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.
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Camy
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Days Won
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Blog Entries posted by Camy
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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.
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I'm having problems divesting myself of crap. I don't mean that I have a blocked loo, or that my underwear needs cleaning. It's just that I have a container full of stuff that I can't seem to throw away. I wouldn't mind if it wasn't costing me a fortune every month, but it is and that annoys me a lot. So if anyone has any idea what I should do, then please, don't hesitate to say: sarcasm welcomed (I need a laugh), though bear in mind that a fire is out of the question as I have yet to find my passport and birth certificate. It's in there somewhere - sob-wail-gnash.
M sends his regards ... or he would if he knew I was writing this.
Ave.
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"Hmm," I thought as Rad Steven changed his name to RJ. "Perhaps part of my malingering malaise is my name. Maybe I'll change it."
Reversing the letters you get Ymac. Which sounded weirdly peachy until I slapped it into Google. Not only is Ymac an acronym for 'Your Mom Adores Cock', but Ymac.com is a highly dubious web site. So, In glorious 'ain't done nowt except think about it' hindsight, I've decided I like me just as I am.
Yesterday we went for a stroll on the beach. Shocked? I was. It must have been blowing 50-60mph, and to cap it all we got soaked.
So I wrote a poem ...
Musings on the Beach
by Ymac Camy
What is it about you
that makes me feel giddy
Why do I yearn to hold hands
you're not classically pretty
Your nose is too large
yet your lips are just so
and your eyes twinkle merrily
as your smile makes me glow
What is it about you
that makes my heart beat
Why is it when I think of you
my faith in life leaps
Why is it I mope
when you're not here with me
I love trudging through the rain
hand in hand me and thee.
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...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!
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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?
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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.
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Sunday. Sunday, Sunday, oh tranquil ol' Sunday.
The day of rest, so sayeth the wise.
Unless, of course, you've decided - in a moment of skint fiscal madness (and not my own, I hasten to add) - to 'do' a car boot sale.
"Must I?"
"Oh yes, it's fun, and we'll make money!" It's not that we ever do make money - or enough to write home about, anyway - but generally we have a laugh.
"Oh okay then. But you have to get me up." (minds out of gutter please).
So ... on Sunday morning I wake up, glare at the cat - who can sleep on, and stumble downstairs for coffee. Finally I phone him. It rings and rings. Eventually:
"Mmmm ... uh ... what time is it?"
"You were supposed to call ME!"
"Oh ... so, uh ...."
I relent and almost laugh. After all, I've had coffee. "I'll pick you up in half an hour, it's a beautiful day."
"Umm ... do you still want to, then?" Unfortunately, I adore going back to bed: especially when I shouldn't. And even more so when I can get up later and watch Formula 1! Yay! W00T!
A few hours later, during a commercial break, I get an email:
Dearest Emu, I should be taken outside and horsewhipped.
If you don't hear from me again, you can have all my equipment,
(maybe you'll get a tenner for it).
I am now going to disappear into the sea with some sad music playing,
(some of my own, of course).
Don't mourn for me, I don't deserve it.
Goodbye cruel world.
Lots of love, M.
Guffawing, I turn off the TV and drive over - thus missing the conclusion of, probably, the best race of the season.
Ain't love strange?
Sebastian Vettel won. At 21, the youngest ever winner of Formula 1.
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I adore Ywriter software. Or perhaps I should say I adore the concept of it, it's great, and it's getting better and better and easier to use the more I write. Anyway, to cut a potentially long and vitriolic self loathing diatribe short. YWriter has recently been updated to a beta of V5. Complete with warnings not to use it for real work! It's in beta, and beta is buggy: obviously.
So dick head here uses it to write a short story. It was a good short story, too (I thought while I still had it).
Grrrrr!!!!
Wail!!!!!
Hey ho. Back to V4, and a re-write.
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It's taken me an age to decide to blog here. Dunno why I am really, except secretly I like a lot of the people who hang here, more than a lot of people who hang elsewhere I blog. No names, no packdrill. Which is a very silly cliche.
I'm trying to be more positive. I spend a lot of time bemoaning my lot, and tend to forget that I'm really quite well to do compared with others, even though I only have three pairs of jeans in comparison to some who possess more. Then Jeans do not maketh the man. Broadband speed maketh the man these days. That and how big your laptop is. Under those rules I'm not a man at all as I live too far away to get fast DSL and don't have a laptop. It's sad. Very sad.
Why is it that it's always greener elsewhere?
Blog, blog, blog. I think that's enough for now. Oh. No. News. That's what blogs are for - on occasion. So: I've up-loaded six spoken pieces of 'poetry'. Which can be found here should you be so inclined. Performing is not easy, as you'll probably hear. Singing is much easier than speaking.
Finally (clears throat nervously), on this inaugural occasion I must thank the Dude. After all, it's only polite. AD rocks, as do those who reside here.
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So ... we've moved, and I can almost feel the stress seeping out of my body and evaporating ... or whatever happens to stress when it's no longer required.
For the last couple of days I've felt totally dispossessed - like I was acting in a film with a weird script, and over which I had no control. Most odd.
Now it's the cats that are stressed out. The poor things are going off their heads with angst. And because they can't go out for a couple of weeks, they spend most of their time slinking around arguing - or looking longingly out of the window at their new territory.
Back to normal soon, methinks. Possibly ... hopefully.
Camy
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Having got rid of the 'ouse, I'm in the middle of packing up to move.
Lord I have a lot of utter crap ... and it's so damn hard to get rid of. Which accounts for the stress levels.
I know that 'things' don't really make one happy. But I've accumulated them, and they're mine (all mine Bwahaha), and I want-want-want to keep them.
*sighs*
I've already taken two van loads to the dump.
*sighs some more*
I'll be away for a bit, and back when I can.
Cheers y'all, and apologies to those who have emailed and got no response.
Camy
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The point. Of life. Is there one?
I'd like to think there is. I'd like to think that it's not all for naught ... but I wonder.
The years roll by and I find myself getting more and more jaded. More and more meh. That's not to say that I'm giving it all up to join a hermitage. I know what I want to do, and I know that I can do what I want to do ... but the shear amount of effort required sometimes seems pointless .... I wish I didn't ponder. I wish I could slob out in front of the tube and 'hey presto' some poor bastard would eventually arrive and shovel me into a re-cycling bin.
Ho hum.
Maybe not.
... more coffee ....
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I love well made spoofs, and this is funny as hell. Sadly, you have to join the site - but do, it's well worth it. :)
Masturbation!
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Arriving home after a long, and very hard days manual labour, is ... just peachy.
I can go to bed - or stay up and veg out with the TV brain death machine.
Tomorrow, I can throw the alarm clock out of the window without feeling guilty.
In fact I'm free ... for almost two days ... FREEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!
Until Monday. Damn Monday.
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M and I had a row today. I was in a foul mood and flew off the handle at a meaningless slight. Then, much like Attila the Hun, I told him to go f**k himself, and stormed out, slamming the door behind me. I was incensed. Then, as I drove away, I thought about how he must have been feeling, and I almost ... almost turned back: but I'm nothing if not bloody minded, and drove on. A mile up the road the phone went off ...
... and all is well in the garden, Chancy.
We went for a great walk on the beach. Weather bleedin' 'ot, and narry a cloud in the sky.
I'm not good with rowing. In the past we've not talked for months, but now we're ... umm ... an item!? I guess I have to be more mature, and less of a kid about 'stuff.'
Camy.
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- 510 views
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'tis a beautiful sunny day, even though it started off with a frost.
I'm looking at this:
which is rather nice, except I'm trying to hate it as I'm selling up ....
... and I'm just off to play with M.
Playing with one's true love is ... well pretty damn fun, especially as he's such a good keyboard player. He's just got a new guitar, which I get to strum, and apparently he's written a new song, too: so that should be good.
The cat says hello, as do her Mum and brothers.
Ave, peeps.
Camy
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So ... I said I was going to write an entry a day. Ha. Stupid me, and more fool you for reading.
Umm ... It snowed the day before yesterday, then yesterday, as if by magic - but really because of the sun - the snow vanished. Amazing.
And now I feel I must go and watch The Simpsons.
WooT!
edited to add:
listen to this - Nick Cave And The Bad Seeds - Dig Lazarus Dig
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Lord, did I need a hit.
I was cold turkeying - a neat zombiesque dance I've worked out - all the way to the phone socket. With trembling hands I ripped apart the packaging of my new *free* wireless router. Fumbling in haste, I managed to plug in the filters and slip the cable home with a snick!
With antici ...
... pation I powered up and logged on.
Drooling as sweet, glorious bits and bytes flooded my system.
Sweet, sweet WWW.
Yep, with a new ISP I'm back ... oh yes *shudder* I am.
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Finally, yesterday, we finished shooting a video for 'Spring of Teal'.
I love Apple computers and their software. Final Cut rocks! All I have to do is log and capture the DVs, Sync them and snippety-snip. Easy-peasy! I'll see you next millenia, then.
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Yep, it's that time of year again. The end of October approaching Novermber and [drum roll] NaNoWriMo. After last years debacle - well, I suppose I was recording an album ... but that's no excuse - where I failed, I swore I would grow up, become sensible, buy a dressing gown, carpet slippers, a pipe, and retire.
I had a relation who smoked a pipe. Nice chap. My Aunt's husband. The thing was I hardly ever saw him as he was generally surrounded by a cloud of acrid, billowing smoke. So, I don't like pipes (bongs are a different kettle of worms). Pipes are just [shudder] disgusting, so that was out. And, as it's cold here in November, I already have the slippers and dressing gown. Wuzzly warm I am, too!
The bottom line is I am going to write yet another 'novel.' Notice the 'going to.' There's none of that wishy washy 'attempt to write' stuck in there. Positivity! That's the ticket! At least that's what it said on the back of the cereal packet this morning. Hmm.
My big problem is what to write it on. Paper and pen are out. Even if I had decent handwriting you have to send in text to be verified, and a copy typist I'm not. So software. La-di-da, software! But which?
Ywriter 5 is wonderful, as is Writer's Cafe. Page four is excellent too. I have them all and flit between them like a despotic butterfly. Frankly, and here is where the crux of my problem lies, I can't decide on which tool to use (not a word please, Des ;) ).
And now, now I've found Scrivener has been ported to windows! Scrivener which is supposed to be the dogs bollocks.
The very bottom line is that I have just short of a week to write a stonkingly great and stellar outline - the F1 Korean Grand Prix is this weekend, which sadly takes away a chunk of valuable outlining time - and still I can't decide on my implements.
Ah well, such is life. Any helpful, non fatuous advice would be most gratefully received.
Camy
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He might not have a feathered wing
But he loves to howl and pretends to sing
He tippy tap typed all through the night
For thirty days and it came out right.
Phew. Done, but not close to dusted.
Congratulations to fellow winner Bruin Fisher, my comrade throughout the 30 days. May your jockstrap never waver!
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- 713 views
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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.
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My poem 'Cheery Me' seems to have caused 'a bit of a to do'.
Cheery cheery me
Razor blade and morphine free
Can't take the final step
No one to feed the cats you see
I appreciate the concern more than those concerned will probably ever know: however, I'd like to state that though I've occasionally pondered the idea of 'offing' myself - and who can honestly say they haven't - I wouldn't. It's pointless, and I have way too much to do. I really, really want to finish my novel. I've songs to record, a boyfriend to shag (too much information?) and a life to live ... not to mention cats.
So thank you - you know who you are.
And to those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, thank you too.
Camy
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- 620 views
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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.
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Today I dismantled what is laughingly called 'my office'. In estate agency terms it's 'bedroom three, big enough to swing a cat - just.' My cats weren't keen.
I have/had two computers in there. One, an old pc, is no problem; It does what it's told. The other (a bargain I just had to buy - stupid arse) is a very large old server. I've never done anything with it except store my albums on its hard drive, and say to all and sundry whilst preening: "I have a network". Now, kind as I am, I can't seem to get it to want to turn on. Swearing at the bastard does no good either.
Anyhow - Long boring waffle short. I thought by the end of the day I'd have cleaned and painted the room. But no. Best laid plans of mice and Emus... *sighs*
So now I'm in 'bedroom one, large enough to swing many cats', with four computers, surrounded by boxes, and typing on my lap. I should - should - stop this blogging malarkey and go to bed, get up early, and get my act together.
Fat chance.
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