When the Goblin came home from work I had to show him some photos on Facebook. One of my brothers is getting married next month and I hadn’t seen a picture of my future sister-in-law. They’re such a cute couple and he looks so happy it nearly made me cry! I mentioned something about the site that had been bugging me since I signed up and within two minutes he’d fixed it. Having lowered my stress level by several degrees when he mentioned he was dying for a good hamburger I told him I’d treat him to dinner. His eyes lit up and he ran off to find somewhere to go. The closest place that he thought would create his sort of burgher was in Milton Keynes; fifty miles away. How far would you go for a burgher? Thankfully he loved it. I was still eternally chewing my way through my first half of a child’s version when he’d finished his giant one. Of course I took my camera (I’ll soon be needing Cameraholic Anonymous) and took photos on the way…while there and on the way home, most of the way agonized by a glorious setting orange sun that turned blood red as we drove into Stamford and then sunk out of sight. The only pictures taken while stationary were at the restaurant. The sunset shots were taken with a small camera through a closed car window going 60+ miles an hour down the motorway. I was tempted to ask the Goblin to pull up so I could take some shots, but he had that…I’m driving…look on his face. I didn’t think any of them would turn out…I was pleasantly surprised! [Read more…]
Archives for June 2010
My workroom is always the warmest in the house. This is good in winter, but not so good in Summer. I knew it would be hot today, but I was determined to get some writing done. I sat here and fought the mind numbing heat and pecked away at the keyboard until my brain flashed red and I gave in. It was cooler outside; I had to leave the house. I thought about packing some water, but even thinking about it took effort so I grabbed my bag, checked to make sure I had my money, music and camera and I was off at a gentle pace. I was planning to walk to the Priory remains where they have a couple benches, but I kept walking…down on the Meadow next to the river…and then ended up in St Michael’s church in St Martins. Stamford is the northern side of the river and St Martins is the southern side though I generally just think of it all as Stamford. I miraculously found it open and gloriously empty. The old stone churches are always cold. I think if this heat keeps up I might take a writing pad over to one and sit and try to get some work done the old fashioned way.
I found some lovely photos before my camera battery died. That will teach me for being too lazy to charge it, but I’m glad it died. It meant I had no reason to resist claiming one of the many pews. I sat down and was glad the thick walls muffled the outside world. I closed my eyes and could have fallen asleep, but thankfully the narrow benches were designed to keep people awake.
My stories aren’t very happy with me at the moment. I think I’m trying to write the characters in some slightly wrong directions. I feel like I’m trying to push a dead cow up a hill, but I’ll figure it out. Eventually. [Read more…]
I went for a walk this evening with my camera. The town was quiet; almost empty. Followed by my shadow, I ambled up and down the streets my eyes fixed upward as the yellow setting sun made the stone churches and houses glow. With the sun to my back, the sky was a bright blue, dark enough to show the white crescent moon. Dark jagged shapes created art out of everything that caught the light. The word beautiful seems inadequate. I may have been the only person to notice her shadow walking away! It was a special evening; it’s strange how we can see something a hundred times and yet not really see it. [Read more…]
I woke up at 10:30 after twelve hours of sleep. Even after some weird dreams I actually felt rested if a bit groggy. Being a silly wench, I sat down at my computer still bleary-eyed and decided to pull up Once Upon a Wager and “fix” the chapter I was working on. Before falling asleep I’d finally accepted, after two weeks of banging my head against another brick wall, that the story wasn’t happy with the direction I was taking it. It was a simple task. Delete half a chapter. I decided to save part of the writing just in case I wanted to use it later. All I had to do was copy the relevant paragraphs and paste them elsewhere and then push the delete key…at least that’s what I did and then found I’d somehow deleted all of chapter 31. [Read more…]
My favorite local secondhand bookshop is blessed with a split personality; in the back there’s a tidy room of locked glass cases containing special expensive editions, but to get to it you pass through two small rooms turned into a short maze of dusty shelves that display anything the proprietors think they might sell to someone…anyone. At the foot of some private stairs (that you pass by to reach the second room) there’s even a disorganized paperback section where you can find the odd Catherine Cookson pressed tightly between Chaucer and Ian Fleming or some long dead Greek playwright. It’s a very egalitarian bookshop. I went in hope of finding a cheap anthology of middle English poetry, but I couldn’t find anything other than Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (which I haven’t yet desired to read). I kept browsing. In the second room, the far left corner holding European history is separated from the shelves of literature by a grubby stand with more paperbacks, most of them cheap editions of great literature published in the fifties and sixties. I spun it round and caught sight of a book with a cover portrait of a beautiful young man with intelligent eyes. I’d never heard of Robert Bage or his book called Hermsprong; Man as He is not. Flipping it open I found the novel was published in 1796. Reading the back it said it was funny (and as it only cost £1) so I bought it. [Read more…]
It’s been years since I kept a regular diary. Some people write private diaries for their eyes only, but all through my teens and into my twenties I always wrote to any future children I might have. At the time I knew they wouldn’t want to actually read it, but I plodded on noting on the odd occasion what actually happened during my day (most of the important moments going completely unrecorded). The greater number of pages scrawled with pen and pencil with the juvenile voice of my brain (and blurred with the occasional tear) recount the not so exciting mental world I inhabited which usually included, “I don’t feel well today…”. I’d occasionally read back over my ramblings and every time I came to the conclusion that I was a hopeless bore. Armed with this depressing self-knowledge, around 16, I decided I needed to make myself more interesting. After some thought I decided (for some forgotten reason) that the best way to achieve my goal was to expand my horizon by reading “great” literature (instead of the regency romances I was addicted to). I was sure this would make me more interesting; if only to me. This is how I ended up reading James Joyce’s A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. [Read more…]
I’m a techno-idiot. About two months ago I managed to somehow accidentally click on something in my blog management page that designated all comments as spam and so I haven’t received any e-mails from my blog telling me I had comments. I thought it was a bit weird that no one (not even one of my sisters) had made a comment, but I assumed no one had. I might think I’m the center of the universe, but it’s rather outlandish to expect others to agree. This evening my friend Jen e-mailed me and asked me why her comments kept disappearing into the ether. That was shock! I was getting comments and they weren’t showing up? It was like one of those nightmares where you find you’re back in high school…you don’t know what class you’re supposed to be in and you’re…naked. Screams of horror fill your ears from nearby teenagers at the sight… [Read more…]