Watching9987

Publishers! Pay Attention! (And a warning to cat owners)

2011-08-10T10:45:00.002+01:00

Well, still no news. I suppose no news is good news. It's not another rejection letter afterall.

Anyway, while we wait, and because Caroline Smailes' blog performed magic for her (although hers is much more loved and, to be fair, much more regularly written upon. Upon? In? To? No, 'to' would be like a diary wouldn't it? Nevermind) I thought I'd try posting a little bit of novel two.

I'm not expecting much. It's for my own amusement really.

Besides, it's got one of my favourite characters in from the book:

‘You really don’t have to be here for this DS Andrews.’ The pathologist was pulling off rubber gloves stained pink. They dropped into a bin with a wet slap. The pathologist wiped his hands on black corduroy trousers and adjusted his glasses. He stretched out a hand to Delphin. ‘Inspector Delphin, it’s been a while. I’d heard you were back in the area.’ Delphin could feel the clammy sweat on the pathologists hand, could see the dried blood on his sleeve.

‘Detective Sergeant Delphin and I are here to examine our body.’ Andrews stepped through the handshake and leant against a sink on the opposite side of the room. He spat out his gum, leaving it mangled in the sink, spinning slowly in a thin film of yellowed slime in the bottom. Andrews frowned then looked up at the pathologist. He pushed out his hand. ‘So can we see her or not, Dr…?’

‘Miller. Dr Steven Miller.’ Miller’s hands stayed by his sides and Andrews was left, gloved fingers outstretched waiting for a handshake that did not come. Andrews ran his tongue across his teeth. He adjusted his gloves.

‘Can we see our body, Dr Miller?’

‘No, it really isn’t necessary DS Andrews’ Miller glanced at Delphin. ‘Usually I simply email you my report. There really was no need for you to come all the way down here.’ Miller strode past Andrews, turned on the tap, rinsing away the thick slime and the twisted ball of gum which circled the drain slowly, trapped by sticky yellow tongues. Miller shrugged off his white jacket and noticed the blood on his sleeve. He sniffed at it and scowled. ‘It’s actually very rare that I see any of your lot down here.’

‘Well, perhaps they are not as thorough as I am?’ Andrews threw another piece of gum into his mouth and pulled his gloves up. He stood, leaping up from the sink. ‘So let’s see her, Miller.’

‘Dr Miller, thank you.’ Miller spoke slowly. His wide eyes were on Andrews, watching him chew his gum, watching tiny splashes of spit spray from between his lips. ‘Have you ever seen an autopsied body, DS Andrews?’

‘Of course.’

‘Really? Because Conston hasn’t seen a murder in a good few years now.’ Miller smiled, tugged at his shirt cuffs, examined his cufflinks. ‘How long have you been on the force DS Andrews, if you don’t mind me asking?’

Andrews stopped chewing, Delphin watched the muscles around his jaw tense, saw the blood creep into his cheeks.

‘We don’t have time for this.’ Andrews stepped forward ‘The body, Miller. Now.’ He strode through a set of double doors following a sign reading: Morgue.

Delphin breathed deep, smelled bleach and sweat. He rolled his shoulders and felt his shoulder blades crack. He closed his eyes as the refrigerated door was swung open. He listened to the squeaking rollers, heard Andrews breathing speed up.

She was blue. A light frost lay over her skin. A jagged crevasse curled outward, a splintered ‘y’ from shoulder to shoulder, an arrow leading down into soft, cold pubic hair. Small breasts rested against split skin, a small mouth, turned down at the corners, had turned purple, dusted with frost. A thick purple line was torn across her throat.

Delphin moved around the body. Red, grazed knees. One scuffed elbow, the skin thread bare across the bone. Swollen, bruised face. A red smear from nostril to split, purple lip. Her neck pale blue with the scar of the colour of wine. Deep folds in the flesh. Delphin picked up her hand, the rigor mortis had begun to disappear but the muscles were still stiff. Were cold. He examined her fingernails, harsh scratches underneath showed where Miller had beaten him to it.

‘Nothing there I’m afraid Detective Sergeant. Dirt mostly, some of her own skin where she’s had an itch. That’s about it. Same with the clothes. Dirt. Sweat – hers I’m afraid. Hair, again just her own although some cat fur too. Short haired, black.’ Miller came to stand by Delphin’s side and rubbed his finger along the scar running down her stomach. ‘Not much in there, quite malnourished.’ He smiled at Delphin.

Delphin rolled her arm over. He connected the dots on the inside of her arm with his finger tip, tracking the passage of the vein. Miller nodded ‘Yes, looks that way, the blood works will confirm it I’m sure, although none seem too fresh, certainly not in the last few days.’

From the corner, his face burning white under the fluorescent glow of the strip lights DS Andrews stepped forward hesitantly. He adjusted his gloves and took out the packet of gum. He swallowed and glanced at it before changing his mind.

‘Cause of death?’ his voice was only vaguely there, more a suggestion by the air conditioning. Miller grinned at him and strode across the room, his eyes sparkling.

‘But of course Andrews, step this way and I shall show you.’ Miller grasped Andrews by the arm and pulled him across the room. Delphin looked up from the girl. This close Andrews’ skin was see through, no blood was left in his face. He wrung his hands, the leather squeaking in the otherwise silent morgue. Miller placed his hand on the girls head, curled his fingers in her hair. Andrews swallowed, his Adam’s apple shuddering beneath white skin. Miller continued.

‘As I’m sure you guessed from the crime scene the girl was felled by a heavy blow to the back of her head. The injuries to her face, elbow and knee all suggest she fell forward, and was unconscious as she did so and so unable to react, as we would, by extending our arms to cushion the fall.’ With his fingers still wrapped around her hair he poked a gloved finger at a shaved section of skull, a crater digging deep through skin and scalp. Andrews nodded carefully. Miller held up the gloved finger. ‘But that isn’t what killed her. It would have, if you look here.’ He pulled his hand up to the light, the hand wrapped in hair. There was a slight slurp, a sucking like a bathplug and her scalp swung free in front of Andrews.

‘Could you hold this?’ Miller thrust it at Andrews whose eyes were wide. Andrews swallowed and reached out a shaking hand to hold the hair between finger and thumb. ‘Thank you. Now, as you can see the force of the blow caused an subdural hematoma. See the bleeding outside the brain tissue? Now look,’ Miller shoved a gloved finger into an incision already made in the grey tissue beneath her scalp. ‘Can you see where it has bled inside the tissue too?’ Andrews nodded. He handed back the scalp.

His voice floated through the stink of bleach and sweat. ‘So the cause of death?’

‘Strangulation.’ Miller smiled at him and drew his gloved fingers in a line along the velvet purple stripe around her neck. Andrews nodded. Wrung his leather clad fingers. ‘The cord was tied with a hangman’s knot. It’s been sent away for the forensic boys to have a look at.’ Miller glanced enquiringly at Andrews, ‘Will you be bothering them too, DS Andrews?’

‘Well, thank you Dr Miller. Good work. Delphin?’ He glanced to Delphin who was still holding the girl’s arm, counting the puncture wounds and mouthing out the numbers. ‘Let’s go.’

Andrews strode from the theatre. Delphin nodded at Miller and shuffled out. Down the empty corridor echoed: ‘Shall I email you the blood and toxicology reports? Or do you want to come back and get them yourself?’ Andrews turned to see Miller grinning and waved his hand, a gore splattered glove slopping between his fingers.

Oh yes, and the cat owner warning. This morning I woke up with the cat next to me on the pillow. I don't know how she got there as all the doors were closed. But she's sneaky. Anyway, the warning: Cat's Drool. The Drool is sticky. The Drool stinks.

Consider yourselves warned.

Novel Three Begins... (Oh, and still thumb twiddling.)

2011-07-25T11:53:00.004+01:00

Holidays - Day One.

Time to get down to the real work then.

Yeah, I'm still waiting to hear some positive news about novel two but hey, that's the business eh? In the meantime I'm not being too sulky. I'm being quite productive actually.

I took advantage of my body deciding that, really, six in the morning is probably the best time to be up and about to get up and start writing. I've had DK on constant boil. I've almost worn the cuffs of my Magic Dressing Gown but I'm getting stuff sorted.

Already got myself through 2,500 words. A 1,000 of them actually before breakfast. Impressive no?

Anyway, on the off chance that anyone still reads this I thought I'd throw in a bit of a sneak peek. Although, thinking about it, as I'm still waiting to hear something from Novel Two it might be better to post bits of that... But I dunno.

Seems weird.

Maybe next time...

“Explain to me now, why shouldn't I just kill you all?”

A dozen faces, acne splatters, slack jaws, glazed eyes all crease. I stare at them and they stare back.

“Sir?” I look at Luis.

“Explain to me, Luis, why I shouldn't just kill you.”

Slack jaws. Glazed eyes. I sigh.

“You’re threatening to kill them now?” Jill sipped at her coffee. From outside come the screams of children. Something thuds against the window. “They been stealing your biscuits again?”

“Come on,” I say and begin to pace, long strides which carry me up and down the central aisle of the classroom. I waft my coffee at them. I breathe loudly through my teeth. “Why can’t I just decide: ‘Right, I’m killing you.’ Why can’t I do that?” A glass eye blinks. Plump lips curl into knots and foreheads crease. Some the front I hear breathing and something has unravelled.

“Because...” I pace back to the white board and spin, coffee slopping against my cup. I stare at a straining face, at the cratered nose and tufts of beard which cling to it’s chin. “Because...” I wait. I watch. The forehead creases, folds. He looks pained. I sigh. I roll my eyes. My fingers tap against my thigh.

And no, before anyone accuses me of stuff. It's not autobiographical. It just happens to have some similarities to my working day is all...

Returning, Being Kindled Up Right Nice and on Stuff That I'm Still Busy Doing (And On Really, Really Long Titles)

2011-07-11T21:09:00.000+01:00

Well, actually, having looked at the title of that there post it doesn't really seem necessary saying anything else does it? Maybe I should just go...

But, if I did that then I'd nothing to do whilst my dinner cooked. Ah decisions decisions...

Fairynuff, it has been a while. I suppose I could waffle for a bit.

Plus, for the first time in ages I actually have some writery things to write about. Makes a nice change. I was sort of not really enjoying writing stuff about... Well... the sort-of-real world. It's just not how I roll. I'm all for the sidewaysalmostuseful me. Never the actualuseful you understand. That would give the wrong impression. People would start asking me questions, wanting me to do stuff.

*Shudders*

Nononono.

That's no good at all.

Anyway - the writery news!

Writery News # 1

Nik gets all Kindled up just in time for summer.

Yup. Imagine it. You're on the beach, the sun is beating down. You have a cocktail or a nice cool beer. Small children are being herded off the beach, bronzed peoples are milling by looking all glistening and with curvy bits just where you like them.

But something is missing.

Something isn't quite right.

And I know what it is.

You've got your shiny new Kindle but there's nowt good on it. Nothing. Bit of Grisham, bit of Austin a smidgen of Dan Brown perhaps. But you're bored. Of course you are. So, why not try:

Yes.

That's right.

Kindled up right nice, that's me!

Impressed?

Thought so.

And that sort of leads me too this:

Writery News # 2

Novel Number Two - Still Twiddling Thumbs.

It's all finished and that. In fact I've done three drafts. I've even sent it places. Some places are a bit interested, some places aren't. Some places remain a mystery to me.

Still.

That's what we do innit? We write, we edit, we wait.

So I'm waiting.

But, I'm not whinging. Not a lot anyway. And I'm not moping about. Not a lot anyway. Instead I'm starting Novel Number Three.

So...

You know...

Watch this space.

Not Yet Dead!

2011-04-29T14:14:00.001+01:00

I'm not yet dead.

I am tired.

And impatient.

But i'm not quite dead yet.

I have plans...

Snow Day # 3: Tinned Macaroni Cheese and Slightly Tipsy Superheroes...

2010-12-01T09:00:00.002Z

Day Three.

Still snowed in.

My gate is broken.

Well, not broken. Stuck. Too much snow to move it. My neighbour has been eyeing up the mounds of snow at my end of the alley. He's been muttering. I've noticed he's left a shovel out the last couple of days so this morning I've finally done the neighbourly thing. I've returned it.

Supplies are holding out though. My Zombiepocalyspe tinned goods have been opened now but there is plenty there. Not only that but the fresh food I have is surviving well too. My kitchen is one big walk in freezer. Really. You can see your breath in there. I scraped frost off the inside of the window this morning. And you should see my freezer. I put a bottle of Dandelion and Burdock in there last night. Now it's frozen. So I'm eating icelollies.

But I'm surviving well, don't worry. Today I am watching wintery films and catching up on some reading. please note though, Wintery films. Not Christmassy films. Today I've watched The Thing and Lethal Weapon (Almost Christmassy I know but I think I can be forgiven), this afternoon I'm on Fargo, 30 Days of Night and Let the Right One In.

Most important job today though is looking out for my new heroes. The Consett Cross Country Ski Pub Crawlers.

I've seen them twice now. Yesterday they even stopped and helped my move the car. So I've made them capes...

They're kick ass!

Launching and Radioing. Sort of like NASA, only Cheaper...

2010-11-24T08:46:00.001Z

Well, Even More Tonto Short Stories is now officially out and things. It was indeed very generous of the Government to throw in a National Short Week to celebrate. I suppose though that only so many of us are bothered about Prince Wills and his soon to be missus (And by the way am I the only one who sees them together and hums this tune?) so really they had no choice but to throw in some kick ass short stories too.

I even got to meet a non grumpy Russian, which was nice. And the Lit and Phil is really quite nice. It's sort of stately but used and tatty and I like that. Oh, and Hi Lit and Phil peoples, thanks again for letting us play.

In other news I was on the radio on Saturday too. BBC Radio Tees. Impressed much? I think you can still listen to me here, if you really want to. I was on in the last five minutes, although I'm sure other, less impressive were also on before that.

So, anyway...

It's snowing and I've already been rescued once by the Consett Cross Country Skiier Pub Crawling Team, I need to see if I can get either a photo or a lift. And a pint obviously.... Will explain more later.

Heads, I Lose.

2010-11-08T13:49:00.003Z

Today my head hurts. Well no, not hurts. It just sort of - throbs a bit. It feels sort of full but sort of empty at the same time.

I mean it's interesting. I can actually stop thinking. I can actually quieten down all the thoughts that buzz about. It could be quite nice, in a way. Could be quite relaxing I suppose.

Except. Except I can feel something in my chest that is sort of cold and sort of heavy.

It makes the gentle throbbing in my head feel ... Feel somehow possessive, I suppose.

My head is sort of full and sort of blank and what I want. What I really really want. Is just to go to the pub. Or bed.

Either does.

NaNoWriMo & Mo-Vember

2010-11-01T14:39:00.003Z

Busy month planned.

Novel Writing.

'Tasche Growing.

Inspection at work.

Floor Mopping around the Cat bowl.

'Tasche Maintainance.

Marking.

'Tasche Experimentation.

Novel Writing.

So.

If I can raise a £10 for prostrate cancer research from my lingering blog readers I'll post the 'tasche.

If not then tough.

It's currently very seventies/porn star...

I'm thinking about a Wing Commander Style one though...

With a bit of hard work I'll even get something that curls at the edges...

In the meantime of course it's all about the NaNoWriMo. I've not tried this so if anyone fancies helping out my writing name is NikJ and I'm based in the Durham region. I've got my plan and stuff.

Actually I've got two plans although one may not be enough to see out a whole month. Maybe I'll file it under 'Short Story' for now.

So in that case just the one idea. About an Invisible Man. Sort of. And nipples. Obviously.

Conclusions

2010-10-27T11:22:00.002+01:00

So, been a while I know but things happen and things get in the way.

Because obviously you've all missed me geet loads I thought I'd do a quick summing up of stuff. Or a conclusion if you will to the month that's gone.

Conclusion # 1: I May Not Be As Crap I Thought I Was...

Having pondered on it, swore at it, rewritten chunks of it and then swore at it some more I'm slowly coming to the conclusion that maybe, just maybe, Novel No.2 may not be awful.

In fact I even like some bits of it. I like the pathologist and the fact that he hands people bloody scalps and eats his sandwiches as he works. I like furniture melting parts and, actually, I'm quite pleased with the ending too. So, you know. That's nice.

I'm still waiting to hear from Tonto Towers though and that'll be when I decide properly I think. I have faith in Tonto, if they like it then I think that'll be a sign that I've done ok. If they don't... Well... Anyway I even winged it off to an agent for a laugh. Six weeks for a reply? Three months for a reply? Whey nah! Try twenty four hours, oh yes. A response, from an agent, within twenty four hours. Now that was unexpected.

Course, they were writing to tell me that they weren't "100%" confident about it but still. I'm impressed they got back to me that quick.

Conclusion # 2: In Retrospect I May Not Survive The Zombie Apocalypse.

Yes. An important factor that I failed to consider here really and one I should probably put right now in case you were all planning on coming and sharing my tinned carrots come The End.

I live next door to a graveyard.

And there is another one two streets down the hill.

And a massive one across the road from that.

So don't bother, I'll probably be the first to go. Having said that though I do still sport a limp from a cruciate problem I'm having so don't shoot me just cos I'm walking funny, please take a moment to make sure that I'm actually after your brains before you take me out.

Thanks.

Which sort of leads me nicely into,

Conclusion # 3: The Most Lovely Vix Has A Brilliant Brain.

Now, before she yells at me, I already knew she had a genius brain. And a crazy sort of brain. And yes, I was already largely aware of the brilliance of it before this. But. But now she's showing it off in new ways and it's really rather cool.

So I hope she won't be too mad at me for telling people to go look at her brain and wonder.

Go Here, Here and Here.

as well as Here

and be impressed. I was.

She be kick ass cool, how.

John Edward Hughes Copeland - Why I loved my Ted

2010-09-20T20:52:00.004+01:00

I wouldn't normally do this. In fact I see it done from time to time on blogs and facebook and things and it seems so... I dunno... Crass. I mean I am crass myself in many ways but I'd always supposed that sometimes, somethings, are best left private.

But not this. I won't get a chance to say these things otherwise and so I need to say them here, where someone might read them and yes, probably think I'm a dick or after attention or just spreading the misery about but really, really I just want someone else to know. Not know about me, or how I feel but know about Ted. Because he was a miserable bastard. A wonderful bastard. And, probably, a bastard that you lot don't know.

I got home tonight, late to a pile of messages on the phone. All bad news.

My best friend Ted. Idiot that he is, hit by a motorbike in the early hours of today and... Well, not and. No more 'and'. Just. Finished. A Full Stop now.

I mean, a motorbike? In the early hours of a Sunday night Monday morning? And to be hit by one? I can't quite believe that. It doesn't seem plausible and if Ted were here I know exactly what he'd say, he'd say, "Well. He wouldn't have been expecting that."

But that's not Ted. Ted isn't the guy that managed to be hit by a bike at five in the morning on a Monday.

Ted was... Well... Mad. Wonderfully mad.

He took me to a strip club once, did my manloving friend Ted, at four in the morning - it was the only place still serving. And he was gone half an hour later, taxi into Newcastle and out on the pull. He felt bad afterward, seemed to think that it was his fault that I got punched by a bouncer. Seemed to think it was his fault that I still have the scar tissue floating in my eye.

And the first time he came round to my new house for dinner - I followed him about as he sloashed red wine across the carpet - me scrubbing the floor as he ambled between DVD stands. His eyebrow raised and a 'Really?' look across his face.

And he was there, always there.

I left my fiance a few years back and he was there. He put all his own stuff on hold and he was there, usually with a bottle of wine and sensible advice. And earlier, when my family was pulling itself apart he was there, and we were younger then so there was no wine but I stole spirits and he maintained enough sense to speak sensibly.

And, actually, I'm sort of pleased that this blog has tailed off and has a much smaller readership because I feel proud of my friend and I feel priviledged that he was my friend and that he did give up his time (and wine) for me and I love the fact that I did know him. That I was that lucky. That this, for almost all of you will be simply a sketch of a life that I got to share in.

I want you all to be jealous.

I want you all to wish you had had a friend like mine.

A friend that once had a 'pleasant time' with a Cambridge Don and as a result of which I still recieve SPAM email.

A friend who said the most genuis things about books and film and music and theatre and left my nodding and baffled and impressed but who never judged me for loving Sci-fi pulp novels or films about sexdolls.

But most of all I want you all to know that I miss my friend. And that I had potatoes in and had a vague idea of how to do dauphinoise potatoes and that I was expecting to be able to talk about the History Boys because I had finally gotten around to watching it.

I had a friend with whom I could talk about books and music, even if he did like Kate Bush, and Scandinavian Miniminalist film and Daphne Du Maurier and talk about nothing and about simple ambitions. Proper ambitions. Dreams that went beyond the horizon and that never left the back yard.

He deserved better.

Someone I listen to, someone I believe and trust, told me once that heaven is somewhere built upon every second of every dream and that for each happy moment a different heaven exists. I hope, I demand, that Ted has many heavens and I hope that somewhere, for a second or two in one of them, maybe in a pub in York or Cambridge, I get to buy him a pint.

I've opened the wine Ted, I poured you a glass.

EMTSS?...Ernest & Maud's Tantric Sex Sessions? No. Probably not... Even Monkeys Tango Some Sundays?

2010-09-17T08:32:00.005+01:00

... No... Wait:

Even More Tonto Short Stories, that's what I meant.

And it's here.

Or it was.

I'd had it two minutes when my mam came round for tea and now she's gone and nicked it.

On the upside though I did manage to read the first couple of stories and they really were rather good, how.

A Shrinking, a Holding Back by Fiona Robyn is awesomely awkward and painful and just... so well ended it made jealously glands swell up something nasty.

Appendage by Peter Parrish is just craziness and comedy and based on such a good character that I read it then reread it and then copied down some of my favourite lines. Which was also bad for the glands.

But, my seething jealously aside, this is looking like being a pretty impressive anthology. It does have some big names in and Amazon seems to think that Matt Hilton has written the entire thing but it's also got some really exciting less knowns and unknowns. Like me.

See?

I'm in it.

You didn't really think I'd be nice about stuff if I wasn't did you?

Anyways - I have to go and order a new copy. My mother is a thief.

Jazz, Nightmares and Reasons Why I'll Survive the Zombie Apocaplyse... Maybe

2010-09-02T14:37:00.007+01:00

I don't really like Jazz.

I feel that I should like it, it's suitably odd and crazy and unexpected and that is usually what I like in music. And film. And books. And people. Not in cars so much and certainly not in builders, but anyway. I feel like I should like Jazz.

I listen to music when I write - all the time. Can't really manage it without music to be honest, which is why this jazz thing bugs me.

Weird, disjointed, crazy music is what I write to. Loads of Trip-hop and downtempo stuff. Plenty of acousticy things too (although I tend to save guitars for the pacier sections usually) so it's the oddness that usually works well for me. A mix of bands and sounds over a few hours is almost sort of medative I suppose, I can feel the beat as I write (tosser that I am) and I usually use Last cos I can be quite specific about what sort of stuff I hear (and it's free and I'm cheap).

Truth is, I'm probably listening to crap jazz, or the 'wrong' jazz. It's too quick. Too pacy sometimes and, I suppose, too crazy sometimes.

And that makes me nervous.

Jazz gives me nightmares.

Actual real nightmares - especially if it's on while I sleep, on the radio or as a soundtrack to a film I've passed out in front off.

I think it's the pace of it.

Quick things are scary things. And Jazz is quick. Sometimes.

Sort of like Zombies.

I'm not scared of the old Zombies. Cos they're slow and predictable and walk funny. Not like your Post-Danny-Boyle Zombies. I'm scared of them. They're properly mental and stuff them. And fast. And crazy and aggressive.

Sort of like Jazz.

A Bit.

Anyway, it was thinking about Jazz that got me thinking about Zombies which got me planning for the upcoming Zombie Apocalypse (I've finished the rewrite - this is the sort of 'work' I can do now that the writing is temporally over).

Reasons Why I'll Survive the Zombie Apocalypse:

#1 - I've got double glazing almost everywhere. Not great against the Jazzy Zombies (except that I probably wouldn't be able to hear them playing their trumpets and things) but I'm not planning for them. There is no point. They'd have me dead right quick.

#2 - My street is largely just a narrow path with a high stone wall at one end and so is easily barricadable. Double glazing might not even be necessary - I'm a terrace surrounded by high walls. A few half arsed building jobs should be enough to keep the Zombies well away from my place. My garden would be fine. And I've got a potato and three strawberries growing there so that's an added bonus.

#3 - There's only me here. I've not got any of the following compromising Zombie movie types that you need to watch out for. No scientists, no military/security personnel, no families with small children and pets who might wander off and leave the barricade open or eat my strawberries, no pregnant women who've already been bitten by a zombie and so are giving birth to Zombabies, no rich people who think they're special and, finally, no teenage couple liable to do something stupid whilst trying not to die a virgin. So no-one to mess it up. Although I do have a cat. Still. I think she can fend for herself.

#4 - I've got tins in. So I could not only survive the Zombie Apocalypse but also a Nuclear one, an environmental one, a biological one (thanks largely to my crap understanding of chemistry and building) or the end of the month when I've spent all my money. Which ever happens first.

Reasons Why I'll Only Maybe Survive the Zombie Apocalypse:

#1 - My double glazing is only almost everywhere. There's none in the kitchen, in fact the door and the window are a bit rotten. So they're looking a bit flimsy.

#2 - I can't build things. So barricades could be tricky.

#3 - I would still be here and I am fully capable of committing stupid acts myself.

#4 - I keep losing my tin opener.

Of Editing and Second Drafts

2010-08-26T16:32:00.003+01:00

Hmmm...

I'm trying to remember if I felt this unsure about the last one.

A muchos geet wise person did recently point out to me that the second one is the harder one and I'm thinking that, yeah, yeah it really is. Second album syndrome innit?

Do I stick with more of the same or do I try something new? Do I go for something more mainstream or do I keep being a bit weird?

Problems problems.

I mean it's done. That's obviously a good thing. A very good thing. But... I just... Dunno... Still. Nevermind. It would be nice to full of confidence about it but then again... If I am and the rejection letters start rolling in or the reviews are less than nice then it would be harder to take.

Maybe being unsure about the whole thing is better. Might make it easier to cope with any bad news. Might.

On the upside I have decided what to write next though. I was gonna do a 'sort of follow on' to this one but... well... this one is a bit grim and I don't fancy going through that again. The last hundred pages had me all pacy and nervous and not sleeping right and heavy behind the eyes. I don't fancy that again, not yet anyway.

So - once the editing is done (yes Stu, nearly nearly done... well over half way now...) I'm gonna embark on something a bit more fun. A bit more 9987 mebbies... Only with different sorts of crazys and... maybe... an invisible man. Maybe.

Reasons For My Absence

2010-08-21T18:24:00.003+01:00

Well, mainly, because I've been busy.

Alright?

And, to be fair, it seems to have paid off. I'd noticed that I was spending too much time blogging about boringcrappyworkstuff and almost no time about writing.

Mainly because I hadn't been doing any writing.

Which was bad.

So I stopped blogging and starting writing. Like, properly writing again. I mean I was getting up in the morning and writing. I was writing for geet ages, every day. Yes. Everyday.

In fact, my original 80,000 target has even been slightly supassed. It's around 100,000 now.

Not only that, but it's at around 100,000 words and it's finished!

Oh yes!

I mean, obviously I'm now busy editing it and redrafting but... still... it's finished.

My Magic Dressing Gown has gone through the wash.

DK is unpulled and holidaying.

My New Writing Chair is once again being used as a clothes horse and my Penfold Mug is now once more in the cupboard and has had the ring of coffee muck (so long a staple of my diet) cleaned off.

Novel Two.

Finished.

So there!

Missing? #2

2010-08-12T21:29:00.001+01:00

... Hang on...

Two seconds...

Missing?

2010-08-10T15:23:00.000+01:00

Hello?

I am Teabag, hear me Lecture

2010-05-25T09:23:00.003+01:00

I lectured the other day, down at Teesside Uni.
Well, less of a lecture really, more of a ramble with references but even so, it made me feel important. I like talking about writing, especially when I'm not talking about my own writing - I always feel like a little bit of a fraud when I'm asked to mutter things about my own writing - I've discovered that I quite like the academic side of the whole thing. The narratology bits and the discourse thingies and the stuff about creating realities and that. All good fun. Obviously I manage to sound slightly more clued up when I do the lecturery things and I bring in handouts because I'm blatantly mint, so yeah, all good fun.

What surprised me though is that when I was asked about what I'm writing now I still managed to sound, partly at least, as if I still knew what I was talking about.

I was talking about the solutions I'd "decided" on to problems that had "become apparent in the narrative or with the perspective." Which I found particularly surprising as I don't remember 'solving' anything. Ever. Least of all in my still-as-yet-unfinished-but-hopefully-ready-soon-manuscript.

Oh. And I'm using words like 'manuscript' now too rather than my generally used: 'pile of rude words'.

It's all very surprising, it turns out that I'm just thoroughly steeped in literature.

I mean, I am an English teacher so obviously some knowledge of books and some ability to speak in at least vague terms about them is necessary, but this new thing I'm doing is a little odd. I'm just one big literary teabag it appears. Tetley's probably, or Typhoo maybe. Own brand most likely. Certainly I'm not Twinings quality, not until I can get His Lord The Great Stephen Fry to Twitter about me, but you have to have ambition.

And I do have DK, so, you know - I'm already half way to quality tea aren't I?

I've forgotten what I was talking about...

... But I have just found some biscuits...

furious gestured waving Hey! Shhhhhhhh!! Hey? jiggling eyebrows and head nodding Psssst, hey!

2010-05-14T15:05:00.005+01:00

i'm writing in lower case so they don't hear me and having nice long sentences to confuse them, just in case. if i'm really lucky they'll get bored and confused halfway through the sentences and then drift off somewhere else...

they've found me.

s'true.

the students.

they've found the blog, s'why i shut it down for a bit.

still... i think they've already forgotten about it now so i might be safe...

I'll have a shufty about and get back to you...

just hang on a sec...

Writing What I've Been Doing, Marking What I Hasn't Been Doing...

2010-04-14T13:57:00.004+01:00

And no, before you ask I'm not writing about what I've doing nor am I attempting to mark what I've not been doing.

Although, marking work that was only supposed to be done would be a hell of a lot easier than marking work which has actually been done.

No, what I mean is:

I've been busy writing.

A Thousand Words a day since the first day of the hols, that's almost Ten Thousand done so far. (And yeah, ok, so that's not quite a thousand words a day but, you know, things happen. I ran out of coffee one day, my Magic Dressing Gown was being washed another day. These things are outside of my control.)

So, been writing. And it's going ok. It's all ticking along quite nicely. In fact, right now I'm just writing up the key murder, well, the "detective arrives at the murder scene" bit of the key murder anyway.

Wanna see ?

"Blue flashes throbbed through the street. the houses were huddled close together; barren lawns scattered with rubbish and forgotten furniture. Collapsed trampolines and twisted plastic tables, blasted and mangled sections of barbecues.

Curtains were open. Pale faces hung silent behind dark windows."

Course, now that the end is in sight, and it is, I'm heading into the pacey final act now my mind is already turning to the editing process which lies ahead. And it's gonna be a hefty one.

I already know that massive wodges of stuff need to be rewritten. I've got scenes I need to go back and add and others that need to be rearranged.

Still.

It's coming along.

And so boss, in case you're reading this, I'll not be getting much marking done.

Got other stuff to worry about...

Hey Everybody, Hey Dr Nik: A Step Too Far

2010-03-26T13:52:00.003Z

Well. It was worth a shot. How's the phrase go? Aim for the moon and if you fall short you've still managed to burn up on reentry? Something along those lines?

No?

Nevermind.

You'll not remember but a while back I applied for my White Jacket and Fedora Hat Combo. And, in a sense I suppose, I succeeded.

I was offered a place, a very nice place too, with use of an office and kettle. (I'd travel with my DK, don't panic, I'm not a two kettle sort of guy. At work I use the Magic Hot Water Boiler Tap for coffee.)

Only problem, obviously, was the International Global Recession. Which has buggered my plans up right nice, how.

As proud as I was, am, at being offered a place the horrible truth was that the place was unfunded. The uni tried and I'm grateful that they did but money is tough to find. So no pennies for young Nik.

I've had to turn down the offer.

It's disappointing of course but I'm still young. (Yes I am. I am. Shut up, I am.) Plenty of time to get me Ma Fudd. And I will get Ma Fudd.

Only slight problem though is that it buggers up my immediate goals. I'm working toward my Stuff To Do Before I'm Thirty List at the minute. Technically I would BE thirty when I got Ma Fudd but I think it would still count.

So I'll have to resign myself to losing that one.

Still, I've already ticked a few off.

Published a novel. Tick.
Lived abroad. Tick.
Sky Dived. Tick.
Knocking down a wall with a mallet. Tick.
Played Football in a Proper Stadium. Tick. (Yes, Durham City's ground IS a proper stadium. It has a stand. So there.)

And I suppose it does give me more time to focus on the rest of my list which, I must admit, Ma Fudd would have gotten in the way of.

For example:

Publishing a Second, more Successful Novel. This is a recent addition but, maybe, will be as satisfying as swanning about in a white jacket and fedora hat. And I'm not too far off finishing. Finally.

Meeting a Juggling Monkey and Buying It a Drink. Really, this is one that I need to spend quite some time doing. I'm sort of thinking that perhaps this is unlikely, the only real solution would be train said monkey and distract the RSPCA long enough for us to have a quick pint. It's not an impossible dream. Really it's not. Research is obviously edging us toward this particular dream. I have proof.

Owning a Smoking Jacket and Pipe and a room in which they seem Appropriate.

Learning the difference between Effect and Affect. This, I know, should be an easy one but I feel that I need some of these in case I get to the Eve of the Thirty and have managed none of the above I need one I can do On The Spot to make myself feel better. Others include Learning to Stand on my Head and Throwing a TV through a window.

Anyways. Thought I'd share.

Amazonion Goldfish Woman #1

2010-03-08T14:49:00.000Z

So I’m stood there, smeared in mayo – even the kitchen door is heavily splattered and slippery with the stuff – and suddenly I realise that ridiculous AmazonionGoldFishWoman is staring at me, little frown on her goldfish face.

And I’m thinking:

“Me? You think I look weird? Have you seen you?”

Accidental Flash Fiction By Genius' #1

2010-03-02T13:53:00.004Z

I'm looking through the afternoon registers, having a quick spy on who's here and who's not. I'm not nosey, really, but I do occasionally like to be prepared and if I know that a difficult student is absent then I can relax.

If they're still here I can start heating up the pokers.

Anyway, I'm looking through the registers as I said and came across a comment left regarding one of my students. He's marked in as absent, a Non-Authorised absence (tut tut) but there is a little note which you can read if you hover the cursor over the kids name.

This note read thus:

"Acute sickness and diarrhoea. Allegedly.

***(Teacher) was on way to work this morning and spotted him in camouflage gear. He waved."

I'll be honest here, that note tells this kid's story far more effectively than I could...

Things That I Shouldn't Be Doing...

2010-02-25T15:00:00.004Z

#1 Pointlessly Arranging My Piles of Marking.

Obviously this marking lark isn't going to be happening now is it? I've got it all. It's right here ready and waiting and organised and sorted alphabetically and by class and by assessment piece and even, for the older ones, by predicted grade.

And yes. I have indeed done all of these things just to waste time.

#2 Texting my colleagues with Pub Invitations in preparation for the Parent's Evening taking place in... um... an hour and a half...

#3 Talking to my Monkey Mints

But look, c'mon. How can you have them sat in front of you and NOT hold conversations with them? They're banana flavoured mints, you just don't meet that sort of thing everyday, they're even made with 'Yellow #5'.

How cool are they? I mean really.

#4 Putting money in my trouser pocket. Cos it's got holes in. This is getting quite expensive...

#5 Writing my novel. It is not, I suspect what my school issue laptop is for. Nor is it how I should be using my PPA time. I think that what I should be doing is trying to find out what PPA means, that way I might have a decent chance of using it correctly.

Or at least a chance pretending I am anyway...

So, I won't tag people because, as you can see, I'm pretty much snowed under. Instead if you too want to confess to 5 things you shouldn't be doing then leave me a comment and let me come see and feel less guilty...

Much love yo!

Reasons To Be Cheerful. Yes. That's Right. I Can Do That On Occasion...

2010-02-01T15:26:00.004Z

I know, of course, that I'm basically quite a grumpy soul. Well. Not grumpy perhaps, flippant may be a better term. Maybe cynical. I dunno. You'd have to ask around. Vicious, maybe. Viscous, occasionally. Viscount, almost never, not that keen on dark chocolate. Vicarious, yeah, sounds reasonable.

Cheerful?

Nah, seems unlikely really. 'Specially on a Monday. 'Specially when the car failed the MOT. 'Specially when we've run out of coffee. 'Specially since it's snowing. Again.

So, it came as surprise to be tagged and asked, nay, told, that I had to list ten things that make me cheerful. Ten? Ten things? Surely there aren't ten cheerful things in the whole world. Unless of course you count boobs as two things and I can have both 'peace' and 'quiet'.

Still. I've been asked and so I'm going to give it a go.

(Oh. And since I've used the word 'boobs' that means that you'll be back I know. And you'll still be disappointed so, you know, jog on.)

Ten Things That Bring Happiness To Me.

(... pauses... a long, miserable exhalation...)

(... a final sip of the now gone coffee...)

Ok.

Number one, two and three are dead easy:

1. My Geet Mint PR Guru
2. The fact that I can still find a little time, most days, to write.
3. My Disco Kettle

But from here on it's getting a bit tricky...

I suppose number 4 could be Catface, the hairiest beastie in all of the house. (Especially since my brother is slowly balding...)
Oh, so number 5 can be: I'm not balding. I don't think...

Hmmm...

6. Slightly worrying this but, actually, tidying and cleaning do actually make me cheerful. Or at least the end result does. The actual cleaning and tidying is something I loathe. Except for when I get to clear my desk. That I enjoy.
7. Hearing from distant peoples. It's nice, innit, when you open your emails and someone is just saying "Hi." S'much better than the viagra offers I keep getting. No matter how good value they may be...
8. Crisps.
9. Crisps in Sandwiches.

and, finally:

10. Being published. I know, sounds like I'm a bit full of myself but, you know, sometimes I forget. then I remember. Then I grin.

And sometimes, when I'm not feeling so sure about this whole thing I have a look at my very first post. Cos it's nice to remember that feeling. That first rush of excitement and fear and pride that comes with have your work liked by someone you've never met...

Ok. Well. That's all turned into a bit of a reminisce hasn't it? Good. S'always good to think back fondly on stuff I reckon. Right now for example I'm fondly recalling the biscuit I had with my coffee. I was quite delicious...

I'm meant to tag 10 people now I think. 10? Really? I don't know 10 people. I'm grumpy remember, this does not breed friendships. not Double Figure Friendships anyway...

But, I will tag a few peoples, mainly the ones that Jamieson didn't already bagsie.

My Geet Mint PR Guru

Stephen Schieber ... Who's name I may have just spelt wrong... Sorry...

Sue Guiney

Carrie Etter

and finally, B. Although I'd understand entirely if she felt that this particular tag isn't really something she could do right now...

Workshops!

2010-01-25T21:44:00.004Z

Reet then kids,

I'm offering an invitation.

The geet lurvely peoples at Northumbria Library Services are letting spend (almost) the whole day in their libraries running writing workshops.

I know.

I'm impressed too.

So, if anyone is free on the 17th Feb and fancy a free look out, some workshopping, writing and (w)rapping* then come see.

It's free.

So it costs nothing.

And it's a whopping TWO hours of writerly goodness.

With Coffee **

S0, it's Berwick Library in the morning 11-1pm and then Hexham Library on the evening 7 - 9pm.

There might even be pints afterward...

*(w)rapping entirely optional and most likely not actually part of the course.

** Maybe. I'm hoping so, or I'll die, but I'm not entirely sure...

Pondering...

2010-01-19T23:11:00.003Z

I've been having a right nice old ponder over the last few weeks.

Right nice. Been pondering all over the place.

Pondered at Work, pondered at Otherwork. Pondered at home. Pondered in the shower. Also cleaned myself in the shower. Then pondered some more. I even had a little ponder in the car and at one point had a ponder before napping. I dreamed about pondering, obviously.

And all this pondering, really, is all about me. I've not been thinking great thoughts. Not even average ones to be honest. In fact most of them are a bit tame and unimaginative.

I'm not doing enough writing.

That's the long and short of it. I'm not doing enough writing and that upsets me. Now, it's no ones fault that I'm not writing except my own. I'm the one to blame here.

Nevertheless though, it's still a quandary.

Stephen wrote a while ago about a similar Time O' Great Pondering and he got me thinking (not pondering, as such, more of a consider).

He got me thinking about Patronage.

Now patronising I can do. I'm a teacher, it comes natural.

But what I really need is Patronage...

That would be cool.

Some rich landed gentry type wanting to get all cultural and so ... you know... supporting me. A bit like parents, only richer and with no obligation to like them/buy them Mother's Day or Father's Day gifts.

How great would it be? All of us hopeful writers and aspiring artists all been scooped up by one big happy money slapping gang of pretendy nobility...

And I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm not greedy.

Really I'm not. And I'm not stupid, I'll be a bargain basement Cultural Collectible. I know this, and I'm ok with it.

I'm not expecting a a fancy city flat or an idyllic country cottage. I can do without a remote log cabin or the summer house by the river.

I can even cope without my own chef. Or butler. Really, I can. I'm willing to sacrifice that.

I'll be happy in the servants quarters, broadband connection allowing of course.

I'll fulfil my duties. I'll be glad to wander drunkenly at parties upsetting Lord Whatshisface and Lady Thingummyjob. I'll allow the gossip of the society pages. I'll even tweak my output to offer a suggestion of sympathy with my Patrons political opinions.

See? I'm not greedy. I'll work hard. I'll be good, or not, depending on what is required.

Really really.

So... Any rich potential patrons out there, drop me a comment eh? Lets see what can be arranged...

Reasons Why I'm Great (Don't Worry, Should Be A Short Post This One. Possibly It'll Be Even Shorter Than The Title...)

2010-01-12T08:21:00.002Z

Ah-ahem,

Reasons why I am geet mint, how.

By Nicholas Jones, age 27 and a bit.

#1 Cos other people tell me I am.
#2 Cos I'm a bit full of mesel
#3 Cos I have a Disco Kettle and a Desk Henry.

There you go. Told you it was a short one. However, in case you're not convinced I'll expand a little bit. But only a little bit. I don't want to sound like I'm bragging.

#1 Cos Other People Tell Me I Am

I'm really quite chuffed with this one. Really really massively chuffed actually. It's always nice to hear good feedback about your writing or to hear people talking excitedly or emphatically or, in many cases I'll admit, disgustedly-but-still-sort-of-complimentary about 9987. Always. So feel free. Whenever you want to. I mean, there's a comments box at the bottom there, so... if you want to chip in... you know.

But, more impressive even than that is the fact that I won Book of the Year. Oh yes. The geet kick ass cool Jamieson Wolf rated 9987 The Bestest Most Mint Book Of The Year, Even Better Than Stephen King* which, obviously, I was pretty pleased with.

There is something special about fellow authors saying nice things I think, it means that even the Not So Good Comments are easier to take. In short, it gives a little extra confidence to shrug and remind myself that, really, I don't want to make everyone happy. It would make me feel dull.

So, geet muchos cheers to Jamieson, he even had the foresight to make his announcement on my birthday so extra special specialness.

#2 Cos I'm Geet Full Of Mesel

It's true, I'm all full up of mesel and the bits that make mesel up. All full.

#3 Cos I Have A Disco Kettle And A Desk Henry

Surely this doesn't need explaining. It obviously makes me King Of Cool Appliances. This is a fact the like of which could never be disputed. So There.

* Not his actual words but mine. I may be showing off a bit.

A Non Review Of The Year

2009-12-31T12:46:00.002Z

S'over, nearly. Deal with it.

And it's been a long one hasn't it?

Obviously, while thinking over the last year it felt ... well... quick and eventless, really.

January happened, then February, then March as usual. I've been told that April and May were around. I remember the lead up to summer. And the summer, mainly for the frustrations at not getting my proper writing time. Um, and then it was Christmas. With snow. In fact, I'm still watching the snow coming down now and, since I have a New Years Picnic planned, I'm not liking it. Although, fresh snow... I can feel a snow man coming on. Or an Igloo. Yeah, that would be cool. In fact, an igloo with an Inuit family gathered around it skinning a Caribou. If that is indeed where Inuits call home and skinning stuff is indeed what they do. Maybe, to be safe I'll do an Inuit family, in shorts, playing on an Xbox in front of a villa as well. Just in case anyone asks.

But anyway, the point I was sort of ambling towards is that, actually, thanks to all those Review of the Year programmes it turns out that I'm wrong. It's actually been a long year, hasn't it.

I mean, January was ages ago. In fact, January was the official release of 9987. That boggles me a little bit. It already feels like it's been out forever. I already feel like I'm resting on my laurels and yet... You know, twelve months, whilst being ages ago is equally quite recent.

You see my point?

I dunno. Is it cos I'm getting old that a year sounds quite trivial now. It's no longer a tenth of my life, a twentieth, not even a quarter.

Does that mean that I'm allowed to work slower now?

If a year is quite trivial and yet is equally long, does that mean that twelve months hard writing need only amount to a years effort? Cos, you know, doing anything for twelve months takes ages. And it's a bit tough. But, stuff you did last year took seconds and, really, well it's all over now isn't it?

It's a line on an end of year review.

Which is why I'm not doing it.

So there.

This year we had that plane crash in New York, you know, the one in the river? And Jade Goody died, which I didn't really care about, although it feels like it happened a lot longer ago. Newcastle got relegated, which I did care about and, even a year on(ish) still hurts. Michael Jackson died and so we a month worth of funeral to enjoy. Barak Obama became President and that was ok for a bit, then he won the Noel Peace Prize and I starting thinking that, somehow, he was leading a bit of a charmed life. Not that I'm bitter, I just don't understand how he won it.

But anyway, I'm rambling, as always. What I'm trying to say is this:

It's been a long year and, when I'm not paying attention, it feels like a short and uneventful year.

But, you know, I think the best thing to take out of 2009 are the things that I can take with me into 2010. I'm still writing, by the end of the summer I'll have finished the first draft of Novel 2 (FSLL). I have a Disco Kettle which still dances as long as you've put enough water in him. I have a cat that stands on my keyboard. And, most importantly, I have my Geet Mint PR Guru.

And cos I'm really jammy I get to plan for a 2010 with them all in.

All the best yo! Hope you have plenty to take with you into 2010.

"..."

2009-12-15T10:00:00.003Z

"..."

"...?"

*shrug*

"...! ...?"

"No no, nothing like that. Just got nothing to say really..."

Not a lot going on really. In a sort of Christmalaise - not really got all my shopping done; not really got all my work done; not really got that much writing done although I'm getting bits and pieces done. Just, you know, not getting stuff done.

I blame the weather. And the mince pies. I don't actually, really, like mince pies but I keep getting them given and, you know, it's sweet pastry. I'm a bit of a tart for sweet pastry...

I did almost get to meet Bill Bailey though, which I admit is not as exciting as actually meeting Bill Bailey but, still, s'quite good. I almost sort of supported him at the Sage last night too. Again, it would have been far more impressive to have actually supported him but hey, not many people have even managed to almost to that have they?

I tried going in the performers entrance too, but was told to go away. So I had to pay for my parking., although I got mince pies (iced for extra Chrismassy goodness) and free drinks and attention and, well, that's me sold really isn't it?

Me and Bill and Sheila Quigley - rocking the Sage up right nice, how.

We had a reading event thingy on the same night, in the same venue as Bill. We decided to let him have the main hall though, he'd come a long way, plus he had instruments and stuff so needed the space. Obviously that left hundreds a little upset that they couldn't fit into the library space we were using but I hear that Bill was pretty good - hopefully they still had fun.

S'a good laugh doing events with Sheila, she has this great thing where she asks the audience questions if they go quiet; rather than my trick of sitting in a quiet corner staring at my feet. She's good value that woman.

Twas was a good laugh and actually was the first time I'd been in the Sage. S'big. And sort of wobbly, you kind of want to go around hugging the walls cos it's all so friendly looking.

Anyway, got some work to pretend to do now I think, try and shake off the spirit of Lazymas for a bit and, you know, look busy.

And boil up DK right nice too I think. Got some mince pies to dunk...

Reading Comprehension

2009-12-02T13:58:00.004Z

Me: That's... interesting. Explain it to me.

Student: Well, the question said to draw the monster.

Me: Uhuh...

Student: ... So I am.

Me: Yeah, true but what are you basing the picture on?

Student: ... The description of it in the story.

Me: Great. So what're these?

Student: Well the story said it was a bit Octopussy so I've done eight of them.

Me: ... Yeeeeeesssss...

Student: And it said that it had evil eyes so I've done them all red.

Me: I like the eyes, they're good. But why are these hairy?

Student: Oh, I know, I wondered about that cos it's says they're like leather doesn't it?

Me: It does yeah, so why do them hairy?

Student: ... Well... Because they are hairy aren't they?

Me: ... Um... Are you sure?

Student: Yeah.

Me: ... Could you, um, could read that word out for me please?

Student: That one?

Me: Yes, yes please.

Student: Testicles.

Me: (Trying not to giggle) ... Um... No. No it says tentacles.

Student: (After a long pause) ........................................ Oh.

Me: Yes.

Student: Ah.

Me: Yes.

Student: Can I start again please, sir?

Me: Yes. Yes that might be a good idea.

Hey Everybody, Hey Dr Nik: Step Two

2009-12-01T09:43:00.006Z

Alreet?

Yes yes I know, I'm evil and cold and uncaring and have been ignoring you all for geet ages and yes. I feel bad about it. I do. Really. Really really do.

But I've been busy as, how. ("Busy as" what? You may say but unto you peoples I shall say only this: it rhymes with truck and isn't nearly as easy as it looks...)

Ages and ages ago, in a time before work kept getting in my way and before my car started coughing and wheezing I posted this. And they laughed at me. They said I was mad! But who's laughing now eh? Who? Well yes, exactly, no one. I'm all very serious now and use geet long words and semi colons and stuff; I am cleverer than the most cleverest person in the world*.

I am: Nicholas R***** Jones BA (Hons) MA (Distinction) and all round modest nice guy.

Or, as My Geet Mint PR Guru prefers to say:

I'm a BAMA.

Which is also pretty cool.

And not only that, I'm greedy too.

I am not yet content.

DK has a PhD. He waves it at me sometimes, wanders around with it stuck to his buttons. He lets it flow out behind him when he steams, a rippling cape of geet mintness inside of which he stands, silhouetted against the rising sun, his 'little tea pot' spout raised in a fist against the retreating night: a God amongst appliances. Not just a kettle. A super kettle. A hero.

And it pisses me right off.

Cos I want one.

I want a PhD cape what I can strut about in.

I want to stand silhouetted against the sky looking hard as nails and wearing an Indiana Jones hat for extra crispy impressiveness.

I want a Fudd.

So I'm going to get one. I've been applying see, and I'm creeping closer... Ever closer... I can almost smell the dusty corridors of academia, the heady aroma of stale coffee and old books. (mainly cos that's what my classroom smells like. I have an Essence of Academia room spray).

I will get that cape...

Plus: A success for me and many others that realises a dream I thought I'd given up on but actually it turns out I haven't. Catchy subheading no?

Ages and ages ago the results of the Even More Tonto Short Stories Competition was announced

And I was a winner! Yeay for me! It's got some writers I know of and they're kick ass cool. Shanta Everington and Fiona Robyn are in it and I'm really quite keen on reading those - even more keen on being in a collection with them. Makes me all chuffed inside being included in stuff with writers like that.

I've been sending out short stories since I was 14 and have quite the collection of polite "No" letters as well as huge gaps where no one could even be bothered to send out generic "No" letters or emails.

When I was younger and (even) lazier I sort of assumed that Short Stories were going to be my only route into being published. I couldn't be bothered to stick at novels and, if I'm honest, short stories required a skill I've been lacking I think.

Until now (giggles).

I'm so pleased, and so chuffed for everyone else who made it in and so gutted for all those who didn't.

I know how you feel.

If you want I'll give you TontoStu's address so you can send him poo-in-bags.**

*Not actually in way true, not even slightly, although I did once meet someone at university who thought Shithole was an actual place after which horrible places had since become known.

** Not actually at all recommended, or very fair, as I hear the competition was tough to judge due to the quality of the entries. You should have done what I did and bribe him with beer BEFORE the results were decided.***

*** Not actually in way true, not even slightly, although I did once meet a bloke who dressed up as a woman and stripteased his best mate in exchange for beer.****

**** Not actually TontoStu. Really really.

Nik And The Library Book Club Drink Free Coffee

2009-10-08T14:57:00.004+01:00

INT: Library basement, early evening.

A stark white room, clean and functional in a converted basement. Above a long, narrow window allows some natural light to fall into the room. In one corner is a coffee machine and stacks of compulsively neat coffee cups, saucers and single serving milks. The foil pull tab of each of the milks points to toward the opposite wall. A dozen chairs are placed in an equally compulsive semi circle all facing toward a projector and screen unit which has been wheeled into a corner. Next to the projector unit is a table containing copies of THE NOVEL IN QUESTION.

In the darkest available corner THE WRITER sits sipping at coffee and staring at the entrance.

ENTER: OLD LADY WITH BAG and NOT AS OLD AS OLD LADY WITH BAG BUT STILL QUITE OLD LADY. They both shuffle toward nearest chairs paying THE WRITER no attention at all. NOT AS OLD AS OLD LADY WITH BAG BUT STILL QUITE OLD LADY pauses just before she sits, glances toward the table containing THE NOVEL IN QUESTION.

NOT AS OLD AS OLD LADY WITH BAG BUT STILL QUITE OLD LADY : Better see what all this is about then.

She picks up a copy of the book. Turns it over. Turns it back over.

NOT AS OLD AS OLD LADY WITH BAG BUT STILL QUITE OLD LADY: 9987?

She frowns and replaces the book.

OLD LADY WITH BAG: One of those hi-fi things is it?

NOT AS OLD AS OLD LADY WITH BAG BUT STILL QUITE OLD LADY: Hi-fi things?

OLD LADY WITH BAG: Yes, those future stories.

NOT AS OLD AS OLD LADY WITH BAG BUT STILL QUITE OLD LADY: Oh, you mean sky-high?

OLD LADY WITH BAG: Do I?

NOT AS OLD AS OLD LADY WITH BAG BUT STILL QUITE OLD LADY: Yes dear.

*Story may have been stolen from events not at all connected with the writer or the book club.

But I did get coffee.

A List Of Obsessions What Megan Has Made Me Do...

2009-10-02T14:07:00.002+01:00

Ah-ha. Like that is it? Tagging eh? Sounds like a challenge that mind Taylor.

Alreet then, since I'm still transmitting (as far as I know) I may as well keep myself distracted. It is, certainly, better than the marking that I am staring at at the moment.

So. I've been asked to admit to 5 obsessions. Megan seems to have cheated a bit I think on hers but I see her point.

Do I have obsessions anymore noteworthy than the average non-radio-frazzled mortal? Hmmm. I dunno.

See my brother used to have an obsession with clothing labels. Not, you understand, in a fashion conscious sense. No. Rather in a tactile stroky sort of sense. And no, I don't even mean the quality of materials of the clothing.

I mean the actual, physical label.

He used to wander up to people, put his arms up around their necks (he was quite small at this point) and make a "hug-me-cos-I'm-small" type face. Then he'd fondle the label of their tops.

So, obviously a little disturbed by this, my gran then cut the labels out of all our clothes to try and stop him.

He cried until mam cut up one of satiny scarfs for him.

He wore that through over the next six months...

See, now that's a good obsession.

And I used to have a friend that was obsessed with picking at the skin on his finger-knuckle-joint thingy when he sucked his thumb. (Again, this was a little while ago.) He spent so long sucking his thumb and picking at the skin that eventually created a fleshy sort of build up of skin on that knuckle that he would prod into shapes.

It had to be cut off.

He now plays with Bluetac.

And again, I can't top that.

However, I've been challenged, so I've got to get something down don't I?

So fine:

1. Coffee
2. The phrase "juggling monkeys"
3. Discovering who stole my Woody Wood Pecker T Shirt
4. My Saturday night Chinese (172 & 174 with Crispy Spring Rolls) with my Geet Mint PR Guru.
5. Finding new ways not to mark; to plan lessons; to teach lessons and to spend more time with my Geet Mint PR Guru...

Oh... And so now I have to tag people don't I?

Hmmm...

Ok:

Rachel the Recording Lady
B the Suspiciously Absent Lady
Stephen the Short Story Writing Man
Jen the All Over Crazy Lady

and, but of course:

My Geet Mint PR Guru Lady

I Am A Human Arial And My Children Will Arrive As Ready-Made Faith No More Fans

2009-09-29T08:41:00.004+01:00

I've got one of those in-car radio transmitter things, the ones that you plug into an mp3 player or something and it plays through the radio - you dig?

Cool as.

And it's pretty mint, mostly, but recently it's been getting a bit crackly. It's getting on a bit now and after an awkward first date with DK it's not really very talkative anymore. Tends to just be a bit ... well... staticy, I suppose.

It's ok when it's in conversation, as long as it's not straining it's voice. Me and my Geet Mint PR Guru take it with us on picnics onto the moors (pronounced moooo-ahs, by the way, as they are the Durham Dale ones) and it tells us stories. All very nice, even if my car smells of sausage roll and chilli crisps for days afterward.

But, on my way to (work) in the morning I find screaming is a good way to get myself prepared. I could do what some of my (colleagues) do, I've seen them scribbling away in huge geet big books, organising themselves and (planning). But I'm not into all that. My geet huge book is red and full of scribbles. Some of which look like spiders which I then see, much later, out the corner of my eye and terrify myself with. There is no planning.

Because I prefer to scream my way to work.

Problem is of course is that the radiotransmitterythingy can't do it. It's all croaky and rubbish when it yells.

Except, sometimes it isn't. I have discovered that, like most things, all it needs a bit of love.

I have discovered that if I hold it I can breathe new life into the machine.

Either I have magical electronic healing powers, or I'm a half decent conductor of radio waves, I dunno which, but I do know that it makes the shouty music sound better.

I know that Faith No More, on a Monday morning is now playable at high volume.

Only problem of course is driving one handed: generally frowned upon. So this morning I tried a new solution.

This morning on my way to (work) I wanted Shouty Dropkick Murphies. And I got Shouty Dropkick Murphies. By sitting on the transmitter.

This makes makes me fear for my ability to sire children now.

I don't like the thought of my crotch transmitting...

It cannot end well...

Rejoice! For I Am Alsorts Of Returned, How.

2009-09-21T19:48:00.003+01:00

Ah... Work.

A joy isn't it?

Yes, that's right, a work whinge. And I don't care what you say. I know I get six weeks off when the rest of the world is sweating in offices. I know I am guaranteed time away from work every seven weeks or so while the rest of the world slowly sinks into their pits of routine and misery.

I know that I am, essentially, very lucky.

But I also know that this is not what I signed up for.

Anyway, enough of that, and no, I won't be apologising for my absence. Things needed doing. Things still needed doing. Me and DK are moving, again, things around me unravel a little then tighten up. You know: stuff.

The point is though: I'm back. So Rejoice and stuff and behold me, all minty and fresh, how.

I've even got some news.

If you wander through my fairly unminted website you will find a new events page which is chocka full of events for me and DK.

But, in case you're lazy here they be, my Autumn Tour dates...

September:

29th - Reading and Q & A @ Cramlington Library 7:30 - 8:30pm

October:

15th - Reading and Showing Off alongside Carol Clewrow @ Teesside University (Darlington Campus)

17th - Reading and Hanging About @ WORDplay, the Whitley Bay Book Fesitval.

24th - Hanging Around, Chatting and Signing @ Durham Literary Festival, Durham University Student Union.

Yus, that's right. Look at me all at Durham Festival, sharing a tent with Tony Horne and the far lovelier Valerie Laws.

Impressed much?

Of Cutting My Album, Getting Stuck In The Middle And Why I'm Not Nick Jonas

2009-08-17T14:31:00.006+01:00

Slow slow going this last week and a bit. I am, I'm sorry to say, around 7,000 words behind where I wanted to be, and, even worse, I'm halfway through my Holidays already.

I'm at that tricky middle bit now and if a novel is basically in three parts (and I believe that, generally, this is true) then I am sticking a bit in Act Two: Waking. Not that the book is written in acts, nor do i have geet dramatic titles like that hoyed in the book. Just, well, if I'm going to talk about it (and I am, just so you know) then it's easier if I give it a name. So. Waking.

Much like in 99

87 the last third is the really pacey bit, that's the bit I really, really want to be writing. But I can't. Not yet.

I know Roz, being muchos muchos organised is able to pick a chapter she wants to write and do it, regardless of where it appears in the book, but I

can't do that. I'm not organised enough. And, to be honest, although I know the last line, the last image. Although I know the ending I do sort of feel that it only fair that I give my character a chance to escape their fate. It's unlikely. In fact, almost impossible, but you never know do you. One line and suddenly I can be writing a different story again.

See, Waking is a key section. I'm seeing some real changes in people now. The situation is getting heavier. The plot, if you'll allow me, is thickening. So, as painful as it is at the moment. As much as only getting 500 words so far today seems like a failed day it is, I know,the only way.

If I rush this now, the ending won't work. If I rush this now, I'll regret it later.

So. Bare with me please dear peoples, I know I'm blogging less and saying hello to almost no one but it's not because I don't love you, s'not because you've become less mint.

It's just been...

difficult...

But hey. The best things are, yes?

And so, to prove my inability to organise I'll now move from "Getting Stuck In The Middle" to "Cutting My First Album."

A few months back Tonto Towers received an email inviting us (The Tonto Team. No. How about The Tonto Stable. No. No definitely not. Um.... The Writers Association of Tontobooks. Oh. No. That would make us T.W.A.T. Nevermind.) to record extract of our work and a quick interview for a new Website.

And yesterday I did.

And I got coffee and biscuits and sweets and water and juice and a lolly. I'll blog properly about the whole thing when the website is up and running but in the meantime visit Rachel's blog to have a read of the struggles and successes of setting up her new website.

And finally. And, for Twitters, the most important part of this, a geet long post designed to distract you from the fact that it's been geet ages since I blogged:

Reasons Why I'm Not Nick Jonas.

1. I do not look like this: For a start my hair is much better. And I'm old enough to shave (I don't very often, but I'm old enough to.)

2. I do not have either my own Disney Channel show, nor my own band. Largely because I cannot:

a) act

b) sing

c) play an instrument

d) abide the idea of pulling up my collar in order to look like more rebellious.

3. I have never performed on Broadway.

4. I have never, despite the rumours, dated Miley Cyrus.

5. And most importantly. My name is spelt thus: Jones. Not Jonas.

And so, the half dozen young girls (and the two, slightly creepy older men) who have recently tried following me on Twitter, especially the two named "Ilovenickjonas" and "Jonasbrosrock" I say this unto you:

"Go. Away."

Examples Of My Genius # 4 - Forgetting About The Plot Of My Novel...

2009-08-04T12:02:00.003+01:00

Altogether now: Whoops.

Yeah, I know, I know, plot is everything etc etc. I know. You don't need to remind me. And, since I'm having a go at the crime genre then, really, I should be making sure that the investigation element of the story is pretty much top notch.

I know.

Really I do.

But... you know what? I'm not that bothered. I mean, when I was told that writing a book about Lesbian Nurses (hello again, back are ya? Disappointed again are ya? Good. N0w put it away...) was a bad idea. Was a stupid idea. I ignored that advice. And look at me know, a geet respected author who's parents still (sometimes) talk to him and whose Aunty did not recently say "I read your book..." and then walk away blushing unable to stomach any more conversation.

And I was once told that drinking too much coffee would be bad for my health. And I've n had swine flu or the plague or lost a leg or anything.

So two nil to me.

And I know that people will be thinking - if you're writing to a genre then you right to the genre. That's what you have to do. Crime stories have a very straight forward plot structure (this is true, I even teach this sometimes. Get to sound dead fancy and literary by talking about the different ages of the genre from murder mystery to procedural and beyond. Course, it bores the average 12 year old a bit but I don't care.)

But I'm stubborn.

My story is a crime story. It involves murders and an investigation. But that is not what the story is about. The story is about searching, and finding, something that should have stayed hidden. And no, it's not about ghosts. Or zombies. Or lesbians. Well... it's early days, I might still chuck in a lesbian... I mean... You know...

It's me.

Of Finding Spaces In Which To Write

2009-07-28T13:32:00.004+01:00

Finally, finally. After months of trying I have managed to find myself a comfortable spot from which to write.

I don't know about anyone else, in general really, but specifically about how they like to write but I'm assuming this 'space' is something everyone needs. I can't write just anywhere. I know some can - and I'm geet jealous. And I know of a least one person who is brave enough to go and sit in a coffee shop, with a laptop ad write in public. Again, I am geet jealous of that talent. I have tried it, but it was here - not in town - and here is... Not great... For that sort of thing. Firstly because there is only one coffee shop here. Secondly because the customers were eying up my laptop quite greedily.

Besides. DK would not be impressed.

Anyway. The point is is that I can't write, not really, unless I'm properly spaced. If you see what I mean. And now I'm sorted. Look:

Now, I know it's small. But I live in a small place. I've had to abandon my flat to the credit crunch, this is what I've got.

And it's great.

I have geet loads of books from which I can soak up tastes and textures. I like being surrounded by better writers, it gives me something to aim for - and, yes, I admit that somewhere on those shelves is my heavily crossed out 'Family Edition' 9987 but generally it's full of proper geet mint writers.

And I have a window from which I can see both the bypass (lucky me), the footbridge which spans it, and rows of terraces on the otherside. And I know it sounds a bit crap, but, actually, I do like a bit of urban miserableness. Oh, and it's raining so the writing is really coming on well.

DK is there on my right, Plantface (as yet unnamed or identified plant which lives on my window sill) and heavily coffee stained mug are all present. And I have a chair, of sorts, made from my late bill reminder packed blue file box. Which is, if I'm honest, not comfy. But it is solid.

The only really prob is that I have no music playing stuff except the laptop.. Which is fine, but I really need music coming from behind me to really go clattering across my keyboard properly... Anyway...

I sent my brother out for coffee three days ago and haven't seen him since. So it looks like I'm going to the shop myself...

Slowly Returning (To Form)

2009-07-14T11:43:00.002+01:00

Morning all,

S'been a while yes?

Sorry.

But I've been busy not marking. Something far more exciting has been happening instead. It appears that I am writing things again.

I've not wanted to jinx it by announcing it. In fact I still don't want to jinx by announcing it but, ya knaa, I've missed you and my blog was going a bit stale.

Besides - I wasn't entirely sure how to follow up on chapter one.

Chapter two I suppose but that really isn't a habit I want to get into. As much as I'm obviously in this writing game for the women and the glory the money is also quite good so chucking a novel on my blog for free isn't a great plan.

I'm hoping my royalty cheque covers a service on for the car. Novel two might get me some new brake pads or repair the front grill maybe. Or, oh, and this would be a luxury, a valet for it. There is a chip stuck down the side of the driver's seat which I really need to shift.

Anyway - what was I doing?

Writing, yeah, that's it.

I've (almost) got a short story ready for Tonto and Caroline and it's not bad. I'm not a natural short story writer I think, they tend to be scenes rather than 'proper' stories. I know scenes can work really well as short stories and they always sound geet literary like but mine are... well... a bit crap usually.

This one I'm more confident about. (I hope)

Currently I'm hiding, again. Closed me door, stuck a poster over the window, typing really quietly. I've got no more lessons today so I'll be writing then too. Just waiting for Art Kettle to boil (DK had a bad time at school, he's a bit pot bellied see, suffered a bit as you can imagine. Particularly in ball sports. No hands see, although not bad at lassoing. Not that there was a lot of that at school mind.)

Ahha, I hears a clunking whine which can only and inexplicably be the Art Kettle. Time to dash commando style down the corridor...

Wish me luck...

And So It Officially Begins...

2009-06-22T15:33:00.000+01:00

The phone was ringing.
Grey, unfocussed eyes stared out from the mirror. The irises, smeared with red, formed a tight shuddering ring around black and empty pupils. Swollen eyelids hung low over clouded eyes, sweeping in toward the nasal bridge and dangling, purple and bruised below.
He did not blink. The phone kept ringing.
From the mirror, through the early morning haze, loomed a face. Like the eyes the skin was grey, like the eyes was smeared with blotchy red. Like the eyes the mouth turned down, the lips dry and cracked.
He did not blink but raised one trembling hand to his chin, rubbed at ripe stubble. The phone kept ringing.
The hand pulled roughly at gaunt skin, scratched through stubble. Stretched the face. He pulled down hard from coat hanger cheekbones, dragging his mouth into a cartoon frown, pulling the skin around the eyes. Slowly, wet grey eyes rolled down to examine still white teeth, unnaturally bright against the dead flesh around them. He released the skin and it snapped back into place, shaking fingers leaving long white streaks which faded to red, faded to grey.
He did not blink but his head fell back and his eyes moved with it, were stung by sharp twists of hair, a range of an unkempt mane. Dark, damp, shot through with whispering white. The phone kept ringing.
It took an effort to pull the face into focus, oversized pupils sucking in the dim light from the room, the toothpaste speckled mirror, the beaten wooden shelf on which the mirror leaned. The single, spread bristled tooth brush. A voice behind the eyes whispered slowly, each syllable tasted and tested: Who is this?
He did not blink but instead raised one unsteady hand to his neck, twisted his chin toward the light and watched the razor catch the light. The phone kept ringing.
The blade sparkled, a tiny window of light skittered across the surface of the mirror, exposed the blotchy skin, the bruised bags, the almost blue lips. He breathed deep, clutched the handle tight. He felt his hand steady.
The phone stopped ringing.
A spider, frozen in the spotlight cast by the angled razor, stopped dead somewhere behind his head. He stared with weary eyes, watching its reflection. He stood in the vacuous silence, the bathroom suddenly bigger without the phone pressing on his air. He watched the spider, its courage returned, creep across the bathroom wall. He lowered the razor and placed his hand on the mirror, cupping the spider. The spider crept upward toward a damp corner.
The phone had stopped ringing but he held the razor again and dragged it slowly down one cheek. Someone knocked on the front door.
He swapped hands, held the razor in his right hand and dragged it slowly down his left cheek. He hissed, paused and watched a thick, dark bead of blood dribble into the sink. Someone pounded on the door. He turned slightly, staring the length of the corridor from the bathroom, past the open bedroom door toward the frosted glass of his front door. Two fat fists beat at the window, two silhouettes desperate to get in. He rinsed the blood from the razor and held it to his throat.
Someone was yelling through his letterbox.
The razor felt cool, he listened to the drip drip of blood into the faucet, heard it splash as it landed. His cheeks burned, raw. He breathed deep, felt his chest heave, pressed the razor to his neck.
‘Sir?’ the voice was angry, frustrated. ‘Sir!’ The words burst from the letterbox, shattering the rhythmic bleed. ‘Sir! Sir, we need you now.’ He pushed the razor into the flesh beneath his chin and stared at the eyes in the mirror, watched the already inflamed pupils bulge.
‘DS Delphin, sir. Please, open the door.’ Delphin met his eyes in the mirror; saw himself deep inside the cave-like pupils. He sighed, dropped the razor and it clattered into the sink. ‘Sir, there’s been an incident. Please. You have to let us in.’

Some People Are Better Staying Lost

2009-06-22T10:37:00.004+01:00

Morning Kids. Good weekend?

Mine was... Well. It was. And I think that past tense is the best thing for it. But anyway, enough of that.

My new look blog... It's got nothing to do with anything that happened over my weekend. Nor anything that happens to me daily. This is not a substantial change in my mood nor even a new beginning.

Quite simply it is this:

Watching 9987 was set up for me (and you. Not you, no, nor you - you were here for the Lesbian Nurses) to follow 9987 from happy birth to learning to walk and, more recently, to branching out on it's own. I think that now though I'm spending too much time simply Watching. And this is no good.

9987 is doing quite well. It's part of the Read Regional Campaign and it'll kicking about some festivals this year I hope. Plus, it's even getting some new clothes soon as it heads for a second date with the printers.

But I'm a bit too smug.

And a bit too lazy.

And I need a kick.

So here it is.

I will continue to watch 9987, of course I will, but - and I'm actually quite excited by this - it's time to get back to work.

Second novels will not write themselves.

Two hundred words a day from now until my summer holiday. That's a month away. That's (counts on fingers... starts again...) 6,000 words.

Then a thousand there after over the summer.

And DK will not stop fzzt-ing. DK will stand by me and support. DK will, undoubtedly be flirting with the microwave...

And this time you can watch.
And this time the conception will be recorded.
And this time I will welcome all you voyeurs (no... no, once again, not you, you're on the wrong site. Again.)

And there is Someone Who Really Should Stay Lost...

Fancy Getting Published?

2009-06-16T13:50:00.003+01:00

Alreet kids?

Got another, yes, another, Kick Ass Cool Competition.

This really is cool, and actually, if I'm honest, in no way is it my Kick Ass Cool Competiton. It's Tonto's.

Oh yes.

Big Daddy Tonto is spreading the lurve boys and girls so make sure your toast isn't burnt. (I may have had too much coffee. And too many biscuits. And, apparently, have a craving for toast...)

"Here’s the cover for ‘Even More Tonto Short Stories’ - hot off the press!

Even More Tonto Short Stories

And even better news to announce … author Caroline Smailes will be judging the competition and helping to put the collection together.
The competition is open to new writers as well as experienced writers, as long as the work has not been published. Please click here for full details of how to enter.
Entry fee is £6.99. Everyone who enters will receive a FREE COPY of the book."

See?

You see?

How Mint is that?

I've got my entry almost finished.

Well, one of my entries.

I've got another one planned.

Maybe two...

Oh it's exciting.. I do wonder if Caroline is open to bribes...

My Confession: A True Story Of Desperation And Free Coffee

2009-06-11T09:41:00.006+01:00

I have a confession to make.

It appears I have succumbed to adultery.

Last night, I am ashamed to say, I accepted free coffee from a different kettle.

I've not yet told Disco Kettle this. I am hoping that, perhaps, me broadcasting it to the world will help ease the blow. It'll give DK time to reflect and, of course, it'll give me a chance to offer my explainations without interruption or scalding.

See, the thing is is this.

Last night was truely terrifying. Truely honestly truely. I was shaking and sweating and generally minging with fright and well. I just didn't think.

It was all instictive and although I'll admit that at the time it was wonderful, that for a brief moment it meant the world to me now I just feel - well. Dirty. And guilty. And I can't quite shift the taste of the chocolate bourbon, the haunting tingling in my fingers from the curve of that mug...

And I am sorry. Deeply sorry.

And I'm blaming the libarians.

They tricked me.

"Let's show you round" they said.

"It's really a beautiful building" they said.

"Have doen this sort of thing before?" they said.

They were right of course. They did show me round. It is a beautiful building. And no, I'd never done this sort of thing before.

I passed the poster on the stairs on the way down to the public library:

"Middlesborough Central Library
7-9pm
Entry £2

Two first-time young authors read from their new novels and talk about their publishing experiences so far.

Alice de Smith’s new novel Welcome to Life is a coming of age novel set in the 1980’s.
Nik Jones’ first novel, 9987, is a dark menacing drama about young man who works in a video
shop who goes off the rails.

The authors are part of New Writing North’s Read Regional 2009
campaign."

And, DK, before you start arguing I haven't done this sort of thing before. I've never had to appear at a library before. I've never had to talk to people about my experiences as a published author before.

I've never had to read my work in public before.

Never.

I've had an actor do it, and he was really good.

I've done it on the radio before. But that was over the phone. At early o'clock. And I had slippers on and my Magic Dressing Gown. And coffee from you, DK. Coffee from you. And no one was watching except for the cat. Who, I'll admit, seemed less than impressed.

But reading in public?

Never.

And I was nervous. And I didn't know what to say. And I was garbling. And it was awful. And I couldn't hold the book open and stand up. And I couldn't turn the pages. And it was all going so horribly wrong.

And one of the lovely librarian ladies handed me a coffee. And I spied a plate of chocolate bourbons.

And I just didn't think.

I am sorry, DK.

Really sorry.

But, if it makes you feel any better I think it helped. As awful as my beginning was I think I got better. I got polite and much appreciated applause after each mini reading I did. I almost managed to stay on track when answering questions.

And I brought you back a signed copy of Welcome to Life.

Do you forgive me?

Can you forgive me?

I could descale you...

Rachel Green - An Ungodly Child

2009-06-02T15:29:00.004+01:00

I really far too good to you all you know that? Not content with one geet mint author interview I now have another.

Oh yes!

Admittedly they're coming along thick and fast due to my ineptness at meeting deadlines, rather than a hard hitting journalistic desire to hunt down and stalk authors but hey, what to do?

So for the next week it's all about An Ungodly Child, the debut novel by writer and poet Rachel Green.

An Ungodly Child follows Harold Waterman, an unlikely hero, and his summoned demonic familiar Jasfoup. When Harold is infected by an incurable disease when he meets Jedith, otherwise known as the Angel of Pestilence, he turns to the black arts to find a cure. Jasfoup is only too happy to help, as long as Harold can pay for his services. Meanwhile, the three angels of destruction are out to prove that there could be an antichrist, if only Harold would believe it. Gillian, Harold's vampire girlfriend, is not so sure.

Described by Amazon reviews as being "Intelligent, imaginative, and Very funny." and "warming, amusing and insightful. The use of imagination is inspired " this is a another must buy novel.

Luckily Rachel was able to take some time out from her (very) busy writing day to let me pester her.

Me and DK do another Wossy

1. At what point, or do you at all for that matter, begin thinking about yourself as 'a writer'?

I do think of myself as a writer, despite Nathan Bransford declaring it a reference to this somewhat controversial blog entry by Curtis Brown agent Nathan Bransford. Ever since I started being published regularly I have said: “I am a Writer.” It defines me. It's what I do. I used to be an Artist and to be truthful, I still make more money from painting than I do writing. "An Ungodly Child" has cost me around £400 in review copies and postage and publicity and freebies and the printing of postcards and the like.

People still look at me and say "but what's your real job?" A visitor to the house once said "Hi Rachel, are you writing something interesting, or just your book?" (To be fair, she also looked at my painting and said 'Is that some kind of art?') Now I answer them: Writing is a real job. Look: Here is my book. That’ll be £8.99 please.

2. If you're anything like me then completing that (hopefully) final draft was truly glorious. The process immediately after that, so often littered with rejections and hopelessness was not so fun. Can you talk us through how the process went for you?

It wasn’t easy. “An Ungodly Child” was my first novel and was truly rubbish. It was originally cobbled together from a series of connected short stories and had no arc and virtually no development. I sent it to a few places and had it rejected, then sent it to WordWise Edit in Sheffield for a professional opinion. Miranda gave it a glance through and sent me a few notes back. I completely re-wrote it, using the original as a series of plot points and surgically added a spine, a major plot and several subplots. Then I left it for six months, edited it again and sent it of to the Undiscovered Authors competition in 2006. It won the runner-up prize of publication plus £1000 after publication. It took another two years and several more edits, but appeared on Amazon in December and in a few bookshops in February. It didn’t get the publicity I was hoping for, however, and was never officially ‘launched’ by the publisher.

3. Your book, like much of my own work, seems to be about isolation. Isolation and a desire, a need perhaps, for acceptance. Is this a common theme for you too? And what came first? The theme or the story?

The theme, I think. My first novel (that I never count because I never finished it) was about an immortal woman searching for a home after hers is destroyed by the 5th legion of the Roman Army in 438AD. She was very much a loner. In some ways Harold’s childhood reflect my own (though my father wasn’t the Devil) in that I was something of an intelligent-but-lonely child too. I found acceptance and a huge extended family and so did Harold. I wish I had a Jasfoup, though. In all the books I write (and I’ve written four sequels) there is the element of a loner gaining acceptance (or a spectacular failure of it.)

I will also throw in 3 questions from my blogbuddy Disco Kettle. They will go like this:

1. Fzzzzt?

In aviil psstngg. *chuckles* Ocibibibib narloop.

2.Fzzzt fzzzzzzzzt fzt wheeeeeeeeeeze?

Bloogning, Abibabin nawr, pssingssin drenooootish

3. Fzt gurglrgurglrgurgle click?

Ah! Earrlybip Greyinganizzt, os gringing babbbylizzt.

I also write a feckbucket of poetry. I start the day with a cinquain, a haiku, a tanka, a fib and a senryu on my Livejournal and at some point in the day I generally post a photograph and a poem to my dogsbite blog. I also write Jasfoup’s blog and a short vignette to Laverstone Tales . After lunch I work on the current novel, editing or whatever. Sometimes I take the afternoon off. I generally stop working at 6:00 PM

Plus another kick ass cool Competiton

Did I, or did I not say I was far too good too you? I think I did you know. And now look. Hot on the heels of one competition I now have a new, equally EditTastic competition for you.

In no more than 50 words (always fun I know) a flash story regarding someone needing or wanting or getting or being denied acceptance. Tough eh? I'm a mean bastard I know, but hey, it's something to play with. Physical and social acceptance like the example Rachel has had a go at or, you know, try something a bit different. Be a bit weird.

You know me, I like a bit Weird...

Harold dropped his coin in the slot and pushed against the barrier. It didn’t move. He rattled the release lever and tried again. Still no result.

“Why can’t I get in?” he asked the attendant of the Savoy Gentleman’s Conveniences.

The porter scowled. “I don’t like your faeces,” he said.

Sue Guiney Competition. Finally I Announce The Results

2009-06-01T09:14:00.001+01:00

Morning kids,

Apologies for my general crapness of post over the last week or so. Damien Duff broke my laptop.

Luckily (?), now that I’m back at work, I can make good use of school resources and post from here instead.

So.

The Sue Guiney Competition results.

It was a really close run thing, we had some excellent entries and I’m impressed that so many of you had weather rubbish enough to warrant sitting in front of a computer screen trying to edit your way down to 50 words.

Well done all you pastey pastey people.

In the end it came down to two which Sue and I debated for a while.

“Lauri’s is “right scary,” and Jamieson’s is heartbreaking. How to choose? Do we have to?” Was Sue’s thoughts.

But she’s nicer than me.

Two winners?

I think not.

There can be only one.

And so, like I said, it came down to “right scary” or “heartbreaking”.

And, well, you know me.

There are two routes to my heart.

Lesbian Nurses.

And “Right Scary”

So, without further ado, the winning entry:

Lauri Kubuitsile

“An arm in the corner, a leg in the truck bed, the headless torso folded in the pink blanket- like a human slaughterhouse or a fun fair for serial killers, she smiles thinking unsuitable mother thoughts. The baby screams and she dreams about the silent deception of her first doll.”

A worthy winner so congratulations Lauri.

Lauri chose pages 155-160 as she chosen excerpt and so anyone interested in a pdf copy email me at nikjonescompetitions@gmail.com.

Grace remembers a special birthday dinner she had alone with her husband in London. Years later she can still recall each dish, each taste, and the important role that meal had in the realization of the shift in her relationship with her husband.

As I said, it was really close, so close in fact that, even thought there can be only one excerpt choice Jamieson’s entry was indeed so heartbreaking that I think it deserves to be seen by all too.

Jamieson Wolf

“I was twelve when my grandfather died. My grandmother jokingly said to him: Lets play 52 Pick Up! When he went to pick up the cards, my grandfather fell and an ulcer burst. He died instantly. I haven’t played any card games since that day. They remind me of death.”

Congrats to Lauri and to Jamieson and thank you to all those who entered, don’t worry if you didn’t quite manage it this time, tomorrow I’ll be started a new competition you can have a play with.

So,

Tune in next time for another exciting Blog Tour:

Rachel Green and An Ungodly Child

Competition's Over Folks

2009-05-27T13:52:00.002+01:00

Well.

We got quite a few entries, inlcuding some international ones, we've covered 4 - count'em 4! - Continents. Impressive no?

Anyway, the entries went off to Sue this morning so keep them fingers crossed and lets see what excerpt is made available.

(apologies for my delay. My laptop died. Yes. Twas muchos upsetting. But hey - life goes on. And if I will spill beer over it... well... I blame Damien Duff. Bastard.)

Tangled Roots - It's Getting Competitive

2009-05-22T10:34:00.002+01:00

C'mon kids, there is still time.

The competition closes midnight Saturday and the winner announced and published Sunday night (relegation issues allowing. Wins for Hull and Sunderland will not be appreciated and will mean a delay I'm afraid as my laptop is a long way from the bottom of the bottle).

We've already had a good response, including a few international entries, and the quality is very high.

But, y'knaa, shy bairns get nowt and all that.

It's only fifty words remember...

Tangled Roots: Sue's Interview and Geet Mint Competition

2009-05-18T10:05:00.002+01:00

Morning kids,

As promised this week I am hosting the muchos talented Sue Guiney.

Sue is a writer, poet, playwright and, occasionally, a teacher of her From Words to Notes workshop. So, obviously, is quite busy and it is this, as well as her wonderful writing which makes this week such a pleasure.

So, without anymore adoing (I know you all love an ado but DK and me spent geet ages putting our questions together and so I want them read. Cos they are mint. Obviously. As are Sue's answers of course)

Me and DK do the Wossy:

1. At what point, or do you at all for that matter, begin thinking about yourself as 'a writer.'?
I wanted to be a writer from the time I was 8 years old, but I didn’t dare start calling myself a writer until I was about 50! I still have trouble saying it out loud as if it’s a title I don’t quite deserve. For me the change came with the publication and production of my poetry play, but I wish that wasn’t the case. I do believe that if you choose to spend your time writing, and if you see the world through those sorts of eyes, then you are a writer. It doesn’t matter how much you’ve published or if you’ve published at all. It’s a testimony to my own hang-ups that I couldn’t apply that to myself.
2. If you're anything like me then completing that (hopefully) final draft was truly glorious. The process immediately after that, so often littered with rejections and hopelessness was not so fun. Can you talk us through how the process went for you?

It was a very long and arduous process but I’ll try to be brief. “Tangled Roots” was actually 2 novels woven together, so I had a first round of “good” rejections (ie publishers who loved it but couldn’t market it for whatever reasons). When I realized that the “sequel” I had been writing was actually part of that same first novel, I pulled the first one and waited until the combo novel was ready to go. We then shopped that around to the “big boys” in New York (my agent — unfortunately now retired — was American) but had the same results. I was getting more disillusioned (not to mention older) by the day, so I eventually gave it to bluechrome to consider. And although he urged me to first show it to larger UK houses, I was fed up and agreed to let him publish it. So it was a real roller coaster of a process spanning several years, with incredible lows of hopelessness, as you mentioned, followed by one or two big highs. But I must admit that now that I’m finishing up my second novel, I’m not expecting the process to be any less arduous this time. But that’s the game, isn’t it?
3. Your book is (as I read it anyway) concerned with what makes us who we are, the quirks of fate and genetics that make up our personalities. Is this a common theme for you? And (a two parter here I'm afraid) what came first? The theme or the story?

It seems that my first impulse for any piece of writing is character rather than theme. I imagine characters and find myself needing to place them into fictional surroundings. The themes follow after, but soon after. There are many themes that run through “Tangled Roots” I think. Many of them appeared during the course of the writing. The theme of identity, though, was indeed the first one that I felt the need to write about. The experience I am having with the novel I am completing now is different, though. When I began to write this one, I understood I would be devoting several years to the project so I knew the theme had to be something important to me, something I felt compelled to address in my own life. So this time, the main character, setting and primary theme all came together at the same time. Once again, the theme of identity is involved, but it takes a back seat to ideas of guilt and responsibility.
And now for the important questions:

1. Fzzzzt?
As often as I can but only in the mornings.
2.Fzzzt fzzzzzzzzt fzt wheeeeeeeeeeze?
Usually not, or at least not that I will admit to.
3. Fzt gurglrgurglrgurgle click?
By hand and surrounded by as much quiet as possible.

Me, personally I'm almost finished Tangled Roots and have been enjoying every page - I'll be treating you to my review toward the end of the week - I know you're all very excited.

But, if you remember from waaaaaaaaay back at the top of the page we've got a competition for you too.

And it's a bit of an odd one.

It will require your writing pencils to be sharpened and your typing fingers to be flexed. It will, I'm sure, also require your big red editing pen to be fully charged and ready to go...

So, here we go:

The Tangled Roots Writing Competition

Right. Sue has, very kindly, offered us descriptions of a number of excerpt from Tangled Roots. She has carefully selected some of her favourite sections and is now putting one of them up for grabs.

What you need to do is to select the excerpt you want to see made downloadable and include it with your entry. The winning entry gets to choose the download.

Simple as.

Ish.

Cos, you know, I like putting a maximum word count on things. It makes you all work harder.

So.

In no more than 50 words:

Write about an event that sparked a memory or shaped an identity.

How tough is that?

I mean really? That's harsh no?

Entries to nikjonescompetitions@gmail.com please and please include your choice of excerpt from the list below.

1. pp 66-70 John goes to a baseball game with his best friend, Marty, and Marty’s 2 kids. Sitting next to Marty’s 8-year-old son, John finds himself remembering the painful summer of his adolescence when he did nothing but play baseball as a way to avoid the troubles between his parents. 2. pp. 155-160 Grace remembers a special birthday dinner she had alone with her husband in London. Years later she can still recall each dish, each taste, and the important role that meal had in the realization of the shift in her relationship with her husband. 3. pp 233-235 John attends a High Holiday service in Moscow’s old synagogue. Sitting next to his friends and hearing them tell about their ancestors and the generations of their family that had attended that very synagogue, John finds himself reconnected to his own past, a past he had hardly known about. 4. pp 263-267 Grace goes back to her parents old home, her childhood home, to clean it out after her mother’s death. While there she remembers a card game she used to play with her parents and sister, a moment in her childhood that helps her understand who she is as an adult.

Fun and Games

2009-05-14T11:50:00.001+01:00

With luck (internet connection permitting - it is windy in Consett you know) I'll be posting the Sue Guiney interview, competition and movie. Oh yes! Quite the extravaganza if I do say so myself.

In the mean time though have a look at this and see if you can guess which page I found the most interesting and entertaining...

Tangled Roots

2009-05-12T08:30:00.005+01:00

Morning kids,

I've being hospitable today. And for a few days after too, hopefully it will distract you all from my secret for a little while until I can unveil it. Possibly with some sort of blog based drumroll. We shall see.

Anyway, enough about me.

I'm hosting two geet properly talented authors on my blog this month; first (and I'm bit late hosting her, so sorry Sue):

Sue Guiney, author of the really rather mint: Tangled Roots

Two people, an aging son and his mother, roots forever entangled. . .

John, a forty-year-old Professor of Theoretical Physics, finds himself
alone and stuck. Unwillingly, he faces his event horizon, a turning point where
he must confront his past and accept it.

Grace, his mother, sits in her
living room telling stories of their lives and so reveals her own view of “what
really happened.”

In Tangled Roots, two voices interweave to carry us
from Boston to London to Moscow and back again. Through physics, religion,
travel and even baseball, they express the often unknown, yet undeniable,
influences one life will have on another.

I've so very nearly finished it. It is, I must say, quite special.

More on this soon, complete with an interview and a little competition, so stay tuned.

Not long after I've also got the pleasure of hosting Rachel Green, author of "An Ungodly Child" and, oh yes, more competitions too.

I am so very, very popular.

My Secret

2009-05-07T15:29:00.003+01:00

Just had official confirmation that I cannot confirm my secret until early June at which point the details will all have been confirmed and I can then pass them on to you.

So there.

Much love.

Not Yet Revealing My Secret, But Properly Giggling At The Keywords Which Brought You Here

2009-05-05T15:13:00.002+01:00

Right.

Come on then.

Own up.

Is it you?

Are you the one? Or, more accurately, are you one of the many, many who've come here by mistake?

Well?

Cos, see, I've just had an email from my Googlebot. It tells me things. Things about you. And it tells me today that a huuuuuujjjjjjjjjjje geet wodge of you, particularly from the States it seems, are here by accident.

It seems you typed in a search request.

And then clicked to come here (if you'll pardon the pun).

And now you'll be disappointed.

Oh yes.

And I know what you typed.

My Googlebot knows all.

And you know what my most common keyword referrals are?

Course you do. Cos it brought you here. Didn't it?

Yes.

And I'm not lecturing. Your business is your own, you are, I assume, an adult and of course have every right to pass your time in any way you choose.

You're not doing anything illegal are you?

So why so shame faced?

Why so embarrassed?

For my part I'm a little surprised. Yeah, ok, so one of the most common keywords I could have guessed. Fairly obvious, even if it is a tiny bit misleading.

But I own up to that. I've never hidden from it. Even, once, in an interview (an interview which later made it on to the school bulletin board before someone actually read it) I said it. Straight out.

"What's it about then?" They asked.

And I, oh so sweetly, with my bestest smile, said:

"Lesbian Nurses."

And so, yeah, I can see why you're here. But how you got here I have no idea. I've been checking the blog see, and I can't find it anywhere.

I have no idea at what point I may have mentioned it. But still.

S'done now.

And like I said.

I don't blame you for being disappointed here. I don't blame you for wondering what on earth this has to do with your search query.

But there it is.

The most common keyword search referral for my blog:

"erect cocks"

And so your guess is as good as mine.

But while you're here:

Wanna buy a book?

Of Better Reviews And A Little Bit Of A Tease

2009-04-30T11:08:00.005+01:00

My Googlebot spy has found a couple of reviews this last week or so. It's a clever little device what my most mint mentor mentioned. It used to search for "9987".

That was not always successful.

Often it brought back phone numbers of Arizona based real estate firms. Occasionally serial numbers of Japanese eletrofunk albums. Once it revealed that this was how many tonnes of waste produced by a collective of French farms. All very interesting stuff.

But did little to feed my ego. Especially the wastage one.

So now it just searches for "Nik Jones". Egotastic I know. In fact, simply by posting this post it's possilbe the Googlebot will post an email directing me to this post.

Anyway, the Googlebot returned two nice new reviews. In fact two very nice reviews I reckon. Two reviews that talk about 'pacing' and 'structure' and make me sound like I knew what I was doing.

Go have a look, they're just over there to the right... Go on... Click it, you'll love it.

Plus: A Little Bit of a Tease.

Now, I had asked the most shameless of Kettles, El Disco himself to perform a bit of a tease for this section. Swing his flex about the place, maybe wiggle his button, but alas, he is too cowardly. So I'll do it instead...

You ready?

No? Thought not.

Well, I'll try it this way instead then:

I know something you don't know, and it is proper mint, how...

A Question Of Biscuits

2009-04-22T15:10:00.003+01:00

Hello. Sorry. It's been a while. Been busy decorating my flat, I'm Letting it you see. Not letting it do anything in particular you understand. Just Letting it. And only after its' done its' homework.

Plus I've had some biscuit issues recently. All week in fact. And yes, I know it's only Wednesday. I am not hopeful for the week.

On Monday Rob's voice echoed down my little slash of tile and parquet flooring. It's good for an echo is Rob's voice, especially in those surroundings. His demand was still bouncing around when I poked my head out the door.

"What? I'm marking" I yelled back. In the far distance Rob's head hover from his own doorway.

"No you're fucking not! Come have a biscuit."

I paused. Suspicious.

"What kind of biscuit?"

"Hobnob."

"Get fucked then"

And that was that until morning break. By then Rob, having suffered a similar response from heads hovering in doorways all along our corridor, had bought some chocolate ones. In fact he must have been feeling particularly chastised because they were Chocolate Caramel ones.

He's a good lad is our Rob.

Except, somehow, I was in trouble.

"Here, bastard, since my biscuits weren't good enough for you."

"Wumummah?" I said, my mouth nicely caramelised.

"Hobnob snubber."

"Yes." Said Jason, helpfully, "I don't see your problem. Everyone needs a Hob, and certainly everyone needs the occasional nob."

"This is true," Claimed Rob, "Biscuits and sex. Exactly the same. Both necessary."

"Well yes," I agreed, "But without chocolate a biscuit is mere procreation. There's no love there. No passion."

"So... the Chocolate Caramel you're eating now..." Jason seemed intrigued. "That's like - "

"Yup. This here," I was waving my half eating biscuit, "this, is all about seduction."

Not surprisingly the bastards have stolen all the chocolate digestives.

Being In Geet Loads Of Places All At Once, Plus: Admiting, Once Again, To My Genius

2009-04-06T16:54:00.004+01:00

Guess what I'm doing this week... Go on. Have a guess... I'll give you a clue:

It just might get me into your bedroom...

I know, but calm yourselves. It will be the metaphysical me that will be visiting, the (mostly) conscious part of my id that will be kicking about. My physical self will be on the settee. Drinking coffee. Wearing my dressing gown. Possibly sticking my tongue out at Disco Kettle.

For you see, I shall be being radio interviewed. By a real life DJ, for a real life show. Which (I think) goes out next Tuesday night here. I think that you can also listen live by pressing the big, and ever so subtle, On Air button above too... Maybe... Depends on how advanced my internetting skills have become.

I will be talking about me, I will be reading a few short extracts from my book (very short... It's broadcast before the watershed) and possibly a bit from my new (as yet unfinished) one. But I'm not sure if I'm ready for that... We'll see.

So, if you've nothing else on and fancy listening to me stutter and stammer my way through a conversation. If you want to hear some panicked silences as my brain seizes up. If you want to listen out for the whistling giggle of a Disco Kettle, then have a listen.

If all else fails there is music between my panicked silences so you can enjoy that instead.

Plus: Admitting My Genius Once Again...

Um... As has been pointed out once or twice by the observant reader I neglected to include where my International Signing was. Sorry. I am, truly, genius. I could of course waffle on, as I tend to do, splattering commas around the page, but that will simply distract me and I'll forget to tell anyone. Again.

So:

My International Signing is Friday, 12pm at Borders Edinburgh. Scotland. (or, in true Hollywood style: Edinboro, Britain.)

So if you're about, or if you know someone up there in need of creepy and uncomfortable reading...

An International Event Of Monumental Import - And No I'm Not Talking About Gordon's Big Deal

2009-04-03T08:29:00.003+01:00

Couldn't care less about Gordon's Big Deal - I've got nothing anyway and for those of us down here it really makes very little difference.

So no, My International Event Of Monumental Import is nothing to do with that, and far more important.

Far more important. Say it with me kids "Far. More. Important."

Very good.

I am signing books. Internationally. Oh yes. I have looooooong arms.

"Nick Jones
12:00 pm, Fri 10th April 2009

Nick jones will be instore signing his new novel 9987. 9987 is a jagged, tragic crime story set in a disturbing, uncaring world where only three things are constant: fantasy, lonliness and love."

And so yeah, ok, they spelt my name wrong, but in all fairness I spell it like."I'm a tit! I spell my name like a tosser!" so I won't hold that against them. I'm just really excited to be there.

And it will (WILL) be great! The Wetherspoons signing was. A dozen copies sold and signed, one gang of slightly druk blokes heckling me and Stu and wanting cheapass copies of the book. And a pint. And two, count 'em TWO free coffees for me mam.

Oh yes. Twas good.

And this one will be too. My most mint PR Guru has already formed plans to have me advertised BEFORE the event actually takes place. I mean, Borders will have a few posters and stuff, but really, who reads them? Most Mint PR Guru has some effective sounds plans. Which, actually thinking about it, I still ahven't put into action.

Balls.

Best be off, got some phone calls to make...

A Muchos Rock and Roll Wetherspoons Book Signing - Beer and Books. How Mint Is Me?

2009-03-31T14:08:00.003+01:00

So, another book thingyjabob...

Back in the saddle after the Sunda Apathy session, and - to an extent - back on home turf.

The pub.

Yup. That's right.

I admit, it's odd. Yes - the opportunities for disaster are huuuuuuuuuje. But, ya knaa, at least this time if it goes wrong I can have a pint.

So, if anyone fancies buying a book/having one signed/buying me a pint/having me sign a pint and happen to be in the area:

Wetherspoons, Consett, CO. Durham.

6 - 8pm on the 1st April.

And no... It's not a joke.

Getting Beaten About The Head With A Real(ity)ly Big Stick And Not Even My "Award Winning" Sales Pitch Can Save Me

2009-03-30T12:19:00.006+01:00

I am working on the basis that quantity equals quality here, at least as far as my post titles go. It is quite possible that I will be wrong. In fact, it's almost a given that I will be wrong, but I'm going with it anyway because it amuses me. I am also maintaining my "traditional" pre-post waffle, and, as it's lunchtime, a waffle would be much appreciated. A potato one, obviously, with beans. Maybe a fried egg or two. Some bacon.... A Cup of Coffee...

But, healthy eating aside a waffle is what you're getting while I try to figure out exactly why I'm in need of such comfort food.

Nothing has happened that I did not expect. At all. In fact, like all those proper writers I spend my time reading about, the weekend was - probably - perfectly normal. And also, I have to remind myself that people would kill (have killed, some of them. Actually, really) to be a published author and that I am very lucky. Very lucky. I am sure that many (well, some) people will have read my book now and thought "Yeah that's ok, I could do that." And they'd be right. Like I said. I am very lucky.

Or jammy - as my Gran would say. A Jammy Bastard to be precise. Bit like a dodger, but obviously not as tasty.

But, yeah, the weekend.

On Saturday I got a review. It wasn't a bad review, but it wasn't great. It's over there, on the right. Up a bit. Yeah - the Isolationist one.

It is a perfectly reasonable review, some good points, some not so good but well balanced and, I admit wholly fair. Now, this is the first review I've had that isn't a good one. Obviously this was bound to happen. I know I'm not a pioneering writer, nor am I a particularly literary writer. I write slightly odd stuff which I find entertaining. Or creepy. One of the two.

Ok, so, I didn't really agree with some points, I felt there was more happening in the book than it was given credit for, but - if the reader doesn't see these things then really, there is no one to blame but me. The reviewer didn't get me the way I wanted to be got, so to speak, but why should they? They see what they see, if they miss stuff then it's my fault for not presenting it better.

I was not annoyed with the review. At all. Honest. The review was perfectly reasonable, as I said. I was annoyed instead with my reaction to the review. I was annoyed that I couldn't just shrug it off.

And then the Lazy Sunday happened. Or at least Sunday happened. It was, well, a disaster? No, not really, no one was killed or maimed or robbed or starved to death in the queue at Starbucks, no child got scolded or bruised or lost.

It was just that no one. And I mean no one, was listening.

Had I possessed the sheer stubborn bravery of Sarah Shaw and actually stood up, as she did, and read to a crowded room full of people not even pretending to be interested I might have felt better.

She sat to tumultuous apathy from the surrounding tables. I waved my book in the air. Yelled out my best sales pitch:

"S'got Lesbian Nurses in..."

Nothing, not a flicker of interest.

"And a Zombie..."

The queue at the counter counted out the brownies.

"Premature ejaculation... Anyone?"

A nervous blush from the guy in the corner. Otherwise... Nothing.

I suppose this is one of those things. I've heard other writers telling these stories, of turning up and being the only one there and such like. I had been expecting it. I knew that rapt attention was unlikely.

But still.

It was, surprisingly, painful.

Luckily me and Vix had been Disco Kettling. Between the two of them I was ok. I'll be honest though, it was more Vix than DK. He was too busy dancing...

Disco Kettle - The World Tour

2009-03-29T10:16:00.001+01:00

As promised... Disco Kettle - the World Tour.

Lazy Sunday (Sorry DJ, but I didn't name it... I mean, I named the post, but not the event. Which, obviously, is Lazy Sunday)

2009-03-25T14:36:00.003Z

Ah long waffling titles. Always fun. I like a title you could use to beat people with, and that one would be quite heavy I reckon, and sharp too with all those commas and parenthesises.

Anyway, the Event.

Note: Not MY Event. The Event. Cos it's not just me. Oh no. It's a foursome. So to speak. I mean, you know, they're all very attractive types but I don't think my PR guru would approve. Besides it would all be a bit public. And probly enough to put you off your Starbucks...

(one seamless link later...)

Starbucks, Borders Team Valley: Lazy Sunday.

"Tonto's Lazy Sunday
1:00 pm, Sun 29th March 2009

The fantastic four of Sarah Shaw, Roz Wyllie, Stephen Shieber and Nik Jones- otherwise known as the Tonto Press stable of fiction authors- will be in-store at Gateshead signing books and talking about their experiences as new authors. Come and join them for a coffee in Starbucks, pull up and seat and enjoy a lazy Sunday of an event."

I am, obviously, loving the "fantastic four" bit - I reckon I'd be a good human torch... Well, no actually, I think the Invisible Girl would be better for me actually, but I'm being positive and confident. As long as I'm not The Thing then I'll be happy...

So. Fancy a coffee and cake? Bit of a chat? Want to laugh at me having been up all night watching the Grand Prix?

C'mon... You know you want too...

Putting Myself About A Bit

2009-03-19T12:01:00.003Z

"Ah ha!" I hear you cry. "I know what's coming, a pretendy whinge about self promotion." And you will be shaking your head and thinking "He loves it. Who wouldn't?"

And you're mostly right.

It is about self promotion. But it's not a whinge.

Promotion terrifies me. Still. Always. But I'm getting better* at it. I'm having training and everything.

And I'm branching out a little bit. And I'm inviting other people to come play too (more later, once I'm organised.)

But mostly, and most importantly, back to the self promotion. Cos, see, I've done - and am still doing - bookshoppy type stuff. Borders are being really very nice to me and letting me wander about thrusting copies of me book into unwilling hands, plus putting me on the 3 for 2 piles. Oh yes - buy two proper authors, get me for free! etc etc... Only, you know, I've never approached an author who is at a signing table. Ever. It's a very British thing that - if you talk to them you have to buy the book. It's only polite. So I'm trying something new...

I'm doing a Wetherspoons signing.

Oh yes.

A Bar.

With drinks.

And me.

With books.

Wetherspoons are even offering a free coffee to everyone who buys a book. 9987, a coffee and a comfy chair in a pub. What more could you want? I mean really?

Plus I have a "Lazy Sunday" coming up soon with Sarah Shaw, Rosalind Wyllie and Stephen Shieber. Also with coffee, in the Starbucks at Team Valley on the last Sunday of March. It'll be worth it, Starbucks do nice cake...

And finally, for those of you, like DJ, with nothing better to do try clicking here and scrolling down ever so slightly...

Gotta love those boys at Byker Books, they're proper mint. How.

*Have not recently danced/fallen over in public. But continue to accidentally say "chuffed to bits" when asked my opinion. On anything...

In Which I Originally Forget To Title My Post

2009-03-16T08:19:00.004Z

Monday again, this I'm sure you know.

But fear not oh you peeps you - I'm down with the kids me... Very hip. Daddio - I'm not having a Monday morning whinge today.

For reasons that make-a no sense I'm in a stranglely positive mood today. Maybe it's simply time the pendulous weighting of mood lifted, maybe my head juices are simply acknowledging it's about time they squeltched. I dunno. And I don't care. I'm just going with it.

Course, I say that, but I've been running through the weekend trying to pin point a reason for this. But I can't. I know there doesn't have to be one, my moods do this, a week or so waaaaaaaaaaaay down there then a climb then a few days, like now, where I am, truely and indisputably, mint. How. And, possibly, a little commacrazy...

Anyways.

I've been writing. Sort of. Which could account for my mood. Not proper writing you understand, more writing about my writing type stuff. Another Uni assignment due in, more thoughts on my ability, or not, to scribble down a series of mostly cohertent sentences.

And I did it wearing my Magic Dressing Gown and with Disco Kettle Fzzzting nicely nearby. And, best of all, the lovely Vix Fzzzting just as nicely on the settee next to me.

I've discovered that this writing about writing thing, other than being a bit self indulgent and slightly dirty feeling, is actually helping me to focus.

I had to write a quick (200 word quick) synopsis of My New Novel. Which wa sa bit of a bastard actually. But. Having done that (ish) I've discovered a few things I hadn't realized.

Firstly it appears that I have at least two stroylines wrapping themselve about each other and doing the naughties between chapters. This is.. well... It's a bit unexpected, but I'll go with it, see where they end up.

Secondly it is also becoming apparent that I seem to be dealing with contempory issues (sort of) rather than dealing in cheap sex jokes and twistedness. Which makes an interesting change. And I'm not sure how to deal with it now, except to ignore it, continue on with writing it the way I was and to see how it comes out. See if the colour runs in the wash.

Lastly and most bizarrely it appears that the main character in my crime novel is stil not, actually, doing any investigating... Now I know what you're thinking. 30,000 words in and he's spoken one line, and investigated... well... nowt. This is a bad thing.

But I'm not so sure...

We'll see.

Anyway. Classes arrving, coffee alarm is ringing and at some point I need to plan todays lessons...

Preperation # 2

2009-03-09T08:26:00.002Z

Clunk clunk clunk

Clunk

Gurgle gurgle gurgle wheeeeeze

Click

Splatsqueltch

Drip

Drip drip drip

"Is it clean enough you think?"

Fztzzt

"True, but the magic..."

Fzt?

"Well, you don't think it's washed out do you?"

Fzzzzzzztztzt

"True"

(Getting stuff ready...)

Preperation

2009-03-05T15:27:00.002Z

Drip

Drip

Squeaksplashgurgle
Gurglegurglesqueak

Drip

Drip

Click

Hiss

Rumble

Fzzzzzzzt...

(S'almost time to start up properly again...)

ReLaunchyness and The Spreading Of My Fame

2009-03-02T09:41:00.005Z

Right, sorry, bit short notice this - but is anyone free on Tuesday (that's tomorrow, yes) and happen to be in the general North East area?

Only I'm getting Relaunched see.

Not that the last one wasn't wonderful, it was, as they say "most properly and prosperously mint, how".

I can only assume it was the blatent mintyness of the last one which has so inspired this.

Borders Team Valley is hosting a Murder March month, a month celebrating crime writing. Not a month encouraging killing sprees, at least, not as far as I know. I'm not saying there may not be an alternative message which could run through procedings, but for my part, I'll be concentrating on the fiction.

Oh, and the wine. Which has been promised me. Stu. Wine. You promised...

Anyway, the Relaunch:

Borders love me soooooo much they want me to come and launch 9987 all over again, with my geet talented actor, and wine, and coffee in the Team Valley store. Tomorrow. If you fancy it.

Tonight Borders plays host to "Shelia Quigley and to Bykerbooks, a local publisher who are set to release the second RADGEPACKETS collection of short stories in February. Including stories by Roz Southey, Ray Banks, Danny King, Darrell Irving and of course Sheila herself."

And tomrrow:

"The second Murder March night will be devoted to the launch of Nik Jones' fantastic debut novel 9987, as well as Sandra Rowell's Orange-nominated novella MICHAEL. Nik and Sandra, both local authors, will be in-store signing copies of their books as well as talking about their experiences as new crime authors."

See that? Pretty cool eh?

I'm afraid I won't be able to bring DK though. The event is in the Starbucks you see... I don't think he'd cope withthe pressure. Besides, we had a nasty and fairly messy 'incident' with a self heating Nescafe can the other day... It's not safe for him to be out and about at the moment....

More Freebies!

2009-02-27T15:00:00.002Z

More free stuff for yous, cos you're mint.

Well some of you.

Go see Stu at Tonto, he's giving away free copies of Tonto books. So it could be 9987. Or it could be Make It Back. Or Everything You Ever Wanted. Or Being Normal. Or any, really, it's up to you.

Simply email Stu telling him which you book you want and why. The only proviso is that you have to agree to review it on Amazon afterwards.

How nice is he?

On Returning To Juggling My Monkies

2009-02-24T12:41:00.002Z

Ah... Back at work. Again.

I'm not expecting any sympathy here. I know full well how lucky I am getting holidays to write/read/drink/stroke my Disco Kettle (and no, that's not a euphemism). But even so. Mondays are Mondays and the first Monday in a while is a shock to the system.

This Monday is still going on, a full 24 hours after it started.

Increasingly my Mondays last for days.

Increasingly my Mondays are tougher to get through.

Increasingly my Mondays are creeping into my weekends now. A long, slow recovery from the previous week. A sinking, heavy feeling in my chest at the prospect of the week to come.

I am dropping monkeys.

Monkey blood on the walls. No ice-cream in sight...

For example. A meeting on Monday. At 8:30. In the morning. A Breakfast meeting. No bacon provided. No toast. No cereals or pastries. No coffee.

At least not for me.

Boss: You haven't yet passed on your detailed, lesson by lesson, homework by homework, plan of action for the whole of the year.

Me: I know.

Boss: (not smiling, silent, tapping pen against her clipboard. Yes. Clipboard.)

Me: I have a vague overview you can have, and I have a list of assessments with deadlines. How's that?

Boss: Not detailed enough. Why isn't it done?

Me: Because I've been teaching it.

Boss: Teaching?

Me: And marking (lies lies lies).

Boss: Marking?

Me: And then planning on how best to build on what we've done, or how to approach tricky bits in new ways.

Boss: Planning?

Me: Yes.

Boss: Well I think your priorities need thinking about.

Me: So not the teaching bit?

Boss: No. I want your paperwork done.

Monkey bleeds on floral carpet.

So there you go. Teaching: It's all about the paperwork.

And after I'd done so well smuggling my piles of paperwork out to the recycling bins undercover of darkness. Buggah.

Ah well. At least I'm making good use of my time now eh? As we speak I'm training up my Marking Year 7 Student (now year 8, and progressing well into planning and form filling out) to write schemes of work.

It's longer, I admit, in the short term. The training and support needed to train a 12 year old to write complex and detailed schemes of work, but hey. That's what I do. I teach. Besides, it'll be worth it in the long run.

Right. So. Almost lesson 4. Where's me Monkeys gone?

A Movie About My Book About Movies, Plus: Another Kick Ass Cool Competition...

2009-02-20T21:40:00.005Z

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l-0fDmO4ry4

You see? You see? How cool is this?

I am so very impressed with this, produced by the multitalented Jamieson, off his own back and everything. He said " I wanted to do something that would capture three things: the movies, the blood and the waiting." And I think he managed it wonderfully. What do you reckon?

Plus: Another Kick Ass Cool Competition

I've "borrowed" this direct from Jamieson's blog - I hope you forgive me...

My novel Hunted is out in paperback and I just got my author copies!

I’ve been trying to think of something special that I can do, some really neat contest that will get the word out and let everyone know about Hunted. It really is one of my favourite novels that I’ve written and everyone should read it.

I’ve been thinking about this contest for two weeks and I just thought of what I should have done two weeks ago. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner!

A lot of Hunted revolves around the world of Soaps. It’s a paranormal thriller that takes a look at satirical look at Soap Opera’s.

You know, those daily shows where Cindy is sleeping with John, butJohn is really in love with Kelley, Cindy’s sister and Kelley’sdaughter Gabriel is really John’s daughter but she can’t bring herself to tell Hunter, her husband, who is sleeping with Kiki, the French Maid, who is really a spy placed there by Cindy’s and Kelley’s fatherVictor, who runs a large corporation whose main goal is to take over the world but not if Dustin, who is in love with Victor’s daughterLois, has anything to say about it….

Um, yes, lost track there for a moment. I think that’s the longest sentence I’ve ever written. But you see what I mean right? We all love Soap Opera’s, whether we admit to it or not.

So, I thought it would be neat to have my ownFANTABULOUS AND FROTHY SOAP OPERA CONTEST!

Here’s what you have to do: Write a scene from a soap opera!

There are a few (pesky) rules though:

1- Scenes should be up to three pages of type maximum.
2- Scenes should be in script format

Don’t know what a script should look like? Don’t worry! Download Blackwood, a Hunted Series Script, for free! Click the link below:

http://www.box.net/shared/ftbyhnqb7o

It should give you a good idea of how to do things. You don’t even have to put stage directions or notes, but that’s all up to you. Oh, and since everything comes in threes, here’s the third rule:

3- The scene can be about whatever you want!

That’s right, I want you to have fun with this. Make up your own soap opera or write a scene that you’d like to see from Days of Our Lives or General Hospital. As long as you have fun and keep under the three page limit, you can do as ever you please!

How fun does that sound? Super fun? Totally fun? How about Fantabulous Fun!

I know what you’re all thinking: that’s all well and good, but what do we WIN?

Well, I’m glad you asked.

Here’s the scoop: five scenes will be chosen from a small jury (I know people who know people after all) and the authors of those five scenes will win a paperback copy of Hunted!

I know! How super cool is that?

Send your scene to jamiesonwolf@gmail.com by no later than February 28th. Winners will hopefully be announced in early March.

Well... I know how I'm spending my weekend then, I'd advise you to have a go yourself...

So put your writing hats on, get some soap and get writing!

Examples of my Genius # 1

2009-02-09T11:01:00.001Z

Signings…

They’re a bit odd aren’t they?

You see them on tele, all fancy like, long queues, tired signing arm, disappointed crowd when they announce it’s time to pack up and go away.

Proper mint, like.

And mine were almost exactly like that.

Almost.

Except, of course, for the long queues. And for anyone caring that I was packing up and going home. I did have a tired signing arm, but that was largely through lifting grande coffees.

And I spent far more in store than I made. Let’s see…. At fifty pence (each) a book I made… hmmm £12.50. And spent…. Hmmm… Around £30. So, through the genius and magic of maths that gives me… - £17.50.

Ah well, one day it’ll all be worth it. If nothing else it’s got me in the three for section for a bit – and that’s where all the cool kids hang out, how.

Anyways – it was good fun. First one was good, a bit lonely (my Kick Ass Cool PR Guru wasn’t feeling too well, it seemed cruel to then insist she stand with me for four hours… I’m just not that mean. Honest.) but since she had provided me with Postcards it worked well. A scattering of them in the crime section at Borders, on the tills and on the little tables they leave out for you to sit around… It worked well.

But, the second one… Well… It really was an example of my genius.

The postcards stay in my satchel (Manly bag of Masculinity and Buffness). My satchel (Manly bag of Masculinity and Buffness) stays in the car or on my shoulder.

So I arrive. Without my satchel. Cos, like a fool, I’d brought it in into the house the night before to extract some books and stuff from it. And not returned it to the car.

And had forgotten my phone.

So no reinforcements.

Except no, wait, the most cool as Vix is here with me, and she has her ph – oh, no, she’s left it in her other trousers.

Balls.

So – no postcards. How disastrous will this be, how?

I mean, I’m an unknown author – no one will make the trip especially to see me will they, especially not if they know me. And, really, I know full well I would never, ever approach a table with someone sat at and browse through their book.

Because it’s that very English thing – this politeness malarkey – so you flick through it, you talk to the author, you try to sound interested. At this point it’s impossible to put the book down isn’t it? You can’t just drop it can you?

So you take it away, possibly signed, and dump it somewhere else in the shop.

Then run.

I try attacking people – it’s the Crime section afterall, people should be expecting it, and sometimes it works. My Kick Ass Cool PR Guru wanders about placing my book in prominent places.

I steal “Borders Recommends” slips and fill them in – PR Guru sly places them on the Favourites shelf…

And we wait.

And, actually, we do ok.

14 sold, 15 signed. (Oh yes, that’s right! One person actually brought their own copy for me to sign, it was like being a real author. Was cool as, like)

So – next time I need to get better organised.

Next time I might bring DK – get some dancing in the aisles (not with hot beverages though kids – don’t try it at home).

Which reminds me – it’s half term for me next week and so, between looking at piles of marking (then hiding them) and writing (aiming for 500 words a day) I will, I promise, get DK’s Disco Come Back up on YouTube… Somehow…

Honest.

Like….

Oh! And before I forget, go here and vote for me!! Cos, you know, I’m proper mint, how…

Black Boxes - Caroline Smailes

2009-02-05T22:56:00.005Z

H'ok. So, for the "official" bit...

"Julie Myerson meets Ian McEwan in this gripping novel of family breakdown. Ana Lewis is trapped by her own expectations. Her intense relationship with fellow student Alex begins to crack beyond repair when she falls pregnant, and his subsequent withdrawal, emotionally and sexually are hard for Ana to bear. Eventually, following the birth of Pip and then Davie, Alex leaves Ana to a life of question and blame.

Locked in her room for much of the time she woefully neglects her children, preferring instead to replay scenes from her life over and over, fighting the urge to blink for fear it should dissipate the memories. Told within the context of two black boxes, one Ana's and one Pip's, the story reveals the key factors that have contributed to this catastrophic breakdown of life.

In Black Box 01 we meet Ana as she begins to deconstruct her life. She rails against Alex and his inability to love her, or to put her ahead of his domineering mother.

Black Box 02 is Pip's diary which details in a schoolgirl terms the neglect that both Pip and Davie have suffered. Pip talks of her mother's deterioration, lack of cleanliness and of her mother's obsessions.Pip and Davie communicate through finger sign language, as their mother demands silence. Davie retreats into his own world, permanently soiled and communicating only by sign, while Pip, fat and desperate, sneaks out of the house at night to have sex with a boy who hates her.

Pip and Davie exist in parallel, with only Ana's bedroom door separating her from them. She does not want to see them. They are the present and Ana chooses to live in a past, continually raking over the ashes of a relationship that was never really hers. Accomplished and affecting, Caroline Smailes weaves together a catastrophic tale of mismatched lives"

This, as you can probably imagine, is a real book. This is a work about real issues.

This, as you can surely imagine, is a hard hitting story.

It’s a hard hitting story written with innovation, with imagination, with a delicate and shattering simplicity.

And no, I’m not just sucking up.

See the thing I love about Caroline’s writing is that she’s not scared to try something a bit different, she not scared to make full use of the page. She’s quite happy using every available technique to tell the story, to create the atmosphere. To make the reader pay attention.

Black Boxes has an… unusual… style, certainly not one I’ve really encountered before. It’s written in three ways. Oh yes, three completely different ‘methods’.

We follow Ana through a transcript, a Black Box recording of her final descent.

We meet Pip and live through her diary.

We understand Davie through sections told in sign language.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: You’re thinking – s’a bit gimmicky isn’t it?

I mean, look at your Modernist writers, your stream of consciousness stuff – this’ll be post modernism for the sake of it, won’t it?

I know that’s what some of you will be thinking.

But others will have already spotted the elegant simplicity behind it all which makes the book so.. thrilling, so poignant, so…. Real, I suppose.

The Black Boxes. The last words. The last hours.

See, me, I love this. It’s all about memory, it’s all about perception, is all about clinging desperately to truths – even when those truths seem to be unravelling.

This is why the transcript works so well.

The Black Box. Indestructible. Inarguable evidence of the final events. Proof, above anything, of the facts.

But Ana is not indestructible. She is falling. Ana is not inarguable evidence. She is desperate, she is memory. Ana is not proof, is not fact: she is lonely, she is angry. She doesn’t trust herself anymore.

We ‘hear’ Ana’s last hours. We sift through wreckage, we slowly begin to piece together the disaster.

This is not always an easy book to read. There are some desperately sad moments, and some particularly uncomfortable ones.

But nothing worthwhile is ever easy.

And this is worth it.

Honest. It is, as I’m sure you’ve guess – proper mint, how.

And - in a seamless tie in - yesterday was it's Paperback publication day and the lovely Caroline is running a competition to win signed copies. It'll be well worth it, I guarantee it.

It is writing like Caroline's that make me excited about reading.

A Retrospective On Launching, Signing, Interviewing, Photoshoots and Truly Kiss Ass Cool Merchandising (Regardless of the opinions of Certain People).

2009-02-04T08:21:00.004Z

Right. So that's that then

(dusts off hands).

All sorted.

(shrugs into lapels)

And, of course,

(flicks imaginary dust from "suit")

How mint was I?

Well... Not that mint, actually. In fact I was quite nearly crap. More.... hmm... Tictac than Trebor Extra Strong. I did, indeed, need a little lift.

Launch day launch day give me a pint or two,

I'm still shaking, and desperate to go to the loo...

I'm in the car park. A basement one of course, for added tension and drama. Dim, damp, one flickering overhead strip light buzzing furiously. The lovely Vix holding my hand. I am not coping. Most geet lushious V is talking me through it. She has her hand in my hair and slowly, slowly, I am relaxing.

So yeah, ok, I've already posted my lecturey thingy - that was 180 peoples and me dancing. I know. But, see, I wasn't expecting 180 people. I was expecting around 20. It was a shock and I just had to panic through it.

I am expecting a larger number tonight. I am hoping for a larger number tonight. I am simply terrified it'll all go wrong. All day friends and family text me to cancel. My dad can't make it. This makes it harder getting out of the car.

Once there, once with a pint in hand and stood next to a pile of my books, next to some "I *heart* Lesbian Nurses T-Shirts and mugs, next to V, I wasn't doing too badly. Even managed to meet and greet people. Things began to run smoother.

My Most Creative and Crafty PR Guru had come up with good plans: the coffee mugs (if you've read 9987 the coffee will make sense), the T-shirts (always fun, and thankyouthankyou V for being the Only Person Wearing One). The true brilliance however lay in the membership cards.

Raffle tickets are boring, you get it, lose, chuck it away.

But Membership Cards to Total Rental... These you might keep, these you may show people. These, I think, were genius. My PR Guru is Mint. How.

Anyway, Sarah Shaw said her bit, did her reading, vacated the stage. I finished my pint, balanced myself between piano, microphone and the edge of the stage.

I began.

Thing is, is the night before V had me standing in my living room praticing my speechy bit. And heckling me, in the nicest possible way. I was mumbling, gabbling, peppering my speech with bizarre inflections. V was shaking her head and explaining patiently why it sounded crap. She was right. So we practiced and practiced. And soon it sounded ok.

So when I stood up, ready to start talking, holding my speech in sweaty palms, I knew exactly what to do.

For about a second.

The speech didn't quite get read out. It went a bit sideways. I got out my general ideas, but not in any logical order. I did not dance.

Luckily I had hired the very talented Alex Kinsey (I hope that's spelt right Alex, sorry if not...) to do a reading for me. He had three sections to read across the course of my speech. This gave me time to regroup, to check the speech.

I stood nervously in a corner while Alex read my words to (mostly) rapt audience. I thought about running away. I got a text.

"love u"

V was sat, on the floor in front of the stage, grinning at me. I grinned back. I finished my speech.

So it went well, I think. Certainly people seemed to enjoy it.

Most people.

I am aware that some people frowned at my 'blatent advertising'. But I don't care. I love Tonto, I do, and they work hard for me - Stu and Paul have done geet loads. But they aren't Bloomsbury. They're not minted. They need my help to advertise the book. And, shameless it may be, but I'm very proud of my twisted little story, and I want it to do well. So All Praise My PR Guru, cos she be kick ass cool, like.

So then I did a signing. At a shop.

A big shop...

And, due largely to the influence of point sticks and pokings, I did ok.

I stalked people in the aisles.

I hassled people at the 3 for 2 tables (oh yes, 3 for 2. I have truely arrived!)

Things are going ok.

And amongst the thanks I want to give to Caroline for ... well, everything, and to Tonto for of course throwing the launch, arranging the signings and, you know, publishing me. I want to offer one more huge thanks.

To the lovely Vix: without you there is no way I'd have managed to stand up and actually talk to people. There is no way my launch would have been half as successful. There is no way I would manage to assault people in the aisles of bookshops. There is no way I would be enjopying myself as muchg as I am.

Thank you

Holycrapotsthelaunchdaytomorrow!

2009-01-28T21:39:00.004Z

Holyjustaddwaterjesusitsthelaunchtomorrowandimfreeeeekingoutandhavenoideaifitllgotoplanorgoalltitsupandwhetheranyonewilleventurnupatallandwhethertherewillbebooksandstuffandidontthink ivegotanycleansocksandmyshirtisstillwetandmyjeanshaveholesinandillforgetmylinesandtheworldwillexplodeandkillusallandthatwouldbeshittyandawfulandwouldmeanthatiwouldntevengetmyfirst royaltycheckplusiwasinthepaperyesterdaywithafairlycrapphotowhichbythewaythekidsatworkhaveallseenandcutoutformeatobringinandshowmesonowihavelikesevencopieswhichislovelyintheory exceptofcoursenowtheyallwanttoreadityeahgreatexceptthatthebookissickandtwistedandnotreallysuitablefortwelveyearoldsandanywayalongsideonthepagewasastoryaboutadrunkteenagerwho threwatableoffabalconyorsomethingandanotherstoryaboutateenageshopliftingserialkillerorsomethinganywaypointisthisisallveryveryscary.

Announcing the Winners of the Kick Ass Cool Lesbian Nurses Competition.

2009-01-21T21:27:00.002Z

Ok, so, finally the results are in. It took the Judges a lot of arguing, a little bit of violence and quite a bit of my wine but, at last, the decision has been made.

It was tough, really really it was. I had so many really good entries that, later - after the winners have had time to bask in their glory - I'm going to post a few of them for the world to enjoy, and see the problem facing the judges.

So, without too much more preamble and no more vague attempts to build any tension:

The Winners of the Kick Ass Cool Lesbian Nurses Competition!

"He was rude. I watched him push past others, heading for the pornography section. He probably used the oil in his hair for lube. Bastard." - Jamieson Wolf

The judges loved 'how much we hated this man', which is an odd comment to make about a winner I'll grant you, but hey - I had nowt to do with it. Personally I loved this one and it was one that caught my eye straight away. More than anything it was Jamieson's final, damning verdict that I enjoyed most.

"She entered with her own soundtrack. Her bouncy stride and fluid hair moving to the rhythm of a private theme tune, her finale a disarming smile." - Kat Wright

One judge commented on how much they loved the image of the 'fluid hair' another on 'entering with her own soundtrack'. I have to admit I too loved that idea, the movement as music, was geet mint, like.

"She's red-haired, red-faced and breathless. Not single – she’s with a list. Shame about the scar across her cheek. It looks like a zip" Rachel Green

The final judge had the final say on this one "I love the 'zip' bit, it's minging, it's such a cool and cruel description!" And yeah, well, can't argue with that either.

So, congratulations ladies and gentleman, a signed copy is winging it's way to you as we speak, I hope it's worth the effort.

Because here were so many great ones though, I thought I'd include some of the ones so close to getting freebies. So, no books I'm afraid, but much love and respect, yo.

"Inside, she’s Grace Kelly. Cheekbones. Glassy tones. Tulle petticoats . . . Outside, Alan’s bearded, bellied, sweaty-palmed. Rents ‘Rambo’ for the thousandth time – wishes nonetheless."

Megan Taylor - loved the closet transvestite, made me giggle a tiny bit...

"A fan of Ghibli long before Howl’s, she eases rainy Tuesdays with double feature Hitchcock, eyebrow arching as the grimy polyester carpet snags her stiletto. "

Judith Robson - not just because I, too, am a fan of Ghibli, but mainly for that final "eyebrow arching, snags her stiletto" bit. Loved that image.

Suddenly Deciding That This Isn't The Most Important Thing In The World. Plus: Teething DK Issues

2009-01-19T08:51:00.004Z

Strange old morning this.

Seems... I dunno... Disjointed? Is that the word I'm grasping for here? It's almost like a Stand-alone Day. As if today is thoroughly unconnected from the rest of time, from life in general.

I don't think I mean this in a day of Momentous Importance type thing, rather as a Day of No Particular Relevance Except That It Arrived, And That It Rained. And That It Was A Day I Took Seriously.

Maybe that's the confusion. I'm not used to taking things seriously. Or, at least, I'm not used to admitting that I am.

It's all very strange.

See, as you (most likely) know 9987, my baby, hits the shelves. Somewhere, I hope, a book shop has opened this morning and it had my book on a shelf. And I'd been planning balloons and parties and fanfares and celebrity appearances and everything. Today's post was going to be mint, properly, massively, kick ass cool. How.

But I dunno.

Maybe, it's because it's raining. Maybe it's because it's a Monday. Maybe because I'm yet to see the book anywhere.

It's not as real as I thought it would be.

Other things are on my mind.

All I've thought about since I was in Primary school, my only, ever, ambition is realised today. I can now, properly, introduce myself as a Writer. Today is a wonderful, drizzling, fog wrapped day.

And I am proud of myself. Which is rare. And it's a good feeling.

But: Other things are on my mind.

I am worried a little, about someone. And, as awful as it sounds, the fact that I am worried is a wonderful thing.

It appears that my priorities may have shifted a little bit.

I love writing, I will always write, even if nothing of mine is ever read by anyone but me I'll continue to scribble notes and sit up late with coffee and keyboard typing and typing and typing.

But, it appears, it may no longer be The Most Important Thing In The World.

It is quite possible that there is something else I am equally passionate about.

It is quite possible that there is something else that I want to give my time to.

It appears that I am taking things seriously. I am, or at least I like to now think of myself - as of today - A Serious Writer. An Actual Writer. And, equally exciting I think, and certainly warranting it's inclusion in this rambling - Not Quite The Launching Post I Expected To Write - post, I am suddenly realising how serious I am about other things.

And it's a little bit scary. And it makes my stomach go all fluffy and odd. And it makes me smile occasionally when no-ones looking. And, this morning, I worry a bit, and hope things will turn out ok, eventually.

Good luck to my baby, but my thoughts are with others. And that, I reckon, is Proper Mint. How.

Plus: Teething DK Issues

Although DK is up and ready for his debut feature, I'm having some problems transferring footage to legage to eyeballage which would, of course, enable you to see.

If you catch my drift...

But it's coming. Honest.

Oh, and before I forget.

Competition results will be announced - hopefully, tonight. The judges were locked still in debate late last night and haven't, as yet, passed on any winners to me. I suspect though, that they have drank all my wine...

And So Now We Wait...

2009-01-18T16:51:00.003Z

Ok kids,

That's it, time's up. It's over. Relax. Let it go.

Breathe a little easier.

The competition is now closed, boys and girls. And woah, kids, but I got a few entries.

So... Tomorrow I will announce the results. As I speak my carefully selected panel of judges are arguing and discussing and drinking my wine. I sit patiently and wait for White Smoke.

Tomorrow, my Baby steps out on the shelves. Well, some non-credit crunch shelves anyway. And hopefully it'll make it's way onto your shelf. Next to someone nice I think. I reckon it needs a hug. Just, you know, don't leave them alone together...

Anyway. For now, I've stuff to ponder on and panic about and purchase (I've got some kick ass prizes to give out at the launch).

So, I'll be back tomorrow with a longer, and hopefully, more useful post.

A Timely Reminder Of Timings And Stuff

2009-01-14T11:31:00.002Z

Just quickly, because I've a class on it's way - oh woe is me, but you've only got until Saturday to send me entries to the Kick Ass Cool Competition.

I've had quite a few entries already, and they're all really, really good. So, if you feel up to the challenge get them fingers going.

Or, if not, 9987 hits the shelves on Monday peoples, so get their early and join the queues...

Fun Things To Be Getting Along With Whilst I'm Busy Juggling Monkeys

2009-01-07T23:37:00.003Z

Right, so, I've been dead busy of late sorting out odds and ends for me launch. Well, actually, I keep saying MY launch, it's not really, it's a joint launch between me and Sarah Shaw, the other worthy winner of The North New Writers' Prize.

So far I've got an actor hired (oh yes, a real one, with legs and everything), my Most Glorious PR Guru and Chief Maker Of Grins and Treacle Based Puddings has also come up with some proper mint ideas of stuff to play with at the launch too. Plus, of course, she pokes me with sharpened sticks/translates me when people ask me questions.

But more of that later...

There are a few things you can be getting on with whilst you wait with barely contained excitement for The Launch.

1. The Most Lovely Caroline has an offer on her cool as Bubblecow badges, the January sales truely are everywhere.

2. The Fantastic Fiona Robyn is giving away preview copies of her much anticipated (and not just byme) novel The Letters. Really really you need to enter this. Honest.

3. As always there is the Wordless Wednesday at Chez Aspie, but for added spice and excitement more debut novels are on their way too, so go look, it's almost all too exciting!

4. And I also quite fancy playing at this too: Megan Taylor is starting up a new Blog Story, the last one was superb and if you fancy stretching those writing fingers it'll be well worth the effort.

5. Lastly, and most biasly, is my Kick Ass Cool Competition.

So. No excuses, get them fingers all typy and stuff, and enjoy.

Plus: I'm preparing a Disco Kettle Come Back Tour. With a Video! Wow. Already 2009 is muchos exciting!

I heart Lesbian Nurses - The Kick Ass Cool Competition Edition, Plus: Even More Books To Give Away

2008-12-31T13:31:00.005Z

Ok Kids,

Christmas is over and, like me, you'll be all skint and stuff. So I have a treat for you. Those lovely chaps at Tonto have donated three copies of 9987 to ease your January woes. And, cos I'm dead nice and things I'm going to sign them, and give them away.

For nowt.

Almost.

See, you'll all have stuffed yourselves full of turkey and stuffing and brandy and wine and rum and beer and pudding and cheese and chocolates and anchovies and syrup and milk and biscuits and small, round, vegetables.

So you'll have to do a bit of work for it...

Here's the deal:

In order to win your very own, signed copy, of 9987 (and, if you like, you can have it presented to you at the launch on the 29th Jan - assuming you're coming...) you need to get your typing fingers all stretched out and nimble.

9987 takes place, primarily, in a DVD rental store with the narrator watching people milling about the store, speculating on their lives and judging their movie tastes. The customers play a very important role in the narrators life, and so I think a few more customers might do him some good.

To that end I want you to create a customer. I want you to bring them to life. I want to be sat behind a desk in a DVD rental shop and to watch them wandering the shop. And I want you to do all this in no more than 25 words.

Quite the challenge I know...

But hey, what good will 2009 be without pushing yourself a bit?

Please email your entry to iheartlesbiannurses@gmail.com with your name and address before the closing date of January 17th.

To keep up to date with 9987 news and events join the facebook group I *heart* Lesbian Nurses.

And remember, 9987 is available here and here and other places too...

Good Luck, and Best Wishes for 2009.

Plus:

Fiona Robyn is also giving her book away here. It's one I've already added to my wish list and I've heard some really really good things about it. It's not out until March but you can be the envy of your friends by nabbing one of the free advance copies she's giving away.

Go have a look, you won't regret it. Honest.

Baby's First Date, It Seemed To Go Well...

2008-12-18T13:25:00.002Z

Well well... my first review...

Muchos Gracias to the lovely DJ Kirkby.

My baby might even get a second date...

Don't Read My Book!

2008-12-10T14:50:00.003Z

New problems. New things to worry about. New things to mark.

It has come to my attention, and why it surprises me I’m not sure, that people have been reading my book.

Now, yes, I know. I had sort of expected this. And yes, I know, it is surely a good thing. I am assuming that these people who are reading the book have paid for the book and so surely riches cannot be far away.

However.

People are reading my book. At work, sat in the staff room, people are telling me how far through they are, asking me questions, and saying nice things. This is all very good, I am aware of this.

But I don’t know how to respond. I find myself changing the subject. I find myself avoiding the staff room.

Because I know what’s coming.

Although it’s all nicely, darkly comic to begin, it goes a bit … well … odd, toward the end. It all goes a bit… twisted… toward the end.

And of course, in all my wisdom, I wrote in the first person.

And so people think that it’s about me.

This worries me.

If you’re one of the few that’s read it, you’ll understand why.

You’ll understand why the thought that my parents might read it terrifies me. You’ll understand why I envision some awkward conversations.

To those of you buying my book: Don't read it, just stroke the cover a bit...

Holding My Book. Dancing A Hula. Misplacing A Student Union.

2008-12-01T15:22:00.005Z

And so, suddenly, things seem a bit more…

What’s the word?

Real?

Concrete?

Proper Mint? How.

Well yeah, I think that does it. Proper Mint. How.

Because it’s been a very, very exciting week for me.

I’ve struggled, quite a bit really, since I found out I was getting published. I was chuffed, obviously. Grinning secretly between lessons and when no one was looking. I had, whilst writing 9987, planned great things for the day I got THAT phone call, received THAT letter, heard THAT news.

But when it happened I felt, well, I dunno. I was excited, ecstatic, euphoric, erudite (ran out of ‘e’ words there, went for a fairly poor English Teacher joke here…). Strangely though, amongst people, even amongst friends, I felt embarrassed. It just felt too… distant. Too flimsy. Too much time for something to go wrong.

Somewhere in the back of my head a withered, grey haired little man, stroking his beard sadly and sucking at the gaps between his teeth. He was shaking his head a lot and cackling at moments of publishing related excitement.

Even when I saw the cover, I was dubious.

Even when I had the t-shirts sorted, I was reluctant to relax.

I have been widely ridiculed for my inability to answer simple questions about my own book. I have blushed at the mention of Lesbian Nurses.

This week has been different.

This week has been kick ass cool.

This week I’ve felt like a writer.

It all began in the Bath…

I was invited, quite a while ago actually, to go down to Bath Spa University. (MY university. Oh yes. And a very nice one it is too. It has muffin stealing squirrels.) They wanted me to have a chat with some undergrads doing the Creative Studies in English Degree. The one I was doing when I started writing 9987. So I went.

There were some niggling problems. Getting up at five in the morning to catch the plane (oh yes, quite the jetsetter me), the fact that someone had moved the Students Union (and the truly terrifying fact that when I found it at 3:30 no one was drinking. At all. Soft drinks all round. Muchos disturbing, I fear for the students of today.) and of course, a slight problem that the group of students I was expecting to chat to were slightly larger (in number, not stature) and in a slightly more formal setting that I was prepared for.

So I walk into a lecture theatre facing one hundred and eighty people. Some were making notes. Some had laptops out. One may have been sleeping.

Luckily I HAD been drinking in the Students Union.

So. I talked about Prostitutes. I discussed Magical Pub toilets and alternative routes to Narnia. I did a little Hula Dance to demonstrate rhythmic prose. It was most successful.

Oh. And I failed completely, twice, to answer the question – Why was the book originally titled Lesbian Nurses?

Cos I’m mint.

But, hey, it was fun. Then Carrie Etter, poet, lecturer, pint buyer, took me for a drink. Which I felt I needed.

But then.

Then BIG things happened.

Then I got an email.

Then I took a drive.

Then I collected a pile of books.

And all of them,

Each and every single one of them,

Had my name on.

Ten, count’em, ten pristine, ever so pretty and real and strokable and actual copies of my actual book.

They’ve got pages and words in and everything.

And, suddenly, I found it a bit easier to talk about it.

I found it strangely exhilarating to show it to people.

I acted a bit smug, and I think I had a licence to.

I am so very, very chuffed. How.

(and no, before you ask, yo ucan't have one of the ten copies. They've all been given out. The first one to someone who makes me grin. The rest to people of various import after. And Caroline got a special one from the publishers. So sorry kids, all gone.)

Actual News About Actual Stuff Which Is Actually Interesting Rather Than The Stuff I Usually Post Which Is Actually A Bit Crap. Actually.

2008-11-23T22:50:00.003Z

Right,

It's been a while I know. But hey, things happen, things distract me and, to be honest, I've had other, more important things on my mind. Count the commas kids - an English teacher you say? Ha! No wonder the kids are all stupid and spraying walls with misspellings and poor punctuation. That's all me that is.

Anyway.

Yes.

Actual News About Actual Stuff.

Firstly the book launch is all sorted and stuff. Oh yes. And it's not just in a mate of mines garage. No, it's in a real life place. The Opera Piano Bar. Yes. Fancy no? It's got a bar and music and seats and tables and a bar and me and t-shirts and books and me and a bar.

So you are all invited. It'll be proper mint, how.

Plus, (and strangley far more exciting) the T SHIRTS are ready!

Oh yes, step right up folks and own your very own "I *heart* Lesbian Nurses" T Shirt. It's even tinkerable. And, you know, Christmas is just round the corner, it'll make a great gift for just about anyone*. C'mon, all the cool kids are wearing them...

Anyway, when I get a bit more info about the launch I'll let you know.

But I'm muchos excited.

Things are going well. Book launch, t-shirts, a string of grin tastic weekends, Disco Kettle almost in new kitchen. Things are going well. And it scares me...

(*children, parents, grandparents, prudish aunts and disapproving neighbours not included)

Beginnings: A Retrospective, A Hope and a Packed Disco Kettle

2008-11-09T20:50:00.004Z

With the book out in but two months (oh yes, I will assume your copy is already preordered) and with my foray into the world of the MA, plus with a beginning at home - The Best Possible Thing, I think, I've been tempted more and more to think of this as Year One.

When the book comes out in January I will have finally realised a long held ambition. Possibly the only ambition I have maintained, or that has remained, since I started school. I will be a published author. People will read my book. And I have been thinking about how chuffed that knitted jumpered little boy would be feeling.

Of course, the fact that my first Official MA Assignment is a Personal Reflection based largely on why I started writing may go some way to explaining my current introversion. So, anyway, I've decided to share a little bit of it. Not a lot, just a bit. And it's got a reference and everything...

"At some point, some distant, out of focus day, the whole thing seemed to slip away from me. Somewhere down the line, at some setting hour, the game became too important. I remember staring at bruised, dark, swollen clouds and being somewhere else.

I remember I started to make notes.

I remember making sure that I would not forget the game.

The name was never important. The characters were never really important. In the games we played our protagonists were all much the same. I was I was I was I. Strangely I was always injured. Strangely I was always captive.

At some point, some rainy, lonely afternoon, the whole thing seemed to slip away from me. I started making notes. I did not show those notes. I hid them from friends. I folded them into a space between my wardrobe and the wall. These notes were private games.

I remember I was playing games, my friends played Games. Rules. Systems. Tactic. Strategies. I kept making notes. Sometimes the notes were in sentences. Sometimes the sentences were connected together. And somewhere down the line, in some loud and crowded classroom, the game became more important.

“We can never give anything up.” Said Freud, and I think that perhaps he had a point. “We only exchange one thing for another… [when a child] stops playing he gives up nothing but the link with real objects, instead of playing, he now phantasises.”

I remember the toys becoming much less important. I remember them becoming unnecessary. I remember phantasies. I remember one sentence following another. I remember crossing the boundaries of that first page. I remember the fresh page, the sparkling white, the faded blue lines, and me starting it part way through an idea. Those pages flowed.

At age ten: eight pages is a mammoth task. At age ten: eight pages is an achievement unmatched throughout history. At age ten: eight pages is a release of something powerful. At age ten, at some point, someone will tell you to stop.

The content is unimportant, a story based on bluetac is an achievement I will only manage once and I wish I’d been able to keep a hold of the book. What is important is that I did not stop. What is important is that I wrote a game about a hedgehog. A game about a scientist. A game about a rock named George."

Proper mint no? Thank you for allowing me my self indulgence...

Plus: Disco Kettle is all packed.

I move into my new place at the end of the month. Got a bed ordered and everything. DK is muchos excited, he's even volunteered to do a photo shoot once he's in the new place. He's been posing and Fffssssttting for the last few day practicing. He's even been working on harmonising his Bing with the microwave. It's all very sweet.

Of Undergoing Identity Crisiseseses

2008-11-03T21:44:00.005Z

Right. I've had a busy week. Obviously there was Spain - which was, you know... Well, I've lost weight, lets put it that way. But I'm not blaming the booze. Oh no. Something is going around, honest. It's not ALL my own fault.

But last weekend I've also been Dahn Saarf. Innit. Wiv me spoons an pearl suit an apples and pears and other fruit salad stuff.

And now I'm knackered.

I did get to go to a costume party though. And, horribly, it got me all wondering again...

It's this whole juggling thing again I think, different bits, extra arms, occasional shift in priorities. Gets confusing.

I am, generally, during the day a Professional and Caring Teacher - able to Educate and Inspire and to Look Very Busy when people arrive during my free lessons (much like now - the sound of typing is always convincing.)

Most evenings I play at Hugely Successful Author (at least in my head I do - it is generally a role characterised by glazed eyes and me staring into space...)

Two evenings a week I also get to play at Dedicated and Conscientious Student, with added bonus of a secret I'm Actually Already Getting Published superhero pants which I wear beneath my jeans.

I also get to play at Star Striker on a Friday night. At least during the first half. Second half I'm knackered so I play at Lumbering Defender instead.

Of course I have a favoured role I get to play, feels like my most natural I think - generally get to play it on a Weekend, sometimes on a Wednesday. It a Grinning Like A Tit role and is, most definitely, my favourite.

So anyway.

I'm sat on the Tube (dahn saarf), on a Saturday - please note, no longer Halloween, in a giant yellow duck suit. And too my left is a five foot nine baby. With beard. To my right is a four foot ten crack whore. Without beard. And I'm sat there, whilst a German tourist snaps pictures.

And I know exactly which roles I favour, and I only wish I could play them more often.

On the upside though - regardless of role, my wonderful hair remains the same. Largely due to the glue thats in it.

Madrid By Numbers, Plus: My Brother Is Stealing My Underwear...

2008-10-30T21:24:00.003Z

Ah Espania. Madrid. How cool eh?

Holidays are great aren't they? Sun, sand (at beaches at least - not so much in cities I grant you, but I did spot some sand filled fire buckets in our hostel which I sat in for a bit...) sangria. For breakfast.

And Madrid is kick ass cool.

Honest.

I have made a list, because lists are also cool. Obviously:

1. At 4am, hopelessly lost, on a Saturday night, there are still bars open in which to "ask directions from the barman"...

2. At 4:30am, having just been pick pocketed, the thief, upon noticing that my wallet was, in fact, empty, returned it with an apologetic smile and then gave me directions.

3. When you buy a round of drinks, you get free food. On bread. Oh yes.

4. They serve incredibly efficient and tiny and powerful coffees. With biscuits.

5. You are not, in anyway, frowned upon for drinking with breakfast. As long as it's from small glasses.

It was, in short, mostly geet mint, how.

Yes. Mostly.

Except...

Sometimes...

The free food has been stood for a while...

... And has gone a bit funny...

So. On Monday. A very hot and sunny and lovely Monday. I was very. Very. Very. Sick.

Everywhere.

All day.

I even hallucinated a bit, lay on the bed, drenched in sweat, listening to the sounds from the street... Actually thought myself in a market at one point, everyone in traditional Spanish clothing, small children playing in the square. Bulls running rampant through the streets. Tomatoes hoyed from alleys. Great stuff.

Good job really seeing as the only scenery I got to enjoy that day had tiles...

Ah well.

Still, I did get to see the train station's indoor jungle. Which made it all so worthwhile...

Plus:

My Brother Is Steling My Pants.

Bit odd this I know. And slightly embarrassing. But was informed upon my return my Brother's Girlfriend that, due to extreme lazyness, he has been nicking my undies.

I find this very, very, weird...

Juggling Without Monkeys, Plus Disco Kettle Packs His Bags

2008-10-19T20:57:00.003+01:00

Me and my brother have a dream.

It is glorious dream.

An ambitious dream.

It is a dream that cold change the world (or at least the service industry)

It is a dream the RSPCA are unlikely to share.

We dream of Monkeys.

Waiter Monkeys.

Waiter Monkeys who Juggle.

We'd make a Mint.

But more importantly it would help me out. Cos I'm not much of a juggler. I juggle three ok. As long as the stuff isn't breakable obviously.

See, problem is is that maybe. Maybe. I took on too much.

Firstly I'm still working. Suprising I know - people haven't discovered me as yet. Secondly there is the MA, which is fun - but still, it's a lot of work. It is, horribly, more important to me than work.

Lastly there are new and exciting developments in my personal life. This takes up a lot of my time. And I'm not complaing, really I'm not. It is, in fact, priority number one. It's proper mint, how.

And yeah, I know. I said I could juggle three. I remember, it was only a few lines ago. But, see, problem is - they're all breakable aren't they?

I could cope with working breaking - but it would bugger up two and three wouldn't it?

So.

Me and my brother have a dream.

We dream of Juggling Monkeys. And they could teach us so much.

Plus:

Disco Kettle Packs His Bags

Me and DK got ourselves a new place.

Oh yes, I'll let you know when we can afford the heating to have a warming... see what I did there?

Hey Everybody, Hey Dr Nik - Step One

2008-10-12T18:34:00.002+01:00

My name offers two potential jokes to friends and family.

1. Nik (and because I'm bearded and inept) as in Dr Nick from the Simpsons.

2. Jones (and because I really, really want a fedora hat) as in Dr Indy Jones - Yes I know, his real name's Henry, but still.

Now for these jokes to be truly successful I need a better Prefix. Mr is OK. It's fine, really. No offense to all those Misters out there. But I want something more. Because, for these jokes to be really, truly successful. For me to really get the most of my name, what i really need. Is A Doctorate.

Oh yes. Dr Jones.

Of course, I could just buy one. I realize that. And it's not as if I'd ever really use it, so it's an option.

But if a joke is worth doing, it's worth working hard for.

So that's what I'm doing.

I'm doing my MA.

Then I'm going for a PhD.

Then I'm buying a cape.

And a Fedora. Obviously.

Jokes aside though this can only be a good thing. It's a Creative Writing MA. It is impetus to write. It is pressure to write.

It is an excuse to write.

I. Need. This.

Already I've got my first mini asignment done. Comes in at a nice, neat 500 ish words. In script form. It's a description.

See?

I'm trying new things.

Impressed much?

Thought so. It's proper mint, how.

Sooooooo. This means new work of Disco Kettle - I've descaled him. This means a new role for my Magic Writing Dressing Gown - I've washed it.

This means new and exciting ways to avoid marking - so i've left it all at home.

S'gonna be fun, like.

Of Getting Nothing Done

2008-10-06T20:35:00.002+01:00

So... What? Three weeks into the school year and how many words completed? Oh yes. That's right. About none.

It's tough this. I really try. I really do. I spend break times and quiet parts of lessons mentally jotting down sentences I like, paragraphs that work, chapters that thrill.

But nothing gets done.

Perhaps thats why I'm so desperate to get fired - Too scared to quit, too terrified of committing myself.

Maybe.

Or not. I love the job, love the kids. Hate, HATE, The marking.

Ah well. All those scribbled notes in my planner. All those passages etched into my skull from so much refining, so much questioning, so many tried and rejected alternatives. All will be so useful come half term. I'm aiming for 5,000 words over the week. Quite modest I think, but I need it. It will keep me from going a touch mentalist.

Anyway.

Back to pretending to mark...

Of Possibly Being A Bit Mental

2008-10-04T12:27:00.003+01:00

Year 11 Boy: Sir? When I'm not at school...

Me: Yes, Year 11 Boy?

Year 11 Boy: When I'm not at school, do you still exist?

Me: Probably not no. You're homework still exists though...

And as bizarre as this was for a conversation starter it did stir up the old grey matter a bit. For the vast majority of the world I do not, in fact, exist. At no point do I cross their minds, at no point do they stumble across me in the street, in a bar, in a gutter. I am not a real person. To people who've never met me, I do not not exist. And, in all fairness, even some people I have met question how real a person I might be.

Which is sort of why I'm grown a bit more comfortable blogging. I started off only talking about the book - cos I wasn't comfortable with anything else. And now look? Philosophy. Sort of.

Anyway - I like this cos most people who read my blog don't know me. Have never met me. Have no idea what I look like, are unaware that I'm typing wearing a Dangermouse T-Shirt and shorts beneath a Big Winter Dressing Gown.

I might live on your street. I might be your neighbour. (Sinister no?) Worse still: I might educate your children (duhduhduhdummmmmmmmm) Terrifying isn't it?

Unless, of course, Year 11 Boy is correct. Unless of course I don't exist. This whole thing could be an entirely randomly selected group of letters accidentally created by some bug in the Blogspot brain.

Would explain a lot...

Oh, me thinks I hear a *Bing*

Or do I?

My Most Wise Mintor Signs A Great Many Books, Plus: Liverpool Fans Drown My Sorrows

2008-09-30T14:47:00.003+01:00

So.

I went to Chester (ish) this weekend for Caroline's signing. I did initially test out the widget to breaking point to see if it indeed have magical powers and could transport me physically, as well as mentally.

But no. It is not yet that magical - perhaps the next one will be.

So I got the train instead with Evil Cake Fiend (she baked, which was lovely. But made me carry them and wouldn't even let me steal one. Not a single one...) at stupid hour in the morning.

Still - the signing was really good. Caroline looked busy and impressively cheerful throughout. I drank coffee and read Black Boxes (so far, so mint - it's a bit rude though so i had to hide it from the families which surrounded me in the coffee shop.) She even signed my copy. Even mentioned Lesbian Nurses for me which made made me proper smile, how.

Then, finally, I got cake. And buns. And more coffee. And most importanly met loads of fellow bloggers. Took me a while to begin to unravel the Blog Names from Real Names and for a time couldn't shake the feeling i was in bizarre suburban based spy thriller. But, as no hencemen appeared, I eventually relaxed into it and quite enjoyed myself.

I resisted the urge to jealously punch Caroline's New Mint, largely because he was actually really nice and quite entertaining. He was also equally awkward about revealing the storyline to his forth coming novel - so that made me feel better. What I did wheedle from him made the book sound pretty interesting too, so I may yet end up hating him (kidding. Or am I? Yes. Maybe. Who knows? No, really, kidding.)

Anyway - I'm back at work doing nothing at all useful now and feeling more like my old self for so shamelessy wasting my time. Soon I will go and steal someone's biscuits or scrounge ket from the kids. Later I will have a coffee. I will breifly consider marking as I make my way home. I will remember that I left my marking at school when I get home. Bugger eh?

Plus:

Liverpool Fans Drown My Sorrows.

Despite my proper mint day on Saturday all was not great. Stupid bloody Toon. Messing up my day. And Caroline's oldest laughed at me when he discovered my dirty footballing secret (he did have the decency to turn away and giggle quietly though, he's obviously well brought up...)

Anyway - there I was, at Liverpool Lime Street waiting for my train, propping up the bar upstairs, when a Liverpool fan spotted the Newcastle Keyring which dangles from my Man's Bag (It is very manly. Honest, like).

So, a very big thank you to the Liverpool fans who insisted on buying me drinks to help ease my supporters pain, and thank you all so much for travelling with me to Leeds and keeping me entertained and the rest of the carriage so obviously irritated. It was mint. how.

Hiding Behind Piles of Green Books

2008-09-26T10:46:00.004+01:00

So... another back-at-work post, once more from behind a pile of Big Green Exercise Books.

I'm hiding or, perhaps, I am camouflaged. Blending in seamlessly with my academic surroundings, child's exercise book open on the desk in front of me, no one just has realised their mistake. No yet has spotted I am a fraud...

It astounds me that I am allowed to do this. I teach, stood at the front of the room, or wandering about making suggestions and corrections and, occasionally, fairly poor jokes. And all the time I am convinced I am about to be found out.

At some point there will be a knock at the door and all this will be over.

I've got the right degree, I've got the right teaching qualifications, I can talk the talk and generally I think I'm pretty good at what I do... But I'm blatantly not an adult. I'm a twenty something year old child.

I am playing hide and seek with my Head of Department, crouched behind the Big Green Books. How mature am I?

A Weekend Just For Me, Plus Disco Kettle Makes A Grand Return

2008-09-20T11:12:00.006+01:00

Ah Saturday morning. Just. And here I sit in my Big Winter Dressing Gown, having eaten a leisurely breakfast of last nights pizza. Sipping contentedly at my coffee.

The weekend stretches out before me, and will be proper mint, how.

Because I've finished aaaallllllllll my marking.

Oh yes.

All done.

Finished.

Completely.

Well... When I say finished...

See, in a rush to escape at the end of Friday, I may have accidentally, and I must stress accidentally, left the Year 7 tests at school. Whoops.

Ah well.

So, this weekend I have almost nothing to do but to boil my Disco Kettle. And write.

I am, actually, quite excited.

1000 words? Between me and DK we've got this covered (pulls up Big Winter Collar, listens for that long missed Bing).

Cheers DK, lets get to work...

(Note to Self) Reasons to Read and Not Bin Memos

2008-09-15T17:49:00.003+01:00

As a highly trained and dedicated professional educator of today's youth, it is absolutely necessary to remain organised. To this end I have created my Very Own Filing System.

It really very simple and has the benefit of a natural Built In Streamline System which regularly alerts me to important items whilst less important, or worse - circular, memos are relegated to minor inconvenient characters...

It goes something like this:

1. I go to my pigeon hole and collect my post/memos/telephone messages etc.

2. I return to my room. Which, by the way, is in another building and a good five minute walk.

3. I pile it on my desk.

4. It stays there.

Now I know what you're thinking: That this is not a filing system. That it is, in fact, a pile. You are wrong.

See the beauty is in the simplicity of the system.

If something is important then eventually someone will come and find me and ask why I've not done something. So then I do it.

Otherwise, after a two week period I can safely assume that it's all rubbish, brush it from my desk and into the recycling and start a brand new pile.

Genius yes?

So far it's been spot on.

But something has been happening lately. Something underhand and sneaky.

Someone has been phrasing Memos thus:

Unless you provide a reason against us stealing your free periods to make you scrub the boys toilets using your own tie - which we have noticed you have not been wearing - we're going to do it.

Cunning eh?

Of course, this is where my filing system has broken down.

This week I have:

Missed an Exam invigilation.

Had a Drama Class arrive during my free period.

Failed to handout Letters from the Government.

Not attended a meeting with the Head of Year Eight.

I may have to develop a new system...

Plus:

Send good vibes Caroline's way, she deserves them for being both lovely and, so far, Black Box-less. Hopefully tomorrow will see it all sorted. Much Love and Crossing of Fingers.

A Proper Educational Debate On The Benefits of Caffeine and the Evils of Free Cheese

2008-09-11T19:02:00.006+01:00

Since I'm back in the swing of things now, educating this, lecturing on that, inspiring a little here and there - mostly there, I admit - I thought I'd quickly share some things that I have learnt this week.

1. The Benefits of Caffeine.

Ah, where to begin?

Well, firstly, in a building that remain heatingless until October the First - which is, apparently, the date when the weather will begin to turn and our glorious summer will end. So be aware - it keeps my hands warm, all wrapped tight around my mug.

Secondly, holding a cup of coffee in indisputable truth that it is, in fact, biscuit time. When wandering the corridors stuffing my face with Caramel Digestives I get frowned upon. When I do exactly the same holding my coffee people smile and nod and are bizarrly friendly. Possibly they are after their own coffee and biscuits. This is a hint I refuse to take.

Thirdly, children hate the smell of black coffee. Really. Thus black coffee is an ideal way to protect said Caramel Digestives. Simply waft your coffee mug toward the biscuit packet and watch them scarper, leaving you with all the biscuits in the world.

Lastly, it is, I'm fairly sure, what keeps me from death.

2. The Evils of Free Cheese.

This is not just a: don't eat the free stuff from the Deli type thing.

I think we all now that Morrison's lace their free cheese with heroin to provide you with instant, orgasmic gratification and an immediate addiction which no amount of cheddar will quench, no matter how often you eat it, how many different dishes you add it to or how often you rub it across your chest.

No no. This is a: Don't be fooled by the free cheese and crackers at the pub. It will make you thirsty, thirstier than you have ever been before.

Then very sick.

Very.

All over the place.

It will also make your place of work fall over and wibble the next morning, it will make the furniture kick you in the leg and will give you head aches.

That is all.

Class dismissed...

Watching9987

Publishers! Pay Attention! (And a warning to cat owners)

Novel Three Begins... (Oh, and still thumb twiddling.)

Returning, Being Kindled Up Right Nice and on Stuff That I'm Still Busy Doing (And On Really, Really Long Titles)

Not Yet Dead!

Snow Day # 3: Tinned Macaroni Cheese and Slightly Tipsy Superheroes...

Launching and Radioing. Sort of like NASA, only Cheaper...

Heads, I Lose.

NaNoWriMo & Mo-Vember

Conclusions

John Edward Hughes Copeland - Why I loved my Ted

EMTSS?...Ernest & Maud's Tantric Sex Sessions? No. Probably not... Even Monkeys Tango Some Sundays?

Jazz, Nightmares and Reasons Why I'll Survive the Zombie Apocaplyse... Maybe

Of Editing and Second Drafts

Reasons For My Absence

*Missing? #2*

*Missing?*

I am Teabag, hear me Lecture

*furious gestured waving* Hey! Shhhhhhhh!! Hey? *jiggling eyebrows and head nodding* Psssst, hey!

Writing What I've Been Doing, Marking What I Hasn't Been Doing...

Hey Everybody, Hey Dr Nik: A Step Too Far

Amazonion Goldfish Woman #1

Accidental Flash Fiction By Genius' #1

Things That I Shouldn't Be Doing...

Reasons To Be Cheerful. Yes. That's Right. I Can Do That On Occasion...

Workshops!

Pondering...

Reasons Why I'm Great (Don't Worry, Should Be A Short Post This One. Possibly It'll Be Even Shorter Than The Title...)

A Non Review Of The Year

"..."

Reading Comprehension

Hey Everybody, Hey Dr Nik: Step Two

Nik And The Library Book Club Drink Free Coffee

A List Of Obsessions What Megan Has Made Me Do...

I Am A Human Arial And My Children Will Arrive As Ready-Made Faith No More Fans

Rejoice! For I Am Alsorts Of Returned, How.

Of Cutting My Album, Getting Stuck In The Middle And Why I'm Not Nick Jonas

Examples Of My Genius # 4 - Forgetting About The Plot Of My Novel...

Of Finding Spaces In Which To Write

Slowly Returning (To Form)

And So It Officially Begins...

Some People Are Better Staying Lost

Fancy Getting Published?

My Confession: A True Story Of Desperation And Free Coffee

Rachel Green - An Ungodly Child

Sue Guiney Competition. Finally I Announce The Results

Competition's Over Folks

Tangled Roots - It's Getting Competitive

Tangled Roots: Sue's Interview and Geet Mint Competition

Fun and Games

Tangled Roots

My Secret

Not Yet Revealing My Secret, But Properly Giggling At The Keywords Which Brought You Here

Of Better Reviews And A Little Bit Of A Tease

A Question Of Biscuits

Being In Geet Loads Of Places All At Once, Plus: Admiting, Once Again, To My Genius

An International Event Of Monumental Import - And No I'm Not Talking About Gordon's Big Deal

A Muchos Rock and Roll Wetherspoons Book Signing - Beer and Books. How Mint Is Me?

Getting Beaten About The Head With A Real(ity)ly Big Stick And Not Even My "Award Winning" Sales Pitch Can Save Me

Disco Kettle - The World Tour

Lazy Sunday (Sorry DJ, but I didn't name it... I mean, I named the post, but not the event. Which, obviously, is Lazy Sunday)

Putting Myself About A Bit

In Which I Originally Forget To Title My Post

Preperation # 2

Preperation

ReLaunchyness and The Spreading Of My Fame

More Freebies!

On Returning To Juggling My Monkies

A Movie About My Book About Movies, Plus: Another Kick Ass Cool Competition...

Examples of my Genius # 1

Black Boxes - Caroline Smailes

A Retrospective On Launching, Signing, Interviewing, Photoshoots and Truly Kiss Ass Cool Merchandising (Regardless of the opinions of Certain People).

Holycrapotsthelaunchdaytomorrow!

Announcing the Winners of the Kick Ass Cool Lesbian Nurses Competition.

Suddenly Deciding That This Isn't The Most Important Thing In The World. Plus: Teething DK Issues

And So Now We Wait...

A Timely Reminder Of Timings And Stuff

Fun Things To Be Getting Along With Whilst I'm Busy Juggling Monkeys

I *heart* Lesbian Nurses - The Kick Ass Cool Competition Edition, Plus: Even More Books To Give Away

Baby's First Date, It Seemed To Go Well...

Missing? #2

Missing?

furious gestured waving Hey! Shhhhhhhh!! Hey? jiggling eyebrows and head nodding Psssst, hey!

I heart Lesbian Nurses - The Kick Ass Cool Competition Edition, Plus: Even More Books To Give Away