A very busy Squidge indeed!

Sorry I've been a bit quiet on the old blogging front - been a bit preoccupied recently!

I last blogged about our kitchen refit here. We're now into our fourth week.

Timetabling various work has been a bit of an issue - lots of time in between phases of work, rather than a smooth day-after-day continuation. We knew there would be a week's wait for our worktop after the units were fitted, but we didn't expect a delay of a week before the template could be taken, then another for said manufacture and fitting.

Units in, but no doors...

 It's going to look fab once it is completely finished - we've been painting in the quiet times so at least we're getting that done before we move everything back in. Here it is half-done, with a few cupboard doors and drawer fronts missing, no floor, and no paint on the walls.

Missing the glass doors and worktop

My really funky radiator!

Almost done. Still missing a few doors and drawer fronts...

We've also been trying desperately hard to get the garden room finished - which it is! There are lights, we even painted inside (I feel like I've lived in painting trousers for the last week!) and we have squishy bean bags and enough carpet for folks to crash down there and for me to do Pilates.

Squidgeling T has already had a jamming session with a mate in there - one full drum kit and a bass guitar with big amp, and we couldn't hear much at all in the house!

Mr Squidge has done an amazing job on building this

I'm looking forward to writing there, too. Amazing how much you can do if you're out of range of wifi and can't access the internet... Speaking of which, I'm 25,000 words into the rewrite of Rurik. It's going well, although I have discovered one or two continuity errors re timing. And I've had to rethink some character interactions and motivations. I'm hoping to have a first draft completed within another six weeks.

What else has happened? I went to my first 'festival' - an event to celebrate a friend's 50th. As you can see, I got into the spirit and dressed accordingly. So did Mr Squidge, but he didn't fancy sharing his photo!

Was especially proud of my 'festival nails' - the ones you can't see are cerise pink! 

And we've also had some very exciting news - Squidgeling J got the grades she needed in her A levels so she's off to Bristol University to do an MEng in Engineering Mathematics for the next four years! Tomorrow we find out how Squidgeling T got on in his GCSE's, too...

I don't think things are going to get any less busy any time soon, either; I have several bookings for author talks and creative writing workshops coming up as well as trying to put back everything that come out of the old kitchen into the new one. And learn how to cook again - we have always cooked on gas, but we're now the proud owners of an electric oven and hob, so it's all VERY different.

I'd be bored if I wasn't busy, wouldn't I? ;)

Saratha's and saris

We arrived in India around 3pm on the Saturday afternoon, Trichy-time. One of the first things we did was head to the textile shop, because one of my travelling companions is being consecrated as a bishop later this month and wanted some clerical shirts made in Bishop Purple (if that's not an official colour, like emerald green or sky blue, it should be!), while my other companion is a curate and needed clerical shirts in black. (Plus he'd bought a shirt order from another vicar too!)

So, off to Saratha's in Trichy we went...

On foot, we negotiated oncoming tuctucs, two-wheelers, cars, carts and pedestrians in the narrow market street to reach the 1.5 million square feet complex. Started in Trichy in 1969, it claims to be the largest textile showroom in India, with a huge range of fabrics and ready-made clothing.

What an experience! It took some considerable time to find the right shade of Bishop Purple. "Too pink. Too bluey. Too purpley." Yes, really...Bishop Purple is actually a sort of pinky-purple that nudges towards cerise, but isn't. A bit like this:

Anyhow, suffice to say that finding black was a lot easier - though there are actually a lot of different shades of black. And white, which I'd never appreciated before.

The next step was a churithar suit, for me. Oh...boyoboyoboy!

Now, you know when you walk into a UK clothes shop, and there's just THE colour, for that season? And the shop has nothing except that colour in it? (It's a revolting mess of mucky green and grey and black and camel for this spring, it seems). And nine times out of ten, you can guarantee it's not a colour that suits you?

Well, in Saratha's churithar department, there's none of that. You need to know your size - I'm apparently a 40, which sounded huge for my petite frame but did fit; I tried a top on, much to the interest of shop assistants and customers because I took off my shirt and was wearing a vest top under, thus exposing shoulders and cleavage (what little I have) which is NOT the done thing in India.

Then you choose your colour. Simply go to the shelf or rack with that size on it, and the assistants pull out pile upon pile of folded suits, spreading them out for you to take your pick of the myriad colours available. It was like being in a candy store. Contrasting colours, toning colours, pastels, brights, glitter, embroidery...I could've spent hours there, drinking it all in.

Ready-made churithar choices...

More choice if you want to make them yourself...

The devil's in the detail...

The one I finally chose was pink with brown embroidery, brown trousers and a pink-printed brown scarf. It was sleeveless, and I asked about getting one with sleeves - what I didn't realise is that the sleeves are never attached. It's up to you to get them sewn in if you want to.

A rather bad selfie...

 

Embroidery detail around the hem

When you've decided on your purchase, there's none of this wandering around, stuffing it and other items into a mesh bag to go to the tills at the end of your visit. Oh no. One of the (thousands, I'm certain of it!) shop assistants is called over, given the item that you wish to purchase, then you follow him - and it's always a man, the only female assistants we saw were on the bra counter - to the cash desk, where the process of paying begins.

Paying in Saratha's - a step-by-step guide.
1. Assistant hands item(s) to till man no.1.
2. Till man 1 asks if you are paying cash or credit.
3. You hand over your money or card.
4. Item and money are given to the cashier. He sorts out your change. AT THE SAME TIME, you are given a receipt by till man no.1 to say how much your purchases were and that you've handed some money over.
5. You move along a line, trying to keep tabs on your item(s) and hand over your receipt to till man no.2 to show you've paid.
6. Till man no. 2 (or 3, I rather lost track) gives you back your change, your stamped receipt and your purchase in a Saratha's bag.
7. Repeat as often as necessary, depending on how many different departments or counters you make a purchase from...

If you want to see how fast these guys work, take a look at this video clip...Cashiers! 

On the Sunday evening, we went back again - this time to look at gold fabric for other bishop-y accessories (we nearly had a disco-bish when we were shown gold-sequinned lace...!) and to purchase a sari - for me, not the almost-bish - because we were going back to Pudukkottai village on the Monday and Sarah, Reverend Benjamin's wife, had agreed to dress me in a sari for our visit to the school.

I chose a rather beautiful pink and gold silk one, because the Women's Fellowship in the village wear a uniform sari of pink and gold; mine didn't exactly match, but it would be a link. Then we headed off to buy a ready-made sari blouse and petticoat. The gentleman on the counter took one look at me, said "34" and found the right shade of pink to match the embroidery.

Sari bling...

Now - I digress a little from the Saratha's experience here, but if ever you buy a sari for yourself, be aware that most of them come with a blouse bit. This is an extra length on the material which is cut off to make a matching blouse. Except I didn't know that, so poor Sarah had her work cut out when she was trying to use up an extra metre or so of fabric in the draping when she dressed me.

Back to Saratha's...

We had a rest day later in the week, and N and I planned a shopping trip, to buy gifts for our families. Clothing is cheap and there is such a wide choice available...so we headed back to Saratha's again. Another visit to the churithar suit counter, but for N's wife this time; I'd enjoyed wearing the pink sari so much, I decided to buy a second, lighter one. This time, we were accompanied by two teachers from Bishop Heber Secondary School, Shineo and Josephine, who helped us with our purchases. And this time, I had my camera...

Now, there was so much choice, I could have spent hours and hours choosing. In fact, this must've been the norm, as we saw families sitting on the floor in the shop eating lunch, they'd been there so long...

Look to the left, where folk are taking a rest...

I ended up making quite quick decisions, in spite of the teachers encouraging me to keep looking. I couldn't properly explain how having such a massive choice was alien, that I was used to having limited options and found the variety somewhat overwhelming!

Anyway, purchases were made. I left with shirts for Mr Squidge and T, a shawl for J and a purple and lime accented, black and white patterned sari with black blouse and petticoat for me.

You'd think that would have been enough, wouldn't you? Nope.

*whispers* We managed a fourth trip!

And we did it on our own, on our last afternoon in Trichy, this time because N wanted to buy himself a dhoti - the traditional sarong-like item that a lot of men wear - and I wanted to purchase a second churithar suit.

Dhotis were purchased, with the help of a dhoti-dressing team; a young man who had been appointed our guide and four of his mates on the towel counter, one of whom spoke a bit of English and took on the task of showing N how to wear the dhoti. (Some of them have velcro!). Then it was churithar time again...

I was torn between a wine-and-lime-green or a turquoise-with-chocolate version. I could've bought both (good job I didn't, as my suitcase would never have closed) but resisted, as I felt that my Western materialistic side was beginning to rear its head at that point and I felt a bit greedy. So I plumped for wine-and-lime and we set off back to the hostel on a tuc-tuc ride that I will never, ever forget...

Hem embroidery

Neckline detail

I loved Saratha's. The wimp in me, who didn't like the thought of bartering, found the price tags much easier...and next time I go to Trichy, I will book an entire day in the shop I think!

The weird thing is, back in the UK, the gold on my pink sari has lost its gleam. There's something about the light here, about the way we're all wrapped up and the grey skies that seems to suck the colour out of everything. I was moved to write a poem about it the other day;

Indian colour.

Gilt thread, which gleamed in Indian sunlight, 
has lost its brightness in the pale winter light of England. 
The glitter of diamante is replaced with tacky slogans, 
elegance by shapeless leggings and baggy jumpers. 
That coloured world is gone, replaced with black and grey and denim blue. 

Before, there was baby pink with lemon yellow,
wine with lime,
royal purple with satsuma orange,
turquoise with chocolate brown,
forest green with midnight black.
Stiff silk, chic chiffon, cool cotton and luscious linen.
Patterned, embroidered, printed, plain, 
gilded, silvered, jewelled.
No two the same, no ordered rainbow, 
simply a feast for the eyes, 
satisfying an appetite with rich shades, fresh pastels, unexpected contrasts or subtle blends

I wanted to drink in the colour until I was full -
so that I need never feel colourless again.

Been there...and back again!

Well, wifi was a bit sketchy while I've been away, so I didn't manage to post on the Scribbles as I'd hoped. Those who are friends with me on facebook will have seen some of the photos I shared, and I will blog about some of my experiences - just not yet.

The body is still recovering from the journey and my mind is trying to readjust to UK life, especially as Mr Squidge had the much needed op on his back last Friday and is now officially at the start of a long recovery period (at least 6 weeks, restricted mobility). Thank God the op appears to have been successful - my challenge will be to stop him doing things he shouldn't while trying to keep him occupied enough so he doesn't get bored...

Anyway, I am back, am processing all that I have learnt and experienced and will share it with you when I'm less tired.

One of the three huge welcome banners in Pudukkottai village

It had to be done...
Hoping there's one somewhere without me blinking...

(Mind you...as a novice sari purchaser, I didn't realise they were sold with a 'blouse bit'; an extra piece on the sari length to enable you to make a matching blouse. Trying to tuck an extra metre of fabric round my waist was something of a challenge for Sarah - Rev Benjamin's wife - who dressed me! Now got to practise at home so I can wear a sari for the talk at church...)

The long and the short of life...

I've always been told that good things come in small packages - mainly because I've always been a titch.

It runs in my family - neither of my parents are taller than 5' 1'', my brother's probably 5' 3" and my sister's a smidge smaller than me - I'm four foot, eleven and a half inches with bare feet.

(By comparison, Mr Squidge is 6' 3", Squidgeling J is 5' 3", and Squidgeling T, 5' 9" and still growing...)

It's had its perks, being short; pre-children, I used to buy my clothes at Tammy girl, to fit 152cm. Since then, my child-bearing hips have meant I needed grown-up sizes from the waist down...and therein lies a problem.

Y'see, not only am I short, I also have short legs in proportion to my body. This means that a lot of clothes are simply far too long, because unless you're prepared to pay Petite range prices, you're left with off-the-peg clothes which have been designed for ladies with legs up to their armpits...

For example;

Lovely long floaty summery skirts? Could wear them as a strapless dress.

Jeans? Remind me, when did turn-ups disappear from the catwalks? Disastrous with bootcut...

Posh frocks? Only ever buy dresses that don't have beading or lace or patterns around the hem, 'cos sure as eggs is eggs, that'll end up being chopped off.

Mind you, if I wear heels...HIGH heels...there's a chance I can get away without shortening. Sometimes.

Yesterday I bought an outfit for a black tie 'do' I'm attending on Saturday night. As you might expect, it needs shortening. By 14cm.

14cm! That's about five and a half inches - and that's WITH my highest heels on. (Fortunately I have a friend and neighbour who is a whizz with a sewing machine, so there's every chance the outfit will be shortened enough to wear on Saturday night...She's a godsend, my friend x)

There are times in my life - especially when trying to buy clothes - that I wish I had longer legs...

Who Dares, Wins - Taking risks with your writing (FOW15 Diaries)

How often do you get stuck in your writing? You look at what you've written and go 'bleurgh!' because it just...isn't...working?

Sometimes we need something to pull us out of the hole we appear to have dug ourselves into - and this workshop, run by the lovely Shelley Harris (author of Jubilee and Vigilante) looked at some intriguing methods to get our writerly juices flowing again. But it meant taking risks, forcing ourselves to move outside of our comfort zone.

The first thing we tried was character names; we had to write five names that we would never give our characters. When asked why we'd not use them, the reasons were many and varied - but Shelley challenged us to go away and write a colourful character for the boring name, to write Tarquin Roderick Matthias Jameson the Fourth without a penny to his name... I found myself writing quite a few 'upper class' names, or ones that sounded like doddery old ladies. Wonder what that says about the names I do choose and perhaps my prejudices for those I don't...?

Then we considered what stories we'd write if no-one were ever to read them. That's because we've all got no-go areas in our writing. Perhaps we choose not to write about our past, because we worry about upsetting people still living. Perhaps we choose not to write about sex or violence, for fear of shocking our readers. (She seems so nice! How on earth would she know about that?)

There are bound to be other examples - these are just what popped into my head as I was writing the blog - but the real reason we don't write certain things is because we are afraid of being judged; we edit ourselves, even before we've begun writing the story. If you could write, knowing that no-one would ever read what you've written, you have edited out instead other people's judgements and allowed yourself the freedom to commit what you want to write to the page. I'm not sure what I'd write if you were never going to read it; I fear my own self-editing rules are etched too deep inside to ever erase completely...

(Both of these ideas were attributed to Susie Maguire)

The next idea Shelley showed us was a morphological matrix. The creative think tank on wikispace describes this as 'a tool for generating options. It provides a structured or systematic way to generate a large number of possibilities including many unique or highly unusual options.'

Sounds complicated, but it's not, really. Draw yourself a grid. Across the top of the columns, add labels like 'jobs I've done, locations I know well, skills/knowledge I possess, favourite smells, current obsession'. Now fill in the lists with at least eight items for each one. Dig deep.

When you've done, combine the items across the grid in many and varied ways - and when you have, for example, egg pickler, the brook path, how to knit socks, lily of the valley and notebooks, (yep, they really apply to me) sit and think about what story you'd tell with them. Mine the familiar - but tell an unfamiliar story. It's a bit like those books you had as a kid, where the page was split into three parts and you could flip over different sections so you had a diver's head with a doctor's middle and a ballet dancer's feet...

On the subject of mining your own life experience, ask yourself questions - do you believe in justice or mercy? In nature or nurture? If you could return to one time in your life, when would it be and why? Complete the sentence 'Most people wouldn't guess that I...' Can you use these things to add to or generate a story?

You could BE your character. At which point, Shelley shared her experience of dressing up as a superhero for a day while she researched her novel, Vigilante. (You can read about her experience here.) Easy, it was not. But without that experience, Shelley couldn't have known what it felt like to put on a mask and hide behind the anonymity whilst trying to do good.

Make the unexpected happen; Pixar story rule #9 states 'When you're stuck, list what WOULDN'T happen next and material to get you unstuck will show up.' Your subconscious inevitably finds a way - which led us onto Petals problem solving.

Now this one was spooky - lots of folk in the room seemed to come up with a solution to a problem using this method - all starting with a single, completely random word from a dictionary. My problem was trying to make a character more active in a scene where she's arriving at an island on the king's ship - I had no idea how to solve that.

Shelley asked for a number, which gave her the page in the dictionary. The second gave her which word to pick on that page; can you believe the word was 'ahoy'? When my problem was ship-based? Spooky moment number one...

On a clean page, we drew a central circle, and surrounded it with eight 'petals'. In the centre, we wrote 'Ahoy' and around the outside - in the petals - we wrote words we associated with it. Mine were all very piratey and sea-faring, as you might expect.

Then the work began. We had to use the words we'd written in the petals to solve our problem. And the weird thing? I did - but I'm not going to tell you because I've not worked it into the story quite just yet. We were asked to share our thinking process; some climbed up into their crow's nest or looked through a telescope to see the bigger picture, and solved their problem that way. Everyone agreed that this method felt 'spooky' because from just one word, we solved our many and varied problems.

The idea is that the apparent randomness isn't really as random as you think. The process simply allows your 'good' mind to step out of the way and allow your subconscious access to the problem; it might have worked just as well if we'd had the word 'bell' or 'foot' in the centre of our flower, who knows?

And the last thing to try, to get your writing out of a slump?  Ask yourself what you'd write if you couldn't fail? And get it written. (Or as Shelley said, The F***-It Draft, or FID) Only to be used as a last resort, mind you, this method can come up with moments of sheer genius because it releases you completely.

In summary, taking risks in your writing is about being counter intuitive, about finding strategies to unloose your subconscious - and, probably most importantly, to stop caring about what others think!

Here's to a riskier Squidge in future...

Squidge's modelling day

Today I was a photographer's model.

Really.

I have the modelling release form to prove it...

It was part of the Naturalistas Project  that the lovely Vanessa Mills is organising. Basically, Vanessa is a fellow silver sister; her own transition to her natural colour, combined with her love of photography, inspired her to take portraits of grey, white and silver haired women to show that grey (or white or silver) is a genuine option for women's hair and it doesn't mean that if (let's face it, it's actually when) you go grey, you suddenly become dowdy.

She wanted to 'prove that silver hair is not necessarily ageing; that a woman rocking her silver can be just as sexy and feminine as the next woman and then some.' So she recruited 'normal, everyday women who are wearing their hair naturally silver, who see their hair as a representation of their confidence, personal choice and sensuality.'

I was lucky enough to be chosen as one of them.

So, early this morning, Vanessa picked me up and we went to Oakham to meet Grace, another silver sister (who featured in a Touch of Silver advert) and Elizabeth Clare, our make-up and hair expert for the day. (Except the lovely Em at Foxes Hair and Beauty cut mine a couple of days ago, so I didn't need anything in the hair department)

First, we sorted out outfits. Vanessa had suggested taking at least one change with us...I took posh frock, a couple of longer T-shirts, jumpers (it was freezing yesterday!), several different coloured vests, three pairs of leggings, jewellery...oh, and shoes: my favourite glam silver heels and a pair of new, blue diamante heels. Well - a girl's got to be prepared, hasn't she?

Once Vanessa had settled on a few mix'n'match options, Grace and I had our make-up done.

I've never had professional make-up before. While we talked weddings and photography and modelling and writing, Liz worked her magic. Bob the Builder's got an impressive toolbelt - but you should have seen the one Liz had! There was a brush for everything...

The best bit was being air brushed. Now, normally this is something that's done after the photo's been taken - to 'improve' the person in the photo - but this airbrushing was done before. We literally had our foundation airbrushed onto our faces. Look!

By the way - the photos are few and far between, and feature Grace as I completely forgot to ask her to take any snaps of me during the day and I kept forgetting to take more myself 'cos I was too busy watching what was going on. But here's the lovely Vanessa, doing her thang!

Anyway, once Grace's hair had been done, off we drove to Rutland Water, our location for the shoot. (Rutland Water is a man-made reservoir and I remember my dad taking us to see the dam being constructed when I was little)

We moved around a bit in search of - strange for such a sunny day - shade! Apparently the sun's way too harsh and dappled light's not good either, so we found good patches of shade beside the loo block (fabulous stonework: good background), down by the water's edge, in trees and by a large sculpture.

Was that a good one?

I remembered to get one of the kids to take a pic of me when I got home instead. The ones Vanessa took are way, WAY better and I can't wait to see which ones she picks for the project. I might even get a new author photo or two...

It was such an interesting experience. I hadn't really considered what it takes to be a professional model; make-up, hair, the awkward positions you have to stand in (though strangely, they don't look awkward when you see the photo), the funny looks you get from passers-by... I don't think I'd want to do it for a living, though Grace is just starting out on a silver-haired modelling career. I've learnt to take photos in shade - not full sun - and how to make my eyes 'pop' with clever make-up. Whether I can reproduce that same effect for myself is another matter...

The best thing about all of it? Being part of something which will help get a positive image of grey or white or silver haired women out into the world. It is a choice whether to colour or not, and I would love for it to be as acceptable in our society to be grey-haired as it is to keep colouring.

Hopefully, Naturalistas will go a long way to achieve that.

The Scribbles get their first award!

The Scribbles have been nominated for the One Lovely Blog Award by Loretta Milan, of the Literary Lightbox! Thank you SO much Loretta - it's always good to know that folk enjoy visiting this little digital corner to see what I'm sharing, and to know that you think it's 'lovely' is...well...rather lovely!

The One Lovely Blog Award nomination is the award, if that makes sense - the nominations are chosen by fellow bloggers for newer or up-and-coming bloggers, the goal being to help give recognition and to also help the new blogger reach more viewers. It also recognizes blogs that are considered to be “lovely” by the fellow-blogger who chose them. 

So I have great pleasure in 'accepting' the award - which means I've got to follow a few rules. I have to;

1. Thank the person who nominated me (see above!)

2. Add the One Lovely Blog Award logo to my post and/or blog (ditto!)

3. Share seven facts about myself.

4. Nominate 15 bloggers I admire and inform them by commenting on their blog. 

Numbers 1 and 2 are done, 3 is coming up...but can I say up front that I have a problem with number 4? Because I don't follow that many blogs! So I have picked rather less than 15 (15! If I kept up with 15 blogs I'd never have time to write my own or work on my WIP!) but they are ones I like visiting because they are easy to read, easy on the eye (I'm having problems with varifocals and computer screens for some setups), and often have something to say that touches my soul. I hope you'll check them out for yourself.

Anyhoo - back to number 3. Consider this my acceptance speech, if you will. All About Me. Seven things you might not know...

1. When I was a child, family holidays were spent in North Wales. Same house, same town, same beaches every year - and we loved it! For many years, the holiday was timed for the week of my birthday in June (yes, you were allowed to take your children out of school in term time then. Didn't seem to do me any harm, but hey-ho). My abiding memory of those holidays is therefore having shop-bought Victoria sandwich cake (a real treat!) on the beach, on my birthday. 

2. I have been a cover girl. Admittedly, it could have been more glamorous; I was photographed working in an isolator during my pharmaceutical microbiologist days. And the magazine was one aimed at local businesses, but hey - beggars can't be choosers. (The same photo is also displayed in the Charnwood Museum...)

3. I have cycled the Alps on a tandem. Well, the foothills of the Alps. Mr Squidge sold the cycling holiday to me by emphasising they were foothills and wouldn't be too hilly; there was even a tunnel we could cycle through instead of going up and over the worst one. Which sounded fine until we realised that we had no lights, there was only a very narrow walkway through the tunnel (suspended about five feet above the road) and we were on the main trade route to Italy which meant that literally hundreds of artics were using the same tunnel. That day, we cycled 40 odd miles, of which I reckon at least twenty were either vertically up or vertically down the mountain - MOUNTAIN - that the tunnel went through, in 43 degree heat. Mr Squidge was not very popular that day.

4. I have worked as an egg pickler. This rather wonderful job (taken while waiting for my first lot of A level results) entailed mixing up baths full of vinegar (white or brown), counting 20 eggs into a glass jar (checking that the yolks weren't too close to the surface or the vinegar would eat through the white, making the yolk burst out which turned the vinegar cloudy), topping up the jar with said vinegar and screwing the lids on by hand. When my mum picked me up after work, she would drive with the windows open because the smell of vinegar clung...and to this day, I cannot eat salt and vinegar crisps.  

5. I have only ever played Dungeons and Dragons once in my life. I was at uni, and a friend made me a character - a tiny painted cheetah woman - to play with. I have to admit going to bed sometime around midnight while the lads played on...

6. I love an excuse to get dressed up. I don't mean posh frock - I'm talking fancy dress. There's something really weird yet wonderful about being able to put on a disguise and become something or someone different. I have been many things over the years...

Celebrating the 70's at my 40th

Am Dram days - old lady and tea lady

We're in the Money! West Side Story...

Yes, this really IS me.

7. I am a huge Muse fan. I love the theatricality of their music, the harmonies that are created, and the stories behind quite a few of their albums. They are my music of choice when writing - my muse is actually Muse!

And now, to blogs... I'm nominating these for a One Lovely Blog Award because it's in them I find most of my inspiration, determination, good sense and creativity in abundance! 

busy mockingbird - satisfies my creative side no end!
terrible minds - Chuck Wendig's unique, no punches pulled, blog about writing and life.
Jody Klaire - one of the most inspirational authors I know, and someone I'm proud to call my friend.
The Random Ramblings - a wacky bunch of writers who write fabulous stories (keep an eye out, as there's going to be another anthology by them soon!)

So there you go. Thanks again to Loretta, and thank you for reading. The blog wouldn't be the same without you. x

On writing 'nasty' instead of 'nice'

I have been told that my writing in the past has been 'too nice'. By that, I don't mean that nothing bad ever happens - far from it. There are deaths and sadnesses and problems to overcome...but the overall sense is that I write 'nicely'. Which actually meant, I came to realise, that I don't write emotion very well. I've blogged about this problem before (Pesky psychic distance; Lighting up my characters;) - about trying to get into the head of my characters so that the reader actually feels what the character is feeling. Which all helps to make the end result feel...not so nice.

So I experimented, writing a couple of very dark (for me) pieces, where I deliberately set out to view the story from the character's head, rather than my storyteller one.

One of the characters I created while I was experimenting, Lord Baraat, is violent and ruthless. In my head, he looks a bit like this....

And I say 'he is violent and ruthless', because he's now appeared in two short stories and a piece of flash. (You can read about him in Thread (published in A Seeming Glass) and Blood on His Hands. on the Random Writers website) 

Several readers have commented about Baraat - here are just two examples of what's been said:

"Highly imaginative and with a deep understanding of the worst of human nature."

"I am starting to worry that you enjoy inhabiting his head a bit too much..."

Others have pointed out that in real life, I am nothing like Baraat - I'm pretty normal! I am not cruel or sadistic, I hate violence, and I don't like reading horror. So where the heck does he and his violent life spring from? Because - guilty secret - I really enjoy writing as him.

Is it that because I'm nothing like him, I can allow myself the freedom - in words only - to 'be' nasty? Is it a bit of a throwback to my am-dram days, when I could throw on a persona with a wig, a costume and dialogue for a two-hour performance, except this time it's a written performance? Or is it, and I think this might be key, I have immersed myself so completely in my character and become so familiar with his world, that I become him while I'm writing, so he's easy to write?

To be honest, I'm not sure, but whichever it is, it seems to be working. Baraat creates strong feelings in readers. He's definitely not a character fit for a children's book, but he has helped me to go inside the heads of characters I've written in stories aimed at children, improving them no end.

It takes time to get to know your characters; it doesn't just happen overnight. But like any real relationship, the more time you spend with them, the more you find out about them.

Now that I know Baraat so well, I may write more about him and the world he inhabits. Perhaps one day, there'll be a collection of Baraat's stories, just like Granny Rainbow's? They'll be just as colourful, but nowhere near as nice...and DEFINITELY only for grown-ups.

Cuban Nights

Mr Squidge is member of the local Round Table. Just over a year ago, their Chairman died unexpectedly. Since then, the guys have continued their fundraising, helping to fund an outdoor playground at a local school for disabled children, Jon's choice of 'Chairman's Charity' during his time in office.

The guys also decided to hold a Challenge Evening in Jon's memory.

Now, Jon was not a tall man, and was partial therefore to wearing Cuban heels. So the challenge was for the Round Table lads to wear the best Cuban heels they could find on a night out in the city.

Mr Squidge threw himself into the challenge with gusto. The shoes he ordered were plain black, but he decided to...embellish them. Have you seen the TV programme 'Pimp My Ride'? This was more a case of 'Pimp My Shoe'.

There was mention of zebra stripes. Polka dots. Freesian cow... (Personally, I'd have bought a few paint pens and doodled all over them - rainbows, of course *winks*)

Anyway, he decided to go for stripes. Chevrons, to be precise. It took AGES to mask 'em up, especially as the shoes were panelled and Mr Squidge only wanted certain panels stripy...

So the white bits ended up black
and the black bits ended up white...

The spray painting went reasonably well - a couple of bleeds where the tape wasn't stuck fast, but nothing a good permanent pen couldn't cover and sharpen up.

Then it was time for the illuminations. Yes, you did just read 'illuminations'. In recent weeks, T, my son, has been building a model of Star Trek Voyager. He wanted to light up the warp drive engines, so Mr Squidge had already researched teensy battery-operated LED lights; he ordered what he needed for the shoes this time, (good old Maplins) and set to work.

The battery compartments were bored into the heels. The LEDs and switches were glued to the soles, under the arches. The wires were soldered onto all the terminals. Cork bungs were devised to keep the battery in place, covered over with good ol' gaffer tape and...

...Voila!

Mr Squidge's Customised Cubans!

When, on the Friday night, I dropped Mr Squidge off at the pub, those lights were very blue and very bright. By all accounts, a good night was had by all, and if Mr Squidge's toes hurt by the end of the night, he wasn't saying so.

You put your right...er...left?...leg in...

I reckon Jon is laughing his socks off in the big beyond - and probably still wearing his Cubans.

(With thanks to Mark A for letting me use his photos from the evening)

Zoom! Zoom! Zoom!

Today is Children in Need Day in the UK.

Lots of folk get involved, and the schools are usually the first to sign up for the fun.

This year, my children can pay to go to school either in their PJ's or dressed as a hero/superhero. T is in Y8, J in Y10. As you might expect, there's a certain teenage reluctance to be seen in pyjamas, (unless it's a onesie) and there's definitely no street cred attached to dressing as Einstein (J) or the man who invented LEGO (T).

What did they go as then? Can you guess from the pictures?!

Hint : Zoom! Zoom! Zoom!

Hint : No-one can touch her...

And just to prove that even artificial
grey looks good!

Amazing what you can do when you raid your own wardrobe, the dressing up box (yes, I still have one!) and a needle and thread!