Excerpt
An excerpt of my novel - still currently untitled - is now available for download. So if you’ve always wondered what the fuss was about - and if, indeed, it’s worth the fuss at all - I urge you to download it. In return all I ask for is your gut reaction to it; either here in the comments or via my contact form if you’d rather do it more privately.
A password is required to access the downloads page. This isn’t because I’m a douche, but just because I’d like to know who’s accessing it. I don’t care if I don’t know you or you’ve never contacted me before in your life, or even if we know each other in ‘real life’; providing you’ve never threatened the life of me or my child, you’re welcome to read - positively encouraged, in fact. Just comment to request it. :)
Posted on 27th April, 2008 at 12:28 pm | Comment (0)
Antiheroes
Because I’m a dedicated professional when it comes to my fiction (?), I’m a strong believer in research. Proper research; research that involves going places I’d not usually go to, talking to people I wouldn’t usually talk to, writing off and asking weird questions to people in professions I’ve never had, reading books I wouldn’t usually touch - fiction and non- . . . even research that sometimes doesn’t even include the internet. (Crazy stuff, eh?)
Getting into the mind of a man isn’t the easiest thing to do.
I think I’m closer to a guy’s way of thinking than a lot of women; I’m probably more man than girl with the constant profanity, copious speeding tickets, fondness of bitter and my games consoles and inability to cook, clean or iron very well. I’m hideously pessimistic and overly sarcastic, and I have a directness about me that’s sometimes rude, although it’s never - well, rarely - intended that way. I have no tolerance of the simpering female - I want to shake her until her eyes roll in their pretty made-up sockets and tell her to grow the fuck up, get some balls. I admire women who stay at home with their families because I sure as fuck couldn’t do it - there’s been a tide of hostility towards women who ’selfishly’ choose their careers over their kids but I can’t help who I am. If I stayed at home 24/7 to be a Mummy I’d lose my mind, and my son would have a perpetually depressed and occasionally psychopathic mother. On balance, I’m probably doing the right thing for him and, as I’ve said before on numerous occasions, my son will grow up knowing that parents are partners in all aspects of a marriage. He’ll know that if a woman chooses not to work then that’s okay, just as women who chose to keep working are too; in the end, it’s all about respecting our decisions as women and mothers and ensuring that we’re all informed enough and confident enough to make them in the first place. Me, I’ve never, ever not felt confident in this regard. I am who I am and I understand myself well enough to know what happened in my life to get me here. I respect who I am even if I don’t like me sometimes.
Despite this, I know that when it comes to relationships, I’m 100% female. I know because I’ve sat for hours next to a phone waiting for it to ring and checking every fifteen seconds that it’s working. I’ve done the addicted-to-1471 thing. I’ve taken hours and hours to get ready, making my eye make-up especially smoky, my hair sexily tousled and picked my underwear with pain-staking care only to have the guy tell me I look ‘nice’, walk past me and spend the night vomiting into a gutter. I’ve starved myself to drop a jeans size. I’ve binged. I’ve cried in a nightclub when a guy wouldn’t dance with me. I’ve fallen out with friends over men. I’ve looked for affirmation of who I am from men, used sex as a weapon, and my sexuality as a tool. My breasts are singularly responsible for one pay-rise I’ve received, and gotten me out of at least two speeding tickets. None of this makes me proud. In a lot of ways, I can very much still be that simpering female I fucking loathe.
So when it comes to putting across the male perspective in a relationship, it’s not as instinctive as writing as my damaged, commitment-phobic female lead. I’d use M’s guidance but since he’s possibly more of a girl than I am and useless in this regard (we’ve been together fourteen years and even now, if I sit him down to talk about our ‘feelings’ he goes pale and sweaty), he’s possibly not a reliable spokesperson for his gender. I have a male proofreader who offers hints and tips and keeps me on the path and as helpful as that is, I need more to really understand the male perspective. So while not an exact science, I immerse myself in the lads-mag culture; I subscribe to a lads’ magazine and a mens’ magazine, watch Sky Sports and Bravo (after which I often need a shower) and I eavesdrop on as many male-only conversations I as can to really nail the nuances of how they interact. I watch them when they shop. I watch them in bars. I watch them arguing with their other halves, playing with their kids . . . I take every opportunity I get and learn from every one.
I won’t insult your intelligence by professing surprise that men are often crippled by the same insecurities as we are; of course they are, it’s hardly a newsflash. We’re all human, with our own foibles and worries, fat bits and fucked-up bits. But the some of the dating articles . . . Oh. My. God. You need to see them to believe them.
Don’t get me wrong; I know Vogue and Cosmo can echo similar shit (and I don’t read that, either) but . . . please. Check out some of the comments. Is it any wonder some guys can’t get a fucking girlfriend?
Some research just isn’t worth doing. Particularly if I wish to avoid ending up with a male lead I want to drown in a bathtub.
Posted on 4th April, 2008 at 10:52 am | Comment (0)
Procrasinate
It’s Thursday today. I’ve been off work for an entire week, using up my annual leave and sitting with my little monkey during the Easter break. I’d had grand plans seven days ago; I was going to paint the hall, and maybe the downstairs toilet, do a bit of de-cluttering. I was going to clear five stars on all songs on Easy on Guitar Hero and work towards the same on Medium. I was going to clean the livingroom carpet - it’s FILTHY - and clear my wardrobes, and work through my web design client waiting list. And I was going to clear at least 5000 words and drag myself out of his rut.
HA!
I’ve been shockingly poor on all pledges, but particularly with the final one. When I’m in work I daydream about having expanses of time to which to devote to writing, and then when I have time, I squander it. I’ve written . . . what, a hundred words maybe? One-fifty? One-fifty looks nothing like five thousand, not even if you squint your eyes a bit. I’ve been shit.
I’ve been thinking about it; I guess that’s something. Mulling over ideas and scenes. But as this blog is full of my protestations that I’m THINKING even if I’m not DOING . . . well, we all know that that’s not really good enough. I’ve firmed up the weaker parts of the structure, and demistified some of the foggier areas of the story where I hadn’t quite decided how to move the plot onwards but . . . I suck ass. :\
Posted on 3rd April, 2008 at 10:44 am | Comment (0)
Protected: Funk
Posted on 11th February, 2008 at 2:27 pm | Enter your password to view comments
Ebbed
The flood has ebbed again. I’m trying not to get disheartened that it’s not coming as quickly as it had been a little while ago; it’s like anything else, I guess - it ebbs and flows, ebbs and flows. I just now have to ensure that I stick with it, working even when it’s hard, even when I don’t feel like it. It’s important that I don’t stop thinking of the story, trying and discarding new ideas and thoughts even when my fingers aren’t physically on the keyboard. I think that’s the only way that I can complete this; I have to immerse myself into this world to make any sense of it and for me, that often means late nights, insomnia, scribbled notes on the backs of envelopes and receipts.
The one positive step I’ve taken - the big, big, enormous, scary massive step - is to locate a couple of readers. It’s painful, sharing this: like masturbation in public. It’s opening myself to a level I’ve never shared before, and receiving criticism for it is just . . . ugh. But how else can I learn? I need people to help me with this. It’s all well and good me rattling out the fucking thing, but what’s the point if it’s senseless? I’m lucky that I have two people that I completely and utterly trust to tell me truth, whilst - hopefully - also not breaking my heart. And I can’t ask for more than anything else.
For the first time in a long, long time, I really think I’m going to finish this. It might not be good, it may not ever be published, but by fuck, it’s going to be complete.
Posted on 29th December, 2007 at 12:23 pm | Comment (0)