tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11843386356937705282024-02-19T14:46:46.469+00:00Climbing to the lightJayalyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13555528579959785151noreply@blogger.comBlogger113125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1184338635693770528.post-52389145775423578462014-09-21T22:30:00.001+01:002014-09-21T22:30:35.058+01:00Waterway lifeBeauty and sadness in one day on the waterways. Three juvenile swans having a flying lesson and a goose with angel wing who will never fly because its mama was fed too much bread, <div>
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Jayalyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13555528579959785151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1184338635693770528.post-8711246102477577962013-08-18T22:46:00.002+01:002013-08-18T22:46:56.424+01:00Bye bye, RosieIt's ring in the changes time. The Bump became Tiny Boy, who promptly killed off any plans to finish off the book and send it out. I've decided to kill off the whole thing and kick the book under the bed, at least until I start getting at least eight straight hours of sleep a night again.<br />
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The pen name is no more as well. My first few writing conferences made me realise quite how ridiculous it was to have one at this stage and how I preferred to use my own name with people I was meeting face to face. I'm taking the opportunity to jettison it and continue this blog with something which is more obviously a screen name rather than the strange dual personality Rosie Lane was becoming.<br />
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Right now I feel wonderfully free. <br />
<br />Jayalyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13555528579959785151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1184338635693770528.post-83486912707256528352012-06-15T21:57:00.001+01:002012-06-15T21:58:51.550+01:00Things I learned at Loch Melfort1. Small boys exert a strange magnetic field . If you took one to the north pole, he would find another small boy to play with.<br />
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2. It's kind of cute when your restaurant waiter tells you that the other small boy is his brother and asks if yours will be out to play again later.<br />
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3. The sight of children running down a path to the beach can render adults in the dining room misty eyed.<br />
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4. Highland cattle are rather appealing.<br />
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5. Comfy hotel beds render your child's chances of sleeping in his own bed again minimal to say the least.<br />
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6. Local produce also renders your chances of feeding your child supermarket sausages without complaint even more minimal.<br />
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7. A tidal rock pool can be the source of hours of fascination.<br />
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8. Southern small boys find the thought of a land without KFC bizarre and horrifying.<br />
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9. When planning for hours of exploration, allow for the fact that the Highlands are <i>steep</i>, and that sheep need fences.<br />
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10. When planning a trip to a fish farm for book research purposes, just look out of the window. One may be closer than you think.<br />
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11. It is an unwritten law of the universe that if you are in a hotel somewhere with no light pollution and there is a telescope in the living room, the nights <i>will</i> be cloudy.<br />
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12. When you pack to go home, expect to find every pair of clean underpants your son brought, unworn.<br />
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<a href="http://www.lochmelfort.co.uk/" target="_blank">Loch Melfort</a>: lovely place and friendly people who were completely charming to writers with galloping morning sickness and small sons in tow. The Boy is desperate to go back again.Jayalyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13555528579959785151noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1184338635693770528.post-59783696504188281222012-04-29T13:04:00.000+01:002012-04-29T13:31:51.204+01:00Things I learned at Eastercon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdIcQ80AYBURSqAvZVOsJCzePvHIK41iZ3OA4vc7Kmtbm-DDvu7_rgAegFG0diWUYzUHgAPAyjBeOqelgjquaZtC1qHS9cZVTStjBDqWU_donqXqoD0VfwAeBscefNpFj1OCKbyoIb5rg/s1600/why+no+Iron+Throne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdIcQ80AYBURSqAvZVOsJCzePvHIK41iZ3OA4vc7Kmtbm-DDvu7_rgAegFG0diWUYzUHgAPAyjBeOqelgjquaZtC1qHS9cZVTStjBDqWU_donqXqoD0VfwAeBscefNpFj1OCKbyoIb5rg/s320/why+no+Iron+Throne.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Crawling out of my pit of morning sickness to post, pretty much just to let the world know that I'm still alive. Morning sickness: Best. Diet. Ever.<br />
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Coming up to <a href="http://www.olympus2012.org/" target="_blank">Eastercon</a> I was just mildly nauseous, so I thought, let's do this. It's all booked and paid for, you've been looking forward to it for months, and there's no way you can stiff your room mate, <a href="http://mhairisimpson.com/" target="_blank">Mhairie Simpson</a>, for the whole hotel bill, so pack a big bag of tummy-settling snacks and let's go.<br />
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It worked until day 3, when everything went up a gear and I became intimately acquainted with the lovely bathroom in my hotel room and spent much of the last two days in bed. This was disappointing, since I missed my chance of a ringside seat to the big <a href="http://www.bsfa.co.uk/news/bsfa-awards-ceremony-an-apology/" target="_blank">kerfuffle</a>.<br />
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Still, after two weeks of wishing for death, the words finally seem to be stringing together okay and this morning's Rice Krispies are staying put, so hopefully I'm on the downward slope now.<br />
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So, things I learned at Eastercon (which aren't to do with pregnancy and vomiting, because these things are only of interest to the poor fool suffering them):<br />
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1. Remember who the guests of honour are. People are friendly and may ask you questions. It isn't meant as a test, but...<br />
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2. You are possibly the only person in the hotel not to have seen Game of Thrones. When this means that you assume the giant replica Iron Throne in pride of place is a random piece of hotel sculpture, it might look like you just arrived from Mars. Resist the urge to produce your battered copy of Fevre Dream by GRR Martin. The damage is already done.<br />
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3. There is nothing jumpier than a person on a budget staying in an expensive hotel for the first time on a special cheap convention rate, where straying from the path could bankrupt you.<br />
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4. Just because the room service menu is in your room, does not mean you are going to be charged £17.50 for breakfast each day. Breathe.<br />
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5. Fancy hotels may prearrange a credit limit on your bill in case you want to put extras on it. This does not mean that you are going to be charged an extra £200, only that you can put an extra £200 of services on your room bill <i>if you want</i>. Breathe.<br />
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6. The minibar is one of those optional services, not a ravening beast which will creep out of the cupboard and maul your credit card while you sleep.<br />
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7. It doesn't matter how much your husband irritates you. In a hotel room on your own, you will miss him.<br />
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8. Ditto your children, although you're still happy that they aren't in the room with the minibar beast. It makes it easier to close your eyes in the dark. Except you think you just heard it whisper something in there. <br />
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9. You realise that if you were a stick of rock, it would say 'daylight consultant' all the way through, because you wish you had your laser tape and computer with you so that you could calculate the Average Daylight Factor of your hotel room. <br />
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10. At a science fiction convention, you will not be alone in your stick of rockness. There will be other stick of rock people with scientific disciplines running all the way through.<br />
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11. It's hard to stay cool when a Klingon walks in the bar.<br />
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12. You are never short of a t-shirt to read.<br />
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13. Attending a sci-fi panel on getting to Mars can give you at least three dystopian book scenarios in the first fifteen minutes.<br />
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14. People might want to check for pregnant women before they ask hypothetical questions of the room, such as whether they would be willing to offer their children for body modification to allow them to colonise Mars. Specifically, they might want to check for pregnant women with sharp, pointy objects within reach. Seriously, it's like a doctor tapping below your knee with a little hammer; your hands <i>will</i> slam over your belly and you <i>will</i> start scanning the room for people who might have been brave enough to put their hands up. (I know I promised, but come on, one preggy point out of fourteen isn't bad.)<br />
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This was my second convention, and despite having to stay teetotal and a few chats with the big white telephone, it was a ton of fun. I now have to decide whether to try to get to Fantasycon in September despite the fact that I'll be dodging harpoons by then, or to cancel it on the basis that a woman going into labour in one of the panels might be more excitement than anybody wants.<br />
<br />Jayalyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13555528579959785151noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1184338635693770528.post-6031296213670558332012-03-21T22:21:00.002+00:002012-03-21T22:39:16.657+00:00A Boy's visit to the Harry Potter Studio Tour<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQzlETwm4pMceXaGTBgTj58jRg3l5DNk43uCxPaRSLEgH56G1GHdctlxKQrGYK6aI4W09WamzzJYbzMS3rQtm998YvGCVRZBQm-Vm92iRbPHtNv6IoOmCwG4x55SQayvDQolea2Fa2SG8/s1600/hogwarts3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQzlETwm4pMceXaGTBgTj58jRg3l5DNk43uCxPaRSLEgH56G1GHdctlxKQrGYK6aI4W09WamzzJYbzMS3rQtm998YvGCVRZBQm-Vm92iRbPHtNv6IoOmCwG4x55SQayvDQolea2Fa2SG8/s320/hogwarts3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
The Boy was incredibly lucky last week; his school had the opportunity to go to a preview of the Harry Potter Experience at the Leavesden Studios. Our (very) small claim to fame is living within walking distance of the studios. Sadly, they are excellent neighbours and I have never seen or heard anything interesting from the outside.<br />
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When The Boy told me about his day, pretty much every other word he used was 'awesome'. So, over to you, Boy:<br />
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<ul><li><i>We saw the trolley from the train, and you could eat the sweets, They had snakes to eat that moved in my mouth!</i></li>
<li><i>There were chocolate cauldrons with caramel goo inside them that you could drink, and wands that dropped bits of licorish out of the end. They tasted delicious.</i></li>
<li><i>We went into Fred and George's shop. There were actually fireworks! We saw Peruvian instant darkness powder that makes black smoke go everywhere. My friend went home covered in it. </i></li>
<li><i>The electric shock hand worked! </i></li>
<li><i>We met the actors that played Fred and George and they were really funny. They were jokers just like in the films.</i></li>
<li><i>There was a cinema and we thought it was going to be boring but then the wall turned out to be the screen. After the film the screen went up and there were two huge doors. Everybody gasped and didn't move. Behind the doors was the great hall, with no roof. Apparently they only used candles in the first film because they kept falling on the children's food!</i></li>
<li><i>In the tunnel I swear there was magic going on there, because there were lights on the walls and they moved around. You felt like you were walking upside down!</i></li>
<li><i>We went into a huge room with 15 golden snitches to find. Finding the snitches was a lot of fun. They were...</i> Stop! You can't tell people where to find the golden snitches!</li>
<li><i>We saw Hagrid's Hut, Professor Dumbledore's office, the night bus, the Griffindor common room, the Slytherin common room, the dormitories for all the houses, the floor network and the Ministry for Magic.</i></li>
<li><i>We got to drink butterbeer! It was really nice.</i></li>
<li><i>There were wands that shot a bright light out of the end. I really, really wanted one to take home.</i></li>
<li><i>There was lots of other stuff but the absolute best thing of all was wearing the quidditch robes and riding the broomsticks! You got to see yourself on a screen. It was awesome!</i><i> </i></li>
<li><i>I still wish our head teacher had let us get autographs from Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint, Emma Watson and Ralph Fiennes. She had a load of paper and she wouldn't give it to us.</i></li>
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So, overall, good day out?<br />
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<i>One of the best days of my entire life. I would recommend it to every single person in the world, and that includes people on Mars.</i><br />
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Thank you, Boy. The Harry Potter studio tour officially gets the nine-year-old's seal of approval. In fact, he wants me to take him again when it opens so that he can show it all to me. I think I might have to. I want to ride on a broomstick too.Jayalyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13555528579959785151noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1184338635693770528.post-60789158619815542872012-02-15T10:57:00.000+00:002012-02-15T10:57:43.548+00:00An exercise in the procurement of a child passport:<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw1MOVmjz2cPUE3mKEcNAA56xWYLfLjRWHlJdKE5IChdVLb9sINgJYmX-T1MtVGVn5gHRTktAllxl5ETPHTX5dtLcn3hvTeuYGLK7q-Pmt4qdRkNH0TlcyX1rTdeyc8-SNl0Ry-BioynA/s1600/220px-British_new_style_passport.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw1MOVmjz2cPUE3mKEcNAA56xWYLfLjRWHlJdKE5IChdVLb9sINgJYmX-T1MtVGVn5gHRTktAllxl5ETPHTX5dtLcn3hvTeuYGLK7q-Pmt4qdRkNH0TlcyX1rTdeyc8-SNl0Ry-BioynA/s200/220px-British_new_style_passport.jpg" width="140" yda="true" /></a></div><br />
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1. Take child to be photographed. Obtain passport renewal form. Fill in form and append previous passport and two photographs. Give it to husband to take to friend who is deemed official enough to countersign form and photographs declaring that child exists and is not part of terrorist plot. Countersignatory makes mistake in her part of the form. Application rejected. <br />
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2. Get new form. Fill in new form, including countersignatory's part so this time all she has to do is sign it. Give it to husband to take to countersignatory. On return, notice that passport and photographs are now missing from envelope and part of her signature is outside the box. Form now invalid as it refers to enclosed passport.<br />
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3. Get new form, plus form to declare a lost passport. Fill in both forms. Append two more photographs. Give them to husband to take to countersignatory. On return, notice that form is signed but photographs aren't.<br />
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4. Send husband back with photographs to get them signed. Signature is in blue ink. Application rejected. <br />
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5. Head explodes. <br />
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Duration of exercise: 2 months.<br />
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Outcomes:<br />
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1. Brain matter everywhere<br />
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2. No significant progress in long term goal of reduction in pathological need to maintain excessive levels of control in all things.<br />
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3. Still no child passport.Jayalyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13555528579959785151noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1184338635693770528.post-10655107082974648342012-02-10T12:22:00.001+00:002012-02-10T12:48:58.607+00:00Time to recognise the enemy within and conquer itI'm rather embarrassed that it took me this long to work it out. I have a little bit of obsessive -compulsive disorder in me to go with the inner control freak that I accepted and embraced a long time ago. I can't tell you how much more I could have gotten done with my time if I'd realised this earlier.<br />
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It shows at work in the form of insanely complicated computer models which are far more extensive and detailed than needed. Not necessarily a bad thing, except I spend about three times as long on a job as anybody else. Still, they haven't fired me yet, so I'm going to call that a win.<br />
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Online, it shows as a determination to read all the tweets.<br />
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Like many newbie writers, I read the blog posts which tell you that you have to have an online presence; start now before you even have something to sell. You get infected with this sense of urgency, because you might be <b>doing it wrong</b>. It's all: Platform! Blog! Tweet! Do it now! And so the plan, devised on a computer with tick boxes and printed out and glued into a diary (because I'm that kind of scary person) includes Join Twitter. Develop an online web presence.<br />
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And there the compulsion sinks its claws in, because whenever I'm on the computer, it's nagging me that I haven't read all the tweets yet. It is a task uncompleted. I cannot tick the box and move on. I need to tick a completed box before I can move on. Seriously.<br />
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Now I'm not talking about all 200 million tweets per day, or whatever it is now, because I'm just a little bit nuts, not completely off my trolley. Just the tweets from the 270 some people that I follow. But even so, by definition it never ends. It's why I had to quit Farmville and Treasure Madness and make my facebook feed a game free zone. It's why I gave away my Playstation when gaming became more important than food or sleep. I find I seldom tweet myself, because I'm too busy reading all the tweets. And worse, still, they're not even fun tweets, because most of my feed is from follow backs. I am paralysed into inactivity by a giant wave of <i>I am a writer, buy my book</i> tweets, which I don't even enjoy reading, because the compulsion to read all the tweets is there. I can't tick the box and move on. I need to tick the box. <br />
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But this morning, I feel... I don't know, awake. Objective. Looking at my twitter feed, I've noticed that one person tweets exactly every half hour to ask a random question, like 'what's the last colour you painted your toenails?' When I check their page, these questions never result in interaction, never turn into a discussion. So what's their purpose?<br />
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I like using twitter to engage with people about their lives. I want to know about the thing their kids did that made them laugh, about their new puppy, about the joke their friend told them. Really, truly, I don't want to hear about the review of someone's book that I haven't read and don't plan to. Not any more. I guess I could buy every single book promoted by every single person that followed me as a means of building their list of followers, but I'd end up in one of those smart white coats with wraparound arms.<br />
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I'm not going to quit twitter, because I like following authors whose books I've loved, and I like talking to people like Hagelrat, Mhairie Simpson and Margie McNulty, people who are happy to chat, but I think I'm going to cut right back on the other stuff. People have every right to promote their stuff on twitter, but it isn't for me.<br />
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The same as this blog is just a diary that people can read if they want rather than a writer's promotional tool filled with platform building content, my twitter needs to be social and not driven by the great god, Platform. It's the only way to stay sane and enjoy writing enough to want to carry on.<br />
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I'll never read all the tweets, but now I know the task ahead of me. I beat Farmville. I beat Treasure Madness. I can beat this. And to that end, this is what it looks like where I live this morning:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-6LqmH7waKcefjLwpciyE6XpO1ClFliZEZiTJhAIFthx9QYCtjLUrgPImwszPplJB071Ebe1NqPce9M-ZTkolyMULpC2GvH-QpqiQibmzx0crccjUs_0XDRM-_OAwuNPT7gX4K5_ga7A/s1600/10022012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-6LqmH7waKcefjLwpciyE6XpO1ClFliZEZiTJhAIFthx9QYCtjLUrgPImwszPplJB071Ebe1NqPce9M-ZTkolyMULpC2GvH-QpqiQibmzx0crccjUs_0XDRM-_OAwuNPT7gX4K5_ga7A/s320/10022012.jpg" width="179" /></a></div><br />
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Pretty, huh? No doubt my son will be taking his sledge out when he gets home from school. Are your kids having fun in the snow? I really would like to know.Jayalyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13555528579959785151noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1184338635693770528.post-91531486487480737032012-01-24T00:24:00.000+00:002012-01-24T00:24:41.942+00:00Their day will comeThey may be beautiful, but I firmly believe some of these flowers are waiting for the day they will grow up and become triffids. <br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="225" mozallowfullscreen="" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/27920977?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="400"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://vimeo.com/27920977">Life of flowers (Жизнь цветов)</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/vorobyoff">VOROBYOFF PRODUCTION</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.<br />
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One day, when we least expect it, they will strike, and when that happens?<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: arial;">♫</span> </span>The guy sure looks like plant food to me <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: arial;">♫</span></span>Jayalyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13555528579959785151noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1184338635693770528.post-12155040698113195502011-12-31T14:38:00.000+00:002011-12-31T14:38:56.876+00:00Word count will stay my problem up to and including my headstoneI finally pulled my procrastinating thumb out of my arse and did some writing, in that wonderful quiet spot between Christmas and New Year when you can live on leftovers and stay at home while the rest of the world hits the sales. I quite like my tale of satanic paper cats and their reluctant hostess.<br />
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Unfortunately, this was supposed to be my entry for an annual writing group competition with a word count of 2,500 to 3,500, and I'm at 4,500 and rising. Oops. It seems the engraved Writer's Block is destined to spend a year on someone else's shelf. It will probably be happier on a shelf that gets dusted more frequently anyway. I wouldn't want to interfere with the dawn of a new dust bunny species which is likely to occur in my house later this year.Jayalyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13555528579959785151noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1184338635693770528.post-32718781502928967512011-12-21T23:59:00.002+00:002011-12-22T00:06:20.579+00:00Grinch alertOkay, I have to hold my hands up to it: I'm a grinch.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCar_zXPc-82eU0q_FMo4kwWCsT4VaMilml5IVgjF4LM9QOHYqB6McWGjt0fTu64joVwFh3G2OvNXeysOILzqA72cMZTpzOCz1zDrc4bCOC3s5AEdPCirsSFBnJDLy2Maq4prPEQiAvzk/s1600/christmas_grinch-3011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCar_zXPc-82eU0q_FMo4kwWCsT4VaMilml5IVgjF4LM9QOHYqB6McWGjt0fTu64joVwFh3G2OvNXeysOILzqA72cMZTpzOCz1zDrc4bCOC3s5AEdPCirsSFBnJDLy2Maq4prPEQiAvzk/s320/christmas_grinch-3011.jpg" width="196" /></a></div><br />
Which is not to say I hate Christmas, heck no. I love the way The Boy's excitement increases as the open doors on his advent calendar add up. I love our little family walk with the dogs on Christmas morning, and the big family gathering in the evening. I love decorating the tree and baking mince pies with sweet pastry so thin they crumble in your hands.<br />
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Nope, it turns out, what I don't love is involuntary exposure to Christmas music. Christmas songs on the radio and in the shops drive everybody nuts, so I'm just going to add myself to the end of a long, long list there, and declare that the only Christmas song I can tolerate is <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HwHyuraau4Q" target="_blank">Fairytale of New York</a>. 'Nuff Said, and thanks, Tesco, for using it in your advertising and potentially spoiling that one for me too. If that makes me a grinch, then we are legion.<br />
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I might, however, be in a minority when it comes to choirs singing carols.<br />
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Now I quite like choral music. A friend sings in a choir and The Old Git and I go to their twice yearly concert. Good stuff. However, I don't expect it in the middle of a crowded restaurant.<br />
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It was the occasion of our Writing Group Christmas dinner (I do enjoy having four or five different Christmas dinners), and when the group on the next table broke into a rendition of Ding Dong Merrily on High, I thought it was spontaneous and wonderful.<br />
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Then they did another one.<br />
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And another one.<br />
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And another one.<br />
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And another one. <br />
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Then they did the first one again, and I looked over and realised that this was not a spontaneous outbreak of song. They all had songbooks in front of them, and they were set up for a night of wobbling their tonsils in public. And I started a slow, irritable burn.<br />
<br />
I'm sorry, Pain the Arse Choral Society, but it's the noise inspector in me. It doesn't matter what you are choosing to sing, or how well you sing it. What bothers me is that you decided a crowded restaurant was the place for your singalong, regardless of whether the people around you wanted to hear it or not. It's the fundamental 'up yours' inherent in that decision. One carol, sung off the cuff would have delighted me. Planning it in advance? That's just rude.<br />
<br />
I will retire with grinchly dignity to my kitchen, and start baking mince pies. When people open their mouths to sing in inappropriate places, maybe I can just pop mince pies in. I figure with a little bit of planning, I can be both grumpy <i>and</i> Christmassy.Jayalyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13555528579959785151noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1184338635693770528.post-37588150572501636322011-12-12T23:52:00.000+00:002011-12-12T23:52:53.487+00:00It's Panto Night (oh no it's not!)What do the following have in common?<br />
<ul><li>Ripperella, the East End tart whose fairy godfather, Don Corleone, set her up with a man called Jack,</li>
<li>Jack the Intellectually Challenged, who went to London to become the Lord Mayor with the help of a pig called Trotter,</li>
<li>Maid Marion, who left Robin to marry Aladdin, the man who could find her hood,</li>
<li>Silvio, who helped grow the European beanstalk for the Banking Giant by fertilising it with used banknotes.</li>
</ul>Answer: They were all characters invented by the deranged imaginations of the Watford Writers and assigned to me to ham-act for Panto Night. So, so much fun.<br />
<br />
You guys have strange, warped minds and I love you for it. Poor Chris might not, since you made him be King Kong and ape his way across the 'stage' to have a discussion with Tarzan about loincloths.<br />
<br />
The million dollar question now is whether the guy who came for the first time tonight will be back next week or whether he'll run away screaming.Jayalyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13555528579959785151noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1184338635693770528.post-71687035158544789542011-12-10T18:28:00.000+00:002011-12-10T18:28:47.889+00:00Divine Hell blog challenge - HeresyI am dying on my arse with this challenge. Just way too busy at work. It's leaving me with a headful of sludge in the evenings. Nearly a week late and 100 words over. Oops.<br />
<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Hello Steven.” There is infinite sorrow on the Bishop’s face as the guards plant me in a chair on the other side of his desk, my hands spread out on the top. “I had hoped we wouldn’t have to talk again.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So had I. I thought I’d hidden well enough this time to die and wake up with God instead of the Church’s doctors.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He leans forward and puts a hand over mine, stilling the tremors that rack it. “You can’t keep doing this. Please, repent and walk with us in the footsteps of Jesus.” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I don’t answer him. My throat is locked with remembered pain of the razor that opened it and spilled my life onto the ground.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>“Well?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I want to spit in his face and tell him he’s wrong, that God never meant us to keep re-animating these tired bodies as we suck the world dry. But the resurrection process has left me weak. All I can do is shake my head. Lights flash behind my eyes as nanobots<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>falter in their painstaking task to reassemble my thoughts from darkness. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Oh, Steven. How many times must we go through this?” He looks over at the doctor who stand in the shadows. “Steven rejects the words of the holy prophet Dr Pearson and his gift of resurrection. Execute him tonight.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My heart soars. They are going to give up and let me go.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But... no. “Steven, we’ll talk again tomorrow. I pray that you will be thinking more clearly.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Jayalyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13555528579959785151noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1184338635693770528.post-39944814762022392902011-12-06T00:11:00.003+00:002011-12-06T00:13:41.102+00:00Divine Hell blog challenge - LimboOops. It's past midnight. I wonder if my flash story will turn into a pumpkin? A limbo pumpkin. What would a limbo pumpkin look like? Pale, maybe. Wraithlike. Anyway...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcIJ6llMYi5ijCEkscz3p3qTAosNj-WrRLXgkxWaxSxPsrX75US8Yp6sGeuHIj4GaMgpFAUYFmLKf8Do83kwyNRTZ5SD8xKZCojHs9cUWif7occf7q-3EBxfZVYxDTXORal3kf9sni3s4/s1600/Dante%2527s+Hell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcIJ6llMYi5ijCEkscz3p3qTAosNj-WrRLXgkxWaxSxPsrX75US8Yp6sGeuHIj4GaMgpFAUYFmLKf8Do83kwyNRTZ5SD8xKZCojHs9cUWif7occf7q-3EBxfZVYxDTXORal3kf9sni3s4/s200/Dante%2527s+Hell.jpg" width="141" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">http://ladyantimony.blogspot.com/2011/12/december-blog-challenge.html</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">The letters on the sheet in front of me swim and ripple into new configurations as I stare at them with stinging eyes. There is nothing here that means anything, nowhere I can insert the crowbar of my mind and twist.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I have not passed. The vehicle of my future will stall here.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But, until I walk out, neither have I failed. I occupy interstitial space, where nothing is decided.<br />
<br />
I turn my gaze to the clock and will time to stop, will my mind to have this new power to make up for my failure in mathematics.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Just… stop.</div>Jayalyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13555528579959785151noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1184338635693770528.post-1853531870237067482011-11-30T22:15:00.001+00:002011-11-30T22:19:44.292+00:00Tuesday Tales - first judging appointment<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNSqko_H5R5Xluj1IJl2nW7i8iY7tebCIZN6Y5aeCVNRJEKfG1y0elajZqsupbBjX6-7XCeZqjdrk7tOCJsc5Yr7tWtLbzrPRPuJa2yLc6cXro0jMv8LsVU6vhNiU9_PN8MxDghIU5RIw/s1600/twist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNSqko_H5R5Xluj1IJl2nW7i8iY7tebCIZN6Y5aeCVNRJEKfG1y0elajZqsupbBjX6-7XCeZqjdrk7tOCJsc5Yr7tWtLbzrPRPuJa2yLc6cXro0jMv8LsVU6vhNiU9_PN8MxDghIU5RIw/s320/twist.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Judge's word: Twist</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
I had my first judging appointment today, for the weekly microfic competition at Tuesday Tales. So impressed with the quality of the entries; they did not make my job easy. My winners are up, together with what appealed about each entry.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://glitterword.wordpress.com/2011/11/30/tuesdaytales-17-winner-nov-30th/" target="_blank">Check them out</a>.<br />
<br />
It was a great experience. Far, <i>far </i>more fun than my one and only agility judging appointment. That one still gives me a nervous twitch. Note to self: If you are ever stupid enough to find yourself judging an agility competition again, do not set the A frame up next to the window to the cafe, so that every armchair critic can second guess your judgements on the contacts.Jayalyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13555528579959785151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1184338635693770528.post-25231930334006438522011-11-21T23:39:00.000+00:002011-11-21T23:39:44.247+00:00No, not "everyone has klout". Some of us don't want itI read an interesting post today, on why someone <a href="http://www.pammarketingnut.com/2011/11/why-i-deleted-my-klout-profile/#" target="_blank">deleted their Klout profile</a>. I've read several posts over the last few weeks where people have been discussing the algorithm that Klout uses to determine how influential you are on social networks, and thought, "I wouldn't sign up for that mess of social-anxiety-in-a-jar if you held a gun to my head." As a shy person who doesn't make friends easily, to me it represents the same kind of soul crushing popularity contest that made me feel like a worthless waste of oxygen in my teens, and like hell am I am going to subscribe to it as an adult too. Having fun with social networks? Who cares, let's talk how <i>important</i> you are.<br />
<br />
How lucky I am, then, that I didn't need to sign up. Those lovely, thoughtful people at Klout, who know nothing of my contempt for popularity contests or concern about things being done in my name without my knowledge, just made me a profile anyway. Thanks, guys.<br />
<br />
Now you can damn well delete it again. Now.Jayalyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13555528579959785151noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1184338635693770528.post-43918373160792757042011-11-15T22:23:00.002+00:002011-11-30T22:16:10.246+00:00Tuesday Tales - because microfic is addictiveI won another round of <a href="http://glitterword.wordpress.com/tuesdaytales/">Tuesday Tales</a>, go me! The fact that I'm posting it now instead of last week has nothing to do with me procrastinating my tail off faced with three books to beta read, my word no. Nothing could be *cough* further from the truth. And I'm not stalling because I can't come up with anything for this week's round either.<br />
<br />
No I am not looking shifty. You take that back.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxqWz5d7yMh0rMJA1IboC-qV_6gHu5Yl9lJm4yjcZOt24PbEtSVM6GEV6vglemidfjGkhY6Zc3kyRVpOaZqDU9zzzL7Q1KUFo8yXCWRxb5_dBOO4zq6hmwTXf-0WN9WlwbDW__1Kh1uT4/s1600/nighttime2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxqWz5d7yMh0rMJA1IboC-qV_6gHu5Yl9lJm4yjcZOt24PbEtSVM6GEV6vglemidfjGkhY6Zc3kyRVpOaZqDU9zzzL7Q1KUFo8yXCWRxb5_dBOO4zq6hmwTXf-0WN9WlwbDW__1Kh1uT4/s320/nighttime2.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Prompt word: Effervesced</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<br />
I tip the powder into my water glass with shaking hands. It effervesces with a happy sparkle that promises forgiveness of my sins; a fresh start in one fizzy mouthful.<br />
<br />
The wrappers of a dozen chocolate bars surround me, as much a part of the autumn as fallen leaves and fireworks. I bend down to gather them up and hide the evidence of my shame for another year. They disappear in the dustbin, lost among coffee grounds and cardboard. The wrappers are gone but I am left with my belly, as soft and sagging as the rotting pumpkin underneath them.Jayalyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13555528579959785151noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1184338635693770528.post-51559674305558796332011-10-24T11:12:00.002+01:002011-10-25T09:38:38.948+01:00Genre hopping - choose your destination wiselyOne of the best things about Fantasycon was that I found out about a lot of great authors. Thrilled with my new discoveries, I dived in and am just now emerging from a huge reading bender of British urban fantasy, gritty eyed and with a head full of monsters and mayhem. It was wonderful. These are the books I read and I would recommend any of them:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.spellcrackers.com/books.html">The Sweet Scent of Blood by Suzanne McLeod</a><br />
<a href="http://www.mikeandpeter.com/the-stories/">The Naming of the Beasts by Mike Carey</a> (I *really* wish I'd read these in order instead of grabbing five before three and four. It would have been even more awesome)<br />
<a href="http://simonrgreen.co.uk/books/#">Into the Nightside by Simon R Green</a> (an omnibus of Something from the Nightside and Agents of Light and Darkness)<br />
<br />
However, I have learned the hard way not to stay in one genre too long. The corpse of high fantasy lies broken behind me on this path, burned out and lost to me, maybe forever. Can't let that happen again. Time for a change.<br />
<br />
I've been meaning to read some of Georgette Heyer's books for a long time, because I've heard so many good things about them. <a href="http://simonrgreen.co.uk/books/#">Sarah Rees Brennan</a> has talked about them in glowing terms, and I like her own books so much that I'll read pretty much anything she recommends.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, regency romances: possibly not a good choice of genre coming straight after an urban fantasy marathon. I like me some romance, I really do, but when you've just read books where vampires and demons are threatening everything the world holds dear, it's really hard to get excited about someone risking their position in the echelons of those born rich and entitled just by marrying someone not quite as rich and entitled as they are. None of them seem to work for a living. It's enough to make me come over all Bastille Day. <br />
<br />
I don't plan to quit just yet; I'm only a few pages in. However, I might need to pick a different genre first and work my way down to that gentler level of sex and violence, where a bad marriage or being caught with your voluminous knickers down is possibly the worst thing that can happen to you.Jayalyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13555528579959785151noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1184338635693770528.post-62658374329727689532011-10-19T13:14:00.000+01:002011-11-30T22:16:10.247+00:00Microfic win<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzzcdGGsVsiH4_SZSm641gH2u6z9ZYtL6Htl_l335_XkNfLTaTjt2m43DyumPWj1bKGKw1W0MFezDZ5Osqvh7USS0UrNiB_zYG4dopNG1AA82g-zdSttlE8VJVP1aS-QT8ZE0pblpoqGw/s1600/ttbadge12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" rda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzzcdGGsVsiH4_SZSm641gH2u6z9ZYtL6Htl_l335_XkNfLTaTjt2m43DyumPWj1bKGKw1W0MFezDZ5Osqvh7USS0UrNiB_zYG4dopNG1AA82g-zdSttlE8VJVP1aS-QT8ZE0pblpoqGw/s1600/ttbadge12.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I love microfic. It's a great way to keep writing when you're contemplating whether to print off your manuscript just so that you can set fire to it. To keep my fingers away from the matches I've been playing the Tuesday Tales at <a href="http://glitterword.wordpress.com/">Glitter Word</a> for a while and it's really good fun. Weekly 100 word microfic competition based on a photograph and a prompt word.<br />
<br />
And this week, <a href="http://glitterword.wordpress.com/2011/10/19/tuesdaytales-winner-october-18th/#comment-812">I won</a>! Yay! Thanks to Stevie for a gorgeous pic and to <a href="http://glitterword.wordpress.com/2011/10/19/tuesdaytales-winner-october-18th/#comment-812">Lady Antimony</a> for <strike>accepting the bri</strike> judging. Go read the <a href="http://glitterword.wordpress.com/2011/10/18/tuesdaytales-challenge-9-2/">other entries</a> too. Lots of awesomeness there. I think the pic brought out the poet in everybody this week.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~</div><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqlF2HSQ6U7vpDwTfM1W0P7eS8fTNUUHiMoJdFTt8TsPnJuoDwOXMe-K3SA-Ws25nZuhdrU9vhcgedB_JqfpZDte4hevEAwhLE4mg_SwsAtz_f01tbLUIKZjMOw2DgJ7lz1nmir7ds-78/s1600/meggyrose18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="149" rda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqlF2HSQ6U7vpDwTfM1W0P7eS8fTNUUHiMoJdFTt8TsPnJuoDwOXMe-K3SA-Ws25nZuhdrU9vhcgedB_JqfpZDte4hevEAwhLE4mg_SwsAtz_f01tbLUIKZjMOw2DgJ7lz1nmir7ds-78/s200/meggyrose18.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Prompt word: Ensorcell</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
The girl sits on the opposite bank and watches me through hair that curls like water weed. Her bare skin glistens with the pond water that drips onto the grass.<br />
<br />
“Are you a witch?” I ask. “Here to ensorcel me?”<br />
<br />
She tilts her head to listen to the sound and smiles at me.<br />
<br />
“Will you talk?”<br />
<br />
She smiles again, showing needle-sharp teeth made to tear and rend, and slips into the water. I should be running. Instead I lean over to look for her, a pale wraith in the reeds.<br />
<br />
Her smile widens as she drags me into her pond.Jayalyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13555528579959785151noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1184338635693770528.post-19113276711190137732011-10-18T00:24:00.000+01:002011-10-18T00:24:50.517+01:00You know how sometimes a picture is worth a thousand words?<a href="http://www.someecards.com/usercards/viewcard/MjAxMS1iY2I0NDhlNGZiN2VlMTYw"><img alt="someecards.com - I've got a bad case of the fuck-its." src="http://cdn.someecards.com/someecards/usercards/1318792359123_1313260.png" /></a><br />
<br />
Totally.Jayalyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13555528579959785151noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1184338635693770528.post-8643973285842223062011-10-08T08:38:00.002+01:002011-10-08T08:40:03.231+01:00On Fantasycon 2011I was right to look forward to Fantasycon. Well, except in the financial sense, because boy, you don't want to go there if your TBR pile is too big and you don't want to buy another book, ever. Everybody I met, I wanted to go and and buy their books afterwards. I'll never have time to write again.<br />
<br />
It's a very strange thing to be in a hotel around people that make you want to squee like a fangirl and realise that they are normal people. Well, on the cool end of normal, actually. SFF writers know how to have a good time.<br />
<br />
Brighton was bizarre and wonderful. I can't think of anywhere else you would walk past a group of drunken stormtroopers on the way to the restaurant. Darth Vader was out for the count on the pavement. It is a place where you can expect to see guys heading for clubs wearing pink furry boot covers and stockings. Better than television.<br />
<br />
And the best, absolutely the best thing, for me, was that the people I was around were proud to be SFF authors. No genre shame here, no 'I wrote a book, but it's just fantasy, a bit embarrassing really but it pays the bills'. They write amazing, imaginative books with the brakes off. They made me stand a little bit taller just by association. A few days before I was ready to quit, but I came back with renewed motivation to revise my manuscript and start querying. No small part of that was down to <a href="http://www.annemhairisimpson.com/">Mhairi Simpson</a>, who is one of the nicest people I've met and tolerated my efforts to twist her YA shapeshifter romance into furry erotica (It's all about the CLAWS, baby). <i><br />
</i><br />
I am <i>so</i> going back next year.Jayalyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13555528579959785151noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1184338635693770528.post-87508547175816245322011-09-29T20:26:00.003+01:002011-09-29T22:52:37.170+01:00Conference timeI am writing this blog post in my current very favourite place in the whole world. It's a little laboratory just off the hospitality lounge where conference goers have lunch and what makes it my favourite place in the world, is that I'm at this conference and I have a key. Since the conference is chock full of exciting equations, I will put this in equation form too:<br />
<br />
Conference = lots of strangers.<br />
Lots of strangers + lifelong social anxiety = Acute social anxiety.<br />
Acute social anxiety + key to bolt hole = Foregone conclusion = Rosie holes up like a rat with her plate of sandwiches.<br />
<br />
There has to be something wrong with hiding away at a conference so that you can post about how much you are looking forward to another conference, but this next one is my first Fantasycon. The only thing I know for sure about it is that this time I won't have a key to a convenient bolthole. Not unless I mug a cleaner, anyway. That seems extreme, so I'm putting my faith in the fact that they have a first timer programme and that a friend is going too. I met her on twitter and she's giving me a lift to the hotel.<br />
<br />
So, going through my checklist:<br />
<br />
- Programme of events, check.<br />
- Too many clothes for one weekend, check.<br />
- Pretty business cards that make me look more like a romance writer than a fantasy writer, check.<br />
- Copies of Helliconia Spring and Salvage Rites to sign in case I get a chance to stal... bump into some writing idols, check.<br />
<br />
As long as <a href="http://www.mhairisimpson.com/">Mhairie</a> doesn't bring an axe, I think I'm good.Jayalyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13555528579959785151noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1184338635693770528.post-91455881614547542902011-09-24T00:07:00.002+01:002011-09-24T00:13:50.836+01:00The madness, it is contagious<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAs-40_-eD0b36ovYIWVM5xdMoxio2Ri17iSjHh_Yz804kayJDJN4ZOZeztF4aOZXLfDTY9gAuhOf2D2iTQGKMojfh5w0zjfjvE011DgGtdxa63NESS_xsyhWhbB2HRNsTnbnk4BsjM2s/s1600/Versatile+Blogger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAs-40_-eD0b36ovYIWVM5xdMoxio2Ri17iSjHh_Yz804kayJDJN4ZOZeztF4aOZXLfDTY9gAuhOf2D2iTQGKMojfh5w0zjfjvE011DgGtdxa63NESS_xsyhWhbB2HRNsTnbnk4BsjM2s/s1600/Versatile+Blogger.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Seriously? Two more Versatile Blogger nominations? Be kind to <a href="http://glitterword.wordpress.com/">Glitterlady </a>and <a href="http://www.darcytodracula.com/">Charitygirl</a>. They appear to be somewhat confused.<br />
<br />
Now I have to come up with some more things about myself that won't make people step away slowly. This sounds like a job for *drumroll* ex-EHOgirl.<br />
<br />
1. I once stapled my thumb, all the way in, and had to stay silent because an asshole was ranting at me on the phone about my inspection of his cafe. I would rather staple my thumb again than talk to that man.<br />
<br />
2. I haven't eaten a doner kebab since I saw one of them raw when I was doing a restaurant inspection (a different one).<br />
<br />
3. I once demonstrated exactly why you have to mark up fully glazed doors with a sight bar, by walking smack into one. At the end of a health and safety inspection.<br />
<br />
4. I was once cross examined in court for half a day about a box I ticked on a form as a student. Definition of not fun.<br />
<br />
5. I am currently climbing out of a fit of the sads that left this post in draft up to here for a couple of weeks. Excuses: I haz them.<br />
<br />
6. I sometimes question how wise it is to seek publication given the damage the journey can do to your day job, your family and your mental health. You are free to read this together with the previous point and draw your own conclusions.<br />
<br />
7. I have a very awesome day job, which deserves to have far fewer distractions in the form of pretty, publishing butterflies dancing just out of reach.<br />
<br />
And I now aim this shiny blog award at: <a href="http://dee-liberations.blogspot.com/">Dee</a>, who can write a haiku for any occasion. You now get to blog with seven facts about yourself and nominate someone else. I've seen several versions now of how many recipients, so I'm going with up to five.Jayalyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13555528579959785151noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1184338635693770528.post-86885981195163154642011-09-16T14:00:00.000+01:002011-09-16T14:00:45.090+01:00EndingsThere is a sorrow to throwing away stored baby equipment, one that isn't there if you give it to another new parent. It is an acceptance that the time for babies is over. When you give, it is part of the celebration of new life, a passing of the torch. In the recycling centre it is an ending, the first real step towards your death.Jayalyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13555528579959785151noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1184338635693770528.post-63864537140101102942011-09-07T09:29:00.000+01:002011-09-07T09:29:00.462+01:00A matter of prioritiesA colossal overcommitment fail is in progress at the moment. I missed my first campaign writing game and my first dice games flash prompt because I had something big on at work that demanded my full attention. I also deflated with a sorry 'pfft' sound when I received the first less than glowing crit of my manuscript last week, and writing dropped below house cleaning on my priority list while I regrouped. That is possibly no bad thing.<br />
<br />
Anyway, normal service will be resumed shortly.Jayalyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13555528579959785151noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1184338635693770528.post-34757172940601759822011-08-28T15:23:00.003+01:002011-08-28T15:33:15.539+01:00Hurricane time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZvXukl10Wn4iw2EXBxUF7IlQdDlYK0mgA2xpcQCCIwoc5wJyvISKgCmkIDbYI_3Ja6X3GAjR_qz4WaD43fOjcfWiM-vWDe_uu5jLq6HeAw2tIW4_a-uEqdIMGwi81fh4I6A2CHUdd89s/s1600/weather_hurricane150.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZvXukl10Wn4iw2EXBxUF7IlQdDlYK0mgA2xpcQCCIwoc5wJyvISKgCmkIDbYI_3Ja6X3GAjR_qz4WaD43fOjcfWiM-vWDe_uu5jLq6HeAw2tIW4_a-uEqdIMGwi81fh4I6A2CHUdd89s/s1600/weather_hurricane150.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Waiting to hear from friends who were in the path of Hurricane Irene (they're fine) had me thinking about our one and only English hurricane that I can remember, in 1987. I was all of 18 and in my second month away from home, and because this was 1987, we didn't have televisions in our rooms, or internet or mobile phones to be aware that there might be a hurricane. Or not, depending on who you listened to. It may have been on the radio, but frankly I was busy discovering cheap rotgut alcohol (oh Thunderbird, beloved drink of penniless students and winos), Indian food and Pink Floyd. Oh, and wondering what to do about being a non-smoker when the pot got passed around (they baked me flapjacks! I mean, I'm sure they would have. But they didn't. Because of course I did not try it. Never. Not even in flapjacks. Because that would be bad. Ahem, so, moving on).<br />
<br />
Our halls of residence were in the middle of a beautiful wooded park. It did occur to me that evening that the trees were swaying an awful lot in the wind, but I shrugged my shoulders. Windy. Big deal.<br />
<br />
Quite a big deal, as it turned out, although I suspect not on Irene's scale. At breakfast, we found out that we had all slept through our first ever hurricane and some of us went out to look.<br />
<br />
Our baby trees around the edge of the park were all bent and sad. One had fallen over, and being fine upstanding youths, who never smoked pot or ate interesting flapjacks, we thought, poor Sad Fallen Tree. We will save you, Tree! Together we pushed Sad Fallen Tree up, to stand next to the path once again and have a new chance at life. Proud of our efforts, we moved on in our quest to explore our wind-ravaged land and offer help, or at least be nosy.<br />
<br />
Of course, a hundred yards up the road, we realised that Sad Fallen Tree might fall over again, and this time might hit someone on the way down. We raced back down the road and pushed over Sad Fallen Tree again, so that it didn't kill someone in its second tragic demise.<br />
<br />
Being a fine upstanding youth is hard sometimes. You might even look like a vandal. Just as long as you don't get caught eating the flapjacks. <br />
<br />
<br />
Jayalyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13555528579959785151noreply@blogger.com14