Just when you thought you couldn't edit again - before you have an editor who makes you edit again - I found red pens and an enthusiastic ten year old. Really, there are a team of three but one has endless amounts of patience and never tires of reading.
She had been more use than any other beta reader - if she doesn't know the word I've taken to changing it - she is the most useful 'tool' around - she says, 'This is great - I'm really enjoying reading it' but she also says - 'What does this say?' - I've taken to translating this as 'What do you mean?'
We make the perfect team - she will have a name credit on the front page along with my family and friends - and the whole of my 'Oscar' acceptance speech - or over-excited praise-fest - when-ing not if-ing it sells!
Flower and I spent Friday from our afternoon start through to 4 am hosting Come in Character - I was shattered - watching and refreshing the blog page.
Flower is so insular I couldn't just let her 'chat to the boys down the road' - she had to sit still unless spoken to.
After socialising at the 'local' all I wanted to do was snooze - cat-napping on watch is not good!
I composed whole conversations she wasn't having, and made Jess and Caleb wander by, but, keeping true to the littleness of her story, I kept them all away. Egg was allowed to visit, eventually, he has a survivor's attitude to life Flower should really learn from!
Monday, 29 June 2009
Sunday, 21 June 2009
Come in Character FLOWER
I'm hosting CIC this week - Flower and I will be manning the site on one of the days and providing the anti-entertainment.
Thanks to Mira, and the others who decided it might be a good idea, but really, that girl has issues - get tissues!
Scary!
Thanks to Mira, and the others who decided it might be a good idea, but really, that girl has issues - get tissues!
Scary!
Friday, 19 June 2009
The first five pages - not exactly the same as it was
PREFACE
The pain from shredded skin, torn by razor points on the thorn and bramble thickets - nature’s barbed wire – sapped all that was left of my strength. Gasping and shaking, I scrambled to the summit of the mound that marked the resting place of some long-dead, warrior-chief.
I dragged shallow breaths into my aching, ice-scorched lungs. Time was running out and I hadn't delivered the warning.
I remembered Caleb standing with his hand outstretched – the intensity in his amber eyes and the longing in his wistful smile. He’d warned me that evil twined itself into his life. But, when he said he had to fight it, I hadn’t realised he meant it literally. If I’d known would I still be standing here, facing what I could see stalking slowly towards me, or would I have given a different answer?
I imagined myself in alternate realities – each one different based on the choices I’d made. My mind agonised over questions while my heart found its answer. Certainty, warmth, excitement, and the knowledge that I knew the real him, enveloped me.I smiled, and even though he wasn’t there with me, I reached out my hand as if we could really touch.
Then took a deep breath and screamed.
CHAPTER 1
NOT ALL CHANGES …
Dad parked in front of the familiar redbrick building. Even there I could see that things had changed. Above the white stone entrance there was a new school crest with a beast standing on two legs. It had sharp teeth, a lolling tongue and limp front claws and it leered down at the visitors to school.
“D-ifferent!” I commented as I hurried around the car to join Dad.
“Umm! Mr Jenson’s ‘lost’ toupee isn’t still flying from the flag pole?”
“No-one ever proved I was responsible,” I squeaked but my footsteps faltered.
Dad smiled at me but with a steely glint; he put one hand on my shoulder to keep me walking forward. We stepped into the reception area, pressed the buzzer by the viewing window, and waited. A tall woman, with two biros stored in the bun at the back of her head, marched over from her desk at the back of the office.
Her unusual hair accessories distracted Dad, “G–ood Morning. I’m Simon Trainer, and this is my daughter, Jess. We’re here to see the Headteacher.”
She whipped a pen out of her bun and tapped it on the desk as she checked the Head’s diary, “Mr McIntyre is in his office. I’ll let him know you’ve arrived. Please push the green button and I’ll let you in.”
Dad and I exchanged glances that condensed his lectures and my promises to small, but significant, facial twitches. I pushed the buzzer and felt the lock release. We walked into the brown, tiled corridor. We sat beside the office. I smoothed imaginary creases from my navy shirt and trousers while we waited.
“Mr McIntyre will see you now,” called the assistant as she approached.
"You look fine," whispered Dad. "Don't fidget."
We followed her into the room dominated by a long, curved desk. We saw Mr McIntyre reach into a low drawer, in the filing cabinet behind his desk. He seemed to freeze for a moment. I watched him draw a deep breath before he swivelled around.
My hands felt hot and uncomfortable – a sickly, nervous sensation began to twist, worm-like, in my stomach. How could I make a good impression with the person in-charge of my old school records?
He stood and walked around his desk towards us, “Please join me here, where we can sit more comfortably.” As we made our way to a collection of soft chairs that surrounded a low table, he held out his hand to shake my father’s. “You must be Mr Trainer.” He looked speculatively at me. “Jessica.”
“That’s right. It is good of you to agree to see us. Jess is keen to come back here to join the Sixth Form.”
Mr McIntyre shuffled some papers but there was a frown on his face, “Well Jessica, I have your old records here.” I gulped and my stomach wound a little tighter. “I also have a testimonial from your school in Guyana. They read very differently.”
I watched the Headteacher finish scanning the papers in his hands. I gave serious thought to ducking and running. But that wouldn’t help me get a place in his school. I looked down at my hands to avoid the eyes I knew were riveted on me.
“When you came here you were quite a regular in the Detention Log. While your report from your next school suggests that you were well behaved. Miss Trainer…?”
I blushed. I tried to calm my racing heart. I looked up to meet his piercing, pale brown eyes.
“Which pupil do you suppose would be attending my school?”
“Mr McIntyre!” my Dad began.
The Headteacher swiftly raised his hand; they both waited for me to reply.
The queasy sensations made it hard for me to even think. I couldn’t look at him and a form a sensible response. Inhaling and exhaling slowly I forced my eyes away from his.
“Everyone changes, Sir, and I changed more than most. I learned to concentrate on my work. I became interested in swimming and running. I want to come to this school – it’s a great school. I think I have a lot to offer and… I want to come here.” I looked up, to see if my appeal had persuaded the Head, but what I saw made me freeze in my seat. His upper lip made his nose crease with disgust. My face paled and my hands became cold and clammy. But, as I glanced at my father – to see if he had noticed – I saw the look fade.
His expression now blank, and his voice chilly the head teacher drawled, “Well. I believe this is an opportunity we could all benefit from. So, after our tour, if you still want to come to Woodford College, we could complete the details.”
Mr McIntyre and I stood. I examined his features again, but I saw nothing except a vaugely amused smile. I ached to get out of his room.
I trailed a little distance behind my Dad when the Head lead the way. He launched into his introduction speech. I didn’t listen but I watched him - the controlled hand gestures and mask-smooth features. Away from the dim office, I found it hard to believe that I had seen that expression of revulsion. I looked for familiar faces in the rooms we passed. I was jolted back to the present when we stopped by a door.
“Physics!” announced Mr McIntyre. “This is one of our newest facilities. I don’t think Miss Boston would mind if we visited for a while.”
So, we entered quietly near the back of the room. Miss Boston continued her demonstration but the pupils turned around, and made no effort to get back to work. I felt excited and queasy – this was Ben’s class. I noticed the one pupil, who sat with his back to me. I watched him tilt his head and turn slowly around.
I caught a glimpse of his straight, blond fringe that almost obscured his intense amber eyes. He looked annoyed. His gaze was never still. I could see subtle changes in his expression as if he was involved in an internal debate. He waited until the Headteacher was ready to leave before he turned back to the lesson.
Mr McIntyre shepherded me back out, to continue our tour. I pushed away all thoughts of the glowering boy. I’d enjoyed the stop at Physics because Ben had been in that class. He hadn’t had surgery or bought contacts: he had spent those minutes cleaning his thick-lensed glasses. The lesson was probably crystal-clear right now! I grinned but also took a couple of deep breaths as excitement grew.
We walked through a familiar part of school until we reached the Maths Department. I was worried when we stopped at Room 7. I used to have maths there with Mr Jenson. He had given me most of my after-school and Saturday morning detentions. Of course, my parting shot had been the hair piece stunt. I smiled remembering how Ben helped me ‘borrow’ the toupee when Mr Jenson was washing (technically, his need to wash had been my fault too). Putting it on the flag pole had been very helpful really. I hoped Mr Jenson had moved on, retired or resettled on Mars but, sadly, I wasn’t that lucky. The first thing I saw was a slightly older face, under the familiar head rug, still droning away. I shivered as I remembered his taunts and bullying.
I scanned the interested pupils hoping to spot someone I knew. I saw Alison, sitting – I’m sure – in the same desk. She was deeply engrossed in her Maths problem – that was just her way. I smiled and some of my queasiness began to fade. I turned to leave but noticed a boy staring at me, his head tilted to the right. A speculative look glowed in his soft amber eyes – what …? I was sure I’d seen that face before, or one that was very similar. He couldn’t be the same boy because the bell for the end of lesson hadn’t rung. Besides this boy’s eyes looked less brown and more yellow; his hair was different too – it seem darker and a little shorter.
WORD COUNT 91,000 - in 270 pages
The pain from shredded skin, torn by razor points on the thorn and bramble thickets - nature’s barbed wire – sapped all that was left of my strength. Gasping and shaking, I scrambled to the summit of the mound that marked the resting place of some long-dead, warrior-chief.
I dragged shallow breaths into my aching, ice-scorched lungs. Time was running out and I hadn't delivered the warning.
I remembered Caleb standing with his hand outstretched – the intensity in his amber eyes and the longing in his wistful smile. He’d warned me that evil twined itself into his life. But, when he said he had to fight it, I hadn’t realised he meant it literally. If I’d known would I still be standing here, facing what I could see stalking slowly towards me, or would I have given a different answer?
I imagined myself in alternate realities – each one different based on the choices I’d made. My mind agonised over questions while my heart found its answer. Certainty, warmth, excitement, and the knowledge that I knew the real him, enveloped me.I smiled, and even though he wasn’t there with me, I reached out my hand as if we could really touch.
Then took a deep breath and screamed.
CHAPTER 1
NOT ALL CHANGES …
Dad parked in front of the familiar redbrick building. Even there I could see that things had changed. Above the white stone entrance there was a new school crest with a beast standing on two legs. It had sharp teeth, a lolling tongue and limp front claws and it leered down at the visitors to school.
“D-ifferent!” I commented as I hurried around the car to join Dad.
“Umm! Mr Jenson’s ‘lost’ toupee isn’t still flying from the flag pole?”
“No-one ever proved I was responsible,” I squeaked but my footsteps faltered.
Dad smiled at me but with a steely glint; he put one hand on my shoulder to keep me walking forward. We stepped into the reception area, pressed the buzzer by the viewing window, and waited. A tall woman, with two biros stored in the bun at the back of her head, marched over from her desk at the back of the office.
Her unusual hair accessories distracted Dad, “G–ood Morning. I’m Simon Trainer, and this is my daughter, Jess. We’re here to see the Headteacher.”
She whipped a pen out of her bun and tapped it on the desk as she checked the Head’s diary, “Mr McIntyre is in his office. I’ll let him know you’ve arrived. Please push the green button and I’ll let you in.”
Dad and I exchanged glances that condensed his lectures and my promises to small, but significant, facial twitches. I pushed the buzzer and felt the lock release. We walked into the brown, tiled corridor. We sat beside the office. I smoothed imaginary creases from my navy shirt and trousers while we waited.
“Mr McIntyre will see you now,” called the assistant as she approached.
"You look fine," whispered Dad. "Don't fidget."
We followed her into the room dominated by a long, curved desk. We saw Mr McIntyre reach into a low drawer, in the filing cabinet behind his desk. He seemed to freeze for a moment. I watched him draw a deep breath before he swivelled around.
My hands felt hot and uncomfortable – a sickly, nervous sensation began to twist, worm-like, in my stomach. How could I make a good impression with the person in-charge of my old school records?
He stood and walked around his desk towards us, “Please join me here, where we can sit more comfortably.” As we made our way to a collection of soft chairs that surrounded a low table, he held out his hand to shake my father’s. “You must be Mr Trainer.” He looked speculatively at me. “Jessica.”
“That’s right. It is good of you to agree to see us. Jess is keen to come back here to join the Sixth Form.”
Mr McIntyre shuffled some papers but there was a frown on his face, “Well Jessica, I have your old records here.” I gulped and my stomach wound a little tighter. “I also have a testimonial from your school in Guyana. They read very differently.”
I watched the Headteacher finish scanning the papers in his hands. I gave serious thought to ducking and running. But that wouldn’t help me get a place in his school. I looked down at my hands to avoid the eyes I knew were riveted on me.
“When you came here you were quite a regular in the Detention Log. While your report from your next school suggests that you were well behaved. Miss Trainer…?”
I blushed. I tried to calm my racing heart. I looked up to meet his piercing, pale brown eyes.
“Which pupil do you suppose would be attending my school?”
“Mr McIntyre!” my Dad began.
The Headteacher swiftly raised his hand; they both waited for me to reply.
The queasy sensations made it hard for me to even think. I couldn’t look at him and a form a sensible response. Inhaling and exhaling slowly I forced my eyes away from his.
“Everyone changes, Sir, and I changed more than most. I learned to concentrate on my work. I became interested in swimming and running. I want to come to this school – it’s a great school. I think I have a lot to offer and… I want to come here.” I looked up, to see if my appeal had persuaded the Head, but what I saw made me freeze in my seat. His upper lip made his nose crease with disgust. My face paled and my hands became cold and clammy. But, as I glanced at my father – to see if he had noticed – I saw the look fade.
His expression now blank, and his voice chilly the head teacher drawled, “Well. I believe this is an opportunity we could all benefit from. So, after our tour, if you still want to come to Woodford College, we could complete the details.”
Mr McIntyre and I stood. I examined his features again, but I saw nothing except a vaugely amused smile. I ached to get out of his room.
I trailed a little distance behind my Dad when the Head lead the way. He launched into his introduction speech. I didn’t listen but I watched him - the controlled hand gestures and mask-smooth features. Away from the dim office, I found it hard to believe that I had seen that expression of revulsion. I looked for familiar faces in the rooms we passed. I was jolted back to the present when we stopped by a door.
“Physics!” announced Mr McIntyre. “This is one of our newest facilities. I don’t think Miss Boston would mind if we visited for a while.”
So, we entered quietly near the back of the room. Miss Boston continued her demonstration but the pupils turned around, and made no effort to get back to work. I felt excited and queasy – this was Ben’s class. I noticed the one pupil, who sat with his back to me. I watched him tilt his head and turn slowly around.
I caught a glimpse of his straight, blond fringe that almost obscured his intense amber eyes. He looked annoyed. His gaze was never still. I could see subtle changes in his expression as if he was involved in an internal debate. He waited until the Headteacher was ready to leave before he turned back to the lesson.
Mr McIntyre shepherded me back out, to continue our tour. I pushed away all thoughts of the glowering boy. I’d enjoyed the stop at Physics because Ben had been in that class. He hadn’t had surgery or bought contacts: he had spent those minutes cleaning his thick-lensed glasses. The lesson was probably crystal-clear right now! I grinned but also took a couple of deep breaths as excitement grew.
We walked through a familiar part of school until we reached the Maths Department. I was worried when we stopped at Room 7. I used to have maths there with Mr Jenson. He had given me most of my after-school and Saturday morning detentions. Of course, my parting shot had been the hair piece stunt. I smiled remembering how Ben helped me ‘borrow’ the toupee when Mr Jenson was washing (technically, his need to wash had been my fault too). Putting it on the flag pole had been very helpful really. I hoped Mr Jenson had moved on, retired or resettled on Mars but, sadly, I wasn’t that lucky. The first thing I saw was a slightly older face, under the familiar head rug, still droning away. I shivered as I remembered his taunts and bullying.
I scanned the interested pupils hoping to spot someone I knew. I saw Alison, sitting – I’m sure – in the same desk. She was deeply engrossed in her Maths problem – that was just her way. I smiled and some of my queasiness began to fade. I turned to leave but noticed a boy staring at me, his head tilted to the right. A speculative look glowed in his soft amber eyes – what …? I was sure I’d seen that face before, or one that was very similar. He couldn’t be the same boy because the bell for the end of lesson hadn’t rung. Besides this boy’s eyes looked less brown and more yellow; his hair was different too – it seem darker and a little shorter.
WORD COUNT 91,000 - in 270 pages
Paper and red pen editing
I cannot believe the difference it makes.
I had the first three chapters lying around - like you do - picked up the orange felt tip pen my son left on the coffee table and - began a revolution.
I've read others say that re-editing on a paper copy is a good idea but I never really believed it would make much difference - OMG
It is an totally different experience.
With my handy check list of banned words - was, as, just, feel, felt and any other words in their family - the editing starts again.
I want to write like Cormac McCarthy - streams of conscious thought - but I guess standard English might sell better with the YA market.
I had the first three chapters lying around - like you do - picked up the orange felt tip pen my son left on the coffee table and - began a revolution.
I've read others say that re-editing on a paper copy is a good idea but I never really believed it would make much difference - OMG
It is an totally different experience.
With my handy check list of banned words - was, as, just, feel, felt and any other words in their family - the editing starts again.
I want to write like Cormac McCarthy - streams of conscious thought - but I guess standard English might sell better with the YA market.
Wednesday, 17 June 2009
Then came the scourge of The Preface
NEAR ...... -LY FINISHED
PREFACE
The pain from the shredded skin, torn by the razor points on nature’s barbed wire – the thorn and bramble thickets – sapped all that was left of my strength. Gasping and shaking, I scrambled to the summit of the mound that marked the resting place of some long-dead, warrior-chief.
The pain from the shredded skin, torn by the razor points on nature’s barbed wire – the thorn and bramble thickets – sapped all that was left of my strength. Gasping and shaking, I scrambled to the summit of the mound that marked the resting place of some long-dead, warrior-chief.
I dragged shallow breaths into my aching, ice-scorched lungs. Time was running out and I hadn't yet delivered the warning.
I remembered Caleb standing with his hand outstretched – the intensity in his amber eyes and the longing in his wistful smile. He’d warned me that evil twined itself into his life. But, when he said he had to fight it, I hadn’t realised he meant that literally. If I had known would, I still be standing here, facing what I saw stalking slowly towards me, or would I have decided to give a different answer?
I imagined myself in alternate realities – each one different based on the choices I’d made. My mind agonised over questions while my heart found the answer. Certainty, warmth, excitement, and the knowledge that I knew the real him, enveloped me.
I smiled, and even though he wasn’t there with me, I reached out my hand to where I pictured him standing.
Then took a deep breath and screamed.
CHAPTER 1
NOT ALL CHANGES …
I remembered Caleb standing with his hand outstretched – the intensity in his amber eyes and the longing in his wistful smile. He’d warned me that evil twined itself into his life. But, when he said he had to fight it, I hadn’t realised he meant that literally. If I had known would, I still be standing here, facing what I saw stalking slowly towards me, or would I have decided to give a different answer?
I imagined myself in alternate realities – each one different based on the choices I’d made. My mind agonised over questions while my heart found the answer. Certainty, warmth, excitement, and the knowledge that I knew the real him, enveloped me.
I smiled, and even though he wasn’t there with me, I reached out my hand to where I pictured him standing.
Then took a deep breath and screamed.
CHAPTER 1
NOT ALL CHANGES …
Dad parked in front of the familiar redbrick building. Even there I could see that things had changed. Above the white stone entrance there was a new school crest with a beast standing on two legs. It had sharp teeth, a lolling tongue and limp front claws; it leered down at the visitors to school.
“D-ifferent!” I commented as I hurried around the car to join Dad.
“Umm! Mr Jenson’s ‘lost’ toupee isn’t still flying from the flag pole?”
“No-one ever proved I was responsible,” I squeaked but my footsteps faltered.
Dad smiled at me but with a steely glint; he put one hand on my shoulder to keep me walking forward. We stepped into the reception area, pressed the buzzer by the viewing window, and waited. A tall woman, with two biros stored in the bun at the back of her head, marched over from her desk at the back of the office.
Her unusual hair accessories distracted Dad, “G–ood Morning. I’m Simon Trainer, and this is my daughter, Jess. We’re here to see the Headteacher.”
She whipped a pen out of her bun and tapped it on the desk as she checked the Head’s diary, “Mr McIntyre is in his office. I’ll let him know you’ve arrived. Please push the green button and I’ll let you in.”
Dad and I exchanged glances that condensed his lectures and my promises to small, but significant, facial twitches. I pushed the buzzer and felt the lock release. We walked into the brown, tiled corridor and sat while we waited.
“Mr McIntyre will see you now,” called the assistant as she approached.
We followed her into the room dominated by a long, curved desk. We saw mid-brown hair and the jacket of charcoal suit as Mr McIntyre turned to reach into a low drawer in the filing cabinet behind his desk. He seemed to freeze for a moment. I watched him draw a deep breath before he swivelled around.
My hands felt hot and uncomfortable – a sickly, nervous sensation began to twist, worm-like, in my stomach. How could I make a good impression with the person in-charge of my old school records?
He stood and walked around his desk towards us, “Please join me here, where we can sit more comfortably.” As we made our way to a collection of soft chairs that surrounded a low table, he held out his hand to shake my father’s. “You must be Mr Trainer.” He looked speculatively at me. “Jessica.”
He stood and walked around his desk towards us, “Please join me here, where we can sit more comfortably.” As we made our way to a collection of soft chairs that surrounded a low table, he held out his hand to shake my father’s. “You must be Mr Trainer.” He looked speculatively at me. “Jessica.”
ps Happy Birthday to me!!
Sunday, 14 June 2009
Gave editing the heave-ho and spent another Sunday on research
My brain feels sore - I've filled it with the details of four separate books - the joy of research - the feeling is not a comfortable one.
I can't decide which one to write first!
I have decided to plan in the grid method but directly into Word instead of planning on paper in my notebook first. I'm going to update this as I'm going along because the thing I hated writing most - for submission - was the synopsis.
I seem to have decided what kind of writer I am:
I can't decide which one to write first!
I have decided to plan in the grid method but directly into Word instead of planning on paper in my notebook first. I'm going to update this as I'm going along because the thing I hated writing most - for submission - was the synopsis.
I seem to have decided what kind of writer I am:
- wander the shelves of three book shops and see what isn't there
- internet and book research
- plan onto grid format
- word process only
- first person narration
- simple past tense
- big on describing setting
- less detail when describing characters
- know the arc and how to twist the plot
I'm going to work on all four - probably.
No more than 80,000 words - this is a month at the speed I work at - 'it's all in my head' and all that!
I also wrote a preface for 'Nothing like as long as it was ...' oops!
Saturday, 6 June 2009
Still Writing - end of year reports :(
I'm not at my happiest - I set the target of doing my class basic tick sections before I was allowed to go to bed - but I forgot that if you're going to do too much Blog reading and responding time will not wait for you to get back on task.
So at 4am when I reached my set target I wished I had more self-discipline. But I was fascinated by the minimal number of responses on my favourite blog so had to research if any major social, economic or natural disaster had interrupted normal life and I'd failed to notice it ... all seemed to be as right in the world as it ever is ... but it kept irritating at my concentration, so, the task took a lot longer to complete.
Been considering boys' fiction - my partner doesn't do fiction - but avidly reads the other forms of narrative. This is what I'm going to look at for my next project 50,000 words tops - aimed at boys. Easy peasy........ umm!
Tony and his dysfunctional family (with a twist) will be aimed at the 8 - 12 middle school years.
Does it ever end - Blog Diaries YA boys
Meanwhile, back at the poetry department - I think you have to count it as 'arriving' in the 'Twitter poetry league' when the wordy-est poet out there is now following you twice. Either that or you're that un-memorable or he has some goldfish-like tendencies!!
"The more you have, the more you're occupied; the less you have, the more free you are." -- Mother Teresa
POVERTY IS a ≤ b
Capital thinking!
Socio-economic
inequality.
"One who has health has hope, and one who has hope has everything." -- Arabian quote
THE PLACEBO EFFECT
Hope makes us greater...
swollen like an indrawn breath:
a-void a-bubble.
Truly, I thought I wanted 'unavoidable' and was all but banging my head on the desk trying to make it all fit within the syllable restrictions - but ended up with 'avoidable' with pictures inside pictures and it turned out much more meaningful - sometimes you have to let go of where you thought you were going and have a look to see where you've arrived.
I have been 'hanging with' the philosophers too long!
So at 4am when I reached my set target I wished I had more self-discipline. But I was fascinated by the minimal number of responses on my favourite blog so had to research if any major social, economic or natural disaster had interrupted normal life and I'd failed to notice it ... all seemed to be as right in the world as it ever is ... but it kept irritating at my concentration, so, the task took a lot longer to complete.
Been considering boys' fiction - my partner doesn't do fiction - but avidly reads the other forms of narrative. This is what I'm going to look at for my next project 50,000 words tops - aimed at boys. Easy peasy........ umm!
Tony and his dysfunctional family (with a twist) will be aimed at the 8 - 12 middle school years.
Does it ever end - Blog Diaries YA boys
Meanwhile, back at the poetry department - I think you have to count it as 'arriving' in the 'Twitter poetry league' when the wordy-est poet out there is now following you twice. Either that or you're that un-memorable or he has some goldfish-like tendencies!!
"The more you have, the more you're occupied; the less you have, the more free you are." -- Mother Teresa
POVERTY IS a ≤ b
Capital thinking!
Socio-economic
inequality.
"One who has health has hope, and one who has hope has everything." -- Arabian quote
THE PLACEBO EFFECT
Hope makes us greater...
swollen like an indrawn breath:
a-void a-bubble.
Truly, I thought I wanted 'unavoidable' and was all but banging my head on the desk trying to make it all fit within the syllable restrictions - but ended up with 'avoidable' with pictures inside pictures and it turned out much more meaningful - sometimes you have to let go of where you thought you were going and have a look to see where you've arrived.
I have been 'hanging with' the philosophers too long!
Thursday, 4 June 2009
Editing finished - one more show on the road - still chatting to the i-Quote philosophers
Two submissions in five days - I feel vaguely dizzy!!
Major complaint though - 2007 reminds me of 007 (licenced to kill)
When you have 2003 on the laptop and 2007 on the computer (saving onto pendrive and harddrive) the saving doesn't always compute.
Now, it could be human error but I am over-cautious, about what is being saved and where to, and still some changes are not saved.
I'm resorting to re-checking the re-checking.
Either 2007, or I, will have to go - nifty layout, font and size changing are no substitution for having faith that when you spend time editing (the little changes that were hard to spot the first time) they are actually changed, and saved, properly.
Meanwhile, I'm having quality time with Twitter #Haiku
My need to be forced to think and write quickly, on a range of subjects, and without the luxury of wittering on at length, is assuaged by responding to the i-Quotes of the day in, syllable counting, form verse (5, 7,5)
"Friendship is always a sweet responsibility, never an opportunity." -- Kahlil Gibran
THE HEART'S FAMILY
Avoid heart disease -
combustive or slow burners -
friendships need nurture.
"To think that you are not going to fail is an illusion. Fail faster, you will only be closer to what you want." - Unknown
RELATIVELY SUCCESSFUL
To do is to know;
failure is an illusion,
take mis-takes and grow.
"If you really do put a small value upon yourself, rest assured that the world will not raise your price." -- Anonymous
VALUING YOURSELF
This is a gift - but
service and self-sacrifice,
also, don't come cheap.
"Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear -- not absence of fear." -- Mark Twain
BRAVERY IS A CHOICE
We don't need courage,
except when we love ourselves,
or something other.
"How much more grievous are the consequences of anger than the causes of it." -- Marcus Aurelius
WISE WORDS MARCUS
Although, it is true
anger's seven causes breed
ram-ifications!
"Hands that serve are holier than lips that pray." -- Sai Baba
HOLIER HANDS?
Detergent damage...?
Environmental stresses...?
Such bad allergies!
Major complaint though - 2007 reminds me of 007 (licenced to kill)
When you have 2003 on the laptop and 2007 on the computer (saving onto pendrive and harddrive) the saving doesn't always compute.
Now, it could be human error but I am over-cautious, about what is being saved and where to, and still some changes are not saved.
I'm resorting to re-checking the re-checking.
Either 2007, or I, will have to go - nifty layout, font and size changing are no substitution for having faith that when you spend time editing (the little changes that were hard to spot the first time) they are actually changed, and saved, properly.
Meanwhile, I'm having quality time with Twitter #Haiku
My need to be forced to think and write quickly, on a range of subjects, and without the luxury of wittering on at length, is assuaged by responding to the i-Quotes of the day in, syllable counting, form verse (5, 7,5)
"Friendship is always a sweet responsibility, never an opportunity." -- Kahlil Gibran
THE HEART'S FAMILY
Avoid heart disease -
combustive or slow burners -
friendships need nurture.
"To think that you are not going to fail is an illusion. Fail faster, you will only be closer to what you want." - Unknown
RELATIVELY SUCCESSFUL
To do is to know;
failure is an illusion,
take mis-takes and grow.
"If you really do put a small value upon yourself, rest assured that the world will not raise your price." -- Anonymous
VALUING YOURSELF
This is a gift - but
service and self-sacrifice,
also, don't come cheap.
"Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear -- not absence of fear." -- Mark Twain
BRAVERY IS A CHOICE
We don't need courage,
except when we love ourselves,
or something other.
"How much more grievous are the consequences of anger than the causes of it." -- Marcus Aurelius
WISE WORDS MARCUS
Although, it is true
anger's seven causes breed
ram-ifications!
"Hands that serve are holier than lips that pray." -- Sai Baba
HOLIER HANDS?
Detergent damage...?
Environmental stresses...?
Such bad allergies!
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