It's been pointed out that I'm being extremely negative about life. Rather than seeing, and talking about the good, I'm focussing on the bad, and it's not healthy. Take my last post about the gig at the Poor Boys Cafe. On reflection I'm grateful that anybody came and saw us play, and chuffed as hell that they liked us. So what if I only came out with £18. £18 is far, far better than nothing.
There was an episode of Oprah on this afternoon on a topic called 'The Secret'. This is supposedly a new philosophical way to live your life, that brings you everything you desire, with little or no effort. It's championed by a lot of celebrities (who already have everything they desire) and a lot of people seem to be leaping on the 'Secret' bandwagon. However, as with anything 'new agey' there is also a raft of critics. Here is a presis of one of them which made me laugh: 'The Secret takes the well-worn ideas of some self-help gurus, customizes them for the profoundly lazy, and gives them a veneer of mysticism.'
Profoundly lazy, hmm ... sign me up!
Anyway, from now on, I will be positive rather than negative. I'm also going to try creative visualisation. Add all that to getting off my rather lazy backside, and I'm going to be a much happier bunny.
Tuesday, 10 April 2007
Sunday, 8 April 2007
Poor Boy
I'm in a semi-sulk.
We played a gig on Thursday night at the 'Poor Boys Cafe'. Mick organised it, and seeing as how I was too chicken (read shy/perpetually embarrassed/stupid) to go in with him, I didn't get to see the venue before we arrived to play.
Mick did say it was small; but I equated small with small, not with Lilliput. Also, rather than getting a straight fee, we were being paid 20% of the bar. Woo Hoo! I thought, rubbing my hands in a Shylockian fashion, dancing up the street, and wondering where to salt away the pounds of flesh.
Alas alack, although it was packed, the Twenty or so people were not alcoholics. The total takings were £180, ergo our cut was £36, or £18 each.
£18 for three hours, and the angst and other shite that performers suffer. Plus petrol. The Bowling Gnomes we are not ... nor The Rolling Stones either.
We have been 're-booked' for 5th May, and are henceforth considering Poor Boys as a paid rehearsal. It's an apt name.
All that aside, musically it was a great gig, and I had a whale of a time!
We played a gig on Thursday night at the 'Poor Boys Cafe'. Mick organised it, and seeing as how I was too chicken (read shy/perpetually embarrassed/stupid) to go in with him, I didn't get to see the venue before we arrived to play.
Mick did say it was small; but I equated small with small, not with Lilliput. Also, rather than getting a straight fee, we were being paid 20% of the bar. Woo Hoo! I thought, rubbing my hands in a Shylockian fashion, dancing up the street, and wondering where to salt away the pounds of flesh.
Alas alack, although it was packed, the Twenty or so people were not alcoholics. The total takings were £180, ergo our cut was £36, or £18 each.
£18 for three hours, and the angst and other shite that performers suffer. Plus petrol. The Bowling Gnomes we are not ... nor The Rolling Stones either.
We have been 're-booked' for 5th May, and are henceforth considering Poor Boys as a paid rehearsal. It's an apt name.
All that aside, musically it was a great gig, and I had a whale of a time!
Friday, 30 March 2007
Galloping Banana Slugs & Muses...
Happy fools day! No, that's wrong. Happy day, fools! Nope. Damn. Anyway, I was kidnapped by aliens, I won a trillion Slovakian slotties on the lottery, and I have a newly found Twin a couple of years my senior. One of these is actually true.
No, really. I have discovered that I have a twin. Like me in nearly every way; except for age, sex, and country of residence. I think our parents might have something to say on the subject, but if they don't know, whose problem is that?
One day, dearest bloggeroo, I'll tell you her name ... but first we have to get the results back from the lab :P
---
Oak-ski-doke-ski, now a swift segue to my favourite topic of the moment...
We all talk flippantly about our 'Muse' - the part of us that inspires - being an individual, with a distinct character that is separate and different to us.
"Oh dear, my muse has gone on holiday." we say, knowing that there is no such 'being'.
By what if there were? What if there really was a part of our psyche that was as real and as individual as we are ourselves.
No, really. I have discovered that I have a twin. Like me in nearly every way; except for age, sex, and country of residence. I think our parents might have something to say on the subject, but if they don't know, whose problem is that?
One day, dearest bloggeroo, I'll tell you her name ... but first we have to get the results back from the lab :P
---
Oak-ski-doke-ski, now a swift segue to my favourite topic of the moment...
We all talk flippantly about our 'Muse' - the part of us that inspires - being an individual, with a distinct character that is separate and different to us.
"Oh dear, my muse has gone on holiday." we say, knowing that there is no such 'being'.
By what if there were? What if there really was a part of our psyche that was as real and as individual as we are ourselves.
Tuesday, 20 March 2007
endings and beginnings
I don't know if it's human nature, or just my own nature, but I have a feeling that the spring anthology title at GA is very apt, for me personally. I don't know the whys and wherefores yet, but I have to do something to change my life, and whatever it is I do, it's got to be soon.
I'm in a rut that is getting deeper day by day, and week by week - or that's what I'm thinking at any rate. It's my new 'life-state' analogy. Onions were last months thing. This month it's 'ruts' ;) And yes, you don't have to tell me it's not terribly original: I know, but it fits my state of mind.
I've no idea what it means, other than I really have to pull my finger out.
Oh, and I don't like work any more. The people I work with are very 'nice' but as far as interesting conversation goes, nada ... and unless I start getting into fantasy football, I might as well just shoot myself. Now. God almighty! One bloke - who I know is gay, though that's really neither here nor there - has an IQ of a rabbit, and not even a cute rabbit, at that. Maybe I'm becoming a bitch? ;)
When I worked in film I was challenged everyday, and consequently everyday was fun; even though the working hours suit vampires more than humans. Now, having moved to the coast, there in nothing of interest. It's sad. Or perhaps I'm sad for moving here.
Yes. There are definitely endings and beginnings on the horizon.
I'm in a rut that is getting deeper day by day, and week by week - or that's what I'm thinking at any rate. It's my new 'life-state' analogy. Onions were last months thing. This month it's 'ruts' ;) And yes, you don't have to tell me it's not terribly original: I know, but it fits my state of mind.
I've no idea what it means, other than I really have to pull my finger out.
Oh, and I don't like work any more. The people I work with are very 'nice' but as far as interesting conversation goes, nada ... and unless I start getting into fantasy football, I might as well just shoot myself. Now. God almighty! One bloke - who I know is gay, though that's really neither here nor there - has an IQ of a rabbit, and not even a cute rabbit, at that. Maybe I'm becoming a bitch? ;)
When I worked in film I was challenged everyday, and consequently everyday was fun; even though the working hours suit vampires more than humans. Now, having moved to the coast, there in nothing of interest. It's sad. Or perhaps I'm sad for moving here.
Yes. There are definitely endings and beginnings on the horizon.
Saturday, 10 March 2007
I want...
I know what I want to do, I know what I'd like to achieve and yet when it comes down to doing and achieving I'm a bone idle SOB.
I've been meaning to tidy up what I laughingly call 'my study'. Each time I walk through the door, I glance around, glowering at the piles of paper I should file/shred - because everyone's paranoid about identity theft, though I can't imagine even the most insane fraudster, wanting to be me. Then I fire up the computer (which is beginning to beg for an upgrade) and vanish, internet bound, for hours at a time. Consequently the spiders are almost as big as I am, and, no doubt, one day soon they'll tell me to get lost.
If I snuffed it now, what would I leave behind other than a few songs and some short stories - albeit well edited. ;) I haven't added to the gene pool. I haven't saved some rare animal, fast approaching extinction; I haven't added anything to String Theory (except it easily tangles), or even found out what Dark Matter is. I've just lived, consumed, and given back nowt.
My dad, who is now sitting on a cloud, and watching over me, would be livid. God knows what my mother would think.
I never use to be this bloody lazy. And, AND, the telephone is beginning to terrify me. It's always my sister ... being cheery. "How are you doing?" she says, and I have to lie.
"Oh, you know, fine."
"And work? Going well?"
"Um, yep, works good."
I shouldn't be a 'baby brother' at my age, and if I am, she should come and look after me. Blimey, I've painted enough of her houses over the years. The least she should do is come and give my spiders a good talking too.
Oh look. I'm blogging on the internet. How unusual. ;)
I'm thinking of joining World of Warcraft, which is a Massive Multiplayer on-line Role Playing Game, or MMORPG. There are a lot of these in the internet la-la-land. Second Life is another, though that's too close to real life to be that much fun. Much better to be an elf, or a thrarg or whatever, and go on quests to fight monsters, than it is to clean and paint a home in Second Life, especially when I can't be bothered to clean and paint my real one. Talk about irony.
MMORPG's are huge. World of Warcraft has close on six million regular players. All trying to escape, like me... Hmm.
I've been meaning to tidy up what I laughingly call 'my study'. Each time I walk through the door, I glance around, glowering at the piles of paper I should file/shred - because everyone's paranoid about identity theft, though I can't imagine even the most insane fraudster, wanting to be me. Then I fire up the computer (which is beginning to beg for an upgrade) and vanish, internet bound, for hours at a time. Consequently the spiders are almost as big as I am, and, no doubt, one day soon they'll tell me to get lost.
If I snuffed it now, what would I leave behind other than a few songs and some short stories - albeit well edited. ;) I haven't added to the gene pool. I haven't saved some rare animal, fast approaching extinction; I haven't added anything to String Theory (except it easily tangles), or even found out what Dark Matter is. I've just lived, consumed, and given back nowt.
My dad, who is now sitting on a cloud, and watching over me, would be livid. God knows what my mother would think.
I never use to be this bloody lazy. And, AND, the telephone is beginning to terrify me. It's always my sister ... being cheery. "How are you doing?" she says, and I have to lie.
"Oh, you know, fine."
"And work? Going well?"
"Um, yep, works good."
I shouldn't be a 'baby brother' at my age, and if I am, she should come and look after me. Blimey, I've painted enough of her houses over the years. The least she should do is come and give my spiders a good talking too.
Oh look. I'm blogging on the internet. How unusual. ;)
I'm thinking of joining World of Warcraft, which is a Massive Multiplayer on-line Role Playing Game, or MMORPG. There are a lot of these in the internet la-la-land. Second Life is another, though that's too close to real life to be that much fun. Much better to be an elf, or a thrarg or whatever, and go on quests to fight monsters, than it is to clean and paint a home in Second Life, especially when I can't be bothered to clean and paint my real one. Talk about irony.
MMORPG's are huge. World of Warcraft has close on six million regular players. All trying to escape, like me... Hmm.
Monday, 5 March 2007
WTF?
I'm in a distinct "What the fuck am I doing with my life?" mood, and I shouldn't be. By now I should know what I should be doing, and be doing it. Why doesn't it get any easier? and What is the point? are two further questions I want answers to.
Thank God it's sunny outside.
Thank God it's sunny outside.
Friday, 2 March 2007
Randy
No, I'm not. But I've always liked the name. What sort of parents call their child Randy? It's like having the surname Bates. Very unfortunate if you are a small boy in the UK "and how is young Master Bates to-day?"
Anyway, I came across a chap called Randy Ingermanson who is a published writer. He advocates the 'Snowflake method' of novel writing, which seems rather sensible. He also posits the question 'Want to get your novel published?' Duh!
I've discovered I'm a 'Pantser', not a 'plotter'. Oddly it's my namesake who tells me this. Two Camys? I ask you. I know which one I like best. :)
So now I know I need to snowflake, all I need is the perseverance, determination and energy: all of which I seem to be lacking in abundance today ... and probably tomorrow as well.
I've discovered a flaw in my character. If I can't be arsed to finish writing a story/chapter/song/whatever, I simply put it to one side and start something new. Consequently I have a lot of unfinished 'bits' waiting for completion. Seraph is causing me so much trouble I'm tempted to be very silly with it. After all, Gabriel is the name of an angel. When, or if, I finish Seraph, I am going to renounce pantsing forever, and will try to become a snowflaker ... then again.
Anyway, I came across a chap called Randy Ingermanson who is a published writer. He advocates the 'Snowflake method' of novel writing, which seems rather sensible. He also posits the question 'Want to get your novel published?' Duh!
I've discovered I'm a 'Pantser', not a 'plotter'. Oddly it's my namesake who tells me this. Two Camys? I ask you. I know which one I like best. :)
So now I know I need to snowflake, all I need is the perseverance, determination and energy: all of which I seem to be lacking in abundance today ... and probably tomorrow as well.
I've discovered a flaw in my character. If I can't be arsed to finish writing a story/chapter/song/whatever, I simply put it to one side and start something new. Consequently I have a lot of unfinished 'bits' waiting for completion. Seraph is causing me so much trouble I'm tempted to be very silly with it. After all, Gabriel is the name of an angel. When, or if, I finish Seraph, I am going to renounce pantsing forever, and will try to become a snowflaker ... then again.
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