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Camy

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Blog Entries posted by Camy

  1. Camy

    A book for all seasons.

    By 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? :)
  2. Camy

    Time crawls

    By 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.
  3. Camy

    What?

    By 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.
  5. Camy

    Update

    By Camy,

    My hubristic outburst along the lines of 'shan't write a thing until I've finished a novel na-na-na-na-naaaaaa!' has caused me a lot of grief. So much, in fact, that I'm amazed I haven't exploded - or should that be imploded ... or possiby both?
    Anyway, I've given up on it. If I do, then I do. If I don't, then c'est la vie, or somesuch. Life's way too short not to write because I've been a tit. There I've admitted it: I'm a tit.
    -----
    Let me commend to you www.fawm.org. Lots of fun, and remember that if you can't twang thump or wail: songs need lyrics - and writers write them!
    -----
    Shock horror! I was tidying up my bedroom and I found a cobweb. Shocked to say the least, I was. Mainly because there were no spiders to be found. Lot's of spiders must have been partying, but narry a one in sight. Why? Where have they gone?
    -----
    I have in excess of a few part finished short stories that I'm working on. Proud I am of this nugget, but I'll be prouder still when I actually finish one. Soon.
    -----
    And that is that for the moment.
    Ave all.
    Camy
  6. Camy
    "I done gone and made a video!" the fool said proudly.
    "Good, good," said the cat, flexing her claws and going back to sleep.
    And it nearly was good. The thing is that making a video on your own is bleedin' hard. No nifty camera moves, no slow zoom in whilst tracking out. All of the cutesy things you can have fun with with mates are impossible. And then there was the hat's damn label.
    I was wearing a hat, and without anyone to point out that its label was showing, the label had a staring role ... or should that be starring. It's certainly there and very eye drawing. In fact it's all I can see. Turning the thing to sepia didn't help and then posterizing it was waaaay overboard. Oh well.
    So today I have to do the whole thing again. Bah.
    Cats are useless things. Love them I do, but they just won't help.
  7. Camy

    Muse

    By Camy,

    Having spent a couple of months desolate and bereft of the urge to write anything, other than shopping lists, it appears that my flighty friend, confident, and all-round blithering idiot, Muse, has returned.
    W00T I say, and W00T some more.

  8. Camy

    Muse vs WoW

    By Camy,

    My brain is being battered by warfare. Muse - bless his cotton socks - wants to do stuff, but me, I can't seem to get it together. I mean, here I am on the computer, typing. But when it comes to putting words in order that do anything close to telling a tale. Pah. So it's off to bloody (and yes it is bloody with the amount of poor beasties I've slaughtered and skinned) Azeroth.
    I have three alliance characters that I'm levelling (don't ask me what it means, 'cause I don't really know). One, a Human Paladin is at level 8 (whoopdeedoo) and is presently dead. My Night Elf Druid (level 5) is also, presently dead, and my weency Gnome Warrior is alive and kicking at level 5.
    Credit where credit is due: WoW is great fun, but the hours and hours I spend playing makes me feel oh so bleedin' guilty. I mean to say ... I want to have a legacy of at least a couple of dozen novels ... and an album or two, and I'd quite like to knock up an audio play as well. And yet. And yet ....
    What I really need to learn is WoW speak. The forums are ... well, interesting, to say the least. The problem is they seem to speak a language I don't understand. Here's an example:
    If anyone can translate I'd be overjoyed. Okay, so maybe overjoyed is a slight exageration. But interested, at least.
    I just have to 'say no'.
    "No more WoW! No more!" he said, sweating as Tealshy, the Night Elf, batted his eyes seductively with his 'come hither' look. "I have to write, don't you understand?" Tealshy pouted.
    Tum te tum te tum.
    Anyway, I'm in the middle of 'The First Term' which is a direct continuation of 'The First Day.' I'm not sure when it's going to be finished, but, WoW permitting, soon.
    Ave.
    Camy
  9. Camy

    Bloody typical!

    By Camy,

    A long time ago I read a book called 'Empty World' by John Christopher. It begins with a global pandemic that first kills off all the adults, and later, most of the children. It's the story of how a very small group of survivors gets on. When I first read it I was the age of the book's hero: a teenager. Now that we are about to suffer a real pandemic I find myself in positively the wrong age group. Bollocks!
    Much like the public information films about nuclear war that suggested we should loiter behind a door, under a pile of earth filled bin bags, the U.K. government's response to swine flu suggests that: The best way to protect yourself and stop the spread of flu viruses is by using and disposing of tissues and washing your hands.
    They have also come up with a very catchy phrase: CATCH IT, BIN IT, KILL IT. Obviously Hummers, camouflage outfits and AK47s are of no use whatsoever. Not that I have a Hummer or an AK47, though I do have a rather natty pair of desert camouflage pants.
    Still, I'm going to be most miffed if I sneeze myself off this mortal coil before I've written a stonking good novel. Hmm, best get started I suppose.
  10. Camy

    AaaaChoooo-oink.

    By Camy,

    If you've heard the expression 'dipping your pen in the company ink' then you're a better chap (or chapess) than me. Though now I know what it means. Thanks, Jason!
    I'm hallucinating and proud - which is, according to the doctor and over the phone, because I have flu (I opened the window and influenza). He said that the best thing for flu is to take two paracetamol every four hours and go to bed. 'Anti Virals?' murmur I, 'Not very efficacious' he says, 'though if you want ...?' I do want. I really do want, but then he's the doctor and who am I to query his judgement.
    Anyway, as I'm ill I thought you should all know in case wake planning is a hobby amongst any of our membership.
    Cheers,
    Camy
  11. Camy

    Interviewed by The Dude!

    By Camy,

    Sunday 11th April. The Awesome Dude Weekend Show No 25
    I was as nervous as a very nervous thing, Mick was Mick, and The Dude put us both at our ease. It was the first interview we've done and though I'm only too aware I should have been more ... umm, something, and probably less something else. Anyway, all in all we're ecstatic!
    If you want to know what on earth I'm waffling on about then go to Awesome Dude Radio and listen to the 25th weekend show. Go on, you know you want to!
    Cheers!
  12. Camy
    It's past 2.00am and I'm pondering if I want to get up at 5.00am to watch the last ever episodes of Lost. After all, Lost is a phenomenonenomeything, isn't it? Well yes (he says, answering his own question) it is. I was addicted to the first season - why do they call it a season and not a series? Addicted, and couldn't wait for the second to start. Then, when it did, and as is usual in the UK (curses to all responsible) it was taken off free-to-air and bought by that scuzzoid Rupert Murdoch and his Sky TV station.
    So, sadly, with tears free flowing, I gave up on it. Then ... eventually ... I got sucked into getting Sky and there it was: Lost. By this time it had become sooooo weird I had no hope of catching up, and honestly I though I'd probably be floating around a graveyard before it finally finished.
    Now, in less than three hours, the final episodes are being aired. At the same time all over the planet. W00T!
    But ... and here's the rub, am I going to struggle out of my beautifully warm and wuzzly pit to watch it? Do I really care that much? I guess it'd be kinda like having listened to the original Orson Welles 'War of the Worlds' transmission in the 50's.
    2030 at a 2nd Life drinkyoos party. Everyone's wearing the latest virtual sex outfits with additional length (though smaller is still prefered by some): "Yes, yes, I watched live as the end of Lost went to air back in 2010. Oh yes, I was programmed with the J.J.Abrams virus, too. Another iPopper, anyone?"
    -------------
    And then there're pills. I still have a full box of Prozac yum-yums, and haven't decided whether to start taking them or not.
    It's not a little decision, like taking asperin for a headache. And I don't want to make a mistake and turn into some sort of ravening beast ... or conversely hide my head under a rock for the next few years.
    --------------
    The writing is going well. There, I've said it. No more excuses. It's true that what I'm writing might end up being twaddle, but at least it's being written, and! I'm getting a buzz everytime I fire up the computer and begin.
    And that, as they say, is that.
    Will I watch Lost? Will I pop pills? Stay tuned for further waffle and possible updates. And if you fancy having a goog laugh then click HERE and read Jason's latest bloggy missive.
    Cheers, y'all!
    Camy
  13. Camy

    Miserable me.

    By 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.
  14. Camy

    Cat problems + Red House

    By 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....
  15. Camy

    NaNoWriMo 2011

    By 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!
  16. Camy

    Sharpened fingers

    By Camy,

    I've sharpened my fingers, pencils, and all.
    Determined to succeed: I shall not fall.
    The wayside of NaNoWriMo is painful indeed,
    littered with writers, egos, and need.
    Yup, it's the last few hours before the off. Actually, quite a few hours, but for an Emu of little bonce (ergo weency brain) the hours stream by evermore rapidly.
    I even know what I'll write! Sort of, almost ... nearly.
    If you want to keep in touch with my NaNoWriMo efforts, I have a special blog for it called 'Camy's Idiocy.'
    Ave.
  17. Camy

    wuz'appening.

    By Camy,

    I'm finally starting to write again, which is, quite frankly, an utter Gawdsend, as I'd pondered the thought that perhaps that was it and I'd shot my authorial bolt ... as it were.
    Now I know I haven't - or perhaps that should be 'think' rather than 'know' - I'm marginally happier. Not that I haven't been happy ... just a tad depressed.
    I went to the doctor last week and told her - I had a choice of a her or a him, and I think if you're going to spill your emotions to a doctor it's probably best to do it with a her. After all, hers are supposed to be nurturing and caring, whereas a him would just tell me to buck my ideas up and be a man.
    Anyway, I told said her that I was depressed, and swifter than the fastest swallow (unladen with coconut) I had a prescriptiion for Fluoxetine - which is another name for Prozac. Yum, I thought, cantering out of the surgery. Okay, actually I had no idea what Fluoxetine was until I read the leaflet and enquired of our Oh Lord Wikipedia what doest thou say?
    And then ...
    #shudder#
    ... I read the side effects.
    I'm still a tad depressed, but I'm not going to be joining that band wagon, thank you very much. I wouldn't mind a therapist to talk to, but as the bottom line is 'know yourself,' what on earth would I say? It'd end up being a very expensive hour of silence.
    Yours, most felicitously,
    Camy
  18. Camy

    Happy Valentine!

    By Camy,

    I wrote a 'poem' ... it seemed the thing to do.
    There are those I admire who live who far away
    Across Oceans and lands vast and stark
    Whose wit and friendship oft make my day
    And pull me from moods deep and dark
    So on Saint Valentine's day I'd like them to know
    Their friendship and love matters muchly
    To this English prole who would like to bestow
    A Lordship at least ... or a Duchy!
  19. Camy

    Happy Holidays!

    By Camy,

    Whatever you happen to call it, may I wish you all a very happy post winter solstice bash. Don't get too drunk, stoned, or whatever ... and if you do, then drink plenty of water before you crash out.
    Hugs!
    Camy
  20. Camy

    Me ... me me me.

    By Camy,

    I'm beginning to feel chilled and happy. The stress of the last year has finally vanished over the horizon - never to return - and it's summer! What more could a chap want? Oh yeah, that. ;)
    That's being worked on. *coughs and blushes*
    Ooops. I'm late.
  21. Camy

    J's Resurrection

    By Camy,

    I keep thinking about Jason's blog entry. I keep thinking 'and there by the grace of God go I' but that's entirely wrong. I have been there in my own way. Similar but different.
    I keep being told that addiction is a personality trait, and therefore genetic. In other words we are pre-programmed to self destruct. And I wonder is that right? Are there addictive personalities or is it just modern day psycho babble to excuse a whole tranche of society for misbehaving?
    When I was small I was a classic case of ADHD. But then when I was small that nifty acronym hadn't been thought up. I was classified as naughty: occasionally thrashed for it and sent to child psychologists. Not a sniff of Ritalin, or anything else.
    The one addiction I'm thankful I don't suffer from is alcohol. One majorly major hangover was enough to put me off for life. The rest (nudge nudge - a nod's as good as a wink to a blind man) I'd still be happy to 'suffer from', except for the outrageous cost: that and the inconvenience of possible jail time.
    Then there's sex. Can you be addicted to sex? I'd say yes. If you can be addicted to powders that change your mood, why not to the ultimate high?
    I have no idea where I'm going with this, so I'll thank Jason for his post and the thoughts it engendered, and stop.
    Ave.
  22. Camy
    I've got so much to say, but have just had a phone call. I'm always late, and here I am late again.
    The above means goodbye for now. Explain all later.
    Hmm....
    Camy
    PS 'Tardy Swine!' emoticon obviously required.
  23. Camy

    The Car Boot

    By Camy,

    Sunday car boot (trunk for those with a different vocabulary) sales have taken over from church as the place to congregate. Not only do we all worship the great God Mammon, but we either get a bargain or two, or make a few quid - depending if you're buying or selling. I've been both, but today I was selling.
    I HATE it. Hate, hate, hate it! Got the idea? It's so damn embarrassing having total strangers trawling through your tat.... But needs must when the devil drives, so suffer I did, with cheesy grins to all and sundry. Mindless gossip with penurious proletarian peasants. Not that I'm hoity toity by any stretch of the imagination, it's just that I FUCKING HATE IT!
    Then there's the guilt. Selling 'things' that my father gave to me.
    It was strange: there was an old (pre 2nd world war) small two drawer wooden filling cabinet. One person wanted to buy it, and yet if he'd offered me a fortune I wouldn't have sold it to him. The chap who eventually bought it 'felt right'.
    So here I am, back home. I'm not rich, but not poor. I guess it's better to make a few quid rather than chucking it all away, but I still hate it. There's another one next Sunday!
  24. Camy
    One of my all time favourite films is 1980's 'Airplane', which is now considered such an old chestnut that you can hear the groans of disapprobation from miles away every time they announce it'll be played; Still, I like it. There are two classic running gags. The first is the Peter Graves' Captain Clarence Oveur to Joey, the little boy: "Joey, do you like movies about gladiators?" "Joey, have you ever seen a grown man naked?" etc. The second, Lloyd Bridges as Steve McCroskey, the frustrated controller: "I guess I picked the wrong week to quit..."
    Well, so did I.
    ... um ... you probably had to be there ... or should that be here...
  25. Camy
    I've added a new category 'Claptrapish' This is for claptrap that has marginally more ... erm ... possibilities than straight common or garden Claptrap.
    Here's an example: Astrology. Believe? No. No proof; but it can be entertaining.
    http://www.freewillastrology.com/horoscopes/aries.html
    Aries March 21st - April 19th
    '"If you hold your dreams too tightly, you'll crush their little ribs," was the message scrawled on the wall of a public restroom I visited today. I immediately recognized that as excellent advice for you. While I'm usually all in favor of cultivating a ferocious devotion towards one's goals and desires, I've noticed lately that your grasp on yours has turned into a manic clench. Please let them breathe better. Give them some slack. Maybe tell yourself a joke about how funny you look applying that death-grip.'
    Totally meaningless, but entertaining = Claptrapish.

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