Lie To Me' (recorded), I'm going to have a read. And tomorrow I shall either be continuing as is ... or not. The 'or not' is slightly worrying as it means a major re-think of plot. Still, such is life.

Day 3

2010-11-04T00:06:00.000Z

I'm knocking off at 5,777 and going to veg out and watch 'Lie to Me.' I might come back and write some more before I shuffle off to bed, but sleep beckons.

As to content I'm pleased. I'm on chapter 4. Not that it's going entirely where I want it to - I'm not sure it is. It's actually going where it wants to go and I think I'm a sort of guide. This writing process is most peculiar. I honestly wonder if I do have some sort of muse that takes over and guides my tipetty typetty fingers. Perhaps an investigator into the paranormal might like to have a go with me. And no, that's not some sort of perverted sexual offer - just in case Blogger is reading this.

Umm, unless, of course, the investigator is cute ... and wealthy! Harmony vocals and bass playing would be good, too. And a Ferrari. Oh, and a studio in a big house in the country (if I'm going to dream I might as well dream). ;)

Ave.

Day 2

2010-11-03T02:11:00.001Z

I ended on 4282, but that was a nadge into day 3. I can't seem to stop just before midnight, and why on earth should I? Anyway, I've written a rather hot scene. Or should that be hawt? Whichever. It's quite, erm, rude. Rude in a nice hot-under-the-collar, re-arraging of the trouser department, sort of way. Strangely - or not so strangely if you know me - I've resorted to pantsing. And yet it works (don't fix that that ain't broke).

The outline is being followed. Ish. A bit. But then it's not the most explanatory of outlines, and how was I to know they'd want to have sex on a train? No, not in public! Gawd forbid.

Did you know that there are only two night sleeper trains left in the U.K.? One goes from London to Scotland, and the other from Paddington to Penzance. If you can afford a ticket then this is probably being read and précised by one of your PAs. ;)

Night night.

The first day.

2010-11-02T00:45:00.001Z

Peachy: that was the first day. I finally managed 2,133 words which leaves me in good stead for the morrow ... or today if you're being pedantic.

A few mates decided to try their hand, too. Bartello (a renowned keyboard player), Kapitano (a renowned sage and songwriter), and KittyJ (a very dear friend from over the pond). I'd like to wish them well, and may they have hale and hearty word counts! ;)

I've finally worked out a working method. I'm using the stalwart 'Page four' to write and make notes; Firefox to grab stuff and images, and Office Picture Manager to look at them. Scrivener was great, but as it was a first beta I found it a little too buggy. I would have kept the whole shebang in yWriter 5 had I created all the characters, places, etc before the first. But as all I need to do is write, then Page Four is great. I've spent far too much time waffling on about writing software and not nearly enough time planning. Sadly, entirely my bad. Still in the long run it's not going to be a problem. Fiction is fiction no matter what it's written on.

The NaNoWriMo site is being really slow. Not surprising. I guess they didn't expect 148,892 authors to sign up! And, they say that generally it's only 2/3 of the final head count that sign up on the first day, which would bring the total of new novels (providing everyone finished, which is unlikely) to well over 200,000. The mind boggles!

Sinbad (Bruin Fisher) mentioned a NaNoWriMo piece on the BBC's 'Today' programme, this morning. I listened to it on the iPlayer and heard Ian Rankin and Fredrick Forsyth being interviewed (the last ten minutes of the show). They both said that NaNoWriMo was a good thing, and that provided you did all your research, world and character creation before hand, that there was no reason you couldn't write a novel in 30 days. Rankin then said he wrote the first 'Rebus' novel in 30 days, and Forsyth said it took him 35 days to write 'The Day Of The Jackal.'

Now I'm going to write a little more, then turn in a hit the sack.

Ave.

Yaaarrrr (in a piratical voice)

2010-11-01T03:24:00.000Z

Chuffed. Three odd hours into day one and I'm at 1,136. :)
So now to bed.

Waaaaaaaaa ....

2010-10-30T00:33:00.000+01:00

Yep, the pre-off nerves are setting in now. What excuses can I come up with that'll make a withdrawal seem honourable? Why the fuck did I spout off to everyone and their dog/cat that I was going to take part? why am I such an arse?

"But that's all part of it," my £100 a week internet sensei says (I should be so lucky). "Relax and you will achieve all your little heart desires."
"What? 50,000 words?"
"Well, yes my child. But to be really sure, another little donation would help."

Nope, I'm here all by myself. Me and my netbook: bonded together for a whole month with windows 7 (which had better not fuck up). I'm truly and honestly looking forward to it. Truly ... honestly. I have a few friends taking part, too. And we'll be righteous! word, man, word! :)

Now. Back to it.

Hellion.

2010-10-29T02:34:00.001+01:00

Synopsis: Hellion

Far from the hustle and bustle of London, way to the west of the madding crowd lies Hellion, a Cornish village that has almost magically remained apart from the modern world. The Hellion Arms has been run by Moon's for generations. Now, though seldom seen, Talek Moon is the landlord and the pub run by Kenver, his son.

A strained meeting with the family solicitor and a wax sealed envelope
gifts Digory Olver with news he has inherited his great aunt’s
cottage in Hellion, a place he can barely remember from his childhood.

Excited at his windfall, Digory sets off for Cornwall. But
the nearer he gets to Hellion the stranger he begins to feel.

Ludicrous!

2010-10-28T17:05:00.000+01:00

I know I said I was definitely going to use Scrivener, but now I'm not so sure. Not because it isn't good: it is, but because I have all my pre-planned (chortle) snippets in Page Four. Then there's Q10 which is a wonderfully good but basic text only programme, and Writer's Cafe, and ... and ... [wail].

Honestly, I'm at the stage I really don't care what I write in. And I know exactly why I'm frothing at the mouth over software choice. I'm setting myself up with excuses for not writing 50,000 words. I'm setting myself up to fail. OUCH! Know thyself. And that's as honest as I'm ever going to be in a public blog.

what I have done is made a little notebook for NaNo 2010. Proud as punch I am, too. I found a site that belongs to Hamish MacDonald, a Canadian writer who lives in Scotland. He calls himself an Author and Indie Publisher, and he not only writes novels, but physically produces them himself! Literally! So I followed his instructions and made a small A6 hardback notebook. For notes, yes. Which will, indubitably, help me with the thing I shall be penning.

In other news, yesterday we played as a real band and it was FANTASTIC! For the first time we had a drummer, a bassist, and no backing tracks at all. Admittedly, it was a nadge rough, but the soul was there in spades. Shivers down the spine and all.

So, tum-te-tum, the choices are:
1) a collection of short stories with a central theme ie- the snug in a pub where stories are told during a drunken afternoon's revelry.
2) A pick up from 'Worth' the 24,000 words I wrote in 2008. A new novel that will be merged with the original post NaNo.
3) raison d'être - Parallel trading, drug smuggling, and revenge!
4) Tiatrather - Way smith finds out there are other places as real as earth, saves the elven queens life and ends up in love.
5) Sol - a couple of alien spirits arrive on earth and inhabit and help a pair of runaways.
6) slice of Life -
7) Probisher -

And not a lot of time left to decide!

6 days and counting.

2010-10-26T02:04:00.000+01:00

I've just installed Scrivener for windows and it's peachy. Peachy in that I'm going to use it for NaNo as I can't faff around any longer thinking about software. After all, novels don't come from software, and Muse is getting upset.

Story ideas? Nope, and yes. Fragments are squeezing their way out of the thing I call a brain/mind/gray matter ... but no cohesive whole just yet. Though I have no doubt whatever it turns out to be it will involve elves. ;)

8 days to go ....

2010-10-24T01:56:00.000+01:00

Just eight days to go until the off and I still have no firm idea as to what I'm going to write. A collection of short stories seems to be the easiest, but that isn't what I want. I want to complete a real long form story, not wuss out with shorts.

Whatever I end up writing I'm going record and podcast. That, at least, I've decided. Also, I think it'll be with Scrivener, too, as it looks like the best of all the software I've tried.

NaNoWriMo 2010

2010-10-07T12:51:00.004+01:00

I've just signed up for 2010 after deciding I definitely wouldn't. This leads me to wonder if NaNo might be quantifiably addictive. 'Probably' has to be the answer.

Anyway, this year I shall pre-plan (yeah, right).

preparation

2010-09-11T18:35:00.002+01:00

I'm girding my loins and starting to think about this year's NaNoWriMo. 2009 was almost a total washout. I say almost 'cause I managed 25,000-ish words and got the beginnings of a good novel out of it. That said, yet again I didn't finish what I'd started. Infact I've now added it to the other two unfinished novels I have lurking about on hard drives ... which is, I'll admit, a poor show.

Nevermind! It's all words under the bridge. This year I'm going to crack the apathy.

Too late?

2009-11-16T14:38:00.001Z

I'm better, but 22,000 ish words behind. Is it really worth stressing out for the next 14 days ....

Probably, and sadly, not.

Oh well, there's always 2010.

gotta get it together

2009-11-04T17:08:00.002Z

I have to write, write and write some more. I can't end today too far behind as it becomes the slippery slope to doom, gloom and tears.

Damn, if only this cough would let up for a few hours. It's bloody miserable. Miserable I tell 'ee! Yargh!

4839

2009-11-04T00:51:00.003Z

Yep, I'm supposed to be at 4839 - and by the end of today (4th day) at 6452. And where am I? 1169. Am I disillusioned? Well, yes I am. Quite as disillusioned as I was last year, and the year before that, too. BUT I will prevail! I will kick ass and type words until I am screaming ahead of the pack.

Word! :)

stuck in the phlegm,

2009-11-01T23:55:00.004Z

It's not that I can't write, I Can. Yet this bloody phlegmy flu is taking all of my energy and leaving my mind totally vacuous.

The clock is just about to herald the 2nd Nov and my word count is a poxy zero.

Fuck!

A brand new NaNo for 2009!

2009-10-25T11:35:00.003Z

Excited though I am at the thought of November the first and the 'off', I still haven't a clue as to what I'm going to write. Not the vaguest idea and only a week left to have an idea in ... if you see what I mean.

By this time last year I'd almost completed an outline (the holy grail of serious authors whose names begin with 'C'), and 'twas a good outline and worthy.

Ah well. C'est la vie.

Lots of new people are taking part this year. Marty, BK, Rose, Alisa, Kapitano to name but a few. Hopefully, with all the egging on that'll be available 2009 will be a breeze ... yeah, right! ;)

Upwards and onwards.

C

16 - should be 25

2008-11-15T21:54:00.001Z

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!

Get the idea? I do. It means buckle down and get bleedin' writin' in some obscure dialect of lesser Engrish.

Mmmm goody, will do, then.

C x

10,000

2008-11-06T21:28:00.003Z

The ten thousand approaches! I'd say W00T! but I'm not there yet, and 'there's always a stumble 'tween twix and mire' ... maybe, whatever that means.

I'm hoping everyone else is doing well and having a good time. The 'having a good time' is actually more important than the 'doing well', even though the 'doing well' is important too.

Having read back the above I'm stopping. It's waffle and not even entertaining waffle, Odd, 'cause I haven't had a drop past my lips since dinner. Honest guv. ;)

See ya.

C x

4410

2008-11-04T12:23:00.002Z

... and things are beginning to take shape. The outline is out of the window in that those I thought were bad aren't ... or are they? ;) No point in asking as muse is well in control. I only wish I knew.

total

2008-11-03T02:52:00.001Z

1761 at the end of day 2. Meh.

But! We have a new world champion. Good on you Hamilton!

Yarroo Nanoo!!!

2008-11-01T19:46:00.004Z

And so I, and a lot more besides, have begun.

I am God, and because of me Michael and David Worth exist. It's exciting this being a God business. I rather like it. I think I shall change my name to Hubris ... or not. Hmm.

close to the off!

2008-10-31T01:42:00.002Z

Okay, so I have less than 23 hours to get my act together.

I have an outline of sorts, which is all well and dandy, but I wanted the whole thing nailed down to the nth degree. Fat chance. I should know myself by now.

I do, however, have a title: 'Worth.' A good title I'm sure you'll agree. ;)

Yikes!

2008-10-08T01:32:00.001+01:00

Wail! Gnash! Frothing at the mouth!

It's getting on and I still need to work out a plot for NaNo.

Plot, plot, plot
Oh what, oh plot?

Hmmm ....

Help!? ;)

NaNoWriMo 2008 approacheth

2008-08-03T17:44:00.002+01:00

November is fast approaching and I still (lazy bugger) haven't finished my 2007 effort ... or, to be honest, my 2006 one, either. Damn, am I idle.

*coughs*

Yes, I am. Never mind, eh! I have promised that I will have the second draft of 2007's 'Harvest Time' finished by mid whenever, just in time to start thinking about 2008's effort. Lord have mercy on my sloth.

Bruin Fisher, who was Sinbad in 2007 is going to be NaNo-ing again this year, so all is well with the world.

Ave, and enough for now.

Just in case ....

2008-08-03T17:39:00.000+01:00

Just in case anyone stumbles in here by accident, I'd like to point out I've pretty much closed this blog.

I can be found at www.camysgaff.com: where my fiction, poetry, and some songs lurk. My current blog is also there.

Thanks for dropping by!

Camy

2008

2008-01-03T00:55:00.000Z

Yeah, right, so Tardy again. Even though I swore I'd journalise or blog every day, it seems I've missed a couple. Well there it is.

So ... where am I? Nearly bloody 50 and still unfulfilled. This year will - WILL - be different. I'm positively not going to fuck about anymore. No, I'm not.

Resolutions - for what they're worth:

1) Sell the house and get out of financial ruin
2) Find a new place for B, M and I to live, and live there ;)
3) Finish both my part written novels
4) Get a literary agent
5) Get a music publishing deal
6) Gig regularly
7) Write a short story a month - I was going to say a week, but bloody hell.

I'm sure there are more ... umm.

8) Apologise to my sister, and go and see her.
9) divest myself of all the crap and stuff I don't need or really want.
10) sort out the studio and computers and backup!

That's enough to be getting on with.

Day 24

2007-11-24T11:00:00.000Z

Long time no blog. Hmm. Actually that's a lie. Though my blogging has been elsewhere, I have been keeping it up.

I'm at 35,500.
Sinbad - my piratical writing accomplice - is at 39,000.
By the end of the day we should both be at 40,008.
*Howls!*

So ... umm ... yes. I have some work to do. It's been pointed out that if I concentrated on my writing, rather than all the outlying frippery and fru fru, like: blogging, checking emails every other minute, loitering at The Hub, AD, GA, Codey's World, etc.

Of course the 'pointer outers' are right ... but then I like all the frippery and fru fru, and they can jolly well go and 'point out' elsewhere.

I have no intention of failing to get to 50,000. 'Harvest Days' is feeling good, and ... oh, sorry. Here comes my fan who needs a lap to snooze on. Gotta go! ;)

Camy

PS - I'm updating at the same place. So if you feel like reading a first draft version of 'Harvest Time' please click HERE.

If you do read it, please leave a comment or drop me an email to tell me what you think. Thank you!

Day 17

2007-11-18T01:58:00.000Z

I finished on track at 28,411 words. 'Harvest Time' is definitely going in a different direction. However I'm pleased, as I've never tried anything quite like this before.

http://docs.google.com/Doc?id=ddtc9j7w_46zzg4q

again, read at your peril. :)

Day 16

2007-11-17T01:15:00.000Z

It was a weird day. 26,419/50,000+

'Harvest Time' has become something else, entirely.

http://docs.google.com/Doc?id=ddtc9j7w_46zzg4q

Read it (at your peril), and see what you think.

Camy

Day 12

2007-11-13T02:10:00.000Z

I'm off to bed.

Hmm, I'm always off to bed when I write in this blog. One day I'll write in it when I get up; but then I'd have a dearth of things to say, and what would be the point.

Oh, typically (how I both admire and hate him for his ebullient tenacity) Sandywriter - aka Dio - got to the 50,000 words on day ten. In fact he got to 52,998 words on day ten and I ... I .... Yes, probably best to leave this out welling of mixed emotions for my therapist. Not that I have one.

So ... goodnight sweet blog reader.

Camy

Day 9

2007-11-10T02:19:00.000Z

Bedwards at 2.15am and 14,113 words.

And yes, I think I'm pleased: 'cause I've almost finished the first of the inset stories. However ... I'm behind, which is a drag. On the upside it is the weekend, and I could deal with all this 'being behind' twaddle, and be 'in front' instead. That sounds like a good and worthy plan!

Sinbad, my writing buddy, is doing well. His story is an action adventure, and has no grape picking in it at all. Ah well: Grape picking isn't for everyone ;)

And so goodnight!

Day 7

2007-11-08T02:32:00.000Z

So what happened to day 6? well it was very nice, but no great shakes.
Just finished for the day at 12,011.

I've taken on board Kapitano's comments, but as I said they'll be dealt with at re-write. 'Harvest Time' will have a re-write as I'm determined to finish it come what may.

Thanks too to Kaiten and Sinbad. It's more fun writing when you have someone to write with or against. I know it's just a stupid word count, but the idea you're being left behind is a virtual spur up the bottom. And boy do I need a spur up the bottom ;)

I'm half way through my first 'sub-story' of which I'd planned five. I don't know how many there will end up being, but five seems a good number. The weirdness is kicking in too. Maybe I'm overdoing it, but then I can always snip it out at a later date.

I'm enjoying it ... which is the main thing. Hopefully Kitty will too. Ya can't be a writer without a Kitty. ;)

Nighty Night y'all

* New Blog *

2007-11-06T17:38:00.000Z

For NaNoWriMo 2007 I started a new blog.

It's HERE

So consider this one closed for the foreseeable future. Unless you have a time machine. If you do, please get in touch, as I'd like to borrow it. ;)

Over and out.

Camy

* Unedited Novel - first 5 days - 8,396 words

2007-11-06T02:32:00.000Z

Working title: Harvest Time
This is the first 5 days writing. Unedited, and raw.

“It’s way too early, David. Curses on you and your progeny, and your ….”
“Yes, Col, I know.” I said, patting him on the back. “Baby brother doesn’t like getting up. So what’s new?” I finished stuffing the last of my clothes into the rucksack, and swung it over my arm; looking to see if I’d forgotten anything.
“See you downstairs. If you want coffee, buck up.” Colin grunted at me, still bollock naked, and now trying to pee.
I tiptoed quietly passed my parents door. Mum had offered to get up to cook us breakfast, but the look we’d got from dad had made us both tell her not to be so silly.
By the time Colin came down the light had changed from the pre-dawn hint of the new day to come, to enough light to see that the day was kicking off with a typical September blanket of fog.
“Shit, David. Do you think they’ll still want us?” Colin yawned, as he looked out into the paddock, then slumped onto a stool by the breakfast bar. I rolled my eyes at him as I poured the coffee, and loaded the toaster.
“Na mate, they’ll all go back to bed and forget the harvest for another year. Duh.” Colin yawned again, then broke into a grin. “Sarky git,” he grabbed my around the neck and started tickling, only stopping when I started to squeal. “So, are we ready, oh sensible brother mine?”
“Yeah, I think so.” I panted, determined to get him back, and then decided to follow the old chestnut: ‘revenge is best served cold’.

Our parents hadn’t been keen. After all I had only just got my driving license, and Colin was a dork. Okay, so they hadn’t actually said that, but that was the underlying sense of the thing as I’d understood it. Naturally, Colin thought I was the dork, and secretly, I’d have had to have agreed.
We were twins, though we didn’t look alike. Colin was flamboyant, good looking, and a magnet for girls, whereas I … well, I wasn’t. Not that he rubbed the disparity in. He was pretty much my best friend, too.
It was nearly seven thirty by the time we’d cleared up the breakfast things and were ready to leave. We’d answered an ad in the local paper for pickers on the grape harvest at the vineyard. We’d never done anything like it before, and both of us had leapt at the opportunity. It was cash in the hand, and we’d managed to luck into accommodation too, which was a boon to us the farmer knew nothing about. I’d made the call.
“Hullo,” a friendly female voice had answered, and I’d felt myself blush.
“Is this Graptons?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Umm … I’m calling about the job,” I’d said. They’d been a silence, followed by a cough that had sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
“Yes?”
“Do you still have it?”
“Which one?” The friendliness seemed to evaporate, a hard edge taking its place.
“Grape picking.”
“Yes, there are places left. Two to be precise, no more; no less. Two to live in.”
“Live in?” I asked, “but we’re local: from Rye.” She sniffed.
“Two only … to live in … no charge.”
“Umm … no charge … okay,” I said, knowing Colin wouldn’t object.
“Good, Thursday at eight, then.” There was a pause, and the friendliness was back. “That’s eight in the morning.” She chuckled, then hung up. I’d looked at the phone in astonishment, before replacing it on the hook.
That was a week ago, and as I closed the back door and carried my pack through the thickening fog to the car, I wondered again why they wanted us to live in. When I talked it over with Colin he’d leered, and said we’d probably have to look after the farmers daughters, and tend to their every whim. He’d actually said ‘quim’ knowing I’d blush. And I had. Colin’s an utter bastard when it comes to pushing my buttons.
I slung my rucksack in the back of the clapped out old Ford Escort that Colin and I shared and pulled open the drivers door, trying to keep the squeaking of the rusty hinges to a minimum.
“Shhh, unless you want Dad to wake up,” Colin said in my ear making me jump. He patted me on the back then slung his bag in the back and slammed the boot.
“Ooops.” He scooted around and got in the passengers side, gently pulling the door too, as if the boot slamming had happened to someone else.
“You arse….” I said, getting in and shutting the door. We held our breath, waiting for the bedroom window to fly up, and dad to bellow at us. I let off the handbrake, and waited whilst the car coasted down the drive onto the main road before turning the key.
It was an old ritual, learnt from the Irishman who’d sold us the rust bucket.
“Now lads,” he’d said, eying us both over like a horse thief would stud stallions. At least that was how Colin put it on the way home. I’d just been over enamored with the thought of transport of our own, and hadn’t given a tinker’s cuss what sales techniques were used to persuade us.
“Now lads,” the man had said again, patting the bonnet of the car; and this time I’d picked up on the broad southern Irish accent, “she’s a darling, that’s what she is, and as ya know – or if you don’t, just take O’reilly’s word for it ….” He paused portentously, slipping his thumbs through his braces. “Ya have t’ treat women wid silken gloves.”
“Uh huh,” Colin had replied, as I’d been sitting in the drivers seat, running my hands around and around the steering wheel. “So what’s the scam then, Mr …?”
“O’reilly, m’boy. And what scam would that be, then?” The man had sounded upset, but as the headlight switch had come away in my hand as the back of the drivers seat collapsed, I hadn’t cared a jot. It was our first car, and I felt a connection with her.
“Come on David,” Colin said, “we’ll go look at the other one.”
“Hmm?” I’d replied, “What?”
“The other car, dolt, we should go and look at the other car!”
“Now then m’boys,” O’reilly sounded pained, this is the special deal I’ll do yas ….”
“Ready?” I said.
“Yep” Colin replied: and we linked pinkie fingers as I turned the key. Miraculously she turned over, and started. We set off.
“Lights?” Colin said, wiping ineffectually at the inside of the windscreen.
“I’ve got them on,” I replied. “I told you we should get fog lights.” I was nervous, having never driven through fog before. It seemed to billow, some times thinner and almost non existent, then suddenly thickening until it was difficult to see much past the bonnet.
We crawled through Rye, and up the hill to Rye Foreign, where the fog seemed to ease.
“What’s the time, Col?” He looked at his watch.
“We’ve got half an hour. Still it’d be nice to find out where we’re staying before we have to start plucking.”
I giggled. “It’s picking, you oaf,” I said, turning onto the winding county road that led to the Vinyard.
“Alright, smarty pants. So I’m not up on modern grape picking terminology.” He wound down the window, then hurriedly wound it back up; stopping the blast of cold air. “Christ, it’s cold.”
“You did bring thermals, didn’t you?” I said. The fog was getting thicker as the road followed the contours of the land down into the valley, and it was getting hard to see the central white lines. I slowed down a bit.
“Yes, I brought bloody thermals, David. God man but that’s boring. We should be … oh, I don’t know … drinking a bottle of vodka, or smoking pot or something.”
“Like Jack Kerouac would have, I suppose.” I said snidely, clamping my teeth together nervously, and thinking of pulling over.
“No not like Jack Kerouac, ‘cause he’s dead. I meant like us, David. You and I should be … doing things other than grape picking. Ya know? Doing great, and noble things.
“I don’t know what, but I have the fe ….
“Jesus Christ!” I swore, slamming on the brakes to avoid the back of a stationary bus. The car lurched fast towards the verge as the worn out brake-pads shrieked in misery. We shuddered to a halt by a five bar gate.
“Hell … I don’t …!” I looked over a Colin just as he looked at me. His mouth was opening and closing more like a goldfish out of water, than my brother; and I must have been doing the same, as he started to laugh.
“Close one, David.”
“Too close for comfort,” I muttered, watching my hands as they shook. I couldn’t believe how close we’d come to being scraped off the back of a bloody great bus, and I wanted to cry. I wanted to be hugged and told it was all alright. I wanted …. “Ready?” I said, offering up my pinkie finger.
For the second time the car started without a problem. Colin got out, guided me back onto the road, then got back in.
“So, let’s go slower, then David, okay?”
“Yep, I said, looking at him and pulling out from behind the bus.
The fog seemed even thicker as we pulled into the car park at the vineyard, which was empty except for a small tractor. I pulled into one of the marked slots, turned off the engine, and pulled on the handbrake. Sighing, I buried my head in my hands.
“I don’t want to do this, Col. I want to go home, and back to bed.”
“Me too, me too: but it’ll be an adventure. It’s our first job, and they’ll be lots of girls.” He started humming and opened the door.
Colin’s got a good voice, and can hold a tune. I know it, but I refuse to let him know I know it. It’s what brothers do.
“What’s that then?” I said, starting up one of our regular arguments. “One of James - I’m so MOR it should be tattooed on my arse - Blunt’s?”
“Ha ha ha, David. You know it is.”
“Poor old Simona, then.” I said as I pulled my pack, and Colin’s bag out of the boot, and shut it. He frowned at me.
“If you don’t ….”
“Kidding, you big lummox.” I said. “Let’s go and meet the veritable Rowena.”

We trudged along a paved path that ended at the vineyard shop. The fog seemed to be thinning slightly, and I saw a shadowy figure standing watching us in the distance.
“Hello!” I called out, but the figure didn’t move. “I guess they’re not too friendly with strangers here, Col.” I said in an awful John Wayne accent. He grunted, still miffed at my James Blunt crack.
“So let’s go introduce ourselves, then.” He said, and set off into the fog. Sighing, I followed him, knowing I’d have to bounce off his gregarious sense of humour if I was going to get to know any of our fellow workers in the next few weeks.
“You’re the live in’s.” A tall woman, standing with hands on rather ample hips, sunglasses nestled in her long dirty blonde hair, said.
“I erm ….” Colin deferred to me, so I stepped forward.
“I’m David, and this is Colin,” I said, then, rather unnecessarily, added: “we’re twins.”
“So you are, so you are, and that’s a rare treat.” She said. “It was you I spoke to?”
“Yes,” I replied, unnerved at her piercing grey-blue eyes. She seemed to be cataloguing my body parts, and then examined Colin with equal interest before pulling a fob watch out of her leather jerkin, and glancing at it.
“My name’s Rowena,” she said, putting the watch away, “and as the others aren’t here yet, I have time to show you your room.” Without another word she walked off, Colin and I following her like a pair of lambs going to the slaughter.
“Whadda ya think then, eh?” Colin whispered as he nudged me, and made a very rude gesture. I felt myself blush.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Oh, I dunno! Not your type, eh, David? Perhaps she has a younger brother, then.” I dropped my rucksack, and punched him hard on the arm.
“Fuck right off, Colin!” I spat, as I bent down to pick my rucksack up, only to be flung to the ground by his boot on my arse.
“Can’t ickle Davie take a joke, then? Aww didums, precious.” I rolled over, and looked up at him, from where I’d landed. He’d been teasing me about being gay, seemingly for ever, but he’d never gone this far before, and especially not in public. His face was twisted, mean and angry, and as I saw him loom above me in the fog, I had absolutely no idea where the vitriol had come from. I blinked my tears away, and silently held out my hand. After a moments pause his face seemed to melt back into it’s usual good natured expression, and he frowned as he took my hand and pulled me to my feet.
“I’m … I’m sorry, Davie,” he said, using the diminutive as he’d always done while we’d grown up. “I don’t know what came over me. I think this fog has me really rattled.”
I nodded as held my hand, then pulled me into a hug. “Don’t ever leave me, Davie,” he whispered as he crushed me, then he let go, clapping me on the back.
Rowena, who had watched us bicker without comment, led us back past the vineyard shop, and then turned abruptly left, down an old gravel path, that had clumps of weeds and moss valiantly growing through. The path meandered around the back of several large steel storage tanks, and I’d come to the conclusion our accommodation would be a shed, or at best a caravan, when to my utter delight, as we rounded a warehouse with rust streaked corrugated sides, a tiny whitewashed cottage appeared, surrounded by a picket fence. She stopped and turned to us.
“The door’s open, make yourselves at home, and be back where you met me in … oh, say half an hour.” She winked at me, and as usual I felt myself blushing. Blushing was a curse I’d had since puberty, and one I’d often wished would go away, along with my other problem.
“Thanks, Rowena,” Colin and I said in unison, to which Rowena curtseyed.
“Narry a problem, sirs,” she said, adding: “You can call me Row, if you’d rather.” Then she walked off, leaving us standing by the gate.
“And this is it included?” Colin said. I shrugged.
“She said it was when I phoned. Said it was part and parcel with the job, but it can’t be … can it?”
“Well we’re not members of the grape pickers union, are we doofus? So I’m guessing there’s a catch.” Colin pushed the gate open, “let’s ask before we begin.”
“Okay,” I said, following him up the path. We stopped at the front door and looked at each other.
“Remember ….” We both spoke and stopped at the same time together. We did that a lot. Our parents told us it was because we were twins, and I never doubted them. Colin on the other hand, did. When we where ten he’d tried to persuade me that he was the real boy and I was just a robot copy, and for a split second I’d believed him … until he cracked up and had fallen to the floor in hysterics.
“You go first, then,” he said, his hand on the door knob.
“I was going to say ‘remember Hansel and Gretel’” I said, and he nodded.
“Yep, me too. It’s weird, but it looks exactly like the illustration in the book.”
“Exactly.” I said, “in fact identical.” I nudged him. He turned knob, and with a squeal of distress the door opened.
“Hullo?” Colin called, and we waited for a reply before walking into the tiny living room. With a sigh of relief I put my rucksack down next to a wing backed leather armchair, which was one of a pair next to a neatly laid fireplace.
“No witch then.” I said, as Colin claimed the other chair as his by flopping down in it.
“Nope, looks like we’re witchless, brother mine,” he said. I was aware he was watching me as I wandered over to a wooden door, lifted the latch, and opened it revealing a staircase.
“Hmm … that means,” I said, crossing the room and opening the door’s twin, “that this is the kitchen.”
“Coffee?” Colin said with his best ‘I want, and I want now’ tone. He knew he was on a winner, as neither of us had had our second cup of the morning.
“Good idea that, Col. You go put our stuff upstairs, and I’ll put the kettle on … deal?”
“Yeppers, deal.” He sprung to his feet, grabbed his bag and my rucksack, and disappeared up the stairs. I went into the kitchen and explored. Kitchens are the heart of a good house, and this one was, like the rest of the cottage, cosy. Around the small scrubbed pine table in the middle of the quarry tiled floor were four mis-matched chairs. Along the outside wall, and under the window was a single sink, a drainer, and a small worktop; underneath which lay a fridge and cupboard space. On the opposite wall was a small Reyburn stove, a larger work top and more cupboards. I made a mental note that we had to go shopping, then I opened the fridge. It was full of all sorts of food. I blinked, closed it, then opened it again. It was still full.
“Colin!” I shouted, “There has to have been a mistake. We’re in the wrong house, an ….” I stopped as he appeared in the kitchen door, he was trembling, his face white. “What’s wrong, Col?” I said as I strode over and pulled him into a hug.
“I … I saw a ghost,” he mumbled in my ear. I pushed him away in disgust.
“Don’t bloody start, alright? I’m not having you winding me up, brother or not. Especially around people I don’t know, you know wha ….”
“I’m not, Davie,” he said, “I really saw a ghost.” And I believed him. We had a pact: that come hell or high water, once challenged we were honest with one another.
I followed him upstairs as he explained.
“I put your bag in there,” he pointed from the landing, not wanting to walk any further, so I put my head around the door. My rucksack was on the floor by the bed, and the other thing that caught my attention was the light pink colour of the walls.
“Pink, yeah, thanks Col.” He sniggered.
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist, seeing as how you’re ….”
“Don’t go there, brother.” I warned. “Then what?”
“Then I put my bag in there,” he pointed to another door. Cautiously, I peered around it to find a room the mirror image of mine, except with light blue walls. I grinned. It figured.
“And then what?”
“And then I went to look at the bathroom.” His voice was trembling as he pointed to a closed door at the end of the landing. I walked over to it and was about to put my hand on the handle when Colin said: “don’t Davie.”
“Why?” I asked, my hand hovering.
“’cause it was shut in my face by a woman who was wearing a smock.”
“A smock?”
“Yeah, like in the old oil paintings of the harvest, we saw at the Tate.”
“They wear them for fishing, too.” I said, my hand now clasped around the handle. I gulped, took a deep breath and opened the door. The bathroom was paneled in white painted wood, the bath, Victorian with claw feet, had a shower curtain which was closed. The tap on the sink was dripping, so I shut it off, then in one quick motion, pulled the shower curtain open.
“I swear to you, Davie ….” Colin had his hands cupped around his coffee and was looking at me with pleading eyes.
“I believe you, Col, I believe you,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee. There was something about fog that always rattled me. It had an unearthly quality to it, and that was if I was at home. Here, starting a job, in a strange place it was somehow even more unearthly. I shuddered. Colin chuckled.
“Don’t you start, Davie. It’s the fog isn’t it?” I smiled at him.
“You, too?” He nodded. “And there I was thinking we were too old to be freaked out.”
“Never too old, Davie.”
“And what’s with the Davie all of a sudden, Col?” I watched him as he put on his thinking expression. My brother was highly intelligent, but some things, made him ponder, and anything with an emotional content was high on his list.
“I dunno, Davie,” he grinned at me, and winked. “I know you want to be all grown up, and be David, but here … I … do you mind terribly?” I shook my head.
“No, Col, I don’t. I feel it too.” The mantel clock in the living room chimed the half hour, causing me to look at my watch. “We’d best get a move on, otherwise we’ll be sacked before we begin.” I finished my coffee, and rinsed the mug out, dealing with Colin’s at the same time. I was concentrating on leaving the kitchen spick and span, and nearly missed his reply.
“I don’t mind if we do get sacked,” he said, almost under his breath.

By the time we got back the fog had thinned, and visibility was better, revealing a farm yard with a pair of wooden huts, a tractor shed, and a barn, The tractor from the carpark, was now sitting to one side: two large wooden bins on its rear forks. There was a crowd of ten or so people milling around Rowena and I made sure I was a step behind Colin as we approached.
“Ah, there you are, boys.” She said, and various conversations stopped as everyone turned to look at us. “Say hello to the boys, guys and girls. Tey’re staying in the cottage” She spoke lightly, but I sensed an underlying command.
“Hello!” They all said, and then one by one the conversations started up again.
“Right!” Rowena said, “now for those of you new at this, you take a bucket, and a pair of snips, and follow the tractor.” She walked over to the tractor and got in, a small brown dog leaping in after her. I watched as she picked the dog up, and kissed it on the nose, before gently putting it on a folded blanket next to her.
“That’s Henry, that is,” said a worried looking woman in her middle years, looking at Colin and I as we stood not knowing what to do. “Don’t worry, boys, Rowena said I should give you a helping hand on your first day.”
“Thank you so much … umm …?”
“It’s Catherine … or Cathy if you prefer. I don’t mind which.”
“Oh right, Catherine,” Colin said. “I’m Colin, and the quiet, shy one is Davie.”
“Hullo, Catherine,” I said. The description that sprung to mind was ‘weathered’. She had a friendly looking face, with graying brown hair, and eyes that twinkled, though the lines on her forehead were more furrows. She reminded me of my grandmother, though I didn’t think she was that old.
“I don’t mind, dear. I don’t mind at all, for a grandmother is a goodly person.” She said, looking directly at me.
“I … umm … I …,” I didn’t know how to react until she laughed in good nature.
“So then: buckets and snips. Row has them on the tractor, so all we have to do is follow her and not get lost in the fog. If you get lost it can often be hard to find your way back.”
“I should say!” A man around Catherine’s age walked by at a clip and I realised they’d all set off following the tractor.
“Should we?” I said, and Catherine nodded.
“I know where we’re going, but it’s good to get into the swing of things. It’s Pinot Grigio in the far field today.” She said set off with Colin and I following meekly, like lambs. “Come on, walk with me, not behind me,” she said, and we caught up. “So what brings you two handsome boys here?” She asked, her eyebrows raised.
“Money, I guess,” Colin answered, his sneakered feet sliding around in the mud. Catherine tutted.
“Row can get you both some Wellington boots,” She said. “Remember the little adage: ‘Rain or shine, Ice or fog: until the grapes are in, the grapes are out.’”
“You mean we pick in the rain?” Colin sounded appalled, and Catherine laughed good naturedly, both loud and hard.
“Oh yes, that’s exactly what I mean, blood or no blood we pick.” It was my turn to be appalled.
“Blood?” I said. I’d always been terrified of blood. The sight of it making me, more often than not, faint.
“Yes, which is where I tell you all about snips.” She reached into her pocket and brought out a red handled pair of secateurs. “These are lethally sharp, and I jest not, boys.” She took off the rubber tie that held them closed, and they sprang apart. “Last year we had a worker who cut off the tip of his little finger.” I winced, and almost decided to quit on the spot. “Oh, don’t worry, Davie. Quitting’s not an option for real men, now is it?” She smiled at me as my eyes slid past her to catch Colin rolling his eyes. I laughed, then coughed.
“Sorry, Catherine, but it sounds so … melodramatic.”
“As well it should! But do be warned, you will cut yourself on the first day or two. Everybody does.” She held out her hand, and I could see scars running around two of her finger tips. She smile benevolently. “First aid is supplied.” I gulped.
We followed the tractor up and down three large grassy fields each with row upon row upon row of vines, the rows disappearing to their vanishing points in the far distance. Catherine kept up a running commentary of the types of grapes in each of the fields, and it didn’t take me long to guess she wasn’t just casual labour like the rest of the crew. We were the stragglers, and we’d almost arrived at where Row had parked the tractor when it occurred to me to ask about the cottage.
“Cather ….” With a look of shock on her face she walked briskly away and started talking to an old man with a flat cap. Colin, who had been checking out the grapes, had missed the exchange, so I gave the idea of talking to her up as we went to claim our buckets and snips.
The bucket were yellow, black and blue. Some pickers took two, others only one, so Colin and I followed their example. Then we were handed our snips. I took off the band that held them shut, and ran my finger across the blade. Catherine had been right, they were sharp. Razor sharp.
“Gloves?” Another middle aged woman was handing out surgical gloves from a cardboard box.
“Erm … why do we need gloves?” Colin asked, as I listened, intrigued.
“You don’t, is the short answer. But they make it much more comfortable,” she said, handing us both a pair. “Much more comfortable. believe you me, young man. My name is Delia, by the way. I gather you’re the two in the cottage, this year.” There was something about the way she said ‘this year’, that made the small hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I glanced at Colin, and knew he felt the same.
“Why?” Colin asked, and I let out a subconscious cheer.
“Because the grape juice gets all over your hands, and it’s incredibly sticky. Honestly, these gloves are ….”
“No, sorry … I meant why did you gather we were the two in the cottage?”
Delia laughed. I’d like to say she cackled like a Witch, because that’s the feeling I was getting off her, in waves: but she didn’t. It was a pleasant, warm laugh. Very much the sort of laugh one’s favourite aunt would have.
“Silly boy, or should that be boys!” she said, nodding at me. “I know because Row told me; and because you’re the last to arrive. The last to arrive always, always stay in the cottage. It’s the way it’s always been done at Graptons.”
“Oh,” Colin said and sniggered. “Sorry, Davie and I were ….”
“You’re telepathic?” Delia interrupted, sounding excited, “goodness me, we’ve never had a pair of twins before, you see, and I had no ….”
“No,” I stopped her in mid gush. “I’m afraid we’re not, though ‘cause we’re twins we think alike and often guess what the other’s thinking. It’s not telepathy, though. Sorry.”
“Oh, well, never mind.” Delia said, looking disappointed. “Though it’s an exciting subject, isn’t it? The paranormal. Ghosts, and things that go bump in the night … you know.” It was obvious she was off on a favoured subject, and I was about to leave Colin to her gabbling, when Rowena blew the tractor’s horn.
“Righty ho! Time to get to work,” She said, clapping her hands as she stood on the tractor’s running board. “So, then; Same pairs as yesterday, except David can work with Gentry, and … well, Colin with Delia, seeing as how they’re thicker than thieves already.” They all laughed, but I was in shock. I knew Colin could cope without a problem, but I was shyness personified. I hated meeting people: hated it. It was hard enough with Colin at my side, but on my own.
I shut my eyes tight and started shivering; hoping that it would all go away and become a figment of my imagination. I also assumed the hand that landed on my arm was my brothers.
“Don’t worry, lad.” The voice was old; the tone kind; the person speaking: right by my ear. I jumped, and shrieked like a little kid. Knowing it caused me to blush, too. The hand patted my arm as I opened my eyes, and saw a pair of pale blue and rather rheumy eyes creased in a smile. It was the old man I’d seen Catherine talking too.
“I’m Gentry,” he said, and you and I’ll get on like a house on fire. You see if we don’t.” He patted my arm once more, as if to say ‘no worries’, then stepped back. “So you’ve got your bucket and snips, ready for the off?” I pulled myself together, and nodded, then saw Colin talking to Delia. He smiled at me and winked before picking up his bucket and following her. I tried to smile at Gentry, and failed.
“I … umm, I’m sorry about jumping,” I said.
“Don’t worry m’ boy, I was like you, once, long ago.” Gentry said shaking his head. “Life teaches you all sorts of lessons, and self worth was one of the easy ones.” He picked up his bucket which was black. “Come on then, or we’ll be late for tea.” That made me chuckle. We hadn’t even started, and already we were talking about tea.
I followed him and the others over to the rows of vines, where we all split up, one couple per row. Gentry led me on to the very end row which was nearest the field boundary with what seemed to be a dark and forbidding wood. Colin and Delia were six rows away, with the five remaining couples taking the rows in between.
Gentry dropped his bucket by the first post, which was as thick as a sapling, and I followed suit. I couldn’t see any grapes, just a rather leafy plant that grew along wires stretched between posts some twenty feet apart.
“Where are the grapes, Mr. Gentry?” I asked, “And what do I do?”
“Sensible questions, m’ boy,” he said with a chuckle. “deserve a sensible answer. So, put your gloves on, and watch.” I struggled to get the thin rubber gloves on, watching him as I teased my fingers and thumbs into what amounted to a row of conjoined condoms designed for pigmy shrews. Gentry started plucking leaves off the vine willy nilly, revealing bunches of small, plump and juicy green grapes. Once he’d cleared the leaves between two of the posts he came back to where I was standing watching at the end. He raised an eyebrow, and smiled.
“Gloves on?” I smiled back at him.
“Yes,” I said, showing him.
“Good, now then once you’ve plucked a stretch, you pick ‘em, or rather snip ‘em.” He got out the red secateurs, put the bucket by his side, and started cutting the bunches of grapes off the vine, and throwing them in the bucket. I watched as he went ten or so feet, and the bucket was full. “See, it’s easy, but you have to watch what you’re doing. It’s very, very easy to cut yourself. And I know you know how sharp they are, David.” As he said my name, a shriek came from up the rows, a shriek of pain that I knew came from Colin.
I was about to run to him when Gentry grabbed me by the arm, stopping me. “There’s nothing you can do, David. See?” I stood back from the end of the row to see Delia escorting Colin, whose hand was dripping blood, to the tractor.
“I should ….” He shook his head, and held my arm tighter, as I struggled to go to my brother.
“No, you shouldn’t. If you ever plan to be able to stand on your own two feet, you have to let Colin take care of himself, and he has to do the same for you.”
“But he nee ….”
“No he doesn’t m’ boy. Delia will fix him right up.” I watched the reactions of some of the other pickers, who were watching, as Colin and Delia vanished behind the tractor. A youth two rows up seemed to be licking his lips, and as his partner said something he burst out laughing.
“But it’s not funny,” I said, turning to Gentry, who was wearing a dreamy expression, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. He blinked, then smacked his lips.
“No, it’s not funny. Then Giles is a strange lad, as I’m sure you’ll find out.” He let go of my arm. I shook it, as his grip had almost stopped the circulation, and it was beginning to feel numb. “So … where were we. Hmm? Oh, right. We take the full bucket over to the collection bins, and empty it.” He gave me an appraising look. “Then what, eh? Can you guess, David?”
“Repeat, and repeat until we get to the end of the row?” I said, and was rewarded with a grin.
“Yes, correct m’ boy. You pass with flying colours.” He picked up his bucket and walked over to nearest bin which was near the tractor. I was tempted to go and see how Colin was doing, but just then he and Delia came around the tractor and walked slowly back to their row. Colin had his head down, and didn’t look at me.
I watched Gentry as he emptied his bucket, and then had a quiet word with Rowena. He wandered back, chuckling. “Your brother was wounded on his first snip. I dunno, talk about bad luck.”
“Is he okay?”
“Yes, I told you he’d be fine. And best for you that you didn’t go rushing after him like a pansy.” I looked away up the rows at his words: too angry to respond, too frightened to know what to say. I wanted to scream at the injustice, I wanted to tell them all, let them know who it was that was working with them, and living in the cottage. Instead I clamped my teeth together, and turned back to see Gentry plucking on the other side of the row.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my tone frigid.
“We work on either side of the vine,” he said. “That’s why we work in pairs, David.”
“Oh,” I said, and walked up to the first post and started plucking leaves.
Some half an hour later, when I hadn’t said a word, or replied to any of Gentry’s conversational overtures, he poked his head through the vine. I couldn’t help but laugh at the apparition of his head floating in a sea of vines.
“I’ve upset you,” he said, “though I’m glad I amuse.”
“No, I was just having a quiet time,” I lied, “And your head is very Gilliam.” He frowned.
“Gilliam?”
“Yes, Terry Gilliam. You know, Monty Python.” His head vanished, and I could see him watching me through the vines we’d just de-leaved.
“Python … right, yes,” he said. “Hmm, so you see things in terms of … well … other things, then?” It was my turn to frown.
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Shrinks call it transference, or in special cases sublimation. Do you know what they are?”
“Seeing heads surrounded by grape vines and thinking of cartoons?” I said, giggling. He chuckled.
“It’s nearly time for tea. When we get back remind me to tell you why I’m here.”
“Why not tell me now?” I asked, looking at him through the leaves, and feeling the snips snap shut far too close to my fingers. “Shit!”
“What?” He sounded worried.
“I nearly took of my fingers.” I said, the fear evident even to me.
“Then it’s lucky it’s nearly t ….”
“TEA!” Rowena called from the tractor.
“Tea,” Gentry finished. “I hate it when she does that.”
“What do we do for tea?” I asked.
“We have fifteen minutes to walk back to the farmyard and have tea. Then we come back.”
“But it took us almost ten minutes to walk over here!” I said. “That’s … well, that seems daft.” Gentry shrugged.
“That’s what we do.”
While we’d been picking Rowena had brought more bins, and had distributed them amongst the rows, so we didn’t have to waste time walking to empty our buckets. So whilst Gentry walked off with the others, I emptied our buckets and then hurried after them.
I caught up with Colin, Gentry and Delia half way back.
“How are you doing, Col?” I said, looking at his hand. He had a ripped glove on, but bulging underneath it I could see a plaster wrapped around his middle finger. He didn’t reply, so I looked at his face which was wan and expressionless. “Oh Colin, do you want to go home?” I said, my hand on his arm.
“Of course he doesn’t,” Delia said, clapping me on the back. “It’s a bit of a shock when the snips have at you the first time.” She laughed, and edged herself between us. “How are you getting on with the old bugger?”
“Okay,” I said, as Gentry winked at me. “Okay. The umm … ‘old bugger’ seems fine,” I stuck my tongue out at him, and he laughed. Colin said nothing, and kept staring at his hand, which worried me.
“So the … where do we get tea?” I asked as we entered the farmyard. Gentry raised an eyebrow -- which I was learning, was one of his stock expressions -- as we all trooped into one of the two wooden huts. It had a row of pegs from which hung various bags, coats and hats, along with two large scrubbed pine tables surrounded by a motley collection of mis-matched chairs. The background hubbub seemed to increase as the other pickers all sat down.
“Get tea? You bring your own … in a flask,” Gentry said, walking over to a peg, and taking a battered green thermos out of a bag hanging there.
“Oh … we didn’t know,” I said.
“’s no excuse.
“Okay, so we’ll pop back to the cottage, then,” I said, beginning to get peeved with his attitude. Though it hadn’t been hard work, I was knackered, and badly wanted a cup of hot tea.
“Uh uh,” Gentry said, shaking his head as he filled a plastic mug. “No time. It’s only a fifteen minute break, and we’ve got head back in a minute.” I’ll share with you, just be prepared tomorrow.” He offered me the mug, and I took it with surprise.
“Thank you, Gentry.” I blew on the hot liquid, then took a sip, watching Colin as he meekly sat beside Delia, and pleased to see that she was sharing her tea too.
“We’re not unkind, David,” Gentry said as saw where I was looking. “And don’t worry. Colin will be fine, just as will you be, too: once the snips have had a taste.
“Once the snips ….”
“Tea’s over!” Rowena stuck her head through the door, interrupting my thoughts and the question I’d been about to ask, as we all got back to our feet.
“Lunch is an hour, which is enough time for you to go back to the cottage,” Gentry said as he slid the flask back in his bag.

The rest of the morning went by in a flash, and I was grateful, as I walked back to the cottage with Colin, that I’d managed to avoid the snips. I’d come close to being cut twice: the first time Gentry had warned me to pay attention just as I’d been about to cut off the tip of my forefinger, the second time I’d been talking about music and had cut through the edge of my glove at the second knuckle of the same finger. I’d cursed at the snips, and Gentry had looked at me, his head cocked over to one side.
“They really want to blood you m’ boy,” he’d said. “Strange, I wonder why they’re so keen?”
Colin had been more than quiet on the walk back, and I was getting worried about him. He was the mirror to my nature’s shy reticence: normally extrovert, bold, loud and funny. As he pushed open the front door I bopped him on the shoulder, and realised it was like we’d swapped places.
“’sup Col?” He shook his head, and beat me to the fridge.
“Cheese and Ham?”
“Mmm, yes please.” I sat down, lay my head on the table, and shut my eyes. “I’m bloody knackered, Col. How ‘bout you?”
“Yes, I am.”
He was my twin, and I knew him better than I knew myself, and he’d never -- even in terminal throes -- sound as disinterested as he’d just sounded. My eyes leaped open, and I sat up and looked at him: he was shaking.
“Col?” I said as he put the cheese and ham on the counter and closed the fridge door. Then he turned to me as I stood up, and flew into my arms, sniffling.
“Col?” I repeated, unsure how to help as I was unsure what was wrong.
“I’m frightened, Davie, really frightened, and the fog won’t go away.”
I’d forgotten the fog. It had become part of the greater background that I took for granted. Yet as Colin mentioned it I felt a shiver run down my spine.
“Col, mate, the fog’s just part of the weather. A pain in the arse, sure, but nothing unusual for the time of year.” I crushed him against me: willing all the bad things to go away. Then I gave him a kiss on the cheek and let him go. He took a step back, blinked a couple of times, then returned the kiss and sniffed. I sat him down, gave him a sheet of kitchen paper, and watched as he blew his nose.
“All sorted, mate?” I asked with alacrity I didn’t feel. He shook his head.
Although I was only ten minutes older than Colin, it was a ten minutes that gave me a huge responsibility. I was the older brother, and Colin treated me as if those ten minutes gave me a special insight into how he should deal with his problems, and what he should do when he hit a rocky patch with his girlfriend. It was a ten minutes that was often a curse, as I was, if anything, less likely to know the answer to any given problem than he was. Out of the two of us, I was the kid, and it was ironic that I knew it and he didn’t.
“So tell me what you’re frightened of, and I’ll make the sandwiches, okay?”
“Okay, Davie, and thanks” He smiled, the tone in his voice almost back to normal, which cheered me up no end as I started to make lunch. Then I stopped.
“Look, Col,” I said, pointing through the window. It was a shaft of sunlight: pure and bright, and it blazed through the fog like a spot onto a darkened stage illuminating a great oak some fifty feet away in the cottage’s back garden.
“Wow!” Colin said in awe. Then as we watched the light became fainter and fainter until it vanished. I could feel Colin’s spirit being crushed as the light disappeared and he sat down again.
“Do you want to go?”
“Hmm … what? Sorry?” He was looking at the sticking plaster over his finger, and teasing the end away.
“I said, do you want to go? ‘cause if you do, let’s just forget this grape picking and let’s go home.” He stopped playing with his plaster and looked at me, a smile flowering on his face.
“You mean it?”
“Of course I mean it, doofus.”
“Then ….”
I’d just finished the sandwiches, so I slapped them on a pair of plates, added a couple of juicy tomatoes and handed him his. He took it, put it down and I could tell his mood had changed again.
“I should stay, Davie. But you should go.”

We arrived back at the farm yard just as the rest of them were coming out of the wooden hut.
“Good lunch?” A chap walking in the same group as Delia asked. He was wearing a beanie, and seemed a bit older than us. I was about to answer when Colin beat me to it.
“Yes thank you, Charlie, you?”
“Yeah, same ol’ same ol’. I could do with a juicy steak.
“Me too, and I was ….”
Gentry pulled me aside, and I lost the thread of Colin’s conversation.
“Good lunch?”
“Good as sandwiches can be,” I said, and he caught my bitter tone.
“Problems?” He asked, his voice oozing kind consideration.
“Yes,” I said, sighing. “It’s Colin, he’s got ….” I snapped my mouth shut. I’d know Gentry for less than half a day, and I had been about to spill my guts to him. About to tell him all the problems I had with my twin, about to tell him personal family details that no one had any right to be knowing. “Sorry, Gentry. Maybe later.” I added feebly.
We walked on in silence for a while, though it was a companionable silence, and not uncomfortable. Colin was back with Delia, and they seemed to be walking in silence, too.
“Gentry, could I ask you a question?” He glanced over at me. We had just entered the field we’d been picking, though we were still several hundred yards away from the vines.
“Sure.”
“Why hasn’t the fog burnt off?”
“Fog? I … erm ….” He laughed. “Do you know, I’d hadn’t noticed it. I mean now you’ve mentioned it it’s there, but before I just … I mean … I don’t know.” He sounded perplexed, and I felt he meant what he was saying.
“Oh. So umm … how long have you been picking, then?
“Picking?”
“Yes. Before Colin and I turned up, how long had you been picking?”
Before he had a chance to answer we arrived back at the vines, and milled about picking up our buckets and snips. I tried to put my gloves back on, but it was hopeless. They were far too manky, and I ripped them.
“Damn!” Like magic Delia appeared and handed me a new pair.
“I saw Colin had ripped his, and thought you’d probably be in the same mess,” she said. I thanked her, and put them on, awkwardly. By the time I’d finished everyone was back on their vine, so some five minutes late I joined Gentry, and started plucking leaves on the next segment.
It must have been a post prandial depression, because Gentry was silent, the snipping of his snips, and the occasional flashes of his clothing the only indication I had that he was picking grapes on the other side of the vine.
I’d got into a rhythm to see how fast I could work, and was congratulating myself on my speed when he spoke.
“David I ….”
And I screamed ….
Gentry's voice had queered my concentration just enough that I’d taken my eye off my snips, and that was all the excuse they needed. I’d had a plump bunch of grapes in my left hand and had just got the stem in between the blades when he’d said ‘David’ and my eye had wandered enough so they managed to catch the tip of my left hand index finger. As I screamed a spurt of warm blood spattered the glove and my wrist, followed by another and another as the vines seemed to sway ever faster. Now they were no longer in front of me, instead they were above me: along with Gentry’s horrified face … and then Colin was there and I knew it was going to be alright.

Day 5

2007-11-06T02:28:00.000Z

Phew, and blimey. I'm still on schedule. Going to snooze at 8,396 which is 66 past target. I think I'm getting overly anal about targets. Perhaps I could get a job with the government. ;)

So ... I'm posting these first 8,396 words.

Day 4

2007-11-05T15:40:00.001Z

I was away in London, and didn't get back until nearly 11pm. So, sadly nothing added on day 4. It's lucky my count at the very end of day 3 was 6,619.

Hmm. I think I'm getting word-count-obsessed. This is a dangerous condition.

Lots to get on with, then!

Day 3

2007-11-03T21:33:00.000Z

It's 9.30pm and the NaNo site is unavailable. Typical. Anyway I'm up to 5,317 words and am just about to start the first of the short story segments.

I have not the vaguest idea if they are going to work ... but muse seems happy. He's in and out of the room, and singing - if that's anything to go by. I still haven't got a photo of him in his NaNo costume, but he looks a lot like David Bowie in Aladdin Sane.

I'll update the word count nearer to the witching hour - or maybe I won't. ;) I'm on track, and slightly ahead, so I'm not really bothered.

---
edited to add:
It's 11.56pm, I've got to 6,544 and still can't get on the NaNo site. :(

Day 2

2007-11-03T00:04:00.000Z

I've just finished day two with 4,373. And it's good, at least I think it's good. Okay, perhaps calling my own writing good is arrogant; but hell, I think it is. I think. ;)

I'm tempted to post it as I go, even though I've been advised against it. But seeing as I hardly have a zillion people reading this blog, does it matter? No it doesn't.

Hmm. I'll ponder some more.

Day 1

2007-11-02T00:02:00.000Z

I wrote 548 words soon after midnight, and have just finished for today with a grand total of 2,195. Are my characters where I want them to be at the end of the first day? Hmm. A good question. As I have no real idea where the muse wants them to be, then yes, they are ... aren't they?

I'm actually pleased as punch at how it's going. Then, I think I said the same last year. ;)

Outline

2007-10-31T23:46:00.000Z

Working title: Harvest time

It's September, and time to harvest the grapes. It's casual work, so David Blake and his brother Colin aren't over enthused at finding themselves driving to the vineyard through an ever thickening fog.

Over the next few weeks David finds himself over hearing the stories of many of the other itinerant workers. Stories that ultimately make him wonder if he's living in the same reality as they are.

---
So there you have it. Okay, so it's not a 30 page outline ... unless you whack up the point size, and give it a humongous line spacing. But I'm happy. As a sandboy: As Larry: As ... well, as me, actually.

Good luck to anyone else who's giving it a go. May your Gods be with you ... and your Muse. Mine is looking way cool for the off. He persuaded me to let him go shopping, and got a special NaNo outfit. I keep telling him he's a figment of my imagination, but he won't have it. He won't give me the credit card back, either.

Ah well. Laters.

milling by the tape.

2007-10-31T16:34:00.000Z

Happy Halloween, y'all. Which means mere hours to go until the start of the 2007 NaNoWrMo.

I have my mate Kapitano to thank for helping sort out what I'm going to write.
[quote]I suspect these few weeks aren't a dry spot of inspiration, so much as a dry spot of inspiration for novelistic ideas.
So...maybe write something that isn't a novel, like a short story, with an eye on the story later becoming the first chapter of something big.[/quote]

Not that Kap's entirely to blame; though he planted the seed. The idea of plotting a novel is daunting, and I couldn't get my head around it. So instead, I'm going to write a linked series of short stories ....
Five or six short stories in a month sounds much more do-able ... even if I am going to 'pants' it. :)

Remember milling about at the start of a cross country run?

Plot

2007-10-25T14:57:00.000+01:00

Still no closer to the 30 page outline that some of us are supposed to have *glowers at Sandy*. Still, another pantser isn't going to do me any harm, and who knows ... I could still come up with a solid plot before the off. Hmm.

In other news: there isn't any.

Umm

2007-10-19T12:12:00.000+01:00

Yes, well. Knee almost better now, so Muse can worry less about mobility and more about plot. Get it, you stupid airy fairy Muse, you.

Not that I'm in anyway panicking. After all, there is still ten days to go.

Sunny days - of which this is one - means cold. I don't like cold unless I have a roaring fire. Fire means wood. I don't have any. Life throws these things at us. Perhaps it's a test? But if it's a test, that pre-supposes a tester, which means God, or an alien entity is real .... Another quandary.

TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) seems very complicated. I thought it was an easy thing to do. I'm much mistaken. Not that this is anything new. Poor Kap :(

Silly Muse

2007-10-16T01:21:00.000+01:00

I had a great idea, but it evaporated ... and I keep having all these ideas for plot, yet none of them have solidified into anything worth noting. I'm not even sure of the genre I'm going for, though I doubt that whatever I write will end up becoming a door stop. Unlike some I could mention, who reached 50,000 words in the first eleven days. Pah, I say. And poo.

I want to be organised! I want a well written, and logically laid out outline! I want to be able to refer to comprehensively drawn character notes on neat cards in an smart index box ... I want all these things!!! Want ... WAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

*slaps self*

I'm sure there's a Buddhist saying to cover my 'problem'. I'll ask M in the morning. The bottom line is: I'm a pantser, and proud! Perhaps I'll start P.A. Except I've already outed myself. Damn.

More Daimoku required.

Nano server overload

2007-10-07T18:15:00.000+01:00

So popular is NaNoWriMo now, that their server can't cope. Still, that doesn't stop the creative process, just one of the excuses as to why I haven't written anything.

Sandy (Dio) and Sinbad have both declared, so at least there are three to bounce off against, and I'm hoping Kitty takes part too.

Hmm.

2007-10-07T02:18:00.000+01:00

Being determined, as I am, to come up with an outline worthy of a pulitzer, I decided to let my muse do the work. Consequently: I haven't overtly thought of anything even vaguely plotish, for the last twenty fours hours ... and it's worked. I have a stonkingly good idea, and some rather interesting characters.

Now I have to write them down.

I might change my mind ... but that's my prerogative. Obviously. Duh.

Idea time

2007-10-04T00:20:00.000+01:00

I have until the end of the month to come up with a sterling, nay, spiffing plot, and write an outline, too. I'm still going to 'pants' it, but 'pants' it with decorum. With some semblance of order ... but I'm not there yet, so I'm in the early stages of panic.

I'm hoping - fingers crossed - that two, or maybe even three friends might write along for the ride. It would be even more fun if they did, and fun is what life is all about. That's my theory, anyway.

Begin Again

2007-10-02T12:04:00.000+01:00

So.

Another year, another NaNoWriMo.

In 2006 I scraped just over 50,000 words out of my head, and I did it by the seat of my pants: by the skin of my teeth: by the hair on my chiny chin chin. Which is not to say I didn't have fun. I did. Lots of it.

This year, come hell or high water, I will be doing it again, but with organisation! See the difference? Fair enough, you don't. But it's there as an underlying worse'name. I'm a 'Pantser' and proud of it. But for once I think I'd like a little direction.

During October I'm going to be plotting - yeah right. Okay, honestly: during October I'm going to be trying to plot, and then ...!

Car closure

2007-08-04T01:40:00.000+01:00

Car well and truly legal.
Road tax has, of course, gone up. It's now £99 for six months. Six months ago it was £83. Frankly, I nearly fell over backwards. Bleedin' cheek.

There is a rude word that begins with a C, ends with a T, and has four letters. It's oft used to describe traffic wardens, and now can be freely used to describe whoever it was that upped the road tax.

Nighty night.

Oh yes. If anyone has suggestions as to how I can stop Cody eating the local baby rabbit population, I'd be overjoyed. Ta.

The saga that is car

2007-07-24T18:08:00.000+01:00

Leaving home my rear brakes seized. Lucky I was still on the drive as I'd be sitting on a cloud otherwise. Bought new rear brakes. Mick helped fit same, with lots of bickering. Then he insulted my neighbour - or rather he didn't, but you have to know his sense of humour.

Car to garage - now a daily trip - lots of shaking of heads, result of which is that car is booked for another full MOT test on Thursday: which it will fail as the brakes are not legal *cheesy grin* Around and around we go. Horses are cheaper, and you can stroke them.

How fed up am I?

How fed up do I sound. FUCK!

On the bright side, we have a gig on Thursday, which should keep our half dozen fans happy.

Rows

2007-07-17T02:12:00.000+01:00

The first row you have in any relationship is shocking. Lucky it is that the older I get the more tolerant I become. In years gone by I've literally not spoken with 'arguees' ;) for months. Nowadays I'm copacetically chilled most of the time, and don't really give a fuck ... even if they are out of order.

Just saying. ;)

stop press *** Car fails again

2007-07-13T18:47:00.000+01:00

My car - I love her, but all cars are a pain in the arse when they don't perform - has failed the MOT emission test yet again. Also, one headlight is no good :(

*HOWL*

I was advised that I had to 'take the car for a burn up and then arrive at the testing station'. I did, and alas, no good. Now I need to get a 'lambda unit' along with a 22mm spanner. The Lambda unit attaches to the exhaust pipe and then the engine, and does something useful, no doubt.

So. Re-test on monday. Whoopsy doo.

Harry Potter and the media driven madness

2007-07-06T00:07:00.000+01:00

Sadness. :(

It's nearly time for the end. The final instalment of the Harry Potter franchise (franchise? huh? wtf?) is in the shops on the 21st - many staying open late to sate the neediness of fans. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows is the seventh book which is obliged to tie a whole bunch of loose ends together ... or else.

Daniel Radcliffe has signed to play Harry in the last two films for a supposed £25 million, and JK Rowling is apparently the richest woman on the planet, and worth more than the Queen.

Can you say insanity?

Off one's face

2007-07-01T22:25:00.000+01:00

Part of the reason I originally moved down to the coast was to avoid membership dues to the 'getting off one's face' trap. So it was with trepidation (yeah right) that I got the call and rushed for the train (Whoopee!!!).

Mental salivation is just as good as physical in my opinion, though on the way up I much doubt anybody watching me would have known, and on the way back I could have cared less.

One thing I have missed is the eye candy (paragraph two equally valid here, too). Not that I knew it until I realised it was lashing down with rain. Normally, when I'm in central London, I walk. But the rain made it impossible - so I got the tube. People watching is the only pastime for brief tube travel, and lawks-a-lawdy there were some fine specimens of mankind to watch. ;)

I knew there was something I was missing!

Finally I make it from the parochial coast to the urbane dealers pad ... and much fun was had by all.

Here and Now

2007-06-29T23:58:00.000+01:00

Friday 29th June

The solstice hasn't affected me as much this year. Normally I'm depressed as hell, as the year starts to wind down, and the days get shorter. I know it takes a long time for it to become apparent, but it's happening none the less.

A year or so ago I bought a huge mother of a computer, that had at one stage in its life, been a server. I got it cheap and struggled to get it into the car. Prouder than a chipmunk with a horde of nuts, I set it up and moved most of my mp3 albums onto it (as well as a bunch of other stuff). It hasn't worked since. So today I pulled it apart, took out the hard drive, and found I had over fifty albums, a lot of writing I'd forgotten, and a recording of a rehearsal in 2004 where I played drums. All in all nearly 4Gb of data.

Factoid: The lavatory doesn't leak any more. Happiness.

Much to my surprise, and without thinking, I called M 'Babe' this afternoon. He grinned. After I got over the shock, I grinned too. :)

I'm utterly fed up with normality. I'm going to get off my face, then, maybe I'll be able to write something worthwhile.

Suing the bank - update

2007-06-28T17:52:00.000+01:00

I actually got the money today. Yesterday I called them, and nice woman said it 'is being processed, and will be in your account in seven to fourteen days.' This morning I checked, and there it is. All of it, every last sou, just begging to be spent...

Oddly, I don't feel triumphant, though I did let out a whoop that frightened the cats: I feel mildly guilty.

Hey ho. So now I'm going after a couple of mortgage companies, and a credit card company.

If anyone wants all the relevant information it's at http://www.consumeractiongroup.co.uk

Suing the bank

2007-06-27T10:37:00.000+01:00

an update:

They overcharged me by rather a handsome amount, so I asked them - politely - for the money back. Like the shysters they are, they offered 50% of my claim. I declined, espousing common law from every orifice. They caved.

Peachy. Now I can pay another bunch of shysters for a bit longer.

Pound of flesh, anyone?

Guns

2007-06-20T02:23:00.000+01:00

I'm not sure if this achieves what it set out to do.
You decide.

Mouse and Cats

2007-06-17T16:21:00.000+01:00

Two days ago Eduardo Dominic Wouk-Wouk (large, beefy, black and white beast who, like me, thinks he is a novelist) brought in a small mouse. He's a sweetheart, and plays with them rather than having them for supper. Nonetheless big cat playing with small mouse can result in mouse having coronary, so I pull him away, at which the mouse looks at me, winks (might be my over-active imagination), then rushes for the skirting board at high speed.

I try, oh lord I try, but no amount of cheese (do mice actually eat cheese, I wonder) will bring the cute wee beasty out. I go to bed, leaving two of the four cats circling like sharks.

Yesterday - no sign of the mouse. Very sad. Almost went to church.

This morning, having got over the trauma, I'm strolling to the kitchen for a second cup of coffee when lo and behold there's the mouse looking up at me. In mouse terms I'm big and frightening so mouse rushes behind freezer. Nonchalant cats lurk, pretending disinterest, licking chops and purring.

After hefty freezer moving manoeuvres, fending off cats with nimble foot parries I managed to catch the mouse, and release him/her in the long grass by the caravan.

Banks

2007-06-15T01:07:00.000+01:00

I'm not good with money. I love to spend it, and have had rather ... expensive habits over the years; so consequently my relationship with banks hasn't been exactly peachy.

You bounce a cheque and you get charged. You're bad and you get spanked. These things you learn as you grow up. However....

In 2006 some wise sage found out that it was actually illegal for banks to charge the extortionate fees they do when you are a 'bad' banker. I watched the documentary with sceptical interest, and thought 'no fucking way will he get his money back', then wandered off and sang a song, or some such. He did! And now so are lots of other people, including me!

Over the years the bank charges I've accrued (good word that) are not negligible, and it seems like I'll get them all back. They've already offered to settle for 50%

Consider me tickled pink.

FUCK!!!

2007-06-05T01:24:00.000+01:00

Ahem.

Sorry, just had to get it off my chest.

Life is what you make it

2007-06-02T00:38:00.000+01:00

A truism, and a line from a lyric. Nice song, if I ever get to record it. If I ever get to do anything I want to do.

---
Don't read further if you value your sanity. This is self serving drivel.
---

I don't like the 'human condition'. Especially my 'human condition'. Compared to the vast majority on the planet I have nothing to be upset about. I'm not starving, I don't live in a desert with no water, I'm not being ethnically cleansed. I have a house - ergo I have money, but I don't. No sense to that statement, but that's the way it is, and the way I'm feeling.

I've always lived from hand to mouth, 'cause I didn't want to get into the debt trap, but here I am balancing on a knife edge. If I don't get rid of this ... pile before the end of July I'm stuffed, and if I do I'm well off, in that I'll have money - but I'll have nowhere to live. How fucking stupid is that?

In theory all is peachy. Sell the house, be rich for a short time (remembering not to go totally stupid with the money - even though recording an album in the Bahamas would be nice, and a holiday in the US, and, and) and then what?

Then I don't know. The plan is France, but where? No idea. Getting on the boat and then driving until one finds somewhere nice is actually daftness personified. But probably just what we'll do. With six cats.

Oh, God help me! Oops, I'm an atheist. Or is that agnostic. Dunno. God?

*runs away screaming, looking for nice padded cell*

Time de......lay

2007-06-01T02:47:00.000+01:00

I've just got off MSN with a friend in the west coast of the United states, and it's nearly three am and I want to go to bed. The cat wants me too as well - though there's nothing fishy afoot she's angrily meowling.

Anyhow. this is a winge about the eight hours I'm missing

The flat roof debacle

2007-05-26T00:22:00.000+01:00

I love him. I do. I always have, though it took me a good many - too many - years to realise it, during which time I upset a lot of people. But can I work with him?

He's so bloody annoying. I'm told by those who listen, that we bicker perpetually. I don't see it that way. It's just the way we are - and it's causing me gyp.

So. I have a list of jobs that have to be finished before anyone can view the house. It's a long list. A looooong list.

Today, as it was sunny I decided to fix the flat roof. What do I know about roofing? Nothing at all, except, how hard can it be? The answer is very. Very damn hard, especially when you don't have the right type of roofing felt, and an idiot you love to help you.

I could have auditioned for the Minstrels by the time we'd finished, and I say finished half heartedly as I think, *sob wail gnash* I'm going to have to do it again.

And the list goes on....

Tune in for more exciting adventures of 'The Fool and the Blithering Idiot'

Speaking of which - France!

2007-05-25T01:01:00.000+01:00

I'm off. Finally, and it's taken a long looooong time, I've put the pile on the market. Yep. On the market this afternoon.

I've no idea where we're going to, except it's not likely to be Blighty. Too effing expensive. So France is - as I type - the planned destination. Don't ask, 'cause I've no idea where in France. Probably an old Cow shed.

Actually, I quite fancy New Zealand. It's good enough for Frodo, though rather distant from my druggy friends in London ... I could grow my own, I suppose.

Ah well, you live and learn. I've learnt you have to earn money to pay bills, otherwise nondescript suits get upset. I've decided I don't like playing 'the game' where you slave to pay for a place you don't really want to be. What's the point?

I will write both music and 'fiction', and I will do it where I can get up at four in the morning and record a drum kit without having upset neighbours hammering on the door.

I will, I will, I will Mr Fawlty.

Pondering the powerless Sunday

2007-05-22T01:02:00.000+01:00

Sitting in the dark, a small tea light flickering, with a wind up torch to read by made me think. What would I do, how would I cope without electricity?

If society eventually does fracture and break down how will we cope mentally? In the 1970's, when the idea of the army taking over the country was last mooted, there was TV - but no computers, and no games consoles, and not many electrical appliances.

Now we are totally reliant on the 'lecky' for everything from cooking to work, and seemingly even more important, entertainment. Humanity spends an inordinate amount of time watching tubes of various kinds. Kids don't go outside to play anymore, they either watch the TV or play games on computers.

It was tough (yeah right), and it was only off for a short time.

Makes one think...

Powerless Sunday

2007-05-21T02:18:00.000+01:00

Yep, she's another bleak and cheerless post ... move right along.

Sunday; heralded by the sun peaking it's cheery face through scudding clouds. Lovely it was until the neighbour tapped on the window to mention the power lines were causing a tree to smoulder. Not wanting a forest fire (been there, done that when I was fourteen) The electricity people are phoned ... as they were a week ago with the same complaint.

Today, however, it's Sunday, and automatic double time - please forgive the jaded tone of this post - and what better than a day out in the country for five highly paid - now doubly highly paid - electricians, and their 'gang boss'.

Ok, so I don't know he was a 'gang boss', but he seemed like the 'gang boss' in 'Cool Hand Luke'. They are called around 11.00am, they arrive around 13.00 and then they say: "Gotta take five substations off-line to work on yours". This is lingo for going to the pub. They come back a while later and do some work ... then, alas alack, the gang boss, who had sworn on a virtual stack of bibles the power would be back on in a couple of hours, knocks on the door.

They are 'missing' a vital piece of equipment. They have to travel forty miles to get it, and forty miles back and so we won't have power back on until 'later'.
"What's later?" I ask, naively. Stupid boy.
"You'll need candles." He grins, winningly, and leaves on his double bubble mission of mercy.

The power came back on around 22.30, and much cheering and blowing out of candles ensued.

Thank heavens I'm not paying them.

Dental trauma and fear

2007-05-18T04:08:00.000+01:00

Ha! Another cheery blog entry I hear you cry.

I bashed my middle tooth on a mug of coffee, and now I have to go and see a *shudder* Dentist. With most people that wouldn't be a problem. But I have a fear of Dentists that far surpasses logic.

When I was little (and cute - thought I'd mention it) We had a private Dentist called Donald Derrick who was a friend of the family. He used to drill and fill without anaesthetic, and when I'd start getting fractious he'd say: 'don't be a big baby'. I was. A big, big baby. Fair do's at nine years old. I defy anyone to sit happily being drilled without anaesthetic, nowadays.

Bastard.

Then at twelve I went to the woman in the surgery next door ... Anne Panting. It's strange how I remember their names. Much like the way you can't forget Hitler, probably. Anyway, she had me under a general anaesthetic, took out four back teeth (why?) and gave me braces. I hated braces.

Now, due to the complete lack of Dentists in the country that don't demand half your house, I'm probably going to end up cowering in the corner behind a plant pot whilst a large South African with a thick accent waves a drill at me.

Rowing not rowing

2007-05-15T20:49:00.000+01:00

I hate rowing, especially with someone I love. How we've managed to get by for over a year without a row is honestly amazing, considering our personalities ... so I guess it was only to be expected that sooner or later we'd get on each others tits - that's a British expression, in case you were wondering.

It affected me deeply - probably more than I should admit; because I really, really thought that 'it' was all over. And all over paltry petrol money too. Stupid.

It was made worse because we were on our way to see friends - who knew nothing about the problem, so well we behaved in front of them.

When you know someone almost as well as you know yourself, you know all the right buttons to push, all the snidey comments to make to maximise the hurt ... and Lord do we know each other well. Too well maybe.

It's over now, but it's left a bitter taste that's going to take a while to totally dissipate. My rock wobbled, and I reacted badly. So much for predictive plate tectonics.

A Good Gig

2007-05-08T15:45:00.000+01:00

Last Saturday (5th) we played at the Poor Boys Cafe again. Another miniscule audience; though a couple of interesting things happened. We were asked to play a specific song by a total stranger: and the next morning two people went in to ask who the band were from the night before as they were 'fantastic' - and they then bought the two CD's we'd left behind.

Which was nice. :)

Camy's Idiocy!

Happy New Decade

How many words for snow?

16 days post NaNo

Firefox 4 Beta

Pondering, yet again

Smashwords - definitely worth a look.

Humph :(

Day 30 - Oh yes!

Day 29

Day 27

Day 25

Day 22 - part II

Day 22 - part I

Day 18

Day 17

Day 16

Day 15

Day 14

Day 13 pt II

Day 13 - Saturday (F1 qualifying for last race of 2010)

Day 12

Day 11

Day 10

Day 9

Day 8 - pt 2

Day 8 - pt 1

Day 7

Day 6

Day 5, Day 6, F1!

Day 4

Day 3

Day 2

The first day.

Yaaarrrr (in a piratical voice)

Waaaaaaaaa ....

Hellion.

Ludicrous!

6 days and counting.

8 days to go ....

NaNoWriMo 2010

preparation

Too late?

gotta get it together

4839

stuck in the phlegm,

A brand new NaNo for 2009!

16 - should be 25

10,000

4410

total

Yarroo Nanoo!!!

close to the off!

Yikes!

NaNoWriMo 2008 approacheth

Just in case ....

2008

Day 24

Day 17

Day 16

Day 12

Day 9

Day 7

*** New Blog ***

* Unedited Novel - first 5 days - 8,396 words

Day 5

Day 4

Day 3

Day 2

Day 1

Outline

milling by the tape.

Plot

Umm

Silly Muse

Nano server overload

Hmm.

Idea time

Begin Again

Car closure

* New Blog *