tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90123644353418727972024-03-13T03:05:45.584+00:00Write AnglesThoughts of a Would-be WriterLyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15943689181706224007noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012364435341872797.post-4507505565553855492012-12-13T10:51:00.000+00:002012-12-13T11:03:12.320+00:00Merry Christmas, MumIt's my birthday early next week. A major one, a horrible one. One with a big round <span style="font-size: large;">0</span> at the end. Next Monday I shall reach the age where, once, I could have retired, only nowadays the Government keeps putting back the age of retirement, so I expect to be at least 102 before I reach it.<br />
I'd hoped to be able to slacken off a bit by now, but this Christmas will find me and Sir, yet again, driving 80 miles northwards to spend Christmas with my mother.<br />
<br />
Ah, yes. My mother. Now, sadly, a widow, my mother is 84 years old and shows signs of outliving us all. Which is hardly surprising, considering. When I say we spend Christmas with her, what I mean is we'll go there and cook for her. Not just on Christmas day, but dinner on the 23rd when we arrive, and all meals for the next three days. Once upon a time that wasn't a problem and the menu for Christmas lunch used to look like this:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Various Hors d'Oeuvre: </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Vol-au-vents</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Crudites & Dip</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Pickled Niftys on Sticks</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
~~~~~</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Smoked Salmon</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
~~~~~</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Beef Wellington</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Roast potatoes, roast parsnips, Brussels sprouts, mashed potato, and peas.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
~~~~~</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Christmas pudding and cream</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The hors d'oeuvre and first course would be served with Champagne and the beef with red wine.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Whilst Sir cooked the beef and chopped mushrooms and onions for the duxelles mixture in the food processor, I'd be peeling sprouts and potatoes, rolling out pastry, slicing veg for crudites, and jamming anything edible that wasn't otherwise spoken for, onto cocktail sticks. By 2 o'clock in the afternoon, I'd be prostrate on the sofa, more from sheer exhaustion than any over-indulgence.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Mother, meanwhile, would sit at the kitchen table, talking. Though, to be fair, she always peeled a few of the sprouts.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Well, not anymore. I'm getting far too old for any such mullarky, and this year we're cheating. Oh, yes, we're still having Beef Wellington - but they're individual ones, bought frozen from our local Aldi supermarket. So are the hors d'oeuvre. Gone are the crudites and pickled wossnames to be replaced by filo prawns and brie and cranberry wedges. The roast potatoes, the Brussels, and the peas also come frozen.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
At least this year I should be able to grasp my knife and fork with palms free from cocktail-stick-inflicted puncture wounds, and enjoy my Christmas lunch without feeling the need to sleep for a week after I've eaten it.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
All we need to do now is buy my mother a bigger freezer in time for Christmas. Or, better still, a cook!</div>
Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15943689181706224007noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012364435341872797.post-38878814489293882962012-12-02T09:17:00.000+00:002012-12-02T09:17:25.916+00:00Sneak PreviewI wanted to let you all have a sneak preview of the cover of the next Verity Long** book, Organized Murder. So, here it is.<br />
<br />
Designed by the very talented Australian arist and writer, Katie W Stewart, I think it fits in really well with her cover for Strictly Murder. The elements are all in place to make my covers an identifiable brand.<br />
<br />
Katie is a delight to work with, never happy until the customer is 100% satisfied. You can see more examples of her work on her website : <a href="http://www.katiewstewart.com/">www.katiewstewart.com</a><br />
<br />
I'm hoping to publish Organized Murder later this month or early in the New Year. I'll announce it here when I have. In the meantime, I'd love to know what you think about the cover.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-kxCYhHoD-6HEICsT3O9qDbuL5770u1lLx41CO56GHsiYAnDIgVtOjhg8KTxcthskxa6hwe1TXgQsEiiIhr7hLswc9YKpPmVGdmZ8Bm4xBncZgnL8B96u8F7YSODr8b4qk6AwOaLIwrte/s1600/Organized+MurderNo2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-kxCYhHoD-6HEICsT3O9qDbuL5770u1lLx41CO56GHsiYAnDIgVtOjhg8KTxcthskxa6hwe1TXgQsEiiIhr7hLswc9YKpPmVGdmZ8Bm4xBncZgnL8B96u8F7YSODr8b4qk6AwOaLIwrte/s320/Organized+MurderNo2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
** The Verity Long books are funny whodunits/cozy mysteries with more than a dash of chicklit!<br />
<br />
Strictly Murder<br />
Organized Murder<br />
Scouting for Murder<br />
Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15943689181706224007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012364435341872797.post-78075485869013341742012-07-25T05:23:00.002+01:002012-07-25T05:43:17.121+01:00Wow! I'm a Best SellerWell, sort of. Along with five other authors and only in the UK - but I'll take it, however it comes.<br />
<br />
A short story of mine, <i>Fatal Error</i>, is included in an anthology put together by the UK Kindle Users Forum. Summer Shorts has reached No.1 in the category: Kindle Books > Fiction > Anthologies<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li id="SalesRank">
<b>Amazon Bestsellers Rank:</b>
#191 Free in Kindle Store (<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/bestsellers/digital-text/ref=pd_dp_ts_kinc_1">See Top 100 Free in Kindle Store</a>)
<ul class="zg_hrsr">
<li class="zg_hrsr_item">
<span class="zg_hrsr_rank">#1</span>
<span class="zg_hrsr_ladder">in <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/bestsellers/digital-text/ref=pd_zg_hrsr_kinc_1_1">Kindle Store</a> > <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/bestsellers/digital-text/341689031/ref=pd_zg_hrsr_kinc_1_2">Books</a> > <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/bestsellers/digital-text/362270031/ref=pd_zg_hrsr_kinc_1_3">Fiction</a> > <b><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/bestsellers/digital-text/362272031/ref=pd_zg_hrsr_kinc_1_4_last">Anthologies</a></b></span>
</li>
<li class="zg_hrsr_item">
<span class="zg_hrsr_rank">#3</span>
<span class="zg_hrsr_ladder">in <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/bestsellers/digital-text/ref=pd_zg_hrsr_kinc_2_1">Kindle Store</a> > <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/bestsellers/digital-text/341689031/ref=pd_zg_hrsr_kinc_2_2">Books</a> > <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/bestsellers/digital-text/362270031/ref=pd_zg_hrsr_kinc_2_3">Fiction</a> > <b><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/bestsellers/digital-text/362291031/ref=pd_zg_hrsr_kinc_2_4_last">Short Stories</a></b></span>
</li>
</ul>
</li>
</ul>
<br />
It's free today and tomorrow -25th/26th July 2012 - so grab a copy while you can.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp98le-74PFsfjoMJjPmOcSlyjZ_V4JhzLmmzNL57ZDc-bc-gqcQADAOM7pNCcg_b9QDSuEpw5kKRmnFTMBM4lIyBlPtDejTm8T_m9Gu6BmE2ZaiR5KACT-o0ixarftLYiGgzHt7oar95b/s1600/summer-shorts-medium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp98le-74PFsfjoMJjPmOcSlyjZ_V4JhzLmmzNL57ZDc-bc-gqcQADAOM7pNCcg_b9QDSuEpw5kKRmnFTMBM4lIyBlPtDejTm8T_m9Gu6BmE2ZaiR5KACT-o0ixarftLYiGgzHt7oar95b/s320/summer-shorts-medium.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
UK: <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B008NPJNOS/" target="_blank">http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/<wbr></wbr>B008NPJNOS/</a><br />
<br />
US: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008NPJNOS/" target="_blank">http://www.amazon.com/dp/<wbr></wbr>B008NPJNOS/</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Happy Summer reading, everyone.</span>Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15943689181706224007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012364435341872797.post-29459476652772722432012-07-16T11:19:00.000+01:002012-07-16T11:19:03.965+01:00Cleaning, Polishing, EditingEarlier this year, I posted this to a forum I belong to:<br />
<br />
<h3>
I <span class="highlight" style="padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px;">hate</span> my <span class="highlight" style="padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px;">editor</span></h3>
<span class="smalltext"><strong></strong></span>
<div class="post_body" id="pid_63077">
Or, at least, I did yesterday <img alt="Wink" border="0" src="http://www.kuforum.co.uk/kindleusersforum/images/smilies/wink.gif" style="vertical-align: middle;" title="Wink" /><br />
<br />
Working through the manuscript he'd edited and returned to me, some of
his comments seemed very harsh. What's more, the fool had deleted some
of my best lines, changed my perfect prose and destroyed my clever
plotting. What did he mean it isn't clear how the victim died? A child
of five could work it out.<br />
<br />
Dark clouds gathered over Wilcox Towers. As the day wore on and my
language ripened, hubby beat a strategic retreat to the garden while I
stomped around hurling brickbats and curses and looking for something,
anything, to kick. Then I went to bed, pulled the covers over my head
and told the world to go away - only not so politely. <img alt="Smile" border="0" src="http://www.kuforum.co.uk/kindleusersforum/images/smilies/smile.gif" style="vertical-align: middle;" title="Smile" /><br />
<br />
This morning I love my <span class="highlight" style="padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px;">editor</span> <img alt="Big Grin" border="0" src="http://www.kuforum.co.uk/kindleusersforum/images/smilies/biggrin.gif" style="vertical-align: middle;" title="Big Grin" /><br />
He's cut through the c*ap, stripped out the waffling, the needless
verbiage, and the self-indulgent meanderings. He's made the whole thing
leaner, tighter, better. He's made me think! And taught me to listen.
Slowly, oh! so slowly, I'm becoming a better writer. And that has to be
all to the good.<br />
<br />
Yes, this morning I love my <span class="highlight" style="padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px;">editor</span>. </div>
<div class="post_body" id="pid_63077">
</div>
<div class="post_body" id="pid_63077">
<b>Indelible stains</b></div>
<div class="post_body" id="pid_63077">
</div>
<div class="post_body" id="pid_63077">
I was referring to his editing of <i>Strictly Murder</i>, but it could just as easily have applied to his comments on <i>Chamaeleon: The Dragon Key </i>- the sequel to my fantasy story for older children - about which he demanded** a very major re-write. And this got me to thinking. Wouldn't it be nice if we could edit and re-write life?</div>
<div class="post_body" id="pid_63077">
</div>
<div class="post_body" id="pid_63077">
<br /></div>
<div class="post_body" id="pid_63077">
Wouldn't it be nice if we could change the past? If I could only take back those harsh words, not say those things which, usually in an effort to be funny, merely offended people or made me seem uncaring. If I could only edit out those embarrassing moments when my tongue ran away with me and I said something stupid, or that time I arrived at a party dressed as a nun, only to discover it wasn't fancy dress. And was then introduced to the new vicar!</div>
<div class="post_body" id="pid_63077">
</div>
<div class="post_body" id="pid_63077">
Over a long life, I've made so many mistakes and embarrassed myself (and others) so often, it would take an entire container ship of red ink to highlight them all. And no amount of cleaning solvent will ever remove them from my life. They are permanent, indelible and, though I may be the only person who remembers them (I wish), I have developed a new strategy for eradicating their existence. Killing them, like 99 percent of all known germs, dead!</div>
<div class="post_body" id="pid_63077">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="post_body" id="pid_63077">
<b>Use neat for extra cleaning power!</b></div>
<div class="post_body" id="pid_63077">
<br /></div>
<div class="post_body" id="pid_63077">
Henceforward, I shall simply say nothing at all. I'm not going to talk to anyone - ever again. My words will all be written ones - cleaned, polished and edited before being unleashed on a grateful world. To be effective, of course, every e-mail, blog, tweet, forum and Facebook post, will have to be run past my hard-working editor so I may need to hire another one. Hell's teeth! Given the amount of talking and wittering I do, I may need a whole army of editors. Hmm, I'm beginning to suspect there's a flaw in this idea.</div>
<div class="post_body" id="pid_63077">
</div>
<div class="post_body" id="pid_63077">
Perhaps I should run it past my editor.</div>
<div class="post_body" id="pid_63077">
<br /></div>
<div class="post_body" id="pid_63077">
**Actually he suggested changes, not demanded them - which is part of the appeal of being self-published. And, anyway, he's a very nice man and I'm glad I've got him on my side.</div>Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15943689181706224007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012364435341872797.post-3058459435117108882012-05-22T07:20:00.002+01:002012-06-10T06:56:14.046+01:00Books, Blogs and Blurbs<b>Mein Kampf?</b><br />
<br />
It's a long time since I last posted. My excuse, in case I need one, is that I've been struggling to get my new book out. And it <i>has </i>been a struggle, I can tell you. I've set myself various deadlines - all of which came and went, passing me with a whooshing noise I found terrifying. I hoped to announce publication in late March, then for Easter in April, then Mayday. (Mayday is about right. By that time I felt like sending out an SOS.)<br />
<br />
Editing was the problem. My editor didn't like the ending. He thought it was vague and the heroine's actions were questionable, to put it mildly. I thought Verity (the said heroine) behaved very much in character but I made most of the changes he called for, stripping out over 2000 words in the process and tweaking things here and there, until he was happy. Then it was time for one last read through by someone who hadn't read it before. Calamity! My reader — a great spotter of typos. She found eleven! — said almost exactly the same thing about the ending and although she didn't quibble about Verity's motives, her reaction was enough to make me reconsider, and then re-write, the last two chapters all over again. So back it went to the editor for yet another 'last' pass leading to yet more re-writing and tweaking.<br />
<br />
Finally, with the end in sight and only the formatting for Kindle still to do — and a formatter lined up to do it — my husband offered to take on the job. We'll pass over this bit. Suffice it to say I'm still married, though, for a while there, it was a close run thing.<br />
<br />
<b>Eureka!</b><br />
Now, at last, it's published and <i>Strictly Murder</i>, my funny whodunit/cozy mystery/chick lit mongrel of a book is now available on Amazon. You can see it here : <a href="http://bit.ly/K1MC6U">http://bit.ly/K1MC6U </a><br />
And here if you use Amazon. com: <a href="http://amzn.to/L40ayY">http://amzn.to/L40ayY</a><br />
<br />
Now the promotion and marketing — two words that spread terror throughout most writer's hearts — begins, and I've been writing posts for other people's blogs (another reason I've not blogged here)<br />
<br />
First up was a terrifying interview on Joo the Grand Inquisitor's <a href="http://joobook.blogspot.co.uk/2012/05/interrogating-lynda-wilcox.html" target="_blank">blog</a> followed by an, only slightly less scary, visit to Katie Stewart's site <a href="http://kates-scribbles.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">'Trees Are Not Lollipops'</a><br />
Katie is a very talented lady. As well as being a writer herself, Katie is also a brilliant artist and designed the cover for <i>Strictly Murder</i>. Working with her was a delight and much the easiest, most rewarding, part of getting the book 'out there'.<br />
<br />
And, lastly, I was invited to supply a guest post for fellow mystery writer, Cecilia Peartree's <a href="http://ceciliapeartree.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">blog</a>.<br />
<br />
<b>Blurble, Blurble</b><br />
<br />
My post for Cecilia was all about the joys of writing the description or blurb for a book. "So, what's this book all about, then?" is the sort of question which would normally elicit from me the snarky response of, "why don't you read it yourself and find out?" but, sadly, this is not an option for writers. Having expended months, even years, of our time and thousand of words in telling a story, we are now expected to condense all that into three paragraphs at most or, better still, a single sentence. If you want to know how hard that is, do go and read my post for Cecilia. If you just want the shortened version, here it is.<br />
<br />
<i>The estate agent’s details listed two reception rooms, kitchen and
bath. What they failed to mention was the dead celebrity in the master
bedroom. Personal assistant Verity Long’s house hunt is about to turn
into a hunt for a killer. It will take some fancy footwork to navigate
the bitchy world of dance shows, television studios, and dangerously
gorgeous male co-stars. When Verity looks like the killer’s next tango
partner, she discovers that this dance is … Strictly Murder.</i><br />
<br />
<b><i></i>The End</b><br />
<br />
So there you have it. I hope to post more frequently in future, whilst continuing to market my books and write the sequel to Chamaeleon demanded by my readers. Still, no one said this was going to be easy, right? Right.<br />
<br />
Until next time.<br />
<br />
Happy reading, happy writing too you all.Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15943689181706224007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012364435341872797.post-50446656450970596072012-03-27T15:57:00.000+01:002012-03-27T17:02:18.204+01:00My new book cover<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>The Cover</b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
As promised in my last post, here's a preview of the cover of my soon to be published book <i>Strictly Murder</i>.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiG8VCAa50E_BxdEt7DIuHo5zQkxJkcvnmgB7DpyNP2A4CPGpg3Wz91QSmiz-9dIteA9Mfds5jdYpKpAPG7LkHT5LGqFAgKbQeOKEqpvIxglbtef7mUzQUuLIbPV7g3rmvYLWsTxickQgJ/s1600/Strictly+Murder+Final.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiG8VCAa50E_BxdEt7DIuHo5zQkxJkcvnmgB7DpyNP2A4CPGpg3Wz91QSmiz-9dIteA9Mfds5jdYpKpAPG7LkHT5LGqFAgKbQeOKEqpvIxglbtef7mUzQUuLIbPV7g3rmvYLWsTxickQgJ/s320/Strictly+Murder+Final.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
Isn't it pretty? I absolutely love it. It was made for me by the lovely, and very talented, Katie W. Stewart, and you can see more of her super artwork here: <a href="http://www.katiewstewart.com/">http://www.katiewstewart.com/</a></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
As well as being an excellent artist, Katie is also a writer of fantasy for children and one of the authors featured on my website: <a href="http://kindle-for-kids.com/">http://kindle-for-kids.com</a></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
I hope that British readers will make the connection between picture and title instantly. For those who live elsewhere, let me explain that there is a programme on our TV's called Strictly Come Dancing - there's a similar show in Australia and in the USA. The latter is called 'Dance With The Stars' believe.</div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<b>The Story </b></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
Here's a brief synopsis/blurb for Strictly Murder:</div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-size: normal;">When Verity Long, PA and researcher to the famous author of detective stories, Kathleen Davenport, goes house hunting, she's shocked to discover a body in the otherwise empty property. Shocked but also intrigued — for the body is that of 3rd-rate local celebrity Jaynee Johnson, who shouldn't be lying dead in a tatty rental house. </span> </div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-size: normal;">Against the warnings of her employer and the Detective Inspector assigned to the case, Verity decides to investigate on her own, but soon finds that being involved in a real crime is nowhere near as easy as writing a fictional one - and the outcome far deadlier than a badly typed sentence.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-size: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-size: normal;">I'd love to know what you think of my cover - please feel free to leave your comments below. </span></div>Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15943689181706224007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012364435341872797.post-78155501389320175812012-03-23T11:46:00.000+00:002012-03-23T11:46:16.909+00:00Celebrity AngstNot theirs, mine.<br />
<br />
Maybe I'm just growing old but I find myself increasingly annoyed by the "cult of modern celebrity". Tabloid headlines scream of the latest doings — or, more often, misdoings — of people I've never heard of, every day. Their every little 'tragedy' — "I broke the strap on my Prada handbag beating off photographer" — is reported in lurid detail and eagerly lapped up by their army of fans. Whole <a href="http://www.nowmagazine.co.uk/" target="_blank">magazines</a> have sprung up catering to this cult, this craze, this need to discover that, in fact, the supposed celebrity is just an ordinary girl, or bloke, like the rest of us.<br />
<br />
The substitution of hairstyle for personality does not a celebrity make. But it seems that that's what's needed these days, along with an enhanced cleavage and a set of perfect, white teeth. Celebrity, it would appear then, is obviously not an option for the orthodontically challenged but flashing your pearlies every time a light goes off, is. Even if it is only at a speed camera. Talentless twerps appear daily on our screens, warbling, dancing, ice skating their way into our living rooms without so much as a by your leave or an ounce of natural ability.<br />
<br />
<b>Whatever happened to the stars of yesteryear?</b><br />
I want my celebrities to have true glamour like the Hollywood film stars of old. Not only that, I want them to have true talent and the desire to guard their privacy. I like a certain mystique about my 'slebs'. I don't want to hear that they're just like me "reelly". A certain degree of articulation and the ability to construct a decent sentence before they open their pretty little mouths would also be welcome.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1tLgBoEKMgus_huRXmAn7tB4Oyrlxo54ASH7EB5jv5by0UPN1AV_j48gplso77hzkdsZ2K1YkozkP5Jk9bzIJgbNMrafS1m4fpvh6RpN_fxOEfbrkft5sYDaWwjgvpY2eLP8BGAPjLxAO/s1600/marilyn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1tLgBoEKMgus_huRXmAn7tB4Oyrlxo54ASH7EB5jv5by0UPN1AV_j48gplso77hzkdsZ2K1YkozkP5Jk9bzIJgbNMrafS1m4fpvh6RpN_fxOEfbrkft5sYDaWwjgvpY2eLP8BGAPjLxAO/s1600/marilyn.jpg" /></a></div>I don't recall hearing Bette Davis, Elizabeth Taylor or Marilyn Monroe ever saying, "Well, reelly, it's like brill, innit, the way I'm so poplar, like, wiv people an that." And I don't think any of the photos from Elizabeth Taylor's weddings were <a href="http://www.independent.co.uk/news/people/news/ashley-amp-cheryl-cole-a-marriage-made-in-iok-iand-broken-by-ithe-suni-1908528.html" target="_blank">sold exclusively</a> to a celebrity magazine either. Though they might have been - she had enough of them, for heaven's sake.<br />
<br />
<b>Famous for how long?</b><br />
<br />
In 1968 Andy Warhol claimed, "In the future, everyone will be world–famous for fifteen minutes."<br />
Sadly, he appears to have been right, and that future is now. What a shame that the period of time that some people's fame lasts far outstrips their 'talent'. Frankly, a mere fifteen minutes would have been a godsend.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I take a side-swipe at modern celebrity, newspaper headlines, and traffic systems - amongst other things - in my forthcoming comedy whodunit, <i>Strictly Murder</i>. Stay tuned for more details and, perhaps, a sneak preview.</div>Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15943689181706224007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012364435341872797.post-14782294820251924792012-02-06T10:29:00.000+00:002012-02-06T10:29:58.847+00:00You'll Catch Your Death!It snowed on Saturday afternoon, leaving a thin covering of white along the road and pavements of our small Close. Even the grass area at the top of the Close received a coating. A further fall overnight left a good two inches on the ground and everwhere looked fresh and clean with the blanket of pristine whiteness. By ten o'clock yesterday morning, the kids were out to play.<br />
<br />
Nest door, two year old Nichola — a sugar-plum dressed from head to toe in pink — helped Daddy build a snowman on the front lawn. I watched it all from the kitchen window, shivering but laughing at the fun being had out there. Several snowball fights had broken out on the grass, sleds appeared from nowhere and squeals of joy filled the little Close as children flung themselves face down in the white stuff, impervious to the cold.<br />
<br />
"You'll catch your death." I remember my mother shouting at me if I ever tried going out in such weather without wearing more clothes than Scott took to the Antarctic. Needless to say I never did, but I wonder what she would have said if she had seen the thin and skimpy garments the local kids were wearing as they dive-bombed into the snow.<br />
<br />
Next door, the snowman had grown alarmingly - I reckoned it must be 7 feet tall. "Make it bigger, daddy. Make it bigger." Nichola offered encouragement while she ran around with a carrot in her hand. The only way dad could have done this, was with the aid of a step-ladder — the three-ball snowman (one large one on the bottom, a slightly smaller one in the middle and a smaller ball yet for the head) was already taller than he was.<br />
<br />
At lunch time everyone went home and I dragged myself away from the window. Today, the children are back at school, early morning traffic along the Close has turned the road into a dirty slushy mess and the snowman has lost it's head and now leans at a gravity-defying angle. The thaw has set in and everywhere is trampled and grubby.<br />
<br />
But for a few hours yesterday, the shining whiteness and squeals of childish laughter made the Close a winter wonderland and I'm glad I got the chance to watch them have their fun.<br />
<br />
What fun did you have in the snow?Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15943689181706224007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012364435341872797.post-54422646462039595012012-01-11T10:43:00.000+00:002012-01-11T10:43:26.679+00:00I've Lost The Plot!<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">No, seriously, I have. I last saw it back in April when I finally finished my NaNo 2010 winner, now called Strictly Murder. Even then, though, I think I knew that there was something not quite right. Something that was missing from the story. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwcMqajlo9j4R0rnnvPAnaE0ldDPjULdH2yShIwW1dcKQdIdWBY0YAU0s_cTa-_ugMMWB82QXw2lZ297wp1Z4KbqAzTMs8yGFRERS8ntkOeCec9s8PX1naUapZTt_X2Pn-nq0poU0maLwt/s1600/frustration.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwcMqajlo9j4R0rnnvPAnaE0ldDPjULdH2yShIwW1dcKQdIdWBY0YAU0s_cTa-_ugMMWB82QXw2lZ297wp1Z4KbqAzTMs8yGFRERS8ntkOeCec9s8PX1naUapZTt_X2Pn-nq0poU0maLwt/s1600/frustration.jpg" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">For the last few weeks I've been checking and proof-reading the last four chapters, anxious to have done with it and send it to my editor. It was only when I came to compile the file - I edit each chapter as a separate document - that I discovered that the plot was missing. At least, a vital part of it is.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
<b>How did she die?</b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">As you may have guessed from the title, the story is a murder mystery and ... I've not explained how the victim - the celebrity presenter of a TV dance show - actually died! Oh, all right, I've described the discovery of the body; how the woman is lying on her back with a stiletto through her heart, which is a pretty strong indication of what killed her, I would have thought. But I have hinted and indicated that there is more to it than that, there is more to this death than a simple stabbing, and then never revealed what the 'more' is. My plot has gone AWOL.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">*Sigh*</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
<b>Reader expectations</b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Thankfully, I think it's fixable. Or I hope it is. The fixing, though, is going to have a knock on effect on those last chapters. The ones I've spent so much time on, polishing every sentence, every word, until it shines. Making sure that I had dotted every 'i' and crossed every 't'. That each clue was in place and the denouement covered them all and satisfied reader expectations. Except, now it doesn't and won't do without a lot more work.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">So, my funny whodunit, Strictly Murder - detection, romance, some laughs - will have to stay on my hard drive a little longer while I cajole it back into shape.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Right at this moment, I feel like killing someone.</div>Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15943689181706224007noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012364435341872797.post-58177721061154191602011-11-23T08:23:00.000+00:002011-11-23T08:23:49.549+00:00Call Me Rent A CrowdI 've discovered an exiting new job opportunity!<br />
<br />
Today, I shall begin phoning major retailers offering my services as 'Rent A Crowd'. It works like this:<br />
<br />
<b>The Job Description</b> <br />
<br />
I will walk into your empty premises. There won't be a customer to be seen. No purse or credit card waving citizen wil have darkened your doors for hours. I will browse the wide spaces of your aisles, the vast, uninhabited, savannahs between your shelves, looking for where you've hidden the item I came in for. Once I find it, and while I am debating the merits of the blue version over the green, <b>I personally guarantee</b> that: instantly, at least two people will materialize out of nowhere and stand in front of me, blocking my view of the shelves.<br />
No matter. I will move off in search of a something else on my shopping list, only to discover the premises are now so crowded I am unable to move without being smacked by somebody's bag or basket, run into by a shopping trolley, or finding my way blocked by stationary shoppers who haven't seen each other for ten years and are intent on making up for lost time.<br />
<br />
<b>The Retailer Must Do His Part</b><br />
<br />
Now, here's where you — the shopkeeper — can help. Should I make it to the next aisle, you must ensure that there is an abandoned metal cage full of cardboard boxes or products that do not belong in this part of the store, parked tight in to the shelves where the items I wish to buy reside, <b>blocking my view of and my access </b>to those same items.<br />
<br />
<b>Your Benefits, My Costs</b><br />
<br />
With your shop now full to bursting with the foot-fall of an entire market town, I shall leave the premises — the sound of your tills ringing gaily in my ears — as empty handed as I arrived.<br />
<br />
My charge for this service is ten (10) pounds sterling per visit which, I am sure you will agree, represents excellent value for money. If you have any doubts about the efficacy of this method in raising your customer throughput and spend, let me re-assure you. <b>It has worked unfailingly until now!</b><br />
<br />
I reckon I can visit up to 10 shops per 8 hour working day, making me a nice little income of 100 pounds a day — which, unfortunately, I may never get to spend.Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15943689181706224007noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012364435341872797.post-50081822011421854352011-11-11T09:12:00.000+00:002011-11-11T09:12:04.640+00:00I'm Soo Good in BedNow that I have your attention, I must point out that this is <b>not</b> going to be a salacious account of my sex life. You'll find no reports of frenzied gyrations, no tales of nights of passion, no sweaty writhings here.<br />
<br />
I'm sorry if I disappoint you, but what I'm referring to is how creative I can be between the sheets.<br />
<br />
No. No. Really! What can you be thinking? This is a clean site.<br />
<br />
I'm talking about writing. About that creative germ. That idea that starts somewhere in the hind brain and, over a period of days, weeks, even years, worms its slow way forward into your consciousness. Here it explodes like an overripe seed pod scattering its contents into the forefront of your brain and, for me, this happens most often when I'm in bed. At night. In the dark. Just as I'm falling to sleep.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, it is a fragile thing. If it is still small it can be saved, relatively quickly and easily. But if it springs into my mind fully grown, fully formed, glorious in all its complexity, complete with street maps, dialogue and sub plots — then it is doomed. For there is no way on earth that my mind can retain the frail fullness of it before it dies and is gone. Sometimes forever.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>File. Save?</b><br />
<br />
Writing friends tell me they keep a notebook by the side of the bed for just such an eventuality. I find that the very act of fumbling for writing materials and switching the light on can kill the very thing I am trying to capture. By the time I am alert enough to take notes I've forgotten the smaller intricacies of the idea and, more often than not, the idea itself. It was about the gun wasn't it? How my sleuth found it? Or maybe how the killer got rid of it? I'm sure it involved the weapon being hidden in a blancmange in the fridge. Didn't it?<br />
<br />
Yes, I write that kind of book.<br />
<br />
<br />
In desperation, after losing my latest creative jewel, I bought a second hand dictaphone, a digital voice recorder. Now, instead of fumbling for pad and pen, I fumble with buttons in the dark, hoping my touch is true and I'm set to record and not delete. Then I mumble my deathless prose, my brilliant idea, my snappy, clever dialogue, my perfect ending — right into the bleeding pillow.<br />
<br />
<b>Engineering bofffin required. Apply within</b><br />
<br />
What I need, I've decided, is a machine. It will have electrodes that I can attach to my forehead after I've got undressed, put my nightie on, pattered to the bathroom, gone through my nightly cleansing ritual to the strains of <i>Keep Young and Beautiful</i>, and finally retired to bed. There, warm and snug, with my mind roaming free in search of my muse, the machine will effortlessly record all my creative excess, my perfectly formed ramblings and store them. Then I can drift into sleep, happy in the knowledge that my nightly creation will be there for my excited retrieval in the morning. <br />
<br />
So, all I want, all I'm asking for is an engineering genius with 22nd century technology to make it happen. And if he also happens to be young and handsome, I'm sure we could try it out together in bed.<br />
<br />
Tsk, tsk. Shame on you.Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15943689181706224007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012364435341872797.post-44707892097185606902011-10-31T06:47:00.000+00:002011-10-31T06:47:15.384+00:00Sign Up, Log In, Lose The Will To Live!I've just done a quick mental inventory of all the various internet sites I belong to. From Amazon to Yahoo, the number is about a hundred and that is probably well below average. Every single one of them has required me to sign up with my email address and a password. Which is OK, I suppose, unless you've got more than one email address. Or password.<br />
<br />
<b>The curse of internet security</b><br />
<br />
For security reasons, we are told, it is better not to use the same password for all your sites — if the 'open sesame' to one site becomes known, then all the others — including your internet bank, your paypay account and the all-important Technophobes United membership — become vulnerable. For the same reasons we shouldn't write down our passwords because, you know, if a burglar breaks in, the first thing he's going to steal will be the little book or diary you've stored all your personal doodahs in. Everybody knows that. Right?<br />
<br />
Instead you should remember your passwords.<br />
<br />
Hell's teeth! I can't even remember my own mobile phone number. Why should I? I never call the bloody thing. So how can I be expected to remember a hundred different passwords and which email account they go with? What do these 'security' people thing I am? A walking data retrieval system?<br />
<br />
<b>Time Wasting for Dummies?</b><br />
<br />
Today I have lost close to four hours of my valuable time — time I could have spent writing or, at least, doing something more interesting, more life-enhancing — in simply trying to set up a link on this site to my book's page on Amazon. It should be simple enough, surely? Everyone else has one.<br />
The problem is I set up the two accounts using different log-in details, so as I go backwards and forwards between them, I end up doing the sign in two-step.<br />
Sign in<br />
Log in<br />
Sign out<br />
Sign in<br />
Sign out <br />
Log out.<br />
<br />
Aaargh! And do you see an interesting , shiny new sidebar to your right, giving you, the reader, an easy, one click option to view the details of my newly published book? Do you 'eck as like.<br />
So, for the moment, I'm just going to tell you that <i>Chamaeleon: The Secret Spy</i>, my fast-paced, exciting, fantasy adventure story for children aged 9 to 90 is available for you to look at by clicking (or copying and pasting) the link below. And I'm holding my breath that I don't have to sign out, in , out, and in again, in order to be able to do it!<br />
<br />
<i>Chamaeleon:</i> in the UK <br />
http://amzn.to/sbi2Xf<br />
<br />
<i>Chamaeleon: </i>at Amazon.com <br />
http://amzn.to/uvdTAVLyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15943689181706224007noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012364435341872797.post-85935972206933339832011-10-27T08:29:00.001+01:002011-10-27T08:59:04.018+01:00Playing the Waiting GameIf I were to have a favourite prayer it would be, ' Oh Lord, give me patience — and give it me now'.<br />
<br />
<br />
The cause of my current impatience is that I'm within an inch of being published at last. Hurrah! My goal has always been to earn a living from my stories but if I'd known at the start how long I would have to wait to realise that goal, I might never have started in the first place. It has taken me four years to write <i>Chamaeleon:The Secret Spy</i>. Four long years of learning how to write, then writing, revising, re-writing, writing and editing. When at last I'd finished stripping it, jointing it and pulling it apart at the seams, there was a fair measure of relief mixed in with the elation. Finally, I had a completed story. I basked in the glow of being 'a writer' for several days before making the fatal error of telling people that <i>Chamaeleon</i> was done.<br />
<br />
<br />
"When is it being published?"<br />
"Have you got an agent yet?"<br />
"When can I buy the book?"<br />
<br />
Erm...<br />
<br />
With mounting horror, I realised I wasn't finished at all, was I? I still had the long haul of finding an agent and a publisher in front of me. I still had to wait before I saw my baby in print. I devoured the <i>Writers' and Artists' Yearbook</i> looking for suitable agents. I read every website I could find about getting published. I learned everything I could about synopses, query letters and manuscript formats. I made lists and spreadsheets.<br />
<br />
And for three months while I was doing this, I didn't write a single thing. The tales in my head were clamouring to be told but I ignored them. Not a word of them made it onto paper or screen, I was too busy scaring myself to death learning all the hoops I had to jump through just to find an agent — never mind the friendly publisher who would put me in Waterstone's. The chances of me ever becoming published were getting smaller by the day. By the end of those three months I felt so thoroughly depressed I decided to give it all up and find a job somewhere. If I couldn't stack my stories on bookshelves I might as well stack a similar thing in a supermarket, right?<br />
<br />
<br />
Wrong! Enter David Gaughran.<br />
<br />
Call it serendipity, but I was lucky enough to discover David's excellent blog about self–publishing, <a href="http://davidgaughran.wordpress.com/">http://davidgaughran.wordpress.com/</a> three says later. This was it. I was going to publish <i>Chamaeleon</i> as an e-book. The wait was over.<br />
<br />
Or not, as the case may be.<br />
<br />
David's posts and his book<i> Let's Get Digital</i> told me I now needed an editor, a cover designer and a formatter.<br />
<br />
If I'd had money at this point — instead of struggling along on a pittance — the next part of the long journey to be published, might have been quicker. As it was, after I'd paid my editor, had the file back and incorporated his suggestions and amendments, I had to wait while I saved enough money to pay the cover designer. Both the MS and the cover are now with the formatter. The whole process — editor, cover artist, formatter — will have taken a little over two months from start to finish. Whew!<br />
<br />
Which isn't long to wait, really. Unless you're the impatient sort. Like me.<br />
<br />
It will have taken nearly five years before <i>Chamaelon:The Secret Spy </i>is published. But soon, very soon, the waiting game will be over.Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15943689181706224007noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012364435341872797.post-71316639786828561292011-10-16T10:49:00.003+01:002011-10-16T10:55:21.513+01:00IT'S THAT TIME OF YEAR AGAIN<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">My, how time flies! It hardly seems that long since I was preparing for last year's NaNoWriMo. I blogged about it then at: </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="http://twigs-twiglets.blogspot.com/2010_10_01_archive.html">http://twigs-twiglets.blogspot.com/2010_10_01_archive.html</a></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">For those of you who think I'm babbling (and who can blame you? I often do), National Novel Writing Month takes place every November and hundreds of thousands of people around the world join in — with the sole aim of writing a 50,000 word novel between the 1st and the 30th of the month.<br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">There are many who sneer at NaNo, disdaining the amount of effort (and fun) involved. They see it merely as a waste of time, a dilettante's dabblings, a generator of crap. If you are going to write a novel, their argument goes, you would be better occupied spending your time in getting it right first time —not spending one month bashing out a load of drivel which you then either scrap completely or have to spend several more months,or even years, revising and editing.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Which rather misses the point.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Yes, you will write an awful lot of rubbish — even the founder of NaNoWriMo, Chris Baty, admits that — but you also learn something while you are doing it.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>You learn:</b></div><ul style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><li>How hard it can be to write 1667 words a day every day — which you must to reach the target of 50K words by November 30th. I normally average less than 1000 words a day.</li>
<li>The discipline needed to achieve the above, and discipline is what it's all about if you seriously intend being a writer and earning money from your work.</li>
<li>The benefit of having a plot — or at least an outline — before you start.</li>
<li>The perils of procrastination!</li>
<li>And that the support and encouragement you receive from fellow NaNoers is phenomenal. Last year I had writers in the UK, Australia, Sweden and Colorado all cheering me on over the finish line. Which gave me a nice warm feeling to accompany the delight of 'winning'.</li>
</ul><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Whatever the opinion of naysayers, and they are many, at the end of the month the chances are you will have a darn sight more than when you started. You will have something to add to and edit, something concrete, something more than the fuzzy idea for a story that you had before you started.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Last year I had an absolute blast writing '<i>The Crime Writers PA</i>', scraping over the line with 50,131 words on November 29th. Without the impetus provided by NaNoWriMo, it took me until March 2011 to finish it and it stands now at some 78K words before editing. (What my editor, Harry Dewulf at Densewords Editing Services <a href="http://www.densewords.com/">http://www.densewords.com</a> will make of it, is anyone's guess.) </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">This year I'm trying my hand again with '<i>Organized Murder</i>' which will be the next in what, I hope, will become the <i>CWPA</i> series.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">So, if you were always going to write that novel you feel is inside you one day, why not make that day November 1st 2011? You'll find the link below and I can assure you that you won't be on your own — last year there were close to 200,000 people world wide doing exactly the same thing.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Either way, wish me luck. If I surface from my keyboard for long enough, I'll try and keep you posted.</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Lynda</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="http://www.nanowrimo.org/">http://www.nanowrimo.org</a></div>Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15943689181706224007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012364435341872797.post-66798063138312753202011-08-01T08:55:00.000+01:002011-08-01T08:55:26.745+01:00Daft headline of the week - 1What delightful flights of fancy are conjured up every week by our local free newspaper. I imagine the reporter/editor/teaboy - all the same person, obviously, and probably a twenty-something media studies graduate, ignorant of both syntax and spelling - sitting in his office on an industrial estate here in the heart of the shires, and praying for something exciting to happen. What else can explain this gem from last year:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">'Leap frogging mayor bruises tomato'</span>?<br />
<br />
The local worthy was clearly not a vegetable lover. The mind boggles at what he might have done with a courgette.<br />
Perhaps in anticipation of yesterday's round of the World Superbike Championship at Silverstone, last week's paper had this stunning page three headline:<br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">'Dinner table in speed record attempt'.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> (I suppose I should be grateful for the absence of the usual page three 'big-breasted babe', featured in a certain national newspaper. Personally, I can well do without, '<i>Super, sexy Sharleen, 44-24-36'.</i> And how can anyone have those measurements and still stay vertical?)</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Sadly, I didn't read the accompanying story and can only hope there will be a follow-up. After all, if an item of local furniture sets the world land-speed record, I think we should be told.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I can't wait for next week's edition.</span> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span>Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15943689181706224007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012364435341872797.post-43934484759932740892011-06-10T13:02:00.000+01:002011-06-12T05:20:46.294+01:00Confessions of a serial procrastinatorI'm having one of those days where I can't seem to settle to anything. It isn't as though I don't have enough to do, it's more the need to just check out of the work hotel for a while.<br />
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I fancy a day pottering around the garden, tidying the flower beds, dead-heading the roses and re-potting the mint. Then I could attack the bramble that's coming through from the neighbour's garden and taking over the arbour. It is now so rampant, it needs to be given a short, sharp shock - preferably with a flame-thrower. I like this idea a lot, and the only thing stopping me going out immediately to the tool hire centre and coming home with a death-by-bonfire contrivance, is the realisation that it would also burn down my wooden arbour, the neighbour's fence, the neighbour's conifer and, with any luck, the neighbour's two-year old.<br />
That would at least put paid to his mother's constant, half-hearted and futile attempts at discipline: "No, Josh. No, Josh, stop kicking your sister. Don't sit in the water feature, Josh. Ooh. I'll go and get you some dry trousers, Josh. Leave the cat alone, Josh. Put down that machete, Josh." All right, I made that last one up and I wouldn't seriously harm the child. I'd just prefer it if he lived somewhere else. Ulan Bator, for instance.<br />
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A quick look at the state of my finances, however, is enough to remind me that the garden will have to wait. As does an even quicker glance at the to-do list in my writing folder:<br />
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Complete first revision of 'The Crime Writer's PA', my full length whodunit.<br />
Edit my first short story<br />
Plot 'Organized Murder', the sequel to CWPA<br />
Continue plotting and writing ' The Secret Behind the Red Door' my children's story<br />
Write second short story<br />
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So much to do and no idea where to start.<br />
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I debate phoning my mother, that would pass an hour or so easily, if not painlessly, but l 'm trying to procrastinate not lose the will to live.<br />
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I could go for a walk but my shoes need heeling.<br />
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There are any number of things that a true, serial procrastinator might use to achieve their goal - I know, I've employed them all at one time or another. Anyway, I must get on with some work. I really should write something, anything, today.<br />
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Right after I've played this game of mah-jongLyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15943689181706224007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012364435341872797.post-60249016380633139232011-06-06T12:18:00.000+01:002011-06-06T12:18:50.361+01:00Why can't men . . .. . . wash, wipe, and put away the dishes? If they can manage the first, why are they incapable of doing the rest, and vice versa? Why does it have to be either/or? Washing, wiping and putting away is ONE job, guys.<br />
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Why can't men wipe down the cooker. Or the work surface? <br />
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Why can't men put their own clothes in the laundry basket?<br />
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Why can't men go shopping without coming home with cheesecakes but no milk or toilet rolls? You know, the things they went out for.<br />
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Why can't men cook a simple meal without using every basin, pot, pan and utensil you possess? All of which need to be washed up later - see above. And why do they insist on preparing enough to feed an army, when there is only two of you?<br />
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Why do men mow the lawn but never clean the mower?<br />
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No doubt you can come up with examples of your own - and I'd love to hear them.<br />
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I suppose, though, the biggest question of all is: why do we love them so?Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15943689181706224007noreply@blogger.com2