Shamelessly plugging

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Yep, that’s me shamelessly plugging The Life Assistance Agency by Thomas Hocknell, because people should read more & they should support indie authors/publishers. There are far too many talented writers languishing in obscurity while the press & critics keep raving about J. K. Rowling as if she actually needs anymore publicity.

The Life Assistance Agency can be found Here

It’s a great read and this is not just me promoting a friend: gripping story, witty, writing that’s actually brilliant at times, and last but not least, it’s genre defying. Tom is the most original writer I’ve encountered in years – and originality is priceless because it’s so damn rare. If you’re looking for something different to read, give this book a try – I’d be surprised if you didn’t enjoy it. Plus, get in there before the sequel comes out next year 🙂

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How to Survive those Tough moments in Writing

About the (non) glamorous reality of being a writer, and the abominable Sean Penn novel – by my always witty and often brilliant friend Tom

Idle blogs of an idle fellow

Contrary to popular quotes, it isn’t always sitting down at the typewriter and bleeding (Hemingway.) 

It seems timely for a blog about when writing gets tough, and I don’t mean losing your wi-fi connection and having to actually do some, but when the task appears to have been set by some vindictive boss you no longer have the contact details for.

Sometimes writing is a summer breeze on a stifling hot day, it’s oil on a bat, or sugar in tea, but sometimes it is hard work. This was unlikely to have been part of the plan when some younger version of yourself thought being a writer seemed appealing. The job spec. was all mid-distance gazes, dented typewriters in war zones and thoughtful drags on cigarettes, but it’s not. And of course there’s no one to blame, not even the Conservative party or Brexit. This is your own doing, and…

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Insomnia

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Another year older, time zips past – a demented hare in this sometimes beautiful, often hellish race.

A great wave is rising – I am divided equally between making a stand, fighting, resisting

and letting it drown everything, everyone, the brave as well as the underserving.

My great love affair with words might be over. Too many times they’ve been used and abused – lies, propaganda, hysterical agendas.

And so it means that night, when it comes, brings on the usual insomnia.

The horrid fight starts, it saps any remaining strength,
motionless,
eyes wide open in the dark,
unseeing, looking inwards,
where thoughts circle, twist, turn, chase away rest,
decisions made, unmade, strings of fears appearing, vanishing,
night is heavy, it shivers – this is the dark of the tomb, my mind whispers.
In the distance, something, a great sphinx enigmatic,
peace, elusive, far out of reach
every night I try I but never reach it and I know I never will.

Mornings are harsh, eyes blurry, marked, mind weary, day or night there’s nowhere to hide. And so I put on the mask, a smile, which hopefully won’t slip – in public at least – though of course it does, I’ve never been good with lies.

Tick tock, awake around the clock, how long till I break, till all life drains,
All I need is a clean sweep, all I yearn for is deep, blissful sleep.

In-between

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I have a new crush, it’s Jordan Peterson. Brain and reason will get me anytime, I can’t be doing with aggressive agendas and mass hysteria. No Cathy Newman and No Rose Army for me. No hypocrisy. No insanity. No demonising, lying, rewriting, attacking, not taking responsibility – no playing the victim.
It IS possible to be a strong woman, tomb raiding (not literally, let’s calm down) in a kickass outfit, while loving men and valuing their input.
One can have deserted the left and yet not have joined the right.
I’m Lara Croft and I’m not. I’m in-between, and the media doesn’t know what to do with me.

*For my beloved grandmother who passed away on January 7th – I feel her absence dearly and daily. I would have said those words to her and she would have disagreed on a couple of points, and told me why, and applauded me for being forthright.*

Almost always

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Given the chance 
I will almost always
Take the spiral staircase
Leading to a place
I shouldn’t be
It’s crazy, it’s risky, you might lose your mind, fuck up catastrophically
It’s definitely not recommended for everybody
but it’d be so shitty
to look back and think
Hey, fuck it, I missed out –
entirely
What’s life without danger and a little mystery
Don’t listen to me though,
It’s well known
I’m away with the fairies

Image credit: patimakowska.deviantart.com

When it snows

If I ever got married, if I was ever so inclined

To make another forever mine

I’d like it to be when it snows

Cheeks red with cold, perfect scarlet apples, breath like puffs of smoke

I’d want clouds, across the sky blown by winter wind

No sun blazing at my wedding

Imagine Rod Serling

Introducing the twilight zone

His face bathed in monochrome shades

All my photos in an album of sepia tones

Love may mingle with the snow, neatly filling the Hollow

As a tiny church nestled inside sleepy walls

Sets the scene

And completes the tableau

*This little something was inspired by the last lines in this gorgeous (and v. emotional – for me) tune*

5th of November

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5th of November:
Outside, the air suitably smells of powder, smoke — it’s bitterly cold but no matter, because for the crowds, it’s all about homegrown terrorism and Guy Fawkes.

A penny for the guy and a penny for your thoughts, before you play your hand — straight As for your poker face and the impressive attention span.

It’s a royal flush of course: you win, take everything-including me-on the table. It’s messy, it’s bold, the cards tumble, fall to the floor.

“Preposterous” I mumble.
Why? I don’t know, maybe the wine was responsible, or this is what happens when sanity crumbles.

“Say it again” he tells me…he insists, when I don’t reply instantly.

I oblige: “Pre-pos-ter-ous”

Possibly the strangest dirty talk ever, have I done weirder? I can’t recall.

Nevertheless, as long as there’s no straight jackets, give us a cell and padded walls—sex laced with intellect from dusk till dawn—I guarantee I’d never get bored.

Pre-pos-ter-ous. Possibly my new favourite word…this, I discovered on a night filled with fireworks, on the
5th of November.

*Posted this time last year, but I kind of like it – occasionally, I write something that’s very, very ‘me’*

Get a life

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I had a busy day today, juggling all kind of stuff. I was getting a bit stressed with it all when I checked my email and some fuckwit had sent me a message about something I said on Twitter a couple of weeks ago, might even have been longer than that. In any case, my little tweet had enraged the fuckwit and he clearly NEEDED to tell me about it.

This is EXACTLY why I don’t let non-followers private message me on Twitter anymore. Between the guys who want to send you dick pics and the people who just HAVE to let you know how offensive your political opinions are, I couldn’t handle it anymore.

But, my blog link is on Twitter and if you find my blog, you find an email address. The fuckwit was kinda dedicated, I’ll give him that. I was talking to my tutor while reading his bullshit email which basically amounted to: I’m an ignorant stupid bitch, out of touch with reality, etc…the usual stuff.

Well, obviously I don’t reply to those kind of emails.
What could I say? Only this:

Fuck you, you fuckwit. Fuck right off and when you’ve fucked off as far away from me as possible, fuck off some more. I don’t give a fuck what you think of me because why would I worry about the opinion of a fucking toad? Also, take a fucking chill pill, we’re all allowed an opinion – even you – but you shouldn’t bloody harass people with it though. Seriously, get a fucking life.

You know? Some of us HAVE lives to get on with, I’ve been up since 6 and been working and studying all day, I don’t have time for some fuckwit’s meltdown. And now I’ve gotta go and workout.
You lovely people enjoy the rest of your day – as for the fuckwits: in case you SOMEHOW missed the message, I refer you to my pic, I’ve got nothing else to say to you, so keep the fuck away, thanks.

Halloween Lover

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So it is that soon I will rise again

I will come up

through the mud and dark earth

emerging in a damp cellar

dry flesh craving the touch

of an unwilling lover

will it be you that I caress

stroke with my ice-cold fingers

embrace for one fleeting moment

my frigid skin peeling, shredding

my eyes unseeing

your screams rising

in the raw glacial night

what a sorry plight

is yours, wretched victim

of my yearly Halloween yearning

*I have posted this before, but it is one of those I like though I wrote it ages ago – it’s got that sexy creepy vibe. And I just love that pic – it deserves to be reposted just for that*

Image Credit: Beautiful Decay by jaded-ink @deviantart.com

Stranger Things 2 – Some thoughts.

More Stranger Things, this time via Tom who manages to write about it with NO spoilers much better than I ever could. Which is why he has a (brilliant) novel available in all good bookshops, and I don’t. Please go like on his blog 🙂

Idle blogs of an idle fellow

No spoilers – unless you are unaware of the 1980s taste in peach bathrooms.  

It’s hard to remember a more eagerly anticipated TV series than Stranger Things 2. Even the NME has jumped the bandwagon, where once it would have sneered from the touchline.

There were some new episodes of Peppa Pig recently, but even that pales against ST2, which it isn’t called as it sounds closer to STD than is comfortable. There is always Dr Who of course, the anticipation of which invariably outstrips the actual experience of watching it; viewers are generally lobotomised by incomprehension twenty minutes in. Dr. Who takes its incomprehensibility seriously. If at least one person doesn’t abandon it screaming with frustration at tattered memories of having been once able to coherently understand TV programmes then it’s not doing its job.

With its immaculately 80s synths soundtrack Stranger Things is the Ryan Gosling neo-noir…

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