Blog description? Furious rants, idiotic quibbles, sleepy misspellings, pissed-off ramblings, joyous witticisms, megalomaniac implications, sanctimonious declarations... Call it whatever you want, I'm done with fancy words. Think of this blog as an essential means for me to release all the thoughts that amble through my mind as life throws challenges such as love and an untuned ukulele at me in spite of the white flag I've been waving for a fair while now.
I'm off! For two weeks! Camping! With my parents! In Norfolk! With no internet! Shit! Ah well. I've prepared a hefty reading pile, so at least I'll be clever and pretentious upon my return. And there's Norwich Pride next Saturday, so mincing around with the gay parade should be fabulously affirming. Especially if friends who I've invited would RSVP already, hint.
Don't really have anything more to say. I was thinking about this post earlier, imagining a well-constructed, thought-provoking, witty commentary on the last few days, the future and life in general, but, no.
I miss Sophie. It feels like I know nothing anymore, which is apt because I do know nothing, and she doesn't know anything about the stuff I'm getting up to nowadays either, and I'm scared I'll lose her
It strikes me as depressingly pathetic, that despite having seen her four times since then, the most recent picture I can find of the two of us is from a year ago.
I finished the last Artemis Fowl earlier. It was a good ending to a brilliant series :) Beginning to read Fight Club now. This blonde girl on the Littlewoods advert is distractingly good looking. I can't focus on one thing. Just about to go out for a run. And then Torchwood: Children of Earth, episode four. EPISODE FOUR. Cue the end of my happiness.
If I were to release an album, I'd call it "Time, In Order". That or "Flight Of The Chickens". I don't usually adopt the "naming the days" format because it's too formulaic for what I try and do, but seeing as I have neglected to update for a while (and a fair bit has happened) I shall temporarily adopt.
Thursday 5th I sent my Christmas Carol script to the guitarist in my band in exchange for a novel he wrote I-don't-know-how-many years ago, but never published. More than most people I know, around him I feel the need to... save face. Put scientifically, to not screw up. I hope he likes it. Friday She talked to me today. At lunchtime, sitting on adjacent chairs and avoiding eye contact. It was difficult, awkward as fuck and upsetting - but it's done. It's done. It's going to be okay. We both have some getting over ourselves to do. Saturday UEA open day! On a whole, I am very impressed. Everything was so good! Ahh! I want in! The lady giving the Literature talk was charmingly eccentric, putting emphasis ON comPLETely random SYllables WHERE they weren't NEEded. The Creative Writing guy was a little more, ah, normal - and normalcy, as much as I love a little craziness, is appreciated when it comes to choosing your degree, choosing how you're spending three years, choosing the likely direction of the rest of your life, etc. Y'know. All that silly, unimportant stuff. Watched Fight Club with my sister and brother-in-law in the evening. OH MY, it's good. A film that everyone needs to watch. But that not everyone will enjoy watching. Throughout I was hovering somewhere between being horrified and awestruck. But seriously. I'd best stop before anyone finds out I'm breaking the rules. My sister gave me a 4mm stretcher. Teeheehee, it's agonising and pointless. Sunday I'm disappointed to say that I did very little. Meandered into Norwich city centre. Came back home. Brainstormed a plot for a potential story on the train home. Peoplewatched. Torchwoodwatched. Monday
Great day. I forewent biology class first thing in place of: another hour and a half in bed, which constitutes enough time to complete a short story (which you can read here. Just. Y'know. If you want to) and even watch another episode of Torchwood before hopping on a bus to school for break, followed by ninety minutes of dedicated arsing around with a dictophone in Language, followed by some intense filmwatching in Literature. (The Outsiders, if you were wondering. In the context of Catcher in the Rye; drawing comparisons between American teenage culture in the 50s, specifically the theme of, would you guess, "outsiders".) Tuesday
...was great also. Lots of people have said really lovely things about the short story, and they'll never know how much I appreciate it :) Favourite fans! Well, only fans. But they're great!
Rain! Lots of rain! Went out for a walk in the dark. Mum sighed and complained, but it was something that I really wanted to do. Wednesday OHMYGOSHIMETEOINCOLFER As in, EOIN COLFER. You know. Creator of Artemis Fowl. Hilarious writer. Brilliant writer. The reason I want to be a writer. Absolute genius. And I met him. My life > your life.
Look at that face.
He came to the Forum in Norwich to promote the book that came out yesterday, talk to us about the events and characters and people that inspired them. He was so charming! Like, genuinely funny! When he opened the floor to some Q&A, I asked if he had any tips for aspiring writers. In his Irish accent he enthusiastically replied "Yes!":
Read. Lots.
Write every day, even if it's just two words.
Observe people around you. Things they say and do, their stories.
Surround yourself with interesting people. (Or, as he put it, "Get rid of boring friends", which made me laugh in spite of the guilty chord it struck somewhere between my conscience and pleasure drive.)
Start out small. Short stories before novellas, novellas before epics.
Persevere. No author has never been rejected.
He talked to me, actually talked to me! And when he signed my book about half an hour later, he remembered me (OHMYGOSHHEREMEMBEREDME) and talked to me a little bit more about what I write, how much I do, etc.
As my sister emphatically said, "What a lovely guy!"
She and I went to Pizza Express afterwards, just us, and had a great talk. It hadn't occurred to me until then that, since my nephew's been born, we haven't really had any proper alone time to just hang out. Had a grand old time :)
Thursday
Mreh. Awkward day. Anonymous wasn't there. Instead he was selfishly hacking up blood all over the place instead of being there to stop it being weird with Alien. Maybe I'll forgive him, one day. When the sun rises in the west, sets in the east. When the seas go dry, when the mountains blow in the wind like leaves. (Game of Thrones, yes.) The guitarist, to whom I sent the script - he replied, and said gave really lovely comments :) :) It means a lot, from him, but it's awkward because I can't legitimately tell him so without the unnecessary... awkwardness.
Friday
Quite a lonely day. I spent much of it composing a sonnet. It was surprisingly hard - quite mathematical, in a way. Fourteen lines - three quatrains, one couplet - ten syllables per line, ABAB CDCD EFEF GG rhyming pattern, establish circumstance and reach a conclusion in the last two lines, use of iambic pentameter (stress on every other syllable) throughout. And on top of that, it's got to be about love. Definitely as much about logic as it is about sentiment. It felt good, finishing it. Like I'd let out a whole load of emotion in a calm, creative and controlled way, so I have nothing to feel guilty about. It's on my Wattpad.
Saturday
Met with Alien and Anonymous late afternoon to celebrate her birthday. We went to see Magic Mike, and established that Channing Tatum is far hotter than Alex Pettyfer. Alex Pettyfer and his bad American accent. It was a surprisingly good film. The immediate nudity was at once hilarious and... ahem. Undisclosed emotions. It's relatively plotless, but that's okay! An attractive, naked cast makes everything better. But seriously. Good film. Go watch, if you can. But not with your boyfriend, because he's almost definitely not as good as the guys on the screen. Also... Torchwood series 2 finale. Tear ducts in ruins, absolute ruins. Sunday 16th
After three hours of Rory criticising my standards of tidiness, lobbing solid, painful objects in my direction, relentlessly ticking me and just generally being a big bully, Benjen arrived at my place (only an hour late) to rescue me. It was actually really nice (when he wasn't being a dick) to talk with Rory about our poetry. It was interesting to get his views on what I write. I understand what he meant, about being surprised about the sonnet being about something as generic as an ex. I guess, just... Yeah. It's generic. I'm human. I am generic. Violating his blog was good though. It was great hanging out with Benjen too, even if I did feel like the ultimate third wheel. Forever alone. At least I've got the cat.
I'm afraid. You know that kind of hysterical fear that makes you giggle a lot, despite your perfect grasp of the situation's gravity? Except it isn't an immediately clear situation, so I'm just spending much of my time giggling and brushing my teeth. I'm scared that I've messed up - made some choices with a selfish outlook, and I'm scared how they're going to affect others. And this could have been avoided - my guilt, the other person's exacerbated existential crisis - if I'd just... not said anything. There was no need to. I'm a fucking idiot.
I have a dental checkup tomorrow... I'm really nervous. It would be just my luck/God's sense of humour/the bitch that is karma if the only part of my body about which I'm secure has to be chained in braces for the next forty years.
On a happier note, the dramatic society have approved the script for the pantomime that I wrote for them! It's going to be performed this December, and I'm delighted. The guy who told me, the chairman or whatever, called earlier tonight and said gruffly that it's "better than he thought it was going to be". He only properly praises stuff that children have done, so I suppose I should be glad he takes me seriously enough to reward my work with nothing but a backhanded compliment.
Ordered The Portrait of Dorian Gray from Amazon earlier. Excited! I'm ready to be mentally improved! I read the preface earlier from a battered copy I found in the library, and already I feel more profound.
My forty-second birthday falls on a Saturday. This pleases me.
Along with giggling and brushing my teeth, recent days have found me curled in bed with the curtains shut in the middle of the afternoon, watching episode after episode of Torchwood. It was pointed out to me yesterday that, no matter what you look like, what you've done or who you are, Captain Jack Harkness still wants to date you. But not as much as he wants I want him to date Ianto.
It occurred to me today to wonder what would happen if I was to suddenly be shot. Not necessarily die, just get blood everywhere. You know the kind of thing that happens in films - walking home alone, a gun pokes through a bush and an unidentified assailant puts a bullet somewhere in my torso. Just. What would happen? I wonder if I'd scream pathetically until someone came to my rescue - actually, pathetic? Why did I say that, I've just been shot, I'm entitled to scream if I want to - or if I'd valiantly drag myself to... Somewhere. Unspecified location. Huh.
