Childhood Dreams Achieved = 2. Plus: Moments of Victory # 1

Firstly:

So

Because I seem to be developing a fetish for lists (Not useful lists you must understand, these won't aid any planning of chapters, shopping, getting things done around the house or naming victims. I enjoy pointless lists, abstract lists and obviously untrue lists.
For example:

Work I have done today:
TLA presentation,
Finally finished my marking,
Degunked the gutters,
Taught a child to read,
Solve world hunger - with chips and mayo.) I have a list for you.

Childhood Dreams Achieved:

1. Be a published writer - and yes, this is a childhood dream. Since Primary school actually. I'm a slow worker... and yes I know I'm not actually published yet but tough. I'm claiming it.
2. Play football at St James' Park - actually I'm not playing at St James' - I'm playing at The Arnott Stadium in Durham. And I haven't done it yet. I'm doing it tonight. Playing at Left Back (and no, not 'left back in the changing room'. Nasty pasties...) against the school Sixth Form. It's the grudge match. The decider. A must win...

So I'm muchos excited, about geet loads of stuff. I got an invite to Roz's book launch from the lady herself, which made feel loved and bizarrely has set off a very girlie (sorry) worry about what to wear to meet real authors - including, of course, my Most Wise and Trusted Mentor who will be there. Very exciting. Can't wait. Free bar?

Oh.

But I've just realised something...

Childhood Dreams Achieved as of right now, at this precise moment:

0 - technically.

Damn. - Could owning a Disco Kettle be a childhood dream? I didn't want one back then, but only because I didn't know such a thing as magical could ever exist in the real world. Could I count it anyway?


Mostly:

Moments of Victory # 1

Right.

Bare with me as this will take a little bit of explaining...

Once upon a time there was a union named Unison. Unison was very popular with all the other unions and used to have parties and tea and cake and jelly and stay up late talking about boys etc etc.
One day though Unison woke up, padded down the stairs, yawned it's little morning yawn, tiny little fist in it's mouth, little eyes scrunched shut and looked out of the window.
All Unison's little friends had nicer cars, and looked well fed and didn't do half as much work as little Unison did.
So it went on strike. For two whole days.

Meanwhile in a school somewhere outside of Gotham:

Well ok, so they have two days off. The support staff are on strike, nothing we can do about that. Can we get the teaching staff in anyway? No? Balls! I know, we'll make them fill in a form stating how much work they will be doing instead. Then I will make an announcement saying that if teaching staff are caught out in public, not working, then I will chop off their heads. Mwahahhahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaa.

(Deputy and Assistant Heads cheer)


Right. So now you know the back story. I'm not allowed out. I'm marking and working on a presentation I haven't given yet - and probably never will - I am certainly not sat in the Theatre coffee shop reading a book with my feet up on the opposite chair...


Our eyes meet across the crowded room. For a moment I don't know what to do. My brain just stops. Hot porcelain blisters my lip, coffee melts my teeth. She looks at me and I look at her. I swallow and nod my head toward her very slightly. She nods her Assistant Head back. She smiles and so do I.

She sneers and my eyes widen.

She stares at me and I stare at her and she glances to my coffee and flicks a gaze at my book and my dirty shoes on the clean chair opposite me. I stare at her and work quickly through my list of Emergency Excuses. I stare at the sneer and at the sharpened teeth and the trickle of blood which oozes from between tight lips. I stare at her shopping bags, clothes and books and household paraphernalia. So does she.

Ah, shopping when you should be working - no worse that reading when you should be working surely?

I smile again. Raise my coffee to my lips and my eyebrows to the ceiling and sip happily at my coffee. She goes. Flushing red and grinding teeth.

I will of course suffer for this in some horrible way I'm sure. But not today. Today I will enjoy Moment of Victory # 1

Why Does Everything Take So Long? Plus: Deep Sea Pressure and Monday Mornings

Mostly:

As I sure most of you know, or at least suspect, the publishing industry is proper slow.

Don't get me wrong, I'm sure those bods at Tonto Towers are working hard, and I know they have lots going on what with Roz's and Steven's books coming out soon. And I must say I like how they go about promoting their authors and their books, they put a lot of energy into it.

But when is it MY turn?

I am, I admit, horribly impatient.

I spent most of my life, it seems, wishing away time.
How long til lunch?
How long left of this lesson?
When will this meeting end, I've got a pint with my name on it?
How many chapters do I have to do before I'm finished?
How many days left til 2009 and me being properly published and able to wear the t-shirt I had printed?

See, I'm impatient, and probably quite selfish. I feel I should make better use of my time. For example once again I have chosen blogging over marking.
Marking never seems to end, blogging and writing have a definite end points: the final full stop.

Marking does not. It is a series of commas.

Anyway, Tonto tell me I'm getting an update on the goings on this week. I'm really hoping I'll have a cover to look at soon, and sort of curious as to what they are going to do with all that bumpf I sent off to them about me and my mintness.

Lots and lots of wishing away my time. I should use more of it to write. I am sure that very soon I will be wishing time would stand still, just for a bit.

An extra hour in this day,

one more day in this week,

one more week of my summer holiday - which starts next Wednesday. I'm muchos excited.

Ah well, ten minutes till break time, no point starting the marking now...

Secondly: Deep Sea Pressure and Monday Morning

I fear that I am hibernating.
Every free second of my weekend has been spent sleeping. I am a napping machine. Since Saturday afternoon when I crawled out of bed I have perfected:
Napping,
Snoozing,
Resting my eyes,
Sneaking forty winks,
Passing out and waking up surrounded by marking and cuddling my pillow.

Disco Kettle has been most busy. I wake, it says 'Bing' and dances a little to try and stir up some energy from me. I drink coffee. I stare at a book or computer screen or walk for about an hour. I fall asleep again.

So now, having Achieved (and I do think of this as an Achievement) a whopping twenty something hours sleep over the last two days I turn up to work this morning and my head feels like it wants simultaneously to explode and be crushed into a tiny, pea sized lump attached to my neck.

Mondays are rubbish.

New and Exciting Ways to Avoid Marking. Plus: Overcoming my Self Promotion Fears

Firstly:

This morning at work I have achieved:

4 Cups of Coffee,
7 Chocolate Chip Cookies,
1 Invitation to lunch,
(which led to) 1 Excuse for not refereeing the lunchtime Year 7 5 a-side tournament,

But most importantly:

1 slightly sulky Year 7 trained in marking test papers.

I am most impressed with today's achievements and defy Anyone - Ever to top them.


But Mostly:

I have, indeed, overcome (some) of my Self Promotion Fear. Please don't misunderstand. I am not modest. I tell people all the time that I am great. At work especially I balance comments such as

No, I've not marked them. When will you get them? I dunno. Christmas?

and

Lesson plan?

With more positive comments such as

But blatently I am Mint.

and

I am, surely, the greatest thing to happen to teaching since caning.

I am not modest. Nor am I partculary Shy. I am happy to attempt to impress and entertain and interest people I have never met. It's the people that know me that scare me. It's the locals I'm worried about.

But I have no idea why.

Tonto want/need to promote the book. I get that. I am very, very happy about that. I want this book to do well. I want my next one to do better. I want my third to win me the Nobel prize.

These are modest ambitions I think we all share.

I just wish it was doable without having to promote me. If someone else wants to promote me, fine. Tell me where to go and I'll go. Not a problem. You want me to open a local signpost? (Because thats obviously what famous and respected authors do) Great. Done.

But self promotion? It's important I know but at the minute - when I've not quite yet got anything to promote - well it feels a bit... I dunno, Arrogant?

Still. I suppose that me sitting here at work, engaged in an act of self promotion, whinging about self promotion, but still hoping it succeeds (yes, I know - secretly, beneath the slightly dirty feel - I enjoy it) it at least looks like I'm working on something important.

If nothing else it is another achievement I can log for the day:

This morning at work I have achieved:

4 Cups of Coffee,
7 Chocolate Chip Cookies,
1 Invitation to lunch,
(which led to) 1 Excuse for not refereeing the lunchtime Year 7 5 a-side tournament,
1 slightly sulky Year 7 trained in marking test papers.

But most importantly:

I have convinced someone that I am doing something useful.

Introspective. Possibly.

Firstly: By popular demand (and I use the word 'popular' in a very loose sense. In fact I think I misuse 'popular'. Perhaps what I mean is: By Katw's demand) the Full and Terrifying Tale of My Miraculous Escape.

But mostly: Being Introspective For Other People

First:

So there I was. Cowering. Crying. Slumped into a corner whilst my Baby towered over me. I held my paper cut hands to my face, felt the blood oozing between my fingers.

Desperate I looked to Disco Kettle. It lay on it's side, plug dangling from the counter, tepid water dripping from it's spout.

I was alone.

My Baby loomed large. It's title twisted in rage, in betrayal. It blocked out the light and I lay, curled up tight, in shadow.

From somewhere past My Baby I heard a scraping, something dragged across the kitchen floor. I heard whispers.

My Baby leaned in, I smelt ink. Smelt smoke. From somewhere to my right heard a faint 'Fffffssstttt'.

My Baby turned, frowned, ruffled in pages in frustration.

There stood Disco Kettle - glowing red and pink and angry scarlet.

From my left, behind My Baby came a growl, an insistant, high pitched gnashing of teeth. My shredder had appeared.

'Ffffsssst'

One inky black tear slipped from My Baby's title. Rolled down it's front page. It shook, sobbed. Folded down toward me, defeated. I stroked it's spine, caressed it's title page.

'It's ok' I whispered.

Disco Kettle said 'Bing.' I poured out coffee.

But mainly: Being Introspective For Other People

As always, here is the problem:

Tonto Books have sent me this Questionnaire (actually they have sent me two - one is about Caroline. I had no problems with that - just had to use my thesaurus to find new ways of saying wonderful, fantastic and wise. Thats not sucking up, thats genuine. Honest boss :)) about me and my book. To help them to help me, so they know what they can do to help promote the book. And me.

I like this. It makes me feel loved and valued. They even asked if I had any suggestions for promoting the book - any particular publications/sellers they wanted me to contact. All very nice.

But then they ask this:

10. PLEASE OFFER ANY SPECIFIC POINTS CONNECTED WITH YOURSELF OR YOUR STORY THAT THE ABOVE MAY FIND NEWSWORTHY OR INTERESTING. DOES YOUR BOOK DRAW ON PERSONAL EXPERIENCES? WHY MIGHT READERS OF A PARTICULAR PUBLICATION IDENTIFY WITH YOU OR YOUR STORY? ANYTHING QUIRKY OR INTERESTING ABOUT YOUR PAST, YOUR JOB, YOUR HOBBIES, WHERE YOU LIVE ETC? PLEASE CONSIDER THIS QUESTION CAREFULLY AS THIS IS CRUCIAL IN GETTING JOURNALISTS INTERESTED IN PROMOTING YOUR BOOK:

Bugger.

I can't do these ones.

Ask me anything about the book, that's fine. But I hate ones about me.

Anything Quirky/interesting about me? Well no, not really. No more than anyone else really.

Suddenly I feel very dull.

But hey, I'm a writer now.

Maybe I could just make stuff up?

So far I've got this: I have worked abroad – I would have stayed abroad if I could have gotten a Visa but an incident of drunken and disorderliness made things awkward. In fact I did have another chance to move abroad and teach in Peru but have given that up, temporarily, to promote the book.

I bet pretty much anyone can top that.

So.

I'm stuck.

Looking in to shout it out.

Disco Kettle says 'Bing.'

Stupid, Stupid, Spinoff

Firstly: My Miraculous Escape.

I won't go into details - it involves batteries and a pincer maneuver involving Disco Kettle and my electric Shredder...


Mostly: Stupid, Stupid, Spin off.

Here is the problem.

I have taken a character from 9987, a minor character - so minor he only appears once - and I've moved him North. He is my new main character. He is mint. If a bit weird.

This in itself isn't a bit problem, I'm not writing a sequel. That would be really stupid.

Besides, everyone knows that Spin offs are always wildly successful. Always.

Anyway, my problem is this:

This is a different type of story, written in a different style, with brand new characters and in a brand new, if equally damp, setting.
And I can't stop myself from writing it as if I were still my nameless narrator.

This is a problem.

On the upside it's raining, quite heavily. Hopefully this will continue as I find I always write better when it's wet and miserable. And I have a new album to listen to which is suitably accoustically.

But I keep slipping into first person.

This is going to require some real discipline on my part. This is going to require some real coffee too.

So.

Disco Kettle, lets get to work.

Empty Nest Syndrome

So... My baby is gone. Final draft sent away.





The place seems strangely empty,



It's little bed lies cold,



No longer the clacking keyboard,



My coffee cup gathers mould.





Still, it's a relief. I'll be honest with you. All those nights obsessing over that particular comma, days spent wondering does that word quite fit?



I can breathe again.


Don't get me wrong, I'm in a position now I would have killled people to get to a two or three years ago. Kill people. Honest. But it's tough isn't it, doing all the editing. I've gone over it so many times that now I don't even like it!

So (he whispered, checking over both shoulders)

So...

I've started a new one.

And lets be really, brutally honest here:

Conception is fun.

And I'm enjoying this, the planning, the excitment, the first fumbled kisses, the -

Did you hear that?

No?

I thought I heard keys rattling. Anyway, I'm loving those electric moments: a character is formed, a thread untangled and then weaved back into place. Phone numbers exchanged and -

I definitly heard something.

Does my baby have a key?

Can it really be back so soon?

Nah - thats stupid, it'll be out for hours. We have the place all to ourselves -

Oh God!

It's not what it looks like, it means nothing to me. It was a stupid one off thing.

I was drunk! I was bored! I was lonely!

Please, no! Disco kettle! Disco kettle where are you?

You fiend, put it's plug back in!

Put down that novelty eraser!

Nooooooooooooooooooo

(Is this the end for our intrepid hero? Can he escape the novelty eraser? Will all his hard work be rubbed out? Can disco kettle find a way around it's, quite literal, powerless state?

Tune in next time to find out.)

The Waiting Game - It's not that exciting.

It's been years! Why can't my baby leave home NOW?

It's not ready yet - you haven't even finished the final draft.

Well? So what? There's nowt like independance to form a bit of personality!

Yes, but Caroline hasn't seen the finished product yet has she? Get off your ass and finish it. It's still full of bizarrely placed commas and horrible, rambling sentences. She wants what best for it.

I don't care. I want it gone.

Plus the cover isn't ready yet, we've not even seen that -

So? Let it run wild and free! Let it's commas dangle, it's semi colons bounce!

Thats just stupid.

Screw you!

Get stuffed!

(Car is pulled over. Stern parent - the higher self maybe - at the wheel.)

He started it.



Yes, I know. In that time I could have been polishing the final draft. But I was waiting for the kettle to boil. And had to put a wash in. And had to pile up the marking I won't be doing later, on the desk I'll be avoiding all night.


(Kettle says 'Bing'. Yes, 'Bing'. It's says 'Fffzzzzttt' first then 'Bing'. Really. It lights up too, all swirly and disco-y.)


I'll get back to work then.

I'm nearly done.

Honest.