Ten Random Things

Lovely Wife of Bold has given me an award so I'm going to go all Gwyneth Paltrow for a minute. So much love . . . sniff . . .blub . .goop . . . thank you . . .

What a delicious way to start the week now that The Boy and The Girl have finally gone back to school after a week of driving me mad I'm missing spending quality time with my lovely children. The deal is that a) I link to seven other blogs and b) talk about myself endlessly. No problem. After some thought here are my blog choices.


Kit Courtney (My first follower so y'know - a bit special. And she writes with fluidity and ease. And her dog is lovely!)

How Publishing Really Works (Just essential for every writer. Reminds you of where you are aiming as well as how to aim)

Product Placement (Lovely, friendly and loads of useful information about makeup and girl stuff. Could grow to be the UK version of Makeupalley.

Atheist Revolution (Not everyone's cuppa but a thoughtful passionate and necessary counterpoint to the frightening kind of Christian extremism that grips much of the US by the throat)

The Daily Quail (wonderful slap in the face to the Daily Mail)

Caution - Woman at Work! (Only just discovered this one but it's energetic, funny and honest)

Help! I Need a Publisher (I particularly like this site because Nicola Morgan deals mainly with children's books. She is passionate about writing and it really really shows. Her advice is invaluable)


Ten Random Things About Me

1. I once did a parachute jump from 12,000 feet. I've never felt fear like it, but once done it gave me a touchstone by which to measure other fears. As in Come on you lazy bint. You've jumped out of a plane - now get that script finished you hopeless twat and other exercises in self-love.

2. I think that people accept you the way you present yourself. So walk in with your head held high and nobody will guess you're a quivering insecure wreck.

3. I bitterly regret sleeping with two particular people. Not at the same time I hasten to add, but both times I slept with them for *cringe* validation. I was very young at the time but it's something I want to drum into my daughter. Never do this and never assume that if someone wants to go to bed with you, you are somehow obliged to reciprocate.

4. I don't understand why so many young women are embarrassed to be thought of as feminists. They do believe they should have equal pay, equal rights, support from the fathers of their children, not be subject to gropes and catcalls at work, and reproductive rights though. All things hard won by feminists! Be grateful you selfish minxes!

5. A week before 9/11 I took The Boy up to the top of the World Trade Centre. I remember thinking how cheerful and chatty the lift guy was, considering he took people up and down it all day long. 'I love my job ma'am' he said.

6. I can eat my own weight in cheese.

7. I've recently taken up running. This may be linked to point 6.

8. When I was a teenager my parents trusted me to attend a Catholic Sunday School. I snuck out and went to see The Clash at Brixton Academy instead. Because I looked so guilty when I returned home (default Catholic behaviour) my parents never questioned me.

9. I don't get Bo Selecta. I think he's spectacularly unfunny.

10. When I was small my uncle had this fabulous black labrador dog called Jake who was so well trained, he could be trusted to babysit me. No really. Jake knew he was not to let me out of the house. Then Jake was accused of sheep chasing and my uncle had to shoot him. A week later they found it was another dog. It broke my heart.

Waxing as Work Avoidance

I've just rewritten a sitcom for the seventh time and it's sort of getting there, in the way that you stuff a duvet into a duvet case and after much pulling, tugging, shaking and swearing realise that it's sort of ending up with the corners matching but you're getting in a sweat about it and you won't know until you give it all a good shake and let it settle.

I've let it settle because I'm a believer in letting writing marinate a little and then going back to it when you've gained a little perspective. Sadly the perspective is often likely to be a crushing realisation that what you've written needs to be rewritten. So to avoid this pain, I decided to get a good waxing done. It was my birthday yesterday and Husband was in Hong Kong on business (huh - the things he does to avoid getting me a present) - and the children were at school so I nipped off to the local beauty salon.

"I don't know why people make such a fuss about this," I squeaked at the Australian girl who was slapping boiling wax over my tender parts. "Just one quick rip and I'll have all the hair off" she said cheerfully. Then she yanked and waited till I peeled myself off the ceiling. "Do you know you have a hair sticking out your belly button?" No I didn't. "We'll get that little beauty out then!" And she hauled that maverick bit of hair out too while I tried to catch up on all the orange celebrities explaining how the recently deceased Jade was their best friend and brought so much joy into everyone's life. It was difficult as my eyes kept filling up with tears (of pain). "Men don't have to go through this" I moaned. My waxer disagreed. "Oh they do. Some guys come in and they want it all off." What including the back bits? "No - I don't do arseholes" she said. I decided to leave the conversation there. Then I went home feeling very smooth and groomed if a year older, and had a few hours to myself before the children came home. After that a dear friend cooked me steak and chips with proper Bearnaise sauce, and poured the sort of red wine that has an old, slightly grubby aftertaste but in a good way. Just like me really.

Starting a book

Oh it's such a beautiful day. So why am I sitting on the bed, laptop in front of me, fingers poised and frozen above the keyboard? Not literally of course - I'm typing this, which is much more fun than Starting A Book. How do real writers do this? I've had this idea fermenting for months now, made notes, wrote a few scripts in between, shouted at the children, examined my split ends and now I can't put it off any more. I have to get started. The words have to come out of my head *she says pretentiously* It's like editorial laxatives.

*Long Pause while I stare at the screen and it mocks me back*

Husband has just walked in and starts ironing his shirt. "Do you know this ironing board is older than either of our children?" I consider this. "Yes and it's a bloody sight more useful too." Knowing our luck, The Boy will still be sitting in his room among an ever growing pile of crusty pants and sticky crockery when he's 50.

Ok. I've got the title.

Coffee Break!

Don't like the title.

Anyone got any tips?