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Camy

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Blog Entries posted by Camy

  1. Camy
    The tile says it all, but I suppose I should add more...
    Wales is presently wet. I don't like it, the cat doesn't like it, and the rain seems never ending. I wouldn't mind if it was hot, but oh no - winter beckons: no naked frolicking rain dances under warm skies for me. If I had any thermal underwear I'd be in them.
    ...and now the beast wants to go out again. It seems, like Pooh bear, I have a cat with very little brain... soon to be a wet cat with very little brain.
    I'll leave the ennui and existential crisis for another post.
    Ave.
  2. Camy

    NiaD
    ...and so, in less than an hour, I'm off for another insane bout of writing a novel in 24 hours.
    The cat's prepared - I've told her to help herself to food. I have beer and wine in the fridge and a tub of hummus for those urgent snack breaks.
    Now all I'm waiting for is the midnight delivery of my chapter brief!
    W00T!
  3. Camy
    Be warned: this is going to be angsty.
    The back story:
    There are three of us who have revolved around one another for a lot of years. M (male) - who is my partner in music, life and all; and B (female) who is my partner in life and living. I love them both unreservedly. They are my soulmates.
    Because of circumstances beyond our control - and hideously high house prices - B and I moved to Wales, whilst M stayed in Sussex.
    Late last month B went into hospital for a 'routine' endoscopy to remove gall stones. 3am the next morning she was in horrendous pain... an ambulance to hospital, where she has been in intensive care ever since (the endoscope tore a hole in her bowel). Yesterday, she had a Tracheostomy,  and for two hours I thought she was going to die. I've never been so scared.
    Sassy, our Siamese, is as frantic as I am - in her own distinctly cat like way. She's either stuck in my lap, or yowling because I'm leaving for the hospital.
    For the first ten days the hospital gave me a private room, which was a godsend: a place to sleep, yet be close on hand. Then two ancient Welsh women needed it and I've been flitting between the ICU, the car, the relatives lounge (like an uncomfortable train carriage full of miserable, sad, and often wailing humanity), and home.
    I'm so, so tired. At home I feel guilty because I'm not at B's side, and when I'm at B's side all I want to do is escape.
    There is a chapel in the hospital, which is non-denominational. B and M are Buddhists, I'm an agnostic atheist, and B's brother is a raving Roman Catholic. There have been a lot of people chanting and praying for her - myself included. Might as well: positive thoughts of any sort have to go somewhere, achieve something.
    The consultants, doctors and nurses are wonderful, though there's always the caveat of 'she's in intensive care, which by its definition means she's gravely ill'.
    Today is day 24.... B's heavily sedated as they want the tube in her throat to settle in before they wake her. I'm at home, cat on lap, feeling guilty.
    Such is life.
  4. Camy
    The vet said (not verbatim) 'As the nights are now drawing in she won't go on heat again until spring.'
    Stupid vet. I woke in the middle of the night as Sassy (said cat) yowled in my ear. Luckily, I avoided a heart attack.
    Sassy talks a lot. Siamese always do. But when she's on heat it's excruciatingly loud. Luckily, we live in a cottage with a very thick wall between us and the neighbour, and a stream on the other side. So no complaints... yet.
    She's not big enough for kittens yet. Next spring she'll be two and hopefully, if she's big enough, we'll find a suitably stunning stud poss and she'll have one lot of babies and then be snipped.
    Which brings me to 'Red House.' It's difficult, with a cat lying supine on your keyboard waggling her lady parts in your face, to write, let alone write the required daily amount. There are the odd occasions when there's complete silence, and it's wondrous! So wondrous, and peaceful, it becomes time for a quick kip.
    It's not been a productive few days....
  5. Camy
    I love my car, I really do. She's a little silver-grey Renault Clio and goes for miles on very little petrol - which is a boon with petrol at nearly ?5 ($9) a gallon. Yes, she's done me proud ... until late Friday afternoon when her clutch cable snapped. I won't repeat the words we had as I drove her (double de-clutching is a doddle if you don't value your gears) in first and second all the way to M's. Sighing, he then drove me home in a borrowed 3.5 litre BMW that was built when petrol was A LOT cheaper. Comfy? Yes. Expensive? You better believe it!
    It's odd that garages don't like to work on Friday afternoons. Or saturday mornings, either. So tomorrow I have to get up at the crack of sparrows and schlep into town. Bollocks.
    ---
    My first story in an age and a half is up. It's called Dearly Beloved, and I hope you like it!
    ---
    'Fringe' Rawks! Kinda like The X Files on speed with Pacey. A good first offering - though I haven't seen J.J. Abrams signature Polar Bear, yet. 😞
    Ave,
    Camy
  6. Camy
    Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck!
    I should be at 23k words and I'm only at 15k. This does not bode well. Not well at all. Still, one has to try and be positive... it's almost dark, it's cold, I need coffee but can't be arsed to go downstairs and make it. Dear lord, send an angel, fastest.
    I suppose I should resort to a picture of the cat:

     
  7. Camy
    Today, I've spent a lot of time berating the cat. She seems to get great pleasure out of waltzing over the keyboard. She also sits on it when I'm making coffee - which means removing rows and rows of odd letters. H seems to be popular, as is K.
    Other than that it's going well. I'm almost at 8,000 words. I'm hoping they might make sense, too. Who knows?
    Later.
  8. Camy
    I haven't had a flu jab in aeons, and don't know why the cat forced me to go.
    She's not normally that catty.

    Maybe she is; she is, after all, a cat. But I have to agree with her: We are all mad.
    Thankfully, I didn't vote for it... not that that is going to make the slightest difference, as the UK sinks slowly beneath the waves. 'Bye bye,' we'll say, and wave, with our stiff upper lips quivering, whilst the xenophobic fucks that caused it will moan that the result 'wasn't quite what we expected,' and bleat 'where's the nearest food bank?'
    The USA will eventually get rid of The Donald, but the UK has generations of misery ahead.
    Hey ho. We all have our blonde Trumps Johnson's to bear... or should that be bare?
    My Johnson's quite happy where he is. Asleep. Dreaming. No! Stop it! I've warned you....
    Anyway, to cut a long (but not nearly as long as Jason's) rant short: I had a flu jab this afternoon and I'm not a happy chappy.
    They say: The flu jab doesn't cause flu as it doesn't contain live viruses. However, you may experience side effects after having the jab, such as a temperature and aching muscles for a couple of days afterwards.
    I say: Bollocks, and ouch, and damn I feel achy and meh.... I think I'll take to my bed for a month or two.
    Ave.
  9. Camy
    I'm sad. Occasionally I think of stuff I've read that I'd like to read again. Yesterday I decided I'd like to re-read 'Carrots & Celery' by Karla Schultz. It was one of the first stories I ever read on-line. It's a sweet story that got better and better as she progressed as a writer (she started it at 16). She posted it to Nifty originally and then Gayauthors hosted her - or rather that story.
    I couldn't find it. After a fruitless search I eventually discovered she's left the net and had the story - and others she subsequently wrote - removed.
  10. Camy
    I've been thinking a lot about writing. Today I came across two bits of 'advice' that I found yonks ago and put in a box. Where I originally found them I have no idea. However, as they are worth pondering I thought I'd post them. Here's the first:
    Eight basic necessities to create a story - probably, methinks, sword and sorcery. Though they do adapt.
    1) one Hero
    2) one Villain
    3) one object they both desire
    4) one journey
    5) a couple of sidekicks (generally not more than 3)
    6) one wisened mentor (maybe a sidekick)
    7) one valuable (magical?) item that keeps getting mislaid
    8) one prophesy (or two that contradict)
    The second is a graphic that, sadly, I can't attribute. My bad.

    I hope this helps!
  11. Camy
    Like most people - or some people, anyway - I have been searching, nay, questing most of my life for the perfect religion. I've been hunting a religion that was a fit for me.
    I grew up in the Church of England (Henry VIII's personal (and consequently England's - it's nice to be a King) religion. Henry was miffed because the Pope refused to let him get divorced when he didn't want to off yet another wife). But as religions go C of E wasn't right.... Yes, there were nice hymns. Yes, I was in the choir for almost a month (which enabled me to be first in the queue for lunch). But no, it wasn't perfect.
    Catholisism I didn't try - too many strange frocked men wanting private time. Scientology was okay for the first week, but then they intimated that it would be a good idea if I signed my life over to them and, besides that, they wanted money!
    So onto Buddhism - via all the other major world beliefs. But which one? Zen? Too Zen. Nicherin Shoshu, where my best friend lays his hat, is... well, I tried it, but t'was not to be.
    It was awful. I was beginning to lose faith.
    And then I found Dudeism!
    It was an obvious fit, seeeing as how I hang out at AwesomeDude. But no, Dudeism has nothing to do with our Dude. There is (shock-horror) another Dude. And I have joined the flock!

    I am proud to announce I am now ordained as a priest in The Church Of The Latter Day Dude. But what does this really mean, Camy? I hear you ask. Well, being an official Dudeist priest, I can perform weddings in most states in the U.S.A.. So, if any of you are looking to get hitched you know where to come (as it were).
    It's good to be a Dudeist.
  12. Camy
    I didn't make it to the 50,000 this year, sadly. I know I shouldn't be peeved with myself, or miffed, or standing in disgrace in the corner: but I am - a little (not the standing in the corner bit). I don't like failing. It irks.
    It also irks that 50,000 words isn't actually an awful lot. If I were serious about becoming a writer I should be churning that in a month - with or without NaNoWriMo.
    Bum. I've been 'hoist by my own petard,' stupid git I am. ;)
    Ah well [snort], there's always next year....
  13. Camy
    I cannot, CANNOT believe that Coldplay's new album, Mylo Zyloto, has been knocked off the number one spot after only a week ... and by (god help us all) Susan Boyle. FUCK! what is it coming to?

  14. Camy
    Oddly, and even though I've been desperately racking my brain (shows what a weeny one I have) for ideas, AND I have ideas written down, I have not the vaguest inkling what I'm going to write. Except, of course, an occasional blog entry cursing my stupidity for even mentioning it in the first place.
    Oh GAWD! What on earth shall I do (he says, tears streaming down his feathered chops).
  15. Camy
    I'm trying to figure out what to write in November. It's hard, because generally I get an idea and off I gallop - which is NOT the way to set about writing anything of great length, e.g.: a novel. It didn't work with Seraph, and it hasn't worked for the last few NaNoWriMo's I've taken part in. I've ended up knackered and with a part finished piece I never seem to get round to finishing. Don't get me wrong; I think some of what I've written has been okay, but short stories seem to suit me better.
    Last night I had the idea to use this NaNo to continue last years effort (Hellion), but from another viewpoint. With that in mind I started to re-read it, and was shocked:
    A) by how fresh it seemed - well, it would as I haven't looked at it in months.
    B) by how many stupid mistakes I made when writing - missing out words, bad spelling, awful punctuation.
    C) by how obvious it was becoming that most of what I've been writing is set in and around the same world space.
    The upshot is I have two realistic options. The first is to attempt yet another novel - or novella, and the second is to write a series of short stories. I'm still not sure which to pick.
  16. Camy
    http://www.thestar.c...article/1072227
    So very, very sad.
    Looking back on my adolescence I find it hard to believe that every little thing was so important and so vital to my happiness. Whether it was waiting for a parcel that arrived a few days late, or a look from a friend that I misinterpreted. From walking into a room and thinking the reason they all stopped talking was because they were talking about me, to reading the cricket scorer's book and seeing that a really hard catch I made had been put down as a 'duck'. Life back then was lived superfast, and yet time also crawled by. And emotions! Emotions were off any kind of rational scale. Yet, luckily, I'm still here.
    I think that the proliferation of the internet, mobile phones and social media has a lot to answer for. Now you can 'out' someone without having time to think it might be the wrong thing to do. If you're an angry adolescent with a mobile - and adolescents are angry a lot - you can fuck someone's life up forever in under 30 seconds - and with a picture, too.
    We are who we are. I'm out if anyone asks, but I don't flaunt it. After all, it's nobodies business but my own. If I was an adolescent now, in 2011, would I be different? I honestly don't know. I think I might be. I might be in the gay soc at school - if my school now has a gay soc. Jamie was apparently open about his sexuality and the fact that that's even possible has to be a step forward in the right direction. That he was bullied is awful, but, sadly, pack mentality and bullying is inherent human nature.
    I don't have any answers and I really wish I did.
    RIP Jamie.
  17. Camy
    I've been pondering this year's NaNoWriMo and trying to decide what I'm going to write. What I want is to end up on December 1st with a finished 50,000 word novella, rather than 50,000 words of a novel I'll never get around to completing.
    I write short stories and I like to think I'm not bad at them; but novels are a different beast altogether. Novels require more than my skittish self seems to want to give. They require serious thought and planning - especially if they're good. Whereas, for me, a novella might be a good length to try for.
    I've just finished 'Spartan Gold', a Clive Cussler (with Grant Blackwood) Fargo Adventure. It was a real ripper! A page turner that kept me up at night. On the other hand I probably won't ever want to read it again because it didn't touch me. It wasn't remarkable in any way. It was true pulp fiction. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with pulp fiction at all. It's just I want to write something better. Ha! I should be so lucky. If I could write a good pulp novel that people couln't put down I'd be over the moon. But still I'd yearn. [guffaw]
    There's nowt wrong with a good dollop of hubris!
  18. Camy
    This Thursday, after a month and a week of waiting, we finally get Broadband switched on. And, supposedly, it's between 5 and 7Mb - which, considering it was 0.5MB at our last place, is like giving a kid a Porche.
  19. Camy
    Living in the country is very nice:
    I know this now I don't.
    The grass elsewhere is always greener,
    but move again I won't.
    Ah, hindsight. Suh-weet hindsight.
    The move went well - in as much as we moved. Hard work? I should bleedin' well coco! There aren't enough web-bots or admins to remove the expetives I'd like to write - or masseurs to ease my aching muscles. Obviously I'm not fit enough to live in a house with three floors, 'cause, duh, floors mean stairs. Of course, being avian, I've settled on the top floor. Pity I forgot I can't fly. Humph.
    I really shouldn't moan ... but I will. We ordered broadband on the 6th of September. On the 28th of September we were told that our order had 'become a ghost.' On enquiring what exactly that meant, the chap said the order had gone into a void from which it couldn't be recovered - ever - and consequently it had to be cancelled and then re-ordered - though he wasn't quite so consise. Apparently, what with the de-regulation of telecoms in the UK, these things often happen. For some reason I imagined him sitting around a table sipping tea and nibbling cucumber sandwiches as he told me this, and added, contritely, "we're very sorry."
    How sorry they are remains to be seen. I should be powering up my in-game lazers and killing monsters, now. Instead I'm not. QED.
    Then I run out of petrol. I haven't run out of petrol in years. I almost pride myself (I definitely would if pride didn't come before a fall) on being sensible and not running out of petrol, which, to be fair, is always a royal pain in the arse. Long walk, then I had to buy a can (pay for the can first, then fill it up and pay for the petrol. Can't I pay for both at once? No.).
    Then the next morning I get a parking ticket. This was midweek. The Saturday before, and three days after we moved in, we saw town life as Dickens must have known it.
    Just before midnight there was a HUGE row on the steps of the house opposite as the residents arrived back, drunk. Six of them sit on the stairs watching as one girl goes nuclear on her boyfriend - apparently he'd slept with some other girl and she had the photos on her phone to prove it. And they're screaming, and effing, and blinding, back and forth across the road. And she's crying and hugging him one moment, and shouting and trying to knee him in the balls the next. A bloke comes out to ask them to be quiet and she storms across and tells him to '*&^&*@' OFF! Sensibly, he does, but meanwhile her boyfriend tries to get away on his moped and gets caught. The inevitable end result is that the police arrive. All of a sudden it's utterly quiet, and the curtain twitching audience retires back to watch the midnight movie.
    Until yesterday, when I bought a data dongle to give me a little net time, I've been sidling around to friends houses where they'd roll their eyes and point me to their computer. They say the net's addictive and believe me it is. I've been pining, and not for the fjords. I started by tethering my netbook to my phone, but the phone company wasn't impressed and got quite upset about it.
    Sorry for rambling on, and many thanks to all of you who left me a poem in response to my last post: good they were, indeed!
    Camy.
  20. Camy
    Today I am packing my life into boxes.
    Today I am packing up.
    Today all I want to do is veg out
    but for that I am all out of luck.
    Fuck.
    I'm sitting here - when I should be packing boxes - writing this blog and wishing it was Wednesday. If this was a movie: the camera would be on me and the background would melt away, morphing into my new room. Sadly, I don't have a 'make Sunday Wednesday' machine, nor am I in a movie. Hohum.
    Can't loiter here, nattering. Gotta get on (looks around at the bomb site his house has become and a tear rolls gently down his cheek) ... or perhaps I could stay here for a day or two and it'd all be magically done (by pixies and elves)!
    Bye then. I'll be back ... sometime.
  21. Camy
    Along with a bunch of other worthies I've had an awful lot of fun over the last couple of months. The result is a book - initially an eBook - available in .ePub and .mobi (for kindle) from www.midnightdude.com
    Why? There are a shed load of reasons, but primarily it's to raise money to keep AwesomeDude.com healthy. Times are hard for all of us, and though there's a 'donate' button on the front page, we thought that as an alternative to a donation selling a book would be good. And it's nice to give a little something back to those that help. The book's not expensive, either, and you're getting 17 short stories and a novella for your wonga.
    AND, as most of them have been especially written for the book you won't be able to read them anywhere else for quite a while.
    AND the novella - 'The Summer I Was Thirteen' is by the our much beloved Cole Parker.
    "So what," I hear you ask, "is the price of this fantabulous, must-have-or-I'll-explode eBook? It's got to be $15!"
    Well no, it's not. It wasn't created to make anyone rich. It's just a way to support the site and give a little something to those who do.
    "$10? For all those stories it has to be $10."
    No. And it's not $9.99 either. I hate the .99. Why do they do that? I know it's to fool you into thinking whatever it is is cheaper, and yes, I get suckered in by it, too. Grrrr.
    "Well ... $5?"
    Nope, it's much cheaper than that. It's $4.99 and worth every last cent.
    "WOW!!!! And where can I get hold of a copy?"
    At www.midnightdude.com. But first, here's the cover.

    I'm really proud of the cover. Bruin Fisher took a series of photographs - all of which were first rate - and we finally chose this one.
    So, to get your copy of Midnight Dude: Selected Readings click HERE.
    You'll get:
    1) a zip file with the book in both .epub and .mobi formats.
    2) Many, many hours of happy reading.
    3) You'll have helped AwesomeDude.com continue to be the excellent site it is.
    4) A scrawny emu's thanks.
    What more could you possibly want for $4.99? :)
  22. Camy
    It's odd how we become attached to our cars.
    For the last two years I've been driving a Citroen Berlingo. I was given it, so I can't complain that it was big and slow and had a bit of a slippy clutch. Over time I came to love her (tear rolls down cheek). No, I couldn't take a Porche from a standing start - but I could fit all the bands gigging equipement in the back. Then, she failed her MOT (mandatory yearly government safety check). Not badly, but add to that a new clutch and it was going to be expensive (another tear or two). So she had to go (wail).
    I live in the middle of nowhere: transport is important, busses irrregular, and decision making re cars not my best skill. So I drove her (a tad illegally) until it was pointed out I was a bloody idiot. Truth slaps one in the face, hard (stinging cheek).
    Then, amazingly, I was given another car. This one a BMW 2.5 litre thing. 'W00T' thought I (wipes tears away). Berlingo collected for scrap and shiny beast sitting squat in drive. What could be nicer? Well, with petrol prices skyrocketing, quite a lot. Then, yesterday, I found out free cars are often quite nerve-racking and potentially expensive propositions.
    Driving into the local town and home - a round trip of 15 miles - the radiator needed re-filling four times.
    "Oh, yes, it does overheat," I'm told. "And by the way, sometimes the automatic doesn't engage for a moment or two."
    'Mmm,' I think. 'Lovely.'
    So I have a new free car and almost wish I didn't. Is that churlish of me? I don't know. Probably. But there's no way I'd moan. After all, she was free and has leather seats to boot.
    I just kinda wish I'd had the dosh to buy a small, cheap to run, thing, rather than having a gas guzzling behemoth.
  23. Camy
    We released our album nearly a year ago.
    Eleven months ago I sent a track off to BBC radio. Last week I got a reply. It looks like they're going to play it, and if they do they'll let me know.... I won't be holding my breath. ;)
    You live and learn. In this world of instant communication we seem to expect an instant response. Fat chance: it's really like dancing through amber.
  24. Camy
    It's been yonks and yonks since I've put finger to keypad and blogged. My bad, but then I have been somewhat, nay, frightfully busy. Yep, that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.
    We made a second video, which was erm ... yes. It was. Lo-res is one reason I'm not trumpeting it to the hills. Never again will we make lo-res videos. It's not worth the time spent. We've also been rehearsing 'till our fingers and tonsils bled and the studio had to be emptied by paramedics (name the film that includes the line: 'send more paramedics' and you can win a prize!).
    The weather broke today. For the last ten days it's been like high summer in the UK and I was becoming convinced that some universal calamity was in the offing. Ah well, tonights drizzle has slapped me back into place. No more praying at the top of hills waiting for spacecraft for me. Oh no! Just another 'English person waffling about the weather - they like that, don't they?' sort of thing.
    Hmm. Writing. Yes. After all, this is a site for writers, and in the past I've purported to be one, too. And I have. A little. I'm writing now, aren't I? And if I'm not then I have folders of the stuff to wax lyrical about. The thing is none of it is finished ... yet. Bleh. Mea culpa and all that jazz.
    End of waffle. Ave.
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