Attack of the 50 foot To Do List

The last couple of weeks have focused on my wrangling my ambition with finite resources. The issues are quite simply: not enough time, not enough energy. I can't say I'm winning yet, but I am playing with a strategy that seems to be working. 

I have three different areas in my creative life I am working in at the moment: writing, poetry and art. I am clawing my way up the respective learning curves with dogged determination. This has meant journalling every day as part of the process, however when I do my art, I do a separate journal for that too. My morning pages comes out of an exercise made popular by Julia Cameron in her Writer's Way (which reminds me, I must source another copy of that and the Artist's Way). It is cheap therapy in that I get to dump all the day-to-day, boring shit that's in my head, onto paper where it stays out of the way and lets me get on with my creative stuff. Art journalling, is a more productive exercise in that I focus on what I will be doing that day, the media and exercises. 

In each of the different creative disciplines, I have exercises to do. I am currently trying to do my exercises in the creative activities every day and once that's done, focus on one particular thing. I also am very aware that I need to up my reading. Both in poetry and prose.   My personal reading drifts towards genre, the trashier the better. However, if I am to take my poetry and writing up a level, I must also read more. I have now timetabled Monday as my reading day. 

I find the Pomodoro* quite helpful in getting the exercises done. Bite sized chunks and all of that. It also helps in the fact that, unlike many of the great masters, I don't have a loving wife who keeps the household running as I dedicate my time to my art. Or a housekeeper. Or a gardener. Dave has his hands full right now, but I do know when I am particularly struggling, I can call him to put a pinny on. 

I am also using my To Do Lists daily. I can't tell you how good it is, especially when I'm feeling anxious about my productivity, to cross stuff off. 

My current timetable looks a bit like this: 

Monday: pottering and reading
Tuesday: arting
Wednesday: writing prose
Thursday: writing poetry
Friday: free day

I'm keeping Friday as my free day, simply because I have been doing coffee over the weekends with Dave. Also, if necessary I can always swap Mondays and Fridays about.

I started this new regime after I completed my 5-day art course a couple of weeks ago. It is still too early to tell how successful it is, especially since I was out of action for three days last week (long story, don't ask). The timetable, should work with the two courses I will be picking up in September. Should, being the operative word.

And of course, there's the whole exercise and fitness regime to pick up. You remember I bashed my foot? I think I definitely broke something, it still is a bit sore and shoes can be an issue. Thankfully, it is improving, but it will be at least another two weeks before I can go back to the gym. This isn't a bad thing at all. The enforced rest has helped my knee and wrists and it also means I can get my new regime properly bedded in before I start diverting energy to the workouts. One thing is for certain, I can't do all this head stuff without balancing it out with something physical. I'll burn myself out and go crazy otherwise. 

Are you exhausted reading this? I'm exhausted writing this and it worries me. I don't know how else to get things done. My default position is sofa. I am one of the most bone idle people I know and if I don't motivate myself, my arse hits the sofa and doesn't move. I am using my anxiety to push me forward. I am trusting with experimentation, I'll find the best  way of getting things done that fits me (if you see what I mean). 

Part of the problem is I don't see where any of this fits in my grand plan of World Domination. The future is off in the murky horizon. All I have to go on is the persistent gut feeling that I must do this and I must do this now. 

found this on Facebook today...summed things up perfectly

*time management tool that is a tomato-shaped kitchen timer that marks 25 minutes, plus short breaks and includes a longer break every 4 or 5 Pomodoros. 

Showing Up

This has not been the best weeks I've ever had. The euphoria of being free to pursue my creative and caring impulses has died down to be replaced with: Oh My Gods - what was I thinking? Closely followed by: I Can't Do This; and the ever-helpful: I Am Not Worthy of my Dreams. The job stacking shelves at Tesco when I'm 80, because I don't have a pension, has been calling me and 2, 3 and 4 o'clock in the morning. I won't lie, I think I cried my way through half a box of tissues yesterday.

I picked up the Big Girl Pants and put them away. I gave myself permission to be scared, fearful, doubtful and terrified. I sat with them and then when the time came, I went out and got good nails and fabulous eyebrows. Because if I'm going to fall apart, then at least let me have two bloody eyebrows!

Today, hasn't happened very quickly. It's taken me all morning to do my workout, get clean and dressed. I've cleaned my hearth, hauled my wood and coal and built my fire. In the spirit of great procrastination, I made myself a massive lunch and as I ate I watched this:



Elizabeth Gilbert is my latest guru-crush. There's a lot about her that I adore: her humour, her courage and she talks sense to me. But in this TED talk she really nails it down, why I've been struggling so hard and for so many years about my creativity.

It has now been 7 years since I graduated with my BA in Creative Writing. I've had my hands full in this time. It has to be said that since then, my life has not been all shitz and gigglez as the kidz do say. However, what hasn't helped is my self-sabotage. I have been afraid of committing myself to my creative process. I hid behind an office job, my wish to economically sustainable and basically pretended that my creative process and longing didn't matter. I tried being "sensible". 

All that is changing. Today, I am still sharing my space with my doubts, but I've peeled them off me and told them to go sit in the corner and to be quiet.

I am showing up. 

It's like this Ladies and Gentlemen, I want to write genre fiction. I want to write paranormal romances with elves, wizards, vampires, witches and werewolves. I want to write about kick-ass women and the adoring men with whom they live happily ever after. I want to write the books people read to unwind after their days working, the kind of books that get dropped in the bath, taken on holiday, loaned to friends and never returned.

There you go. That's what I want and I am owning that now. My goal is to write for Harlequin Nocturne and then to have my own series published independently. 

I'm letting go the idea of writing "proper" fiction. I'm always going to go to the Voewood Literary Festival as a gawping attendee. I'm letting go the idea that people will have heard of me and that they'll have read my work and liked what they read. It's a hard one to release, but I'm going to have to set it free because it isn't my dream and it's not who I am. I may yet indulge my literary fantasy, as I don't really have any pensionable options, I may yet write that Pulitzer prizewinner when I'm 80. In the meantime, I will be having fun.

What do you Want to do when you Grow Up?

I remember I was asked that a lot when I was a child. I think my family was spoilt by my brother who knew he wanted to be a vet when he was 13 and then he went and became a vet. My mother said I should go into Public Relations. A family friend suggested I should read law. Instead, I upped and left and didn't become anything.

I've worked since I was 18 years old. My time out of employment and economic activity in my working life does not tot up to more than 12 months. Though I hasten to add, I pursued 2 bachelor degrees in this time and whilst I worked, it tended to be on a casual or part-time basis.

After I finished my Creative Writing degree, I took my CV to a supposedly different kind of employment agency. There was no logical career progression. I didn't fit into any of their neat boxes.They looked at it and told me I was unemployable. I left their offices slightly miffed and was once again in employment 10 days after that ridiculous meeting.

I don't know what I want to do when I grow up. I'm not even a grown up yet. I've tried out a lot of things: barmaid, receptionist, shop assistant, economic development officer, office administrator, marketing assistant, call handler. Most of these jobs, I would rather not do again. I've been there, burnt that tee-shirt. 

Writing, is my only constant. I wrote my first book when I was 13. I tried to write for publication when I was 21. I started my Creative Writing journey in 2003 and I'm only now ready to call myself a writer.

It never occurred to me that my chequered job history and daft way of looking at life, might give me insights into things that other people might find interesting. Yes, I've been blogging since 2006, but I blog for my own pleasure and my followers are my friends, not my "audience".

In the last few weeks, I've become more confident about calling myself a writer. This year, I completed a 15,000 word novella. It's sitting with a publisher now. I would be ecstatic if they take it, disappointed if they don't - but determined that it won't be the last submission. I've also been writing articles as well.  When I went to the London Coffee Festival last weekend, I approached various trade magazines and made some contacts for freelance work. 

Whilst I was doing all of that, it came home to me that my being uncertain about my career path has become one of my strengths, not my weaknesses. Following my interests and my bliss will be my career from now on.

Today, I've been setting up my new bliss: coffee. I'm going to train to be a barista. I want to learn and write about all things coffee. So, I've set up a separate twitter account and I'm thinking about a Facebook page. There will definitely be a blog. Watch this space!

Job Description

Them: Hi, lovely to meet you. So what is it you do for a living?

Me: Well, amongst other things, I'm a writer.

Them: Really? What do you write?

Me: Pretty much anything.

I've been practicing you see. I've been standing in front of my mirror and saying "I am a writer." I write for a living. I do marketing on the side (after all, eating regularly and paying bills before they go red, is a good thing).

There have been a few issues along the way.

Firstly, I have four writing projects on my desk, in various stages. When I say various stages, I mean, various stages of planning and several versions of Chapter One.

Secondly, the paying the bills job is demanding. As is running a household. As is trying to hang out with Boy before he flies the nest. As is having a relationship with Lawrence, who keeps coming up with really fun things to do. As is having friends who insist on seeing me more than once a year. As is...

Yeah, you get the picture.

Thirdly, when I say writing, there are two things that happen. They ask what kind of writing? I write genre and literary fiction. And then they sniff. Because I said genre fiction.

I did a creative writing degree at the Norwich School of Art and Design. I did a BA. In Literary Fiction Reality, they start sniffing. What? No MA at UEA? It's worse when you answer those questions talking to someone on the MA. The snobbery that exists on the scene is breathtaking. 

For the author who wrote a tome only 5 people could bear to spend the time and the £5.99 and read it cover to cover, who felated the right people at the right time and who has a significant other with a regular income - they sniff the loudest. If you make a living selling copy, writing romance/crime/thrillers/erotica, they want to scrape their shoes on your achievements. Popularist whore.

Don't get me wrong, I've done my fair share of sniffing. I'm sorry, but I don't care if Dan Brown touched a nerve and sold a shed load of books and bought Hawaii - as a writer, he sucks arse. His writing is eye-bleedingly awful. I know, I've read 2 of his books. I'd rather read the instructions on my tax return.

I've done my share of apologising for the genre books that litter my house. 

The thing is, I became an avid reader of Mills and Boon when I was 13. I could teach a History of Romance Publishing in the 80s-90s, because I read them all: Loveswept, Harlequin, M&B. I read the rise and rise of Kay Hooper and Nora Roberts. In second-hand books shops, I sweep up any Violet Winspear I can find.

I have two copies of several David Gemmell books. You see the first copy of Legend, I bought in 1988, is beginning to fall apart. I re-read it. Marion Zimmer Bradley taught me that girls make awesome adventurers in 1982 with her Sword and Sorceress anthologies. I read Terry Pratchett before he was cool.

When I was16, I stayed up all night huddled under the covers, reading IT. I could not put it down. Then I found Dean Koontz in the early 90s. I wrote an essay on Midnight, to secure my place on a rural Access course that got me to university to study Development Studies.

I found Chick Lit going to a 10 credit, Introduction to Popular Fiction course. The first chick lit book was Guilty Creatures by Sue Welfare. I was hooked. On my shelves are Jill Mansell, Marian Keyes, Carmen Reid, Carole Matthews. These women wrote stories where the price of happily ever after is high. They worked for it! If you think Rachel's Holiday is easy reading, think again. It's got nothing to do with white sandy beaches. It's got everything to do with drug addiction and the 'easy option' of rehab.

I studied To Kill a Mockingbird at school. I had to buy another copy. One without lines and annotations. When I need to be reminded of beautiful writing, I read that again. The glorious simplicity and elegance of Harper Lee's storytelling, continues to inspire me.

The different types of books in this house vary. But the overwhelming majority are genre. Yes, they are formulaic. The girl gets the guy. The bad guy gets his comeuppance. They live happily ever after. In some cases, the vampire gets his dinner (though I was always taught not to play with my food, it's all consenting adult territory).

As a writer, I want to explore all these possibilities. I have a literary novel in me. But that's going to be a long-term thing. I can only write it a bit at a time. It's emotionally gruelling (for all kinds of reasons) and when I look at my bank account, I am realistic in the fact that I won't ever become rich on the back of it. So, for kicks and dosh I am writing other things: romance, urban fantasy and erotica.

Unfortunately, from a marketing POV, I'm a bit of a nightmare. It means I shall have to create several different alter-egos. I'm going to have to be crafty about who I admit my writing habits to. The great thing about being a writer is that most of my past-times, I can put under tax-deductible and/or research. I had a slow day yesterday and cried my way through 3 Mills and Boons. I've been playing Skyrim on the Xbox, it's been great for re-inforcing the necessity of attention to detail in the creation of worlds. Going out and about, is for the stimulation of ideas. Blogging, obviously is about marketing and Facebook and twitter are all about networking, fan and brand creation.

Now, if only I could get something ready to submit to a publisher....

Organised

Yes, it's true. Today, Ladies and Gentlemen, I am organised.

I have my To Do List all written out and I'm wading through it.

I wonder why I waited so long to work like this. Sometimes, I don't think I'm very bright.

When I'm in the office. My To Do List is the first thing I write out after I've checked my e-mails. If I don't write it down, chances are I'll forget. At the office I can be juggling 10-16 things at once and a dropped ball is inevitable. Plus, it's a real pleasure to cross stuff off.

I'm approaching my writing from a work perspective. Something I've never done before. I've always been fairly fast and loose with writing and blogging, so taking this more serious and organised approach has been a huge change. One which I use at work when copywriting big projects. One which I hope will have me fondling my completed manuscripts soon. 

Today, I've been working on Project #1 - genre novel, urban fantasy. I'm getting all my structures in place. Whilst I can just sit down and write; which is certainly how many a short story and blog post got done, this doesn't work with a big writing project. I start and then run out of steam. Working through the story arc, getting the character sheets done, general notes, all of that is part of the process. It may be a few days before I actually start writing Chapter One, but that's fine. All of this is the work.

And yes, it is work.

It's slow going at this point, I want to get all my ducks lined up properly, so I know exactly what I'll be doing when I come to actually sit down at a keyboard and start typing: Chapter One. I suppose it's all theory to start with and I'm finding it somewhat scary. This is unexplored territory for me. But I've started and I mean to finish.

Wish me luck.

Plotting

Ladies and Gentlemen, this is what I'm currently doing. Plotting. Otherwise known as 'getting your ducks in a row'. 

In 2004, I embarked on a Creative Writing degree. There I got to experiment to my little heart's content with different styles, genres and I got to play with art. Good times. Then I needed to pay my bills. I've been putting off writing my own stuff with some rather excellent excuses (if I don't say so myself), but as it's turned out, in the meantime, I've learnt some rather good things from copywriting.

The first, most important thing for me, is to know what I'm going to write. 

I've currently got 3 chapter 1's of stuff I've started and then run out of steam. I didn't know where to go. I know how to begin, but to complete a big writing project has eluded me. 

People bring the most amazing set of baggage to writing. I have been no different. Ultimately, what distinguishes the wanna-be, from the writer is 50,000 words or so. It's not a romantic or an easy way to spend one's time. Marion Zimmer-Bradley always said, writing is 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration and she's not wrong.

Copy-writing has beaten out quite a few of my excuses. Telling your manager that you're not 'in the mood' to write that website copy she needs yesterday, is not conducive to paying the gas bill before the second red letter. I can write copy in a noisy open-plan office, with a To Do List with 16 things breathing down my neck like a serial killer, curled around my jumper fighting off stomach cramps and with tissues stuffed up my nose. It doesn't have to be great copy, that's what editing is for, it just has to be words on a page.

I can do this now because I plot. I create a structure, I then make it more detailed, and then I write it paragraph at a time. Because if I know what I've got to write, I can sit down and transfer it from my head to the page.

Plotting.

Plotting takes me most of my time with small projects. I've learnt to create pages and pages of notes. I do these long-hand on loose bits of plain paper. I keep them clipped together with bulldog clips. I then transfer them to digital when they're done. By the way, deforestation of the Amazon is my fault. I'm considering taking out shares in WH Smith. I'm fussy about the pens I write with, the paper I write on and the bulldog clips I keep everything together with. A stationery store is my idea of a good time.

I digress. Plotting is the unseen work. Plotting happens when I'm driving to work, doing the dishes, making dinner, standing outside staring up at the stars. 

I have 3 writing projects, all with different rules and needs and my plotting needs to be tight. 

Project #1
Romance. Yes, I am writing a Mills and Boon. For those people who think it's easy, do it and come back to me after you've got 50,000 words to your name. Readers of romance have very specific requirements for the type of experience they're after. They are some of the most discerning and demanding audience a writer will ever have to face. There's a very tight structure, without much room for manoeuvre and it's a difficult market to break into. 

I read a lot of romance. It's my feel-good reading of choice. I love a happy ending. It's the glass of gin at the end of a hard day, kind of reading for me.

Project #2
Genre - Urban Fantasy. Good genre fiction is hard to find. It also has its own rules and much of the good stuff, comes from across the Pond. There's more dross than bears thinking about and many books that should be apologising to the tree that went into producing them. I'm letting my imagination run riot. I want to produce an excellent genre novel, based in the wilds of Norfolk. It's going to be a bit of fun.

Project #3
This is my tour-de-force. My serious bit of writing. It's ambitious and I am battling the worry that I am not able to do it justice. Based in Trinidad in the late 1960's -, it's been rattling round my brain for the last 2 years. This is going to be the hard and painful labour. 

Three writing projects is a bit of an ask. It's hard enough working on one piece of writing.

However, I am good at chopping and changing, hopping from one project to another. Faced with one thing, I tie myself up in knots. With three, when I get stuck, I can move on to another, where I can be productive. I can let my unconscious sort out the stuck bits as I work on something else. It's very easy to get sick at the sight of a piece of writing and when copy-editing, it's incredibly important to remain fresh - your brain will automatically translate what's on the page, to what you meant - the two are guaranteed not to be the same.

So here goes. Wish me luck.

Samhain Eve and New Beginnings

At the beginning of the year, I thought my Life was going in one direction. Oops. No, it hasn't quite turned out like anything I planned. Life just kind of chewed up and spat out my Plans for World Domination like chewing tobacco. I was left looking at that horrible brown goo at my feet, scratching my head.

It's fine. I can take a hint.

It's clear that whilst I love doing different things, there is just one thing that never goes away. I am a writer. I've been a writer since I was a child. The problem has been my lack of commitment to it. I have been saying to myself since I finished my Creative Writing degree that I have projects, but no commitment. How lame, eh?

Well, I've had a long think. It's time to step up.

If this is my Bliss, then it's about time I lived it.

At the moment, I'm taking some time to re-energise and re-balance myself. The last six weeks have been hard: work and money-wise. My house is crying out for some attention and we won't even talk about my administration. It's fine. It can wait for a few days more. 

Tomorrow is Samhain. It's the biggest festival in the Pagan calendar. It celebrates the start of the Wheel of the Year; it's the last harvest festival before winter and it's the time of reflection and divination. The veil between the worlds thin, if we listen we can hear our ancestors' wisdom. We remember our glorious departed.

This is the perfect time to discard the old ways of thinking: the beliefs that don't work anymore, the attitudes that aren't helpful and to start planning anew.

I have no doubt Life will take another chomp out of my Plans for World Domination and that's fine. I've got three writing projects to kick off, all different and interesting to me for completely different reasons. I'm going to go for it. I have absolutely nothing to lose and everything to gain. I am hopeful and more than a little bit excited.

Words, Words, Words

I've always been an avid reader. That I've got two floor to ceiling bookshelves downstairs crammed with books and another three behind me now in my study, double stacked, suggests nothing's changed as far as that's concerned. I have Amazon on speed dial. Having a Kindle just makes things worse. I love books.

In case, you're late to the party on this blog, I am, what you might call, over-educated. I have two degrees. The first was a BA in Development Studies. I was going to save the world. Well, thankfully that didn't happen. Then I got a BA in Creative Writing.

Doing that degree, poorly financially resourced, poorly supported at home (to start with), nearly damn-well crucified me. That degree saved me. I ditched the bloke, wrote my little heart out and had a fantastic relationship, that was because I started blogging. I started with the intention that I would write a novel, I didn't like writing poetry and as for this modern art lark... I finished my degree with better marks for my poetry, loving my Creative Practice and with several ideas for a novel.

For me, writing a novel is a bit like my relationships with men. Seem like a good idea at the time, but I am completely unable to commit myself to the process. I learnt some mad skills doing the degree. I am an editor par excellence. I am also not a bad creative mentor. I get a real kick out of supporting a person through the creative experience. Any piece of writing can be made better. It may never be outstanding, but it can be made better.

My paid employment consists of copywriting for front facing customer literature and website copy. It's great. I get to plug myself into my iPod, get my head down and write. It's not heart-feeding stuff I write, but its still great to do. It amazes me that doing the Creative Writing degree has more than paid for itself. Even all of the grief.

My BA in Development Studies, although not a waste of time, it's function was to get me into Norwich, to kick start my life off as a single parent; rather than save the world. Looking at it from a distance, I can see why I can never do that. People make very simple situations, complicated. With many, many silly reasons why things cannot/should not change. And most of those reasons are either about fear or self-interest. Money, doesn't come into this. It really doesn't. My personality is such that I suffer badly from frustration in these situations. Often to the extent when it becomes very, very bad for my health. But, that's the good thing about growing up, I've learnt what I can and cannot do. I can't work within large, status-quo structures that say they are going to do something and then do everything not to. It's bad for everyone involved.

Recently, I've been working with an ex-colleague on his manuscript. He keeps telling me how much he's appreciated my input. Truthfully, he's doing me a favour. Being able to use my mad skills for pleasure, it really is my pleasure.

I blog, because I'm a communicator and I'm sociable. I copywrite because I need to earn a living. In the last couple of months, I realise that maybe it's about time I write something for me. Perhaps this is the right time.

Oh, and by the way, a small plug. Writing poetry is a skill. There is no space on a line of verse to waste. Every word must be precise and must pull it's weight. Writing poetry about heart stuff, is the hardest skill of all. It's a chasm the poet must negotiate walking an elasticated tightrope. Because, let's be honest about this, all the angst-ridden poetry you wrote when you were 15 lying in a darkened bedroom, is really a whole load of crap. Authentic in it's anger and sorrow and rebellion. But from a poetic point of view, crap.

Read this. Savannah, the awesome Marsh Mamma, recommended this to me. Personally, I think Mr Moose, was in my head when he wrote that. Observe a Master at work.

Baby Steps?!

On Monday, I took my first bus journey with the intention to loosen up my creative muscles. It was a bit strange being back on the bus. In the 2 and a half years since I last journeyed, First have bought new buses and I had to re-arrange myself several times before I found a seat I liked. Keeping me company was Linkin Park. Brain set to neutral I just watched. There are quite few changes on the route. Businesses which have gone to the wall. Premises sitting empty and gathering dust. But there are lots of construction sites being done by contractors I know from my ground source heat pump days.

The pedestrians are still butt-stupid. Darting across the road when the light turns green, crossing on the bus' green and glaring when the driver bips his horn. Bus vs pedestrian has only one outcome: splat. I was waiting for a meeting and struck up a pleasant conversation with the receptionist and an other waiting bloke. The receptionist was of a certain age and went on and on about the Green Cross Code and how it's no longer taught. The problem with that, is that most of the stupid pedestrians were her age and older. Quite frankly, if I was old and knackered I would wait for the little green man before trying to get across a busy 4 lane junction. I wouldn't haul my arthritic bones into the path of a double decker bus. With that much weight and momentum, they don't stop like cars.

I would have blogged more about it but life got very busy and my energy levels have crashed again.

Yesterday, I took my car out for a run to see Dave. Bless him. He does look a shadow of his former self. He's lost weight and looks ever so pale. We had coffee and mince pies and when I needed a smoke, he showed me his garden. Even in winter it looks stunning. I'm so going to wangle an invite for the summer. We talked for a while longer and then it was clear, he'd had enough. I took myself off and considered the road ahead. To the left I could just see a national speed limit sign on a one-track road, to the right would take me back the way I came, to Norwich.

I turned left and lost myself in rural South Norfolk. It was beautiful. There is something about South Norfolk that I really love. When I was employed at the council there, I would often drive around my patch on weekends or in the middle of the night. Amazing that we have so much space and green 10 minutes out of the city. As I drove a story came to me. I made my way home and gave it some space.

It's a peculiar state of mind. One part of my brain is so very focused on the story, finding the characters, the words, the conflicts; the other deals with buying bacon from the butcher, crossing the road, reasuring Boy I'm well. And then I sat down and wrote. I wrote from 1.30 to 5 pm. In that time I produced 3, 127 words. My first short story in 3 years. I have written a couple of poems and about 3 or 4 segments of prose, but this was the first proper short story I've written since my degree. I can't judge how good, bad or indifferent it is yet. This is just the first outpouring. What comes now is the hard slog. It needs editing; to get it into the shape I have in my head. This is the cruicial part. In many ways the writing is the easy part, it's literary diahorreah. What comes now is staying with the story, going over each and every word to ensure every sentence conveys my intention. This is the hard work.

I feel properly myself now. My creativity wasn't lost, it hadn't withered. It just needed some space.

Soap Box

I am without an employer. For me this is an opportunity to build the life I want. I am lucky enough to have a couple of opportunities for World Domination which I am pursuing like a greyhound goes after a mechanical rabbit. But for me personally, it means more than that. There are two areas in my life which have sadly whithered over the last couple of years and I need to get my gardening gloves out to nurture them back to full health.

The first is my education. I am one of the biggest supporters of Adult Education ever. Simply because the best things in my life have come about from my love of learning. I don't have a first-class brain, I will be honest with you there. Having studied and befriended people who are scarily intelligent, who process information and ideas as easily as they chew a museli bar, I know I'm not the best thinker ever. However, what I do have is an enquiring mind. I'm interested in everything and I believe in my ability to learn. This is why I'm able to go from cosmetics to ground source heat pumps in a single bound.

I had a conversation with my ex-H today about the difference between training and an education. I was ranting before I realised how strongly I feel about it, and how our school system is letting everyone down. Our schools and universities are focussing more and more on job preparation and less and less about education. Courses are being created around work-experience and job related experience. Now I don't have a problem with that per se, however, one of the things that struck me in the art college was the students attitude 'why do I have to do this course?' when confronted with the opportunity to learn something completely unrelated to their degree. Because it's interesting, because it will challenge you, because you will have the opportunity to learn something that you wouldn't normally think about in your daily life now and in the future.

Training. The learning associated with a profession or a job. GPs are trained, not educated. Their time at university is focussed soley on their profession. Which is why they have no idea about the wider world. They do their GCSEs, A levels and go straight into university. Do they have any understanding about socio-political issues that surround their patients? These will be informed by the choice of newspaper they decide to read, if they do at all. Is it any surprise they have no social skills?

Education. Learning something because it's interesting, might be useful, has no relevance to the student. Thirty years ago, Latin was drummed into grammar school students. Boring as fuck I'm sure. But I tell you what, I wish I had that opportunity. Someone who has been taught Latin has the immediate advantage over me, because they have grammatical building blocks which allow them to deconstruct and understand other foreign languages. Which is essentially why, people who speak 2 languages are able to pick up others really quickly. Me? I like communicating, I have no grasp of grammar, so for me, I make do with a reasonable vocabulary and depend on my body language to fill in the gaps.

The next few years I want to hone my analytical thinking. I want to explore theories and ideas which have no relevance to my employment, but which relate to me as an individual. I want to do an MPhil. The next few months will be about me kicking my brain into gear again. I did an exercise over the summer and even though I didn't get it, the process of doing it brought everything into sharp relief. There's no two ways about it learning is a really, really good thing for me.

A few weeks ago, I sat next to my book shelf and picked up the poetry I submitted for my degree. I was struck with a sense of disconnection. Did I really write this? Can I really do that? Write? I am so far adrift from my creative self now, I barely recognise it or believe it exists. And when I write this, believe me when I say I feel a real sense of panic. I feel as every day drifts past that I'm losing the most fundamental part of myself.

I'm breathing deeply through the terror, trying to calm myself down. I tell myself it's a muscle that hasn't been exercised. I haven't lost it. It's still there, waiting to flex. All there is to be done is to start off slowly again. There are writing exercises that I can do, I have a great camera to take out, there are buses to travel on.

Maybe that's the place to start again. Good grief, I think I'm about to go round again, not in a circle, but in a spiral. Will you keep me company? Please?

Lyrics 101

I've been listening to Kiss FM quite a lot recently. The borrowed sporty car doesn't have a CD player, and I'd sooner drink lye to listen to Radio 1, so Kiss FM is the next sane choice. Before you start - no, I don't listen to Radio 4, I know it makes me look entirely without street cred, but I don't. You'll just have to accept that about me, I'm afraid.

Kiss FM is mainly R&B, with some good dance chucked in occasionally, which suits me fine mostly. However, as I've been driving along, I've realised that there are some song writers who I'd like to give a couple of hours a week creative writing lessons.

These are the lyrics to Forever as sung by Chris Brown.

It's you and me
Moving at the speed of light into eternity
Tonight is the night
To join me in the middle of ecstasy

*Warning. Warning. Cliche Alert*

Okay. I hold my hand up and hang my head in shame. My name is Roses and I used to write in cliches. I have been cliche free now for 1095 days. It was hard work, humiliating at times. But I stuck with the 10 step programme and now, I'm free.

Did the writer of this garbage find a book of cliches, go through them at random and create a song?

I'd join you in the middle of ecstasy, only my sat nav has me sitting in down town Dulwich.

Tonight is the night for....laundry? hair washing? nail polish? oh sex...ummm...sorry no can do tonight, how about next Tuesday, 10.30 okay for you?

Then there's Britney. Never one of life's most meaningful songstress. But while I could sing quite contentedly (behind closed doors) to Toxic, Womanizer is just plain ridiculous. Behold the chorus -

Womanizer, woman-womanizer
You're a womanizer
Oh, womanizer, oh
You're a womanizer, baby

I just keep thinking - 'so what?' You're a washed up, redneck, who is hardly what one would call, umm...moral, righteous or even, in good taste. Who the fuck are you to call a guy a womanizer? Who cares? Especially, as on the video, our virginal, above reproach Britney is writhing around a steam room seat, wearing nothing but baby oil and sweat.

I wonder if her song-writer had ever heard of 'double-standards' or 'hypocrisy'?

Techno Techno Techno

I'm having one of those weeks. Last week I realised my roof was leaking. I called the Council last Wednesday and a very nice man turned up today to tell me that I had small hole in my felt. He didn't think it would be too much of a bother to fix. It's just a question of getting some scaffolding put up and patching it up (apparently). The problem isn't his time, it's the scaffolding. So it might be fixed tomorrow, it might be fixed next week, I won't know until they turn up. So I'm praying for good weather, or at least dry weather until they manage to find a scaffolder with time on his hands, though apparently it's easier to find unicorns around here.

Over the weekend, my mobile phone, the most expensive piece of kit I've ever owned, played up yet again. My phone does pictures, multi-media messaging, blue-tooth, mp3s and goes fucking wrong at every given opportunity. Two months after I took possession of the damn thing I had to download software upgrades because everytime I wanted it to do something, it froze. Talk about performance anxiety. After that, it was a bit slow doing things, but it did them. Last weekend, it stopped sending texts and wouldn't let me make calls, it threw a complete girlie strop. At one point, I had to put it down and leave the room I was that close to smashing it into little, itty-bitty pieces with hammer.

I went into the O2 Shop and complained. The tired, bored salewoman nodded sympathetically through my tirade and provided alternate uses for the piece of equipment. She even praised me on my self-control for not reducing it to glitter. Bless her heart, she gave me a new SIM card and suggested that might solve the problem failing that I had to bring the phone back to the shop and they'd send it back to Nokia to be fixed. She did start suggesting that I could try upgrading the software on the phone myself, but seeing my exasperation, changed her mind.

Today, I had spent about 3 hours trying to connect my phone to my PC, to back up the data stored on the damn thing before I sent it off to be fixed. After all that palava, I figured I might as well have a go with doing the software myself, see if I could save a lot of inconvenience. Cue more swearing, most of which is down to my inability to read instructions, it really isn't Nokia's fault I don't do as I'm told. Since I did that, I've used my phone twice and it's gone through ok. Hopefully, I have cured the problem; we'll have to see.

Apart from that, I'm writing. Or rather, I should say, I'm plotting. I've got a project on the go and all is trooping along quite nicely. I'm following the Snowflake Method, which is a rather groovy way of doing things, a touch prescriptive, but as I've never successfully completed a novel, I'm happy to experiment. My financial situation is such that it's unlikely, failing a lottery win, that I'll be able to go back to the MA this year. Writing a novel is not a consolation prize for me, it's the reason why I did the damn degree in the first place and I'm pleased to be making a start. It feels right, and it's certainly fun.