Archive for the ‘empty head’ Category

Brain Food

Monday, September 7th, 2009

Here is a list of the books I’ve read in the last month.

Richard Yates: Revolutionary Road
Sebastian Faulks: Engleby
Banana Yoshimoto: Lizard
Yaba Badoe: True Murder
David Ebershoff: The 19th Wife

Here is a list of things I want to find out during September:

The correct names for parts of boats
Rates of decomposition in corpses and things that affect this
Average sea temperature in Morecambe Bay
Procedure at a press conference
Procedures when casting and filming crime reconstruction videos

Not For A Bit

Wednesday, August 6th, 2008

I am moving house again. Grrr. So I will be away for a while.

If you want to do a guest post about a subject of your choice, email it to me and I will put it up.

My little girl is talking to Santa on a plastic mobile phone. She is telling him she was quite naughty today but would still like a pink princess car.

Guest posts on Pink Princess Cars will be received favourably.

Now she is saying ‘pleased to meet you Karen’

Now she is saying, ‘I love you Karen’

We don’t know anyone called Karen.

Last Chance Saloon

Thursday, June 5th, 2008

This is the last chance for voting. It is all even Stevens so far. No clear winner. That means I will have to pick someone ‘out of a hat’ unless there is more voting. I am a bit disappointed by the lack of voting. Do some more voting, and I will kill someone tomorrow.

Also, Emma is back.

Also, I did the recordings for the radio programme tonight. I think it went all right. Although out of nervousness, I seemed to develop a lisp about half way through. The microphone was about half as big as my head.* The lisp has gone away now.

*I probably shouldn’t have mentioned another big head. Or the biggest head in the world. But watch the hits roll in.

Why Are People So Interested In Big Headed People?

Sunday, May 11th, 2008

You know, around 30% of the people who make one quick visit to this blog and pop off again are searching for answers to the time old question of,

Who Has The Biggest Head In The World or
Biggest Human Head or
Whose Got The Biggest Head.

This bothers me. And I’m sorry, but I don’t know. I do know that the colossal squid has the largest eye in the world though. Ask me anything about squid. Test me. Squid, angler fish or hot air balloons. Go on.

Anyway. Other search terms include:

How To Be Successful In Life Without Lieing (sic) – learning to spell would be a start, and other than that, I don’t have a clue

Most Everyday Lies – I like this one. I’d like to know what are the most common lies in the world. I’d bet my left leg that its ILY

Good Short Stories For Free – I like this one. It made me happy. There are short stories here, and for free.

I’m going to neglect this blog for a little bit. Just a couple of weeks. I might post sporadically with word counts and stuff, but mainly I am going to finish the first draft. I want to be done by the end of May. I usually get to write two or three hours a day if I don’t go to bed early. So I think that is reasonable. I will let you know how I get on. And when I have finished getting on, I will be back.

If you want to guest post, you should email me.

I will still be writing at Sh.

My Life Is Going To Be Like This # 2347

Tuesday, April 1st, 2008

I’ve got all the accessories for being a writer. I have got a blue typewriter and a brown reading chair and a red bookcase and a fountain pen and some computery type things with keyboards. And paper. I’ve loads of that. I’ve got a few notepads and three expensive notepads for special ideas. I’ve got a stash of scrap paper beside the bed, just in case.

And my love for Biro pens is genuine and steadfast.

Did I mention I was moody? I like drinking on my own, scowling, and looking out of train windows into the rain. I especially like imagining what I am looking like when I do this.

The only keyboard short-cut I know is the one for Word Count. I also know how many words I can type per minute.

I can use words like ‘climax’ and ‘flashback’ and ‘resolution’ and ‘character development’ in a way that sounds like they might mean something.

I have decided from now on I am only going to write shopping lists. And maybe memos at work. But possibly not.

Please Give Me A Reason To Li(v)e

Monday, February 25th, 2008

Right. I think because I had a holiday from blogging because of not having the internet and being on holiday for a bit I am now out of the habit of blogging. I am sick of it. It is like having a pet you can’t forget or someone will get the RSPCA onto you. Like it is a plant it would be morally wrong to knock over and hide behind a wall.

So I am lacking in ‘inspiration’ for blogging. So I will not. For a bit. Until I get more inspirations.

Although I might do a photoshoot of this jigsaw I am doing about Deep Sea Fish. And maybe a picture of a shawl I am knitting.

I read The Raw Shark Texts while I was on holiday. I wanted a book sort of about the sea to take with me. I really liked it. I especially liked the ending because I couldn’t decide if it was sad or not. But then the very end of the ending was a picture, which looked sort of happy. So I thought it must be a happy ending. I’ve been studying endings recently because they aren’t my strong point.

I’ve also been reading lots and lots of A L Kennedy’s short stories. I really like them too. I’ve had good luck with choosing books recently. Even book-choosing professionals sometimes get it wrong.

So now if you feel like doing a guest post for this blog or giving me a subject to write a blog post about I will. I quite like the idea of a guest post. You can write whatever you like. You can pretend to be me and make all kinds of confessions. I’d really like that.

Otherwise I’ll probably just be quiet for a bit. Unless I need to plug something.

Things I Might Feel Like Doing After I Eat My Tea Which I am Waiting To Be Ready Right Now.

Thursday, November 15th, 2007

1. Make a list of things to buy for Christmas.
2. Watch a DVD.
3. Do some writing.
4. Finish reading Seven Plots.
5. Go to the offy.
6. See if there is any icecream left.
7. Change the bedsheets.
8. Play with the cat.
9. Put all the things I want to take to the charity shop into the boot of the car.
10. Go on the tinterweb.
11. Have a bath.
12. Use the special lemony spray to take away the bad smell in the fridge.
13. Write something that needs writing for work.
15. Catch up on emails.
16. Catch up on book reviewing.
17. Go to sleep.
18. Sit very still and rest my eyes while listening to Radio 4.

Brown Cardigan

Monday, October 15th, 2007

I am not a fan of superstition or hoitytoityness when it comes to writing. It is not special or magical and it is not interesting to watch on you-tube. It it not the sort of thing you chat about at the pub or take pictures of yourself doing. It is a bathroom type thing, as we have already established.

I do not know why some nights I am doing the writing and I am typing along and the noises in the keyboard are sounding good, it is clippity clop quickly and I am muttering, ‘great stuff, Jenn, on fire tonight, top banana, keep it up, ace, ace, ace!’ My toes crinkle up in my stripy socks and I jiggle in my seat and twiddle with my silly hair and it is all very exciting. When I go to bed I can’t sleep because I want to do more typing, but I have crap eyes and they can’t stand the computer for as long as I would like them to.

And other nights I am sitting eating cold curry (I made it myself last night and could not be bothered microwaving it but my Bombay potatoes and mushroom rogan josh are Champion and should be sold in tins, even if I do etc etc) and typing with one finger and feeling cold and bored and like I would much rather be in bed. I write things like ‘mother was making roses into radishes’ and ‘don’t worry we have plenty of time to clear the table before the important people come for tea’ and ‘it was a dark and stormy night’. I write lots of boring words one after the other and when I read them back I feel slow and dull, like cold dough, like old things, like mould and Sad-Sack and damp-facecloths and bruised apples and pub carpets.

I remember the bit out of Lady Chatterley’s Lover where Connie and Mr Mellors have done lots of good sex and are getting into it, but then she goes to his house again and they do sex and it is not good. She is a bit miserable and he shrugs and tells her to take the rough with the smooth, that sometimes that is the way that it happens.

I don’t like to be superstitious. I am against the airy-fairy when it comes to typing practice. I think really I just need to sleep or be outside for a bit or knit or drink tea or do something else. But I have a suspicion that it is because my lucky brown cardigan is in the wash. Because I like trees and the world and the ozone layer I don’t use the tumble drier very often but I am going to tonight.

My Life is Going To Be Like This #2

Wednesday, October 10th, 2007

I am going to stop living in this house with the leaking shower that makes the bad black thing grow on the ceiling. At first it was quite interesting, like making shapes out of clouds. But it has grown from a gun to africa to a big mould monster as big as quite a big person. I am going to sell all my bulky possessions and most of my clothes. I will keep a little laptop computer and the eco-wash balls and the little arm band they give babies when they are first born. Everything else I will burn or sell on ebay. I reckon I should have enough to buy a rascal van then. I will make a life-style choice and me and the small person will live in it. We will not have jobs or go to play-group or have to have performance appraisals or fill out sticker charts for good behaviour. We’ll eat out of cans sitting in front of campfires and have tramps and cats for friends. Every now and again an Education Welfare Officer will come and tell us off but we will put out feet to the floor and with a big chunnering noise, peel away into the distance. I will beep the horn whenever I like, even when stationary. This will be ace! At the weekends, or whenever we are feeling miserable, we will take hot air balloon trips and teach parrots to swear.

But really, does she know about felching?

Sunday, October 7th, 2007

…the ‘self’ doesn’t exist outside words? The parts that can’t be
articulated – that’s not a ‘self’ really, or is it? More like a rubbish heap of everything and nothing, completely contradictory and mutable, and mostly pointless.

That is what Leena said in response to a bit I wrote in my last blog post. I like it when people comment and disagree, because it gives me something extra to write about. But getting all high-falooting about writing makes me itchy. It is one more way that writing is bad manners. You should do it on your own and you shouldn’t talk about it too much in public.

Chris was writing about wondering if Nadine Gordimer knows what felching means. Wondering if selves exist without being written makes me want to say something like that. I remember ‘supervisions’ at Uni, sitting in a room with eager, well-read people saying clever, well-articulated things. It was quite like watching someone give someone else a blow-job. I remember having to press my teeth together very tightly because really I wanted to say: for fuck’s sake shut the fuck up! we’re nineteen! where’s the beer and shagging you’re supposed to get at Uni? (which of course I never did).*

By the way: if you figure out a way of saying that, in about three thousand words, during your Tragedy Paper exam, you get a first. Its a true fact.

So I struggle to hear myself say anything else about writing selves and selves writing, except I think that language makes people into people, and thought processes aren’t complete for me until they are typed out. I don’t know what I think until I see what I say, which is something I am quoting from a bit of advice that Emma once gave me. And I think the parts that can’t be articulated – the ‘rubbish heap’ is what I am most interested in. There’s a big gap between what we think of ourselves and what other people think of us, and an even bigger gap between that and what we are. I like that gap – Leena’s dark, pointless, jumbled rubbish heap. It is the place that my good writing exists in – at least some of the time.

None of which is relevant, but which is a small reply to Leena. I think. And contained no swearing or tearing at my cardigan.

*I never did say anything like that, I mean. I tried, and failed, to be earnest. The beer and shagging are my business – but it was The South and they do things differently there.

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