What has become of this?

I feel it should be made public that this is unlikely to be the nanowrimo for 2011, but may well prove to resurrect itself and form something for 2012, or something in between - something like extremely local novella writing year project? What would that make it... ExLoNoWriPro.... has about as much cachet as NaNoWriMo I think! My wonderful partner, Aero, explained that they did not want me to feed my mania and stay up all hours and take to coffee and typing in my sleep etc etc in order to hit some artificial target. Rather the thinking was why not enjoy the process and free oneself from the tyranny of time and deadlines. This is not quite what professional writers are used to (the struggling ones anyway) but then again, I am NOT a professional writer nor do I aspire to be! Aero also played something of a master stroke of extreme generosity to finalise the matter... She BOUGHT ME A NEW BICYCLE! Well OK I had to chop in and it was replacing an old one... but the old one was like almost TWENTY EIGHT years old and technology has moved along considerably since then.... my touring Ridgeback Voyage rides like a dream and I am too busy using what free time I can find to ride to even think more about the novella I had in mind. But the notes remain - they have captured certain ideas and those will hold and can be returned to on cold dark icy nights when riding is out of the question.... I shall assemble before I dissemble on the website - and a novella may still yet appear here in some form or other - until then this is a work in progress. I hope that clears things up? Do look at my blogging on Eclectic/me - I am sure to have waxed lyrical about the new bike on the block - "Voyager" is his name....
November 01 @ 06:41 PM | 0 Comments
November 03


Ana for the branch idea, leading to the blindness idea - honestly guvnor!
06:03 AM | 0 Comments

Click "November 2011" under Archives to read

Welcome, settle down, enjoy your reading here, but do not expect great literature. This is live writing in the raw and unedited initial drafting - I may write a little chaotically at times and in extremis the spell checking might be a little off creating some weirdness too. This is Nano not a writing master-class! One word to the wise - spam bots are always creating accounts here; and I can only tell if an account is NOT spam by two means:- If I know the person If the person comments (and the comment is not spam) Should you wish to rest assured your account will not be deleted then make your voice heard with a comment (which isn't so hard and also gives you a chance to backlink to your work, if you are doing anything similar or blogging as you write. I shall likely promote those that do to "friend" status so that it is easy for me to avoid deleting the accounts. Oh, end if your account was deleted - I am sorry and I hope the explanation goes some way to explaining why it happened! But if you are a spam bot - get a life! PS just added January 2012 posts into the mix for "issues" I have to grapple with as I go along (postscripts will have to be december 2012!)
October 31 @ 01:30 AM | 0 Comments
November 01


ooh err shall we?
12:14 AM | 0 Comments
November 04

In progress - Enter the dragon

She had to get rid of the smell, that was how it began, or so it seemed to her. Amelia was more than a little sensitive and it was often commented on, what was not commented on so often, because it could not be seen ,was the amount of extra process that was going on whilst she was managing this sensitivity. If people had realised that when she was saying “Oh, I really do need a grapefruit scented cleaning product, this pine one will not do” her mind was filled with the image of her knees rubbed red raw as her mother scrubbed and scrubbed with scouring powder to make them shine again, then perhaps they would have seen the choosing of cleaning products for the act of bravery it often felt to Amelia. If at the moment Amelia declared she absolutely positively would not be in the same room as a piece of tripe, never mind enter a butchers which was selling it (she had on occasion contemplated turning vegetarian to avoid this one) people had realise there was a sea of crawling maggots in Amelia's mind and she had to clear them ALL up because she had upset the bucket, well then they might be a bit more forgiving. Amelia was thirty and had made a decision that she had lived with these memories for long enough. She knew the memories could never be less than a part of herself, but she had a passionate belief things could be better. At heart she was one of the people that changes the world, but only as part of a greater scheme. A tidy figure accompanied her desire for a tidier mind. So it was she found herself at Jill's door for the first time since that chilly day, in November when she and Jill had assessed one another. Looking at her watch she saw there were a couple of minutes before her actual appointment time, and found she froze, unsure if she wanted to press the button now, or hold this position and think for a little longer, in order to appear entirely punctual for her appointment. She realised this could become obsessive and pressed hard, finding the answering ring within so sudden and strident she actually jumped back from the door a tiny amount. Wow, I'm more nervous than |I thought she said to herself. Just then the door opened and Jill held it wide for Amelia to enter within. Smiling broadly Jill was resplendent in a green shimmering dress which seems to have an iridescent quality to it. Amelia could not help herself thinking this was reminiscent of a dragon, and following on the coat tails of that thought she was imagining herself as a princess, just ripe for binding to a stake for the dragon to consume at her leisure!
12:00 AM | 0 Comments

In Progress - Chapter ?

being prepared in libreoffice right now! query add below>>> they were collapsed in a sweaty heap, or as Pavol would have said, a perspiring pile of warmth think to use A and P except crap for finding so need keystroke to speed up that also just write faster and to do that need to bulk out plot with little chinks.... chUNKS! argh!! “here we are then”, said the satnav as Amelie puffed and panted at the back.... Pavol was not stopping and she was not happy about it. “Turn that damn thing off!” He snapped, “I can tell you we are not there until this fat hill sings like Julie Andrews!” Amelie smiled despite her irritation, one of the things she had always loved about Pavol was the random references and surreal cross referencing of things that simply did not seem to have any place alongside one another. With renewed enthusiasm she put her back into the task in hand and remembering how annoyed he could get if she overdid it and ended up “mashing” at the pedals she made special efforts to keep herself mindful of efficiency, rotating her ankles slightly and aiming to pull lightly with the opposite upstroke and work all the way round each pedal revolution. It felt as though the machinery picked up the harmony and passed it forwards to Pavol, she could feel the tempo ever so gradually increasing, more slowly than an old steam locomotive pulling out of the station, but every bit as sure. It was not long before they became aware of the regular turning of the wheels and the cadence was such that there was a definite `swish` from the tarmac, and Amelie smiled again and hummed to herself; “The hills are alive.....” within seconds Pavol had picked up the reference and his great bass voice was booming out for all it was worth, “..... with the sound of music!”. As luck would have it this was occurring as they crested the summit and before too long they were collapsed in a giggling heap. I told you that satnav wasn't worth it! Pavol moaned as he settled back onto the grass, Oh yes? Said Amelie and what price would you set on getting to hear you doing your Julie Christie as we get to the car park and what price the look on that old chap's face when he realised it was a tandem and we launched into our little duet? Gah! Pavol stood up, I'm seriously thinking we shouldn't be doing that any more, we just look a figure of fun. I agree it is great to enjoy ourselves but I am out here to do some serious cycling too, not always larking around to get my stoker ready for the next leg of a journey Around them were a scattering of picnic tables and in the corner a hut with gents and ladies facilities and a large municipal blue wheelie bin, here and there squirrels and other small rodents alongside birds were picking over the remnants left by people who had visited the beauty spot beforehand, and once again Amelie was struck by the anomaly between using the term “beauty spot” and then the natural human tendency to flock to the place and, collective, despoil it and make it a lot more like an “ugly spot”. She has shared this with P before and now she heard him chirping up again saying, You know it's no different to using the term beauty spot in the way Marie Antoinette did when she had a mole on her upper lip or whatever, the point is we create something super ugly so that when we lift up our eyes OH yeah sure, and you're not just competing with my observation to be a little tiny bit more,..... she paused and blushed a little with frustration, as he managed to do another of the irritating things she couldn’t help adoring in him (but would never have tolerated for a moment in a colleague or stranger.... …. insightful? ,,,, knowledgeable? He suggested the two alternatives to completer her sentence with a certain insouciance as though he had not really been trying to come up with anything especially close to her intended word... Amelie sighed and gazed at the sky as she whispered, half to herself... “if you were only a little more perceptive then you'd know better than to complete my sentences that way Pavol. He groaned, feeling compleytely outwitted again and knowing this was not something he could change, but well aware he did have it in his power to pay more attention to Amelie, he looked over to where she was rising from the grass. Long had it been his belief that the grace and movement of the female form held far more attraction than the inherent (nother word maybe there lost it?) ohysical form. How else could you explain the attraction of the stick thin ballet dancer, he reasoned. As Amelie wandered over to the timber framed hut with the facilities she waved he hand over her shoulders, an all too familiar gesture of hers letting him know that although he had annoyed her it was no more than a gnat bite and she was moving on already. Irritated at the lack of a space to appologise she left him he kicked and scuffed at the sandy earth of the parking lot, before realising that if he carried on he would probably spoil the expensive cleated cycling shoes he was wearing. Anyway, he thought to himself, it really was almost impossible to please all of amelie all of the time. He wondered if telling her that would earn him any reprieve but then decided it would be best to move on. Thinking of moving on he was eager to plan the descent and retrieved the maps and satnav from the bik and panniers to set about making read... I am now thinking that should be the end of a chapter but more significantly that we need to front up this story with a whole set of how they meet and what makes them tick stuff – somehow I have “started in the middle”!! Eek may need a little planning to resolve
12:15 AM | 0 Comments
November 16

Savouring creation

and so it came to pass there was no rush. It had been long enough of the mindless urge to mount up words beyond number at a pace that was punishing. This time would be different. this time would progress would not be a measured thing, every little morsel was to be savoured and chewed and mulled over just as much or as little as desired, without any recourse to the "word count" feature or worries of backup, after all anything created once can surely be created "better" when it is the craft of writing involved? Pieter paused and stretched, wondering if it was a worthwhile exercise, this "National Novel Writing Month" has become obsessive to him and taken him away from the normal pursuits he so much cherished and enjoyed. Even during apparently "idle" moments he carried the laptop with him and found himself compulsively tapping out extra words during his journeys around the city, and he missed the idle contemplation of the passing scenery that had previously been available to him, it no longer seemed like wasted time, but rather like a precious luxury he was being denied. But who was denying him? Only the tyranny of the word count and the clock, and Pieter well knew that he was master of one, and that the other was an only a tyrant if he allowed it to be, it had taken the advice of a few close friends, but now he saw for himself that so long as he could support himself without writing he owed it to himself to write at a rhythm dictated by his own life and physical needs more than those of any collective project....
04:06 AM | 0 Comments
December 01

grab these sometime, somewhere, somehow

It was so shiny Pavol almost thought is was a shimmering illusion, heaven sent and ephemeral; until he smelt the rubber and faint tang of machine shop oils, then he knew it was real and a thrill went through him that he could not have anticipated, des[ite waiting for this moment the past two long years. That was when he had first set his eye on the prima pinarello he now beheld. From her elegantly outspread and beautifully taped handlebars down to her extremely high pressure tyres on the elegant 24 spoke deep rim wheels, this was a bike he could move on, this would feel like the dance of the road was at a tempo he had never experienced and with a finesse far closer to the track than to the roads as he had known them. Like a dancer with a new partner he would be able to experience every curve, every flat, and most especially every rise anew with a fresh vigour. <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> ... the cumulo niumbus was piled above the cherry tree like a heap of frosted Chantilly cream to offset the tartness of the cherry... he was momentarily blinded by the glint of the brilliant sun, it was such a shining moment, then there was the warmth of her hand on his, the firmness of attitude he knew so well, and as the brightness diminished he knew she was closer, then he could smell her and it was all he could do not to pass out - how many years had it been? But for every year the memory had not diminished, and now that the longing was over this moment brought all those relinquishings of the hopes together and smashed them about their feet in a climax of feeling like a Greek Wedding. But, it was silent, there were no guests, all of this drama was being played out in his minds eye and he could not know where she was feeling or how to communicate all of that, and so he leant forward, thinking to bow his head, only to meet hers upturned and as if she had intuited this she tenderly clasped the back of his head, not in a way that had been contrived, but not in a way that was surprised nor surprising. As she kissed him she sighed gently, and he smelt cherries. Dialog someone has been able to read some echoes from the past - the glint of ring the fragment of memory do not get all Proustian if you can help it, and no Mils and Book, but it should be possible to make this fit into things - and you can now write from experience ;)
04:44 PM | 0 Comments
December 26

and so...

it began... On a surprisingly warm night in November!
03:02 AM | 2 Comments
December 28

It'll be alright on the night!

Warning, novella spoiler alert, planning plot for November first kick off... nah only kidding, these were all the ones that got away, think of them as "out takes" Start with the title , maybe a plan, what about Here it comes! as per title of the thread post? That could imply a sense of journey or arrival or birth or orgasm... Exciting but boyish is the impression I get and I do not plan on aiming for blokey man lit like High Fidelity or anything - don;t get me wrong not saying Nick Hornby ain't OK just not my cup of tea to take on that persona in a Writing way - been there done that 2008. What about "The Tandemist"? Dodgy word choice Quakerism theme and what about "Discerning Derek"> Smocks of Patrick Gayle though... Maybe I wish I had read less to write more? Wish I hadn't not so... the Dulwich Archives"? a parody eon the play of the Dalkey ones? that has potential... Like to work a charity of co-op in could use some of the "characters I bump into at Comm-Tech as Little pastiches then... keep thinking but going to save this as a start
06:20 AM | 0 Comments
December 29

Alright on the night part deux

I think we may have a contender for therapeutic whirring of the darker side of life - the situation and viewpoint is A La Spencer and the outfit is a the head shrinking cryo suspension history of.... COMM-BLECH! a charity founded on the principle that a couple of weird geeky nurdlings want toi freeze their skulls and live forever like the lord of the Daleks! How can it fail! And it will be the plot lone that keep on giving as I email Lisa in confidence so can the angel in the plotline hear of the dastardly plan - yet the bumbling moneyman Chancer (name?) mucks it all up - except I keep wanting to call him Rhsy... can Rhyse Chancer be a name? Scroogle that man! OH YES I think we have a contender.... yet there is not much scope for Gunther to get into it, nor Rory and never mind Derek.... sop I ought to think about the tandemist too....# # oh choices choices and decisions decisions! I am just so glad it is not the first yet and that I have the site in place for the writing to commence - Shall I "cheat like last time and add all these workings to the rear of the volume as an Appendix? The answer is no, only because it is the late October days now - which means I am at least a whole 14 days ahead of my previous Nano schedule - with a little time to sign up to the site and join in the launching hysteria (this weekend sees many launch parties around London, Ana has told me, but I cannot get to any as I am privileged to have my lovely daughter with me.... and the scroogling is in - nopers it must be Rhys and no E and not Reece unless he is English.....
03:22 AM | 0 Comments
December 30

patricide = biggest spoiler ever

could be an option but the so could fratricide and I do not really want to write about death, so that needs more methought as to how to turn the subject not to comedy but to something more, how to say, personal and acceptable as something to draw on? What about the tale of the poor sham of a marriage I had what about Turning blind? What about that vision we painted last night of a party with blindfolds and guests eating food suspended from the ceiling - that surely deserves a mention is whatever I write but will be hard to fit in without a blind person or a weird cult or something **** so, the eyes have it possible title they are a pair of tandemists in their youth, he pilots, she stokes, the story progresses with plenty of character development and scene setting, they need to be sporty he needs to have the tendency towards counselling they both need to be fucked up fairly regularly then THE EVENT, as they ride a night ride a branch from out of no where blinds the captain! massive relationship fail years later she both have changed , we need a period in the wilderness and some humour to lift the darkness of his sight loss, should not be hard the schmaltzy part needs to be made not so as they get to riding again, only now he is a parlympic hopeful aje is what? therapist, no maybe use the imagery of the branch with Ana's permission and credit the even schmaltzier part - when they realise who each other is, we do NOT HAVE TO have it or do we? OMG as I thin this through further I think hpow difficult it might be to keep the sweetness low enough to make this palatable., but then again it is juts a throw away novella and look at Fred Blogs after all for chrissakes.... BTW m,ake a post ofering and/or linking Fred Blogs just in case I have some sick fan base...
01:49 AM | 0 Comments

The one that got away

we have the plot - it is the life and times of Blurby! SPOILERS as they say in the blogosphere are below but you will find them very minor - not even the title is known yet! It is going to really hurt to write the middle section from personal experience is it going to be a tragic work and I am going to have to find my female voice to make her the first person... It is either that or "BE HER FATHER" which is no challenge but totally sick! OH the ways to play with this idea are endless! the only problem? The pain - oh the pain when she turns nasty and play the victim and spouse to her cunning and damaged father..... the title (working) "Canadian Cheddar" this is a little tougher "Canuck and daughter" "Eleanor and Bramwell go East" A Liverpool leaving To Canada with love Escaping father On the run from life The lover of horses I need to keep on at that, but not sweat it and write it to shape as tragicomedy comedic farce and drama with dysfunctional an narcissistic woman at centre suffering massive hits of damage from the men around her as she achieves therapy the hard way.....
December 30 @ 07:23 AM | 0 Comments

Historical notes in course to plotline, let nano begin!

or possibly this is a step too far, it will most surely enable me to avoid any criticism of the "plagiarizing form real life" in literature sort of scenario I could be writing about Bramwell and make that the first person - THEN transplant my life for his and find a "trick" or plot device of sorts unknown to place him in the right place and write about myself as the person I am now at the point I start to "plagiarize real life"? More to the point I do want to be sensitive to my partners request - was it in writing? Copy and pasted it here for future ref.... p. "p.s for me.... very difficult to comment really....i know what i would find more interesting by far than anything you have played around with so far.... and that is the story of you.... your childhood and growing up and your experience of your life with bipolar and your relationships and becoming a parent and so on. that story for me is so much more rich and real than anything you have mentioned so far. but you may not feel ready yet .... i don't know but i hope you will do soon. that for me would be really worth reading."0 Aero really shone like a halo landed when I said I could write about a blind woman and suchlike - but I am not sure I have the courage.... Maybe a spiderman novella? oh dear this could be so tricksome - nonesoblind where are your blog entries when I need them?
11:36 PM | 0 Comments
December 31

grab bag

in a real imaginary world everything's made betteri n a real sarcastic world everything's made better in a real sarcastic world everything (verbs) better dedications:- For daughter, with devotion For Aero, a flight of fancy To Annie and Aero, the only woman for me! To stokers everywhere, they'll never know how hard their captions pull To captains everywhere who never hear the stokers peayer For Derek, who took us there acknowledgements ,may also scatter the above freely
10:27 PM | 0 Comments
January 03

managine what comes up ("carving" if you will)

And so it came to pass that I did not start at the beginning! This is something that has come up and will need management, and I can not the stuff here and in any other "January 2012" posts! It's interesting and I wonder if it varies from one to another of one's writing experiences, when I have heard authors interviewed it always seems they have a "strategy" probably a learnt one, and start with an outline, or at the beginning, or with a character... But I am not sure I have any of that and I am equally sure the problems are very variable, for example last time in 2008 the problem was a lot more about the ENDING than the BEGINNING!
05:50 AM | 0 Comments
February 14

Letter to my step mother

Do you remember how you never really wanted to go to see your mother? How you had to work yourself up to do it.... Well multiple that by a very great deal.... And that is what it is like for me - but with an even more enormous guilt trip for the withholding of my daughter from you - allegedly. Oh yeah - and I want the twenty five quid back you used to buy the flowers for YOUR mothers grave - you killed my mother you BITCH!
01:02 AM | 0 Comments
February 24

Letter to my Father

Jesus Wept More than you did.... More than most. You are never going to read this and little do you realise it but you are never going to see me again (if I can help it). I wonder how that would make you feel? Nothing I suspect, possibly a show of hurt if it suited your purposes for other reasons. I have seen you cry for dogs - I have only seen you sneer in my general direction as though I were a mangy cur. That's how you make me feel by the way. Is it because you hate my mother? For what she did? I could almost understand that, but only almost. Now that I am a Father it is a constant barrier I run up against to understand or forgive you. And it is one that I find impossible to reconcile. You were unforgivable, I suppose the unrepentant abuser always is. And how repugnant it is that as soon as the word "abuse" is mentioned you conveniently choose to take it as a sexual accusation. There are so many other forms of abuse - and you a Master of them, knowing or unknowing - it makes no difference to the victims. I aim not to be your victim, at least no longer - that is why I cannot really afford to see you again - that is why I must almost (but not quite) deny you as a father. I could make a joke of it and say, "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you". I used to have fantasies of speaking at your funeral - now I have fantasies of murdering you. I am not even sure I want to be at your funeral - except that this could cause me some deep shit - if I am there it will not be for your sake and not for your memory either. I think I shall choose to mourn my mother if I am there - at least then it will give all the appearances of grief- when in fact I remain so unresolved I am dancing on your grave and far from sad at your disappearance. Do you have any memories of your Children? Here's one for you - holding my head and forcing a spoon into my mouth past resistant teeth (while mother holds my legs) to make me take my medicine. Here's another - calling me a pigs arse for eating my spaghetti and biting the ends off And another - how you tried to steal the leather jacket I got for my fourteenth birthday. Enough already - the last healthy and good memory I have of you is sitting on the front doorstep of Montpelier Road in the sunshine when I was trying to get my head around having a sister - no doubt you were trying to get your head around the shit of being a father twice over with a woman who couldn't cope. And what was your response to the situation - a year or so later you fucked off and flew around the world ON YOUR FUCKING OWN! MY dear mother held things together -and you - YOU FUCKING COWARD blame post-natal depression for her death. WELL I FUCKING BLAME YOU! AND YOU LET ME CARRY THAT>>>> ALL THE TIME people kept telling me "it's not your fault" and "you must never feel it is your fault" I hope you know what message I was taking - and oh how you let me. So then about twenty years to late you say to me these words "would you like to talk about your mother, would it help? I've talked about her with Saskia you know?" JESUS CHRIST - that takes the biscuit - talk about adding insult to injury... FUCK you FATHER - and all you call FAMILY - I want fuck all to do with any of it... It is all sick and you are the one that made it that way. I hold you and your cowardice responsible. In the name of ABUSE I declare you nothing to do with me.
05:33 AM | 0 Comments