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 |   A place where everybody can feel easily offended - my head! |
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I'm gathering quite a collection of blogs. "Invalid Item"  is a bit-of-a-rant. I've got a big gob, and it would be a shame not to use it. "Invalid Item" is just that. It's the product of the bits of me mentioned above  filtered through my subconscious."Invalid Item" dealing with all things to do with battling sexes, especially exes.Want to know something trivial or obscure? Not really bothered about whether it's right or wrong, as long as it's believable? ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** WELCOME TO THE HUMAN GOOGLE!  I may never have mastered the art of tying shoelaces, but I win every time I play Trivial Persuit. Friends place bets on how many people I can, unintentionally, upset on a night out. I am the place where boundless enthusiasm meets embarrassing arrogance. Important Information - Please Read I realise some folk do not get Satire. I love a little baffoonery and believe, rather like the jesters of old, you can say quite a lot more than kings when people think you are an idiot. If you are literal minded, best not read on. If you can tell your arse from your elbow, and recognise when an attack isn't an attack then please read:
Heck, even if you can't tell your appendages from one another, read it anyway: who am I to tell you what you can do and what to take from my writing?  The XGC rating is due to the unknown content of many minds - it may be fluffy bunnies or....not! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED Welcome to my world! Acme  ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** http://twitter.com/acmetweet Skype me at acmetoo template thing-a-ma-bob: {c:green}Write{/c}: {c:green}Edit{/c}: {c:green}Kids{/c}: {c:green}Relationships{/c}: {c:green}Physical{/c}: {c:green}FFF{/c}: |
| I honestly do NOT go out of my way to be contrary... I'm just naturally good at it. You see, in my head, CT and I are the sort of bosom buddies that Anne of Green Gables would be proud to advocate. I see so much of me in her, and I adore the pieces of her personality that leak out through her words. But, for the first time, I find myself in complete disagreement with her about one particular thing: What is it about the rain that depresses people? I love the rain! I love the rain that Di Nero said washed the scum off the street, that Annie Lennox said fell on her head like a melody, and the rain that made the best jumping puddles that Gene Kelly's feet could have landed in. I like rain. It's not just a media culture thing, either. There are memories of me and the rain that soak my soul and marinate me in bliss. I was lucky enough to grow up on the west coast of Scotland. My memories of that country are damp with rain. I used them as a backdrop in this story:"Invalid Entry" The smell of fresh cut grass, newly washed by God's garden hose, is a sensory joy of its own. I secretly applaud the defiant rebellion of my afro as it curls back into its preferred coiled state, no matter if I use GHD's or enough John Frieda to launch my own salon. I like smell of old, damp busses and workmens coats, and the fresh faces of youth, upturned and scowling at the wetness of it all. I like the giggling chatter of old ladies as they leave the hairdressers with plastic rain-hoods protecting their new blue rinses and sets. But most of all, I love the freedom it gave me from the 'baby blues'. I suffered some pretty dark days in my youth. I was diagnosed with manic depression at the age of 14--something, which I'm happy to say, received the best treatment available and is a cold memory of pain, not of any concern for over a decade. But there was no getting away from the depression that sunk my world after the birth of my first child. I would crawl bellow the counters in the kitchen, in the dark, just to make a cup of tea: I didn't want the neighbours to see me. I wouldn't go out. Fully clothed in winter coats and hats in the height of summer, I hated the nakedness of my body, once void of my child. My husband was great; he never pushed me too hard to regain some semblance of normalcy. My family was supportive too; after all, they had seen the young teen rotting in the grips of anorexia and tearing her world apart in public, thanks to the mania. Post pregnancy depression was a turning point for me. Initially, I wanted to fall back on my old ways, and to get smaller and smaller and smaller, and more insignificant everyday. I could have easily gone back to the five and half stone shadow that I once was... instead I ballooned. I figured folks should have something to hate, and let's be honest, people love a skinny chick, but they're much more likely to agree with your self-disgust if you're a fat slob. So I got fat. I got so fat that those winter coats made me more of an affront in July. I got so fat that my husband would leave me... but he didn't, bless him. I got so fat that strangers on the street suddenly had every right in the universe to call me names. Then came the rain. I could go out in the rain, because no one else did. Apart from bus stops and pub doorways, the world was mine. I could wander the streets unaccosted. Busy, busy people drove past, window wipers trying to "Get rid of it! This horrid rain..." Miserable and downcast faces on steamed-up bus windows gazed with dead eyes as they passed, and I felt happy; I wasn't the only sad bastard out there. They didn't know how beautiful the empty park was! I had all the ground-keeper's hard work to myself. Thirsty flowers, with fat rain drops bursting in their bright faces, were my company. That fresh mown grass was mine for the sniffing. The swings, which I was too old to play on, were mine for the swinging. No one could threaten me, because there was no one else there. No one could comment on my behaviour, because there was no one to speak. No one could look as if I was wrong, because their eyes were averted from the misery of the weather. When the rain stopped, I would go home. The rest of the world would emerge. Our relationship was like a lover's clock, and I was the little chap with the umbrella, destined to never meet the sunshine maiden. It worked. Slowly, the weight came off. Slowly, I could make a cup of tea at night time, without scalding my skin. Slowly, I came to love the time my baby and I could share rain-walk adventures and the occasional sunshine trip to the park. Slowly, the rain hydrated the dried-up husk of my soul and let me blossom back into me. I love the rain. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| I'm an old sop today; I think I am getting more tolerant and more compassionate the older I get. I have no idea why. I think it's bottom line stuff. And, no, that's not the same as The Big Picture. Bottom line stuff comes down to what lies at the bottom of everything, and as obvious as the concept might appear, it's only just becoming clear to me that there is only one bottom line: people. I felt desperately sad because of Mood's entry. It sounded as if she was sat next to a woman who was trying to reach out for comfort, and nurturing, from a complete stranger. The whole ' you look nice' thing was an attempt at a way in, and it's sad that it annoyed, rather than provoked, a warm response. All too often people look at other's cries for comfort as a personal assault. I'm only just beginning to realise that it isn't. We're humans. We want to love and be loved. We want to matter--no matter who to, or in what way. Look at the list of compliments the woman tried to offer up as a mutual friendship platter: You look nice (I chose you, not the other 20 people on the bus, to sit with) You look physically attractive (I'm fat, but you're everything I'd like to be) You seem interesting (what are you writing) You look wise (enough for me to confide/share intimate concerns with) You look caring (I have future hopes and dreams) I have something precious to share with you (an engagement ring that carries heavy symbolism. Ask me to show it you. Engage with me, please) Mood's initial response: I'm annoyed by you, but you provide an interesting specimen to write about. I wouldn't be you. I'm writing about you. You are notes. I wouldn't treat my child like that. I'm not saying Mood thought she was better than this woman, but it is clear that she set herself apart from her. An invasion of space can provoke that kind of response, but at least an invasion of this kind is just a way of one person trying to connect with another. It's what we do in Follow the Leader; we listen (read) to other players thoughts and see where that leads us, but it's important not to lose sight of the fact that we are in the privileged position of responding to somebody and not just something. Thank you Mood, for reminding me that the world is full of people, and not just incidents. Perspective is a funny thing. Sometimes, changing the way that you view an inconvenience can make a big difference to whether it remains an inconvenience. A friend of mine, A, is a business consultant and specialises in leadership courses for highflyers and what-not. He tells a story about a man on a train. Rather like an urban legend, he tells it as something that happened to one of his friends, but I'll use first person. It goes a little something like this: I sat near a man on a train. He sat there, staring out the window, fiddling with his paperwork, drinking coffee, sending text messages, and, generally, ignoring the fact that his kids were careening up and down the aisle like tearaways. They weren't being bad, as such, but they were laughing, running, hiding, jumping, and shouting loudly to each other in the excitement of their unrelenting play. It was easy to see that I wasn't the only passenger getting more and more annoyed by their father's inactive response to such loud and inappropriate behaviour. I couldn't stand it any longer. I went over to him and asked him why he was allowing his children to act in such a way that everyone else's peaceful journey was disrupted. He looked at me, his eyes filled with defeat, sorrow, and pain, and simply said. "Their mother died this morning. I want to see them play before I have to tell them." My whole perspective changed. In that moment, I stopped thinking about my own, temporary, discomfort, and started thinking about the permanent discomfort that those children would carry forever, once told. I reached out, placed my hand on his shoulder, nodded, smiled and replied, "You are a good father." ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Okay, from the off: I love Sapphy, but as a practicing1 Christian and as a vocal supporter of gay rights I just can't swallow this: The main thing that keeps them [homosexuals] down is the religious sects. One in particular would be christianity, and I hate the beliefs of the religion, but I can only hate the people for following them so tightly and for such a faulty system (to me, at least). How dare anyone tar an entire religion with one brush? Christianity gets kicked in the teeth often enough. Feck that. The thing with any system, and yes, organised religion relies on tradition and systems, is that it will not be perfect. Why? Because human beings are at the core of them, and human beings are individuals with different ideals, and are generally a bit 'human'. You can take any argument, even on opposing sides, and argue it through scriptural texts. Any interpretation is just that: an interpretation. It doesn't make it right. Most Christians are involved with their church for one reason: Jesus. I can't find anywhere where Jesus says, "Love everyone... apart from gays; they really get on my gourd." In fact, this is the bit I listen to:28One of the teachers of the law came and heard them debating. Noticing that Jesus had given them a good answer, he asked him, "Of all the commandments, which is the most important?" ~Mark29"The most important one," answered Jesus, "is this: 'Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one. 30Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.' 31The second is this: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.'There is no commandment greater than these." http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?book_id=48&chapter=12&version=31 For instance, my church is of the Catholic tradition within the broader framework of the Church of England. This means it is against the ordination of women priests. It doesn't that mean I am. Or that the whole congregation is. In fact, my priest knows I'm a liberal amongst traditionalist. But I do not want the minority in the wider church (catholics within the CofE) to suffer in the way that they wish to express their faith. The Anglican Church that they were brought up in is the backbone of their faith, and if I, or the General Synod, which has allowed the ordination of women priests, doesn't make adequate provision for their pastoral needs, then it is a sad day, indeed. Forward in Faith will continue to argue, as it has for a considerable time, that it is only when suitable and equitable provision is made for those unable in conscience to receive this change that the Church of England will be ready to proceed in this matter and it will continue to support the Catholic Group in General Synod in its endeavours to impose meaningful revision on draft legislation which is, in our estimation, not fit for purpose.~http://www.forwardinfaith.com/artman/publish/article_477.shtml The point is, that you cannot raise up one group by putting down another. Good on Sapph for fighting for the rights of a marginalised group, but he might want to think about who he's treading on to do so. For true equality, people have to embrace diversity. That provides a solid foundation--unlike using the backs of others to prop up your own cause. People are the bottom line. We come in all shapes and sizes. I've lost count to all the colours of my own nature, and that's good; I don't want to limit the horizons to my vision. As well as carrying several battle standards: mother, lover, idiot, human rights advocate, animal rights supporter, GLBT advocate, children's worker, Christian, guitarist, hot chick, grumpy old lady and would-be planetary accountant, it's no surprise that I'm a Star Trek fan. I firmly believe in the Vulcan IDIC principle: Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations. "Don't you oppress me." ~ Monty Python The Life of Brian http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sFBOQzSk14c ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Footnotes |
| Like Mark, and probably everybody else in FtL, I'm struggling to find time. Not just time on WDC (although, to me, that is a priority), time in general. "The speed of life in this place--I just feel light years away." ~ The Chameleons A general conversation in a forum about the future ("Invalid Item" )got me thinking. The topic was about transport, but I started harping on about Singularity ... again. It's a concept which got its hooks into my brain as soon as I heard about it (erm, yes, a bit like quantum). In case you don't want to click and read the forum, here are my two posts2:I've been plagued by equal measures of excitement and fear that comes from pondering a singularity: that moment when we make the next evolutionary jump and humanity's existence is so deeply ingrained with an interface that it can't continue without it. Our planet's inability to cope with the stress of exacerbated natural phenomena, such as climate change and drains on natural resources, might stave that off to some degree. The Honda car is a step forward, but isn't the full picture; I was led to believe it's only a hybrid and comes with certain logistical demands that still leave a footprint on the planet, by way of manufacturing etc., (I'm no expert on it, so it would be good if someone could post a little about the specs and related manufacturing data). The speed of life is so crazy, and machines intended as labour saving (computers for are start), only seem to encourage us run to catch up. The days instant messaging are great for communication, but for commuting we're all still running to catch up. Rather than run our legs off, I think 100 years from now, people might be a little more sedate. After all, a lot depends on other considerations. Take the current economic financial crisis; if something like this happens again, or if this continues, are jobs are likely to become community led again (industrial in cities, and agricultural in the countryside). This could make local transport 'footworthy' to some degree, leaving long distance travel to those who can afford it, or under special circumstances. The days of commercial aviation could be a thing of the past, as fuel/passenger numbers dwindle. Perhaps a slowing down of travel will be the yang to the ying of super-fast communication; we would become sociable again (long journeys encourage personal interaction). Or maybe our travel will be in our heads: as the virtual world grows and grows, and we head toward singularity, who's to say we won't end up having board meetings face to face inside the net? Or meet our families across the globe, vacation on Mars, indulge our erotic pursuits, and 'live' on line. Such things would render actual travel a moot point. I'll take the pony Wink For more information on Singularitarianism (yes, fab word, isn't it?) read this Singularity for Dummies guide (erm, yes, that would include me Laugh) http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A569522 and one further post that read: True, but seriously, what do you think about the possibility of travel being a moot point, because of computer/technological advances? 'Virtual board meetings' already exist, cutting down business travel, I chat to my father face to face in Cyprus via Skype, so I don't miss him so much that I plan to visit him--heck! I even shop online (groceries delivered to door... not by a pony, admittedly). All of which is current technology. In a hundred years time the experience could be incredibly realistic (eg, engaging full sensory immersion via a virtual format), rendering physical travel a thing for the history books... What are your thoughts? I love that forum... I think they've moved on from 'Travel' to 'Mass Transit', which only encourages the same sort of thinking from me. But I've popped it in my favourites so I can join in when new topics bit me on the bum. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Footnotes |
| Ivy's approach to training is most admirable. Believe it or not, I've been there. Yes, even acme has put down the wine bottle, stubbed out a fag, got of the sofa and edged out into the Great Outdoors for a spot of running. Well, I say running--it was more of a jog. Walkers passed me, but the truth is that running, at any speed, is a different gait. Just as horses progress from walk to trot to canter to gallop, there is a definite shift in physical movement. Technically, my incredibly slow jog still counts as a run. I ran the full 10k of the Greater Manchester run. Again, not fully true; I ran 11.5k because I got separated from the girl that gave me a lift to the city and had to jog back until I found her. I haven't run since. I just wanted to see if I could do it. Next item on my things to do list is play golf on the moon. I'm working on it. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| http://www.last.fm/music/The+Chameleons/_/Things+I+Wish+I%27d+Said An old face came to me tonight I don't know why he came A million memories flickering Just like home movies in my brain I turned to stone He stared at me What could I do? I asked him in for tea "Would you care for some tea?" Gone were the wild-eyed kids we knew Two adults faced each other We talked of trivialities Ignored the poison in our hearts We spoke of past and future dreams While in my head I suppressed frustrated screams Oh God, not you again Oh my God, not you again Oh my God The time it seemed stood still for us And then he rose to leave A million things I wish I'd said Things that must now remain unsaid I close the book inside my head And now he's gone, and a part of me is dead Oh God, I'm on my own again Oh my God, I'm on my own again Oh God Oh God, I'm on my own again and again and again and again... Always haunting me, those things I wish I'd said to you "Goodbye" (*sniff sniff*) All those regrets. And yes, they are about what I have done, not what I didn't do. From a very early age I have been aware that I fuck up. Often. I don't have any hang ups about it, really: most folk who know me, soon expect it. I'm rather pleased that there is a least one constant; a bit like when folk gossip about someone and say things like, "Oh, he was a right bastard, but he always dressed beautifully." I get "Oh she dressed terribly, but she was always a right bastard, which is a hard title to carry off when you're a gal, but if anyone could do it, it's her; she's a trooper!" I loved watching Unbreakable. The central idea of being the opposite end of somebody's scale is a fascinating one, and ultimately I think I'm the anti-pasta. I did used to believe, quite sincerely for one mind-blowing evening on Merrydown Cider and Thunderbird's wine, that I was the anti-Christ. I figured, the fella had to be the complete opposite of Jesus, and having boobs gave me an advantage: that and my uncanny inability to grow a beard, walk in sandals, and lend weight to any opposing argument by cleverly trying to orate against it. However, by the end of that particular evening of cosmic musing, I was having my hair held back while I was ill in a gutter, and I wet myself. It was then that I figured that the anti-Christ would have a little more pizazz in turning wine into water, and that judging by the contents of my stomach lining, I was, indeed, more likely to be the anti-pasta. I've held the secret honour of that title ever since. And have never drank until drunk: only tipsy, with the occasional brush with odd theories and self-analysis. My life, rightly or wrongly, is me muddling through, wondering what on earth I did to get away with it. Get away with what? you might think. All of it! I'd think back, not that you'd hear me, but that's what I'd think, because that's what I do think  I don't know about anyone else, but for me a good evening is when I can get to the end of the day without any casualties left wounded in my path. I sincerely mean it when I say my evening prayers and thank God. I love the warm glow and peace of mind that comes before I drift off to sleep and think, Another day done, and no one got hurt. Ace! |
| Yes. Definitely. Every birthday, since I was five, I've leaned over those candles, blown 'em out good and proper, and wished for a pony. I have no idea where the heck I'd put one if I got one now  My version of Elaine's ending rhyme: If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. If turnips were watches, I’d wear one by my side. is: If wishes were horses, I'd have a corral. 'cause I'm blessed with life that's one whole miracle. Okay, so not the best and, a bit like the second line of 'Curiosity killed the cat... ... and satisfaction brought him back', I don't often use the full thing, but I likes it I guess I don't really wish, but I should still be careful. Why? Well, you see, I'm worse than a Wisherer: I'm a 'can-I-helperer?' I pave the road to hell on a daily basis, because I'm always choc-a-block full of good intentions, and shite executions  Saying 'No' is not something that comes naturally, because I hate to disappoint. This means that where a normal person would be considered to be 'multi-tasking' or 'a renaissance man', I'm afraid I'm usually considered a 'Jack of all trades and a master of none'. I don't really have any ambition other than to cause the least amount of damage as possible. You might think that would encourage me to keep my head below the parapet, but I'm inbuilt with an inane desire to be cheerful, helpful and useful. Sadly, the end results can also be interpreted as awful, dreadful, and daft. Yes, I know the last one didn't end with 'ful', but you can't have everything. I wouldn't wish it, if I could. |
I feel wonderfully spoilt by StephBee - House Targaryen  Not only did she allow me to enter my mystery parody, "Invalid Item" , in her Bard's Hall contest, even though the piece was written with both her and the site's official contest in mind, she also allowed my story to take first place! It's been a while since I won anything in a contest and then, suddenly, I'm as lucky as Lucy with an extra K  Why? 'cos I also came third in her Best of the Rest contest too and won a delightful Merit Badge {e:popwithexcitement}![Merit Badge in Polls
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3rd place in the Best of the Rest Contest for your poll, "Scrolleroo Fun Pack Poll," April 2009.](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/type-Polls-17000.gif) Right. That's quite enough success for one day. I'm off to burn something in the oven  |
Bless. When I first joined WDC, I urged her to join too. She's a secretly brilliant poetess. She did, but has stayed grey. Occasionally, she pops on (erm, about once every 3 months, or so) and leaves me a little comment on something that: I'd forgotten I wrote is usually a bit rude and has swearing in, and I'm not sure I want her to know that I know those words, even though I'm a little old lady these days, too when I read it again, has used the most inventive spelling and punctuation known to man, making me look as illiterate as the school teachers hinted I was when they wrote things like, "Fantastic imagination, boundless enthusiasm, and a complete regard for the sanctity of the English language." makes my day She's not allowed to read my blog: that's for registered authors and higher. So, she won't know how bloody lovely I feel for just having her near me, by snuggling my words instead of snuggling me. I love you mum. Wish you didn't have nasty cancer eating you, and chemo beating you. You're my mum, and I can't imagine a world where you don't make me feel all smooshy and loved, just because you like one of my stories |
| "It’s a Dangerous and Powerful Universe" Right, before we get started, let me say this: I love a bit of cosmology; I like space; I like science, and I have truly felt some knee-knocking moments of philosophical awakening when I have gazed at the heavens. So, please believe me when I say I find Prosperous Snow's lead entry fascinating (and, no, I did not just do an impression of Mr Spock's voice when I wrote 'fascinating'). But there's a time for science, in my head, and there's time for other things to play. I've been reading "Invalid Item" by A Guest Visitor and Lynn's sci-fi entry, so my head is firmly thinking of the past. My past. My past of battling with the dangerous things that the universe could throw at me:1. There were times, lots of them actually, when I would try to have an imagination like my peers in the playground. I was useless at it. I remember Gary Sheilds playing Star Trek. He went out the shuttle bay doors and floated off forever. I thought he was a tosser. Surely, he knew that he should tie himself up to something before he opened the doors? Danger is only dangerous when incompetent people are left in charge of shuttle bay doors. 2. I did get a little freaked out by the effort that some of the real moonwalking astronauts put into playing on the moon. That golf ball was a potential bullet to the hull of any space-faring vehicle and why did they try to jump as high as they could? Wasn't there something in the back of their minds screaming, "Look what happened to Gary Sheilds!" Silly astronauts... 3. I've tossed this fact out before--and no, I can't remember where I got it from, but the universe is beige. How can anything beige be dangerous or powerful? If Ming the Merciless came up to you with his mind ring and a menacing look, but dressed in beige cords, you wouldn't take him seriously. In fact, you might go so far as to rub his noggin (erm, head) and send him to play nice with the other kids. 4. It's not real--it's quantum. I'm happy with this mantra. I'm only one laboratory discovery away from a very interesting bicycle ride. 5. No matter how dangerous and powerful a thing is, it will always have to factor in the silliest anomaly there ever is: humanity. That's why God popped the black holes as far away from us as they need to be for now. With the current rate of universal expansion, they'll be wwwaaaaaaayyyyyyy over there, by the time we start traveling to the stars. Trust me. |
| 'cor! Thank heavens that Follow the Leader is back; I'm shocking at regularly blogging unless prodded to do so Satuawny (who, for some unknown reason, sounds like Staunaway in my head) got the ball rolling with their entry, "Invalid Entry" , and it's a fascinating entry; even though the off-track bit was the route my head wanted to go. Names are odd things, but ultimately I believe they don't belong to the person/object/place they've been given to, which is why it makes me laugh when folks get all uppity about getting them right. I'm shit at spelling names and remembering them. When I read, I'm so greedy for the action, plot and personalities, that I usually do exactly what I have done to Satuawny/Staunaway. I make a metal blah-blah that incorporates the start and end of the name. It's great for me, but a little awkward when discussing it with others. "Ooh, don't you love it when Colin Firth comes out of that pond in Pride and Prejudice. He's the best Mr D'Arcy ever!" "Who? Oh, you mean Mr D-blah-cy!" "Whose blog are you reading?" "Staunaway's." "Whose? "Staunaway's! You know, the one with the guitar theme that I like." On Saturday night my sisters and our respective partners went out to celebrate our birthdays. We went to a place that reveled in meat. We sat on cows, and if you were vegetarian you had to make do with a risotto. Another couple joined us. The woman is a friend of my twin, and therefore a completely alien species. Nice enough, I'm sure, but very glam and Paris Hiltonish. My sister's a bit similar, but with good grace and manners. Her husband is a bit-of-a-*can't find right words*-suit. Oh, come on, work with me: imagine someone who smokes cigars, wears Armani, wine-tastes, plays a mean 'back 9' and who lives in the city... Put it this way, by the time he'd belittled all the waiting staff to get us free drinks, I felt like I was a walk-on in Eat the Rich. Anyhoo, that's not the point. The point is that I had met my sister's glamourous friend on numerous occasions but my subconscious mind could not be arsed remembering her name. Happily, she had to be introduced to my little sister's new fella, and so I made an effort to really listen. "This is Justine, and her husband Mark!" Justine and Mark. Justine and Mark. Justine and Mark. Justine and Mark. Justine and Mark. Justine and Mark. Justine and Mark. Justine and Mark. Justine and Mark. I played the mantra over in my brain and felt reasonably secure in keeping it there. No such luck. Along came the Malbec (yummy, scrummy vino ) followed by half a cow (Argentina rump steak, rare enough to dip your chips in the blood 3)Cue Acme: nonsensical, drunken, belly-cheerful, speaking loudly and passionately about comic books, or something, and lo and behold, out pops a "Justin!" "How rude are you? That's a boys name!" "I'm sorry, I didn't know there was a difference. I'm crap at Latin." "It's not Latin. It's a girl's name." "I thought you said it was a boy's name." (she leans across the table and pronounces her perfectly silly name) "Just-INE." (I lean toward her) "I'm sor-REE." Bloody silly name, if you ask me. Shakespeare said it best when he wrote: "A rose by any other name is still a rose, but a bard wouln't want to sniff it, if it were called a 'Shit Flower'." I love that guy. He might be dead, but he's got an answer for everything. Anyway, I really am sorry if Staunaway is not the name our fellow blogger would like to be thought of by the nounally illiterate, but perhaps they should consider what wonderful images the wrong way of thinking of them conjures up in my head: Staunaway: Celtic, wild and untamed, coastal and rocky, dark and deep, mythology and hidden meanings. Satuawny: Japan, a cat's meow, sitting down, a big planet, biscuits. Acme: Arse, acne, dodgy plumbers, ineffectual individual, red-tape and blue-prints, boulders. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Footnotes |
| ...a woman is chosen for the honour of becoming the Poet Laureate. Hurrah, for Carol Ann Duffy. I really would have been happy with any of the three main contenders for the title. Simon Armitage is my local boy, made good (who can forget his 'Oldham, home of the tubular bandage' poem?), and Roger McGough? Well, come on! It's Roger McGough Mersey Beat boy extraordinare. But Carol Ann is just as deserving for many more reasons than her sex; she is the poet that graces so many school syllabuses, and fuels debates in the national rags. Her poems speak to me of ordinary things made extraordinary, of being behind the eyes and in the heart of her narrative. I loved her The World's Wife collection (and no, not just for the Frau Freud poem ), and I think she's tops... if a little scary, and well deserving of the accolade. Oh, and she's Mancunian, so there's another reason to love her. Apparently, she thought long and hard about accepting it; good stuff, these roles should be considered thoroughly and not taken as another jotting on the CV. I wish her all the luck in the world... especially in her desire to receive the 600 bottles of sherry, known as the 'butt of sac', that comes with the job; according to today's Guardian Andrew Motion is still waiting for his  . I think it's lovely that she's giving her £5,000+ stipend to the Poetry Society to create a new prize for collections. Read more about this fab poet here: http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2009/may/01/carol-ann-duffy-poet-laureate |
| Once a fortnight I go to the town library and meet other authors over coffee. We have the company of the literary officer, to guide our discussions, give us the latest literary and arts info, and generally exercise some level of order and control (artistic types can be a little rambunctious ). It seems though, that the success of the writing cafe has not gone unnoticed. As of last month, the LO is only going to be available monthly; she thinks we should share our skills and knowledge in workshops we create ourselves... just like we do at the writing cafe! It's good to know it's a solid idea. We still get homework set for us. And as per usual, I've knocked mine together last minute "Write about your favourite place" My mother thought I was on drugs “Why go to bed so early? You eat your tea, retire with hugs, and miss Corrie on the telly. “Are you on the pot, dear child? Been courting MaryJane?” “No, mum. My life is far from wild. My mind's unaltered, clear, quite sane.” No one can fathom what it is that drives me to my bed, but its my favourite place of bliss. Just me, my bed, and head. I lay upon my pillow's cares and share with it my dreams; High drama, action, romance, scares, and all the in betweens. I love it as my bed unfurls and can't wait for sleep to come To take me those other worlds Where adventure's just begun. (20 lines) a-b-a-b rhyme |
| Everything seems such a rush! It's great that the Writing Cafe is taking off, but it's also sapping my energy. Luckily, not for long. I'm blessed by the success of the place and have been able to pass responsibility for the project onto a wonderful woman, Carolyn. She's taken up the challenge of moving the cafe on to become a well organised group, with a constitution, committee, and a noticeable addition to the community of the town. She's a splendid ambassador, not to mention first rate performance poet. Skill Share, our writer led workshops, have also become well received and utilised participation events. Writers are notorious for hiding their lights under a bushel, or worse, taking their skills for granted. The Skill Share programme has revealed some wonderful talents; script, poetry, storytelling, performance poetry, editing and several poetry workshops on different forms. My favourite was the campfire challenge, loosely based on the WDC Campfire Creative and more like the game 'Consequences.' Each writer was encouraged to start a story, then pass their sheet to the person on their left, who would write the middle, and pass it on again to write the end. It was a good eyeopener on how unique each writers addition was, as the stories all made sense, but developed very differently from the originator's ideas about how they'd progress. We're off for a writing day trip 2nd May: a canal boat day hire to mess about on the river and write on the move! Should be fun. I'd just like two spare minutes to get some actual writing done! |
| 'cor! Weird world, or what? Here's me banging on about the self-help book, Face the Fear and Do It Anyway, in my last FtL response, and now Spidey's got me thinking about CBT. CBT, or Cognitive Behaviour Therapy, is basically a mixture of Just pull yourself together tempered with a bit of What's the worst that can happen? Okay, so it's not. But I think its use shows it to be one of the best methods currently transforming the lives of those who suffer from panic attacks and other anxiety disorders. Cognitive: adjective [before noun] SPECIALIZED connected with thinking or conscious mental processes Cognition: noun [U] FORMAL OR SPECIALIZED when you think or use a conscious mental process: a book on human learning, memory and cognition Cognitive Therapy: noun [U] SPECIALIZED a form of treatment used to change someone's habitual patterns of thinking when these thoughts are damaging that person Behaviour Therapy is somewhat different, in that its aim is to change unhelpful, or potentially harmful, behaviour. Unhelpful can include avoiding. My friend could not go to our local town for fear of having a panic attack. It had happened once and she was worried it would happen again. She changed her behavioural patterns enough to avoid going into town. CBT is very versitile because it combines both cognitive and behavioual therapy dependent on case. Therefore, the kind of CBT an individual receives will be different for each case. I think it's a smashing way to reduce the need for medication and increase quality of life, but I'm just a wannabe Megalomaniac, not a doctor, so if you're reading this and want further info, check with a trained professional. Here's a fab link that explains everything I just plagiarized from the dictionary http://www.patient.co.uk/showdoc/27000424/ ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| erm, why? Sorry, Mood. I spend half my life surrounded by reality, and, ultimately, I much prefer the surreality that the other half provides. I understand fear of failure -- seriously, I do! -- but it seems such a shame that the only thing stopping Mood write "the best, most clearly defined idea I have ever had for a novel" is herself. There's a great self-help book that I've never read. (I hear you thinking, Then how can it be great?) It's the title. It's all in the title: Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway Ace! Don't get real. You're not an accountant -- your an artist, a creator of worlds out of ink. Bloody write it! Then edit, toss it aside for a month, pick it back up and edit again. If it's a pile of shit, burn it (well, not the original, but a copy, just for kicks), but for goodness sake, don't cover your creative spurt with a condom and then wonder if you've got a pregnant idea... ooh, I just punned pregnant *basks in proud moment* DO NOT GET REAL. 3 hundred billion gazillion other people go around doing quite enough of that for everybody else, thank you very much. Every writer has their strengths and weaknesses. Focus on your strengths and practice, practice, practice bettering your weaknesses. I know what you're thinking, But Acme doesn't have any weaknesses? Yes, I do. I live in a wibbildy-wobbly world of my own. This makes convincing drama somewhat difficult. Also, I have a shocking attention span (how I completed NaNo, I'll never know... and what I completed I'll certainly never show  ), which means anything more than a thousand word stories is like pulling teeth.But, enough about me, back to putting your boot in: DON'T! There will be plenty of other people lining up ready to do it for you. You just let 'em and concentrate on being your own biggest fan. After all, if you don't believe you can write your own story, you won't be able to write your own story. Likewise, if you're sure it will turn out cack, it probably will. Oh, and Mood? "[I] can't figure out how I'd get a reader to empathize with a fat, grouchy or stupid narrator." Folk emapthise with me all the time |
| No, not me -- Dark Lady is quitting. I'm just not in the zone yet. There's not an awful lot that I can say that I haven't said already about my addiction affliction. Every time I try to think on it, I start to see the ghosts of Charles Dickens and Bill Hicks having a fight. Bill kicks like a girl, but Charlie is surprisingly sprightly. Why are they fighting? They both want to have autonomy in scaring the crap out of me with pictures of the lungs of Acme's past. If I try to separate them then Castro floats off his life support and offers me a cuban cigar. Like I said, I'm just not in the zone yet. |
| I am one of a rare breed of people who don't mind receiving those send to many emails that have pictures of cute animals in laughable posses. I don't even mind getting the ones that are jokes, physiological tests, or feel good sentiments about life. What I do mind are the more sinister generic mailings. Sinister doesn't cover "May St. Theressa fulfill all your prayers, but only if you send this message to 382 other people  " -- nope: they're just bloomin' annoying. Annoying isn't sinister; if it was I would have to twiddle with a thin mustache and tie damsels to train tracks. No, sinister is when people forward sensationalist bigotry, intolerance and racism dressed up as shocking outrages.During the Obama elections I was made aware of a text message and email doing the rounds about whether he could be constitutionally and legally elected because he was born in Kenya... my blood boiled. Who said that? was my reaction to this bit of crap propaganda. Show me your source material, yelled my inner historian. Give me the text chain details, was the demand of my inner revenge warrior (I have the pleasure of sharing my head with Diana Rigg at times, so I can't be an Avenger or I'd get confused). "Oh, so it's not true? Well, the guy who sent it me is pretty trustworthy..." Yup, and is the guy who sent it to him? Okay, so that was pre-November, but malicious emails/texts still come through. Today is no exception. I received this from a member of my church: "Pls pray for 22 Christian missionary families that will b executed by islamists 2day in Afghanistan. Pls spread as fast & 2as many as will pray." My honest to goodness first thought was, 'What a bunch of intolerant twaddle... oooh, scary islamists... my arse. I'll just delete this crap.' But then I thought, 'Hang on! She's sending this to as many people as she can. She thinks she's doing her best as a Christian, because she's believing this without checking it. She's spreading hysteria and racism, and I've got to stop her. Now, I am a Christian, and as such, I'm not adverse to praying; I like a good natter with the big fella. If there are planned executions, faith, creed, colour etc., does not come into it. I want to pray for my fellow human beings, especially those who are suffering abuses to their human rights. But I'll check my facts first. Faith is one thing, facts are an entirely different animal. So, I go online and check out the major press agencies: nothing. So, I check all my main news providers (BBC, Guardian, Telegraph, etc.,): nothing... well, except that Afghan, US and Pakistani officials have met over the past few days for talks, but certainly not to exchange pleasantries about scheduled executions. I look at the major international human rights agencies, and check through a lot of Amnesty's web page links, because their site is very user friendly: nothing. My original supposition of this being a sinister cancerous text message seems to be coming more and more apparent. How many other recipients of this hate message will send it on to others, and send that onto others too? This is what I sent back (2 mssgs): Latest execution info indicates October 08 + no religious mention: no full details sought further, pls check your own sources re these. Recent talks have been held betwn Pakistan, US + Afghanistan: no mention of scheduled execs. Amnesty do rport humanitarian crisis of thousands of displaced Afghans. I've looked at all major prss agencies and there's no mention. What is ur source? Don't get me wrong -- i love to pray, but there's a lot of malicious media out there preying on hysterical bigots. Reply: I don't normally 4ward those, but it was from someone at wk who only 4wards things he's certain r right. I'll tell him now. [you do that... it always surprises me how people don't question these things before they send them out] Acme: Perhaps ur friend has other reliable sources? Whatever the truth, I'll still be praying for a way forward for those suffering on all sides in Afghanistan. Reply (Send to Many): My friend has now sent me this after sending the previous txt as has read something on the net. He 4warded the txt as it was from a v trusted friend, me ditto! Re: earlier text msg. Appears to b a hoax to get folks 2 search on line and get directed 2 site with virus! We should warn anyone told not 2 search online 4 more info. Well, there's a surprise... my arse. "Don't try to debunk the myth or you'll get a deadly virus "Sounds to me as if someone got called out to prove their hate as truth and ended up with an Acme Co. pie-in-da-face. I'll still be praying for all those facing the horror of abuse at the hands of their fellow man. I dread the day that one of those sinister texts proves to be based on fact... but I won't hold my breath. |
| I know the beautiful one talked a lot of sense about how to increase your profile as a blogger/ writer by using sites to your advantage, but I always come away from her blog with something else running circles through my mind, and this is no exception. For instance, the following was advice for 'Blogger', but I think it's pretty pertinent to me here at WDC and in real life too: Shy away from shock value to gain followers. People are generally conservative. Leave the 'fucks' and 'shits' at the door. Consider them a very powerful flavoring, to be used in small amounts. One of Stik's entries is bubbling up against this one to make some kind of sensible writing love-child. shadowinstone: swear less Stik: make up new words I can funtin' swear like a twag-thatcher without blistering paint if I make my own chunting words up... okay, so again, probably not what either FtLer had in mind with their lead entry, but flunph it! I can chuffing4 s****p my bits off if I wanna You might be wondering about shadowinstone's questions. I haven't forgotten them: Where are you popular? Seton House Retirement Village Social and Bridge Club (not in crown bowling season) Do you agonize over gaining or losing followers? Only in the same way that Brian's mum from Life of Brian did: "He's not the Messiah, he's a very naughty boy!" Who do you blog for? Really! A sector of your government that is collecting information based on your responses to subliminal messages placed in my blog entires *whoooeee-ooooeeeoooo* All joking aside, I keep making my blog more an more limited, as if I'm frightened that people will read it. Worse than that, I worry that folk may actually read something into it ...  ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Footnotes |
| Who gives a crap how you say something? Surely they should care more about the content of what you are saying? I bet Abraham Lincoln talked with a lisp, and that strange rising question pronunciation to the end of his sentences that the girl from bandcamp in American Pie does... still came out with some great quotes, didn't he? I like to think that all the old greats were a bit shit. Perhaps Cesar struggled with his wubble-woos like Michael Palin in The Life of Brian Never mind not wanting enemies, Jenn  , bash her on the head with a dictionary whilst wearing full Nam camouflage. "You got a problem with writing, missy-pissy 'p' in sumpthing? Huh *bash bash bash* do ya? Try fucking saying writing now with your teeth missing and your nose a bloody pulp. Huh? HUH?"Oh, dear. That's two very violent and expletive filled entries in a row. Not to pull the girlie card, but it was my emotional ovary last month... what's the betting it's the angry one's turn I wouldn't mind, but half of that one's missing, so you think I'd be a lot more mellow. Ah well, thems the breaks.Sorry And now when I close my eyes and build WDCers out of my imagination, poor Jenn looks like Ben Stiller from Tropic Thunder. |
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