Friday, 29 November 2013

The Trials and Tribulations of and Idiot

Today, I got on the wrong bus home.  No biggy - you city/town dwellers might say - YES BIGGY!!! I live on a freaking island and I was on a bus destined for the other side entirely!  I could have been stuck in the back of beyond's back of beyond. Marooned and desperate with no mobile phone, I may have had to resort to drinking my own urine, cannibalism or even knocking on someone's door and speaking to a person I didn't know - THE HORROR.  Mind you, I've seen enough Bear Grylls to know the answer to the problem would have been to take all my clothes off, pixelate my bottom, then run down a hill really fast and jump into some freezing, icy water.  Okay, your right it wasn't a biggy, especially as I could have just sat tight and eventually after an hour or so, the bus would have ended up back where it started and I could have then found my actual bus home, possibly by standing in the correct bus stance this time.  SHUT UP! There are four to choose from, all clearly marked - anybody with an aversion to reading signs or paying the slightest bit of attention to their surroundings could have been confused. Hmmmm, the fact that I didn't know anyone on board should have been a give away but as it was the usual familiar selection: two old ladies blethering; a weary young woman going home from work and a smelly, wee, old, drunk bloke trying to make eye contact (yep, pulled again - she shoots she scores) lulled my barely conscious state into a false sense of security.  I was distracted. I had been wrestling with a plot issue all day, off and on, which I had just about resolved and was scribbling in a notebook when I looked up and realised I didn't have a clue where the hell I was.  Ah Lordy.

Still, I'm home now.  My resolved issue is NOT resolved so I nearly wound up miles from home for no good reason.  Tomorrow I will attack the issue of gods and men and the Cascaroch from the safety of a chair in the kitchen.

Yours, Big Dxxx

Sunday, 24 November 2013

Jane Austen's Dick Joke.

" Her father was a clergyman, without being neglected or poor, and a very respectable man, though his name was Richard - and he had never been handsome." Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen (1803).

That's a dick joke isn't it, or am I missing something?  That's got to be a dick joke.  First page, too.  The saucy mare.  It can't be - can it?

I quite like a bit of Jane Austen now and again - when I feel like a little light romance, usually after something Zombie apocalypsey or deranged serial killery.  I did try a modern romance recently, it was okay - but what mostly put me off it (apart from it being cheesy as hell) was instead of saying that the hero and heroine kissed, the writer would insist on using the phrase: "he took her mouth" or vice versa each and every time! Eowwwww!!! TOOK HER MOUTH?! The question that sprung to mind was - where too and why didn't he take the rest of her?  Nah, give me Jane Austen any day. 

Not all of them, mind you - you won't catch me at any re-enactment society things in a muslin dress and big hat going: "every word is a treasure - I'm sure you agree". There was one I started there a couple of months back called "Mansfield Park" - man! I thought I would go insane with boredom - so I cast the brutish tome into the fire....and then remembered it was on my kindle............ and then that we don't have a fire anymore.  So I picked my kindle off the floor and cast the brutish tome from my carousel and into the cloud, without  so much as by your leave, if you please, so exercised was I by the imprudence of her packing in more unnecessary drivel than even JK managed in "Harry Potter and the Deathly Borings" (which possibly did make it into the fire - probably what put the chimney up once to often for my liking - hence the no fire thing *sigh*  - I miss all those firemen).

Northanger Abbey is good though - she has a fantastic go at intellectual snobbery and there is also a really funny section where, instead of just saying that a particular suitor to our heroine was THE most boring cretin ever to crawl out of a swamp, she describes the subject matter with which he is trying to woo the young lady - namely the low down on the carriage he has just bought: it's splash guards, the wheels, the place for swords; then moves on to how fast his horse can go, how good his dogs are at...being dogs? And then on to how great he is at shooting and how he can show everyone a clean pair of heels at anything, and everybody thinks he's great. Hmmm - the passage of centuries has not changed some things - boring is still boring. 

Right, I'm off to take my own mouth and the rest of me off to go and get on with some sequel writing.  See you later xx

TUNE:  Has to be this :)

Sunday, 17 November 2013

KILTS AND DEJA VU

Doesn't time fly when you finally remove your finger and get on with your sequel! I've tried various ways - as you know - to squeeze it out of hiding and then to make myself sit down and do the typey typey bit - but to no avail.  Yet again, it's thanks to a song that I've got going. It's been on my ipod forever, but when it popped around on a shuffle the other day, it was a bit of a eureka moment - like S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W was for Two All.  I'll tell you what it is at the end.  I just stick it on, and I'm in the zone, ready to go.  Hope it doesn't wear off - I've ordered the CD the song is on just to give it some backup.

News: I've joined the Back Gaelic Choir.  Okay, so now you are imagining something angelic with kilts. Well, last time I was in a Gaelic choir, many moons ago, my over-riding memory is of waking up on some stone steps outside one of the Victorian river front hotels in Inverness, at about 4:30 in the morning.  I could hear the ceilidh (that's a party with kilts) still going good guns inside, and I was disgusted - nay - mortified, by the condition I found myself in: I still had money in my purse and the bar was open! So I lurched back in - probably with my own kilt on sideways - it is, if I recall, de rigueur to have one's kilt side-ways, if not backwards, by that time in the morning, when attending the Mod.

 Note: The Mod is a week long party with kilts held somewhere in Scotland that thinks it's hard enough, with competitions in Gaelic singing and poetry and the pipes and other things of that ilk.  It's a  kiltfest.  Cheeky people have been known to call it the Whisky Olympics - I quite like that myself.

I don't know what happened the next day, by the way - I'm not sure there was one. 

That was a choir from long ago, who, by all accounts seem to have been amateurs compared to these guys - in every way!  And guess what, the Mod is in Inverness again next year! Oh man!

Tune: Psychosocial - Slipknot.

Saturday, 9 November 2013

Stuff, Snipers and Ghosts :)

Sorry I haven't been blogging - I've been a bit tied up and not in a bondage sort of way.  It wasn't that someone handcuffed me then had a heart attack, and I've only just chewed my way through the pink furry cuffs and dragged myself to the computer to blog.  No, it's more tied up in sort of a living kind of way and nothing even interesting... okay, one thing was a book launch........but not mine. And it was really quite annoying because although the author was interesting, the audience - or at least elements of the audience - were so irritating: laughing too loud at his jokes or nodding over vigorously at his observations. I know I can be a tad tetchy at times, but I really was wishing I had sniper on radio contact high up in the balcony at some points, and with a laser pen, I'd just point at whoever was bugging me: "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!" - bang- bump - gurgle - sorted - smiley face.

Yep, so I have been working on writing stuff - "The Paper Samurai" is with readers as we speak and "Rise of the Dark Heart/Awakening of "whatever it ends up called - my "Two All - All for One" follow up - is plotted, sorted and doing my nut in because there is so much of it and I desperately don't want it to be confusing but since it involves the creation of worlds - it's going to be, unless I write it ....right.

Okay - boring stuff over - what's been happening - well not much not even a ghost this year.  Did I tell you about my Tolsta ghost - probs have, well in case not here goes:

There I was out for an early morning run  - I don't do them anymore because my daughter, Ciorstaidh, said they might be the reason I keep having problems with my right leg (my bad leg)"morning shock" - she's at university so I tend to believe whatever she tells me although, given my recent experience with spinach - due to her recommendation - where I ended up thinking I had bowel cancer - I'm not so sure anymore.

Any hoo - where was I, early run, ghost day - oh yeah - well.... beautiful morning: freezing cold, sky so full of stars it couldn't even have been called black and shooting stars, so many shooting stars - if wishing on those buggers had any truth behind it I'd be writing this from writers re-hab in America somewhere by now. I came running down the hill (ocht - you know the one I mean - behind my house as you come towards the school) and as I came towards said school, a very tall, very thin man, who I could see through and who looked very raggedy, strode across in front of me. He was quite oblivious to my presence and went on his way, between two house to the moor beyond - he was in a hurry, definitely had something he needed to do or to get to.  Well, I'm a wee guy (4'10") and not exactly of an athletic build so my forward momentum had taken me to the bottom of the hill before my morning brain had even got through the sentence "WHA THE FU!" and there was no way these wee leggies were hauling themselves back up to see - given that I had already gathered that it was a ghost and he wouldn't exactly be hanging about for autographs.  Doubt me?  I walked that way to work a couple of hours later - just to see and there was an electric fence strung right across where he went - if it was a person he'd have had to jump, or at least break stride - he didn't - and if he was a carrier bag, as my husband suggested, then he wouldn't have had a face, legs and arms.  That was my second ghost.  Looking forward to number three. :)

TUNE: THE BROKEN RAVENS  - SCARLET WAVES - a Stornoway band who are VERY GOOD -  and only available right now on Soundcloud and I don't think I can figure out how to link that :)

Have a great weekend, love, Big Dxxxx