Jump to content
Registering As A Forum User? Read This Important Message!
Help Keep AwesomeDude Online! Donate Here.

Camy

AD Author
 View Profile  See their activity

  • Posts

    4,202

  • Joined

  • Last visited

  • Days Won

    3

 Content Type 

Blog Entries posted by Camy

  1. Camy

    Ice Road Truckers

    By Camy,

    There's a series on TV at the moment called 'Ice Road Truckers,' about the supply of sub-arctic diamond mines in Alaska. Because they are all well away from civilisation, roads, and the other side of a plethora of lakes, they have to wait until winter, when the lakes freeze, to get supplies trucked in. It's a two month season - then the ice melts.
    When I was growing up the one high risk high - reward job around, was working on the oil rigs in the north sea. I had friends who earned enough in a year to buy a house. Then it was South American construction, then oil exploration in Russia.
    The idea of earning $50,000 plus - in two months, appeals. A lot. But, having been to the Arctic, I know I don't like the cold. Hmm. Sooo tempting, and probably - if you avoid frostbite - big fun, too.
  2. Camy
    I don't get ill a lot, so I'm a really bad patient. I know it. I know it like I know the sun rises in the afternoon and sets when it feels like it. Also I'm told 'you're a bad patient' a lot when I'm ill, so it must be true. And who was it that first decided chicken soup was the panacea of all ills? Whoever it was needs to be ... severely reprimanded. Probably Florence Nightingales uncle - who was on his uppers and had a chicken farm.
    Fu-Fu-Fu-Flu is not what I was expecting the last time I smooched M. God, I love smooching M. It's just so ... nice! Hmm. Nice isn't the best descriptor. Nice is a bit lame, really. Fantabulous comes closer to the truth of it. Anyway, I've got it and he hasn't, which strikes me as being just a little unfair. Of course I can't prove he gave it to me. I could have got it at Sainsburys, or at any of the shops I've been in, but as I don't go around kissing cashiers at the shops, my bet is M.
    What flu gives me is time to write. 'Ravelled Lives' is finished and nearly edited, and I'm tweaking with 'The First Day' and 'Sancho Shima NaNo', so they might be up before Christmas, too. The very last short from November's insanity is half done, and needs more than a smidgeon of work, as does 'Worth'. Neither are going to see the light of day until they're ready.
    So that's me. ARRRRCHOOOOOOO!
    Humph. *splutter - cough - sneeze*
    Ave y'all.
    Camy
  3. Camy

    Meh 4,271

    By Camy,

    Meh 4,271
    Why are all my blog entries so ... depressing? I'm not normally a depressed person, but then I suppose there is no normality to my life any more. I feel like I'm drifting - oh for a boat - and have entered the doldrums. The sails are up, but *insert deity of choice* has switched of the wind. The fucker.
    Shoulda, woulda, coulda. That's all I can think of. And I'm sooooo tempted to pack a bag, and vanish. Yeah right. Not like it's going to happen. But the thought is like a lifeline. The idea that I could. Disappear.
    When I was small I read George Orwell's 'Down and out in Paris and London.' It's a wonderful, wonderful book - provided you're reading it with a full stomach, in a cosy room, with a warm drink to hand. I also read 'The Autobiography of a Super Tramp'. The idea is rather appealing ... but the actuality. Maybe twenty years ago.
    Maybe tomorrow ....
    I just do not know. And there lies the problem. I'm surrounded by idiots, but the biggest idiot looks back at me from the mirror. I should never have given up drugs. At least they dull the constant yearning for ...? Yep. The grass is always greener.
    So, I'm going to have another go at NaNoWriMo. If anyone feels up to taking part I can honestly say it's BIG FUN!
    Now, I'm off to steal a kiss from my beloved ... hmm ... take a kiss? Have a kiss? Kiss? Whatever. It'll be nice.
    Camy
    PS if you haven't read Jason Rimbaud's 'The Finale', then do. It's excellent, though sad.
  4. Camy

    Addicted

    By Camy,

    If you have an addictive personality it's unwise - nay foolish - to start doing anything that is ... erm ... addictive. Obviously. Drugs: been there, done that. Alcohol - though I consider it a drug as much as anything else - the same. Okay, sure, I have the occasional brandy in a cup of coffee, and I've picked the wrong day to give up sniffing glue, but that's my lot. Honestly.
    Until, that is, a week ago, and I found WoW.
    World of Warcraft is ... well, it's bloody brilliant!
    Camy
  5. Camy

    Backup!

    By Camy,

    Recently I've been somewhat miffed.
    The reason being: we lost a hard drive with a months work on it. It was a brand new hard drive and was immediately replaced, but that doesn't replace the music.
    Still, on the bright side we've decided it was 'the mysterious finger of God' that fucked us up, and the work we do now will, obviously, be much, much better. We've decided this because otherwise I'd have to kill myself for being a total arse, and frankly, I feint at the sight of blood - especially my own.
    So, folks, backup! Do it, don't think about it, just do it. You know it makes sense.
    Camy the miffed.
  6. Camy

    Blithering idiot!

    By Camy,

    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.
  7. Camy

    Sunshine

    By Camy,

    So ... I'm fed up with my uber whiny blog entries, and much as I sincerely appreciate all the sage advice and help proffered, enough is enough - until the next time.
    We have a gig tomorrow night, and like any sensible fools we rehearsed. I wish I'd recorded it. My guitar, which has had some problems with its pick-up, has been fixed, has new strings, and sounds peachy. 'twas a good couple of hours. But not as good as the walk on the beach that followed
    Don't ask me why, but the beach was empty. It's the middle of June and there's no one around except for a few poor souls fishing. Why do they fish near sewage outfalls, and do they eat the fish they catch?
    Walking on an empty beach with the guy you love is ... well ... wonderful, fantabulous, magical, fun, erotic, inconsequential, meaningful, and very, very deeply deep. It was sunny, the sea was lively enough to be interesting and there was no wind to bring up goosebumps. We talked and talked, and honestly ... I'm one happy Emu.
    'nuff said.
    Camy
  8. Camy

    Illogical

    By Camy,

    "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.
  9. Camy

    *Chilled*

    By Camy,

    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.
  10. Camy

    Too many blogs

    By Camy,

    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.
  11. Camy
    I guess it's time to come clean and admit that no matter how hard I try I am an inveterate pantser. It's one of the reasons I mainly write short stories and not long and rambling novelesque things.
    All that seems to remain from my outline are the locations and characters, their names and their descriptions. Everything else has gone out of the window. Good or bad? I have no idea, and don't care so long as I get to the end of the first draft: then I can fix what's bust.
    I think I'm enjoying 'Worth' a lot more than I enjoyed either of the two that came in previous Novembers. Part of it is that there are a lot of us taking part this year. All of which means precisely nothing - except now I've said it I'll probably end up hating the thing and giving up - not!
    Onwards and upwards!
    ---
    I HATE days like this. It's bleak, grey, and drizzling. I came to the conclusion a while ago that I suffer from SAD (seasonal affective disorder). It's a sad, sad situation (thanks Elton) so with the aid of Amazon I bought a thing called a GoLite M2. It's the latest toy on the block for sad hypochondriac pantsers, and I've had it for a little over two weeks, now. Umm, and I think it's working!
    Yay me!

  12. Camy

    Time zones

    By Camy,

    Time zones. I don't like them. They are there to annoy.
    I suppose I should be honest. If the world revolved around the time zone I was in I wouldn't mind so much: having to think about them would still irritate, but I'd cope. BUT having an editor who lives eight hours behind is just ... well bloody inconvenient. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't change her for all the tea in China (hmm...). Let me re-phrase. For all the tea in China - which I would sell and then be able to pay her a vast salary and re-location fee, I'd be daft not to.
    Ho hum. It's not going to happen. I can't see the Chinese being so foolish. Although saying that, one of my stories has been 'taken' and put up on a site that might possibly be Chinese.
    Anyway. Time zones are not my favourite thing.
    Neither are slugs. They keep sqidging through the bottom of the back door and 'frightening the horses'. Treading on a slug in the middle of the night whilst half asleep is not to be recommended.
  13. Camy

    Pigsticking

    By Camy,

    Today I hate the world.
    Fecking women who drive small Nissans and who think they have the right to drive down the outside of a stationary line of traffic, and then cut in. I might have been vaguely amused if she'd been pretty, or if she'd have been a he, and cute. But nooooo.
    There was a thread in the news forum (which got well out of hand) that strayed into the rights and wrongs of gun control. All I have to say on the matter is that, with fecking Nissan tart, I suffered a serious amount of angst which verged on road rage. Had I had a gun - concealed or not - I might well have used it. Lucky it is I live in the UK. As it was I so so nearly rammed her. I'm normally mild mannered, but today I came very close to losing it.*
    My neighbour's on the list, too. Shan't go there, I've just got my blood pressure back to earth. Git.
    It's lovely weather, so I can't blame my mood on Seasonal Affective Disorder. I'm tempted to pack a bag and vanish. If I could morph the cat into a dog I might well, but cats don't like tramping the country: especially if they don't have a hot monitor to lie on top of.
    Hey ho, and life goes on.
    Camy
    * Falling Down
  14. 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.

  16. Camy

    I want to cry

    By Camy,

    When I was young, until I was about twelve or thirteen, I used to cry a lot. When I say a lot, I mean a lot. At the drop of a hat. I don't think I ever cried infront of my peers and friends, but at home I'd be howling at the unfairness of whatever it was that was unfair at that moment in time.
    Now I can't, and I WANT TO. Badly.
    There must have been a pivotal moment in my life that caused me to stop. But I can't think of one specifically. I went to boarding school (where you'd rather cut your leg off than be caught crying) and I'm British which means that I'm probably genetically repressed, but I want it, and I need it, and yet I still can't.
    God is that unfair.
    </self pity>
  17. Camy

    Me and my container

    By Camy,

    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.
  18. Camy

    How hard II

    By Camy,

    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.
  20. Camy
    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
  21. 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.
  22. Camy

    Novel approach

    By Camy,

    'Harvest Time' - the novel I was writing for NaNoWriMo - is still unfinished. That's not say I'm not continuing it, it's just that the 'gotta get to 50,000 words or look like a pranny' impetus has gone. Such is life. I've also got other stories to finish too - including 'Bathtime' which I promised Cole an age ago.
    I've sent a short story off to a magazine, and am waiting patiently for the rejection slip. At least this time I didn't send a 'Dark Drama' to a SciFi mag. Duh.
    Cole Parker's 'Bleat Bleat Quack' is quite trying my patience. This bi-weekly posting malarkey is causing no end of angst to my digestion, and until I get to the end I don't think life is going to get back to normal. It also seems that the Raccoon is going to be visiting our fair shores. I've decided to avoid the capital for the duration, and have told my sister to padlock her bins.
    The Hub's new Anthology is now on-line. The theme was 'Voyeur' and there are seven great stories there. Well, six and mine.
    And that's it for now. Hmm.
    Camy
  23. Camy

    Gorgeous Weather

    By Camy,

    It's gorgeous weather. It makes such a difference to my frame of mind. I'm feeling quite perky, which is good for many reasons, not the least of which is, I hope, my writing. I now have so many part written stories it's not funny. Just to finish one would be a wondrous delight, yet I'm beginning to wonder if I've 'shot my bolt'.
    Virtually everything I've written has been written during 'bad' times. I wrote to escape the stress. Now I'm not so stressed I'm finding it really difficult to write anything. Dunno. Perhaps worrying about writing is going to stress me out to the degree I come up with a peach (I like peaches).
    Or perhaps I need to change my perspective, somehow .... Or stop whining and just get on with it. ;)
    Rehearsals are okay, but not brilliant. The problem is we're getting so damn fed up with the damn set. I saw Bob Dylan an age ago and never understood why he'd start playing a song - then stop eight bars in and start another one. Now I do. He's probably banished beds made of brass on pain of death. Still, a gig is a gig, and I'm much looking forward to it.
    I hope it doesn't rain.
  24. 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.
  25. Camy

    The world of Emu

    By Camy,

    I ain't blogged in an age, so seeing as how I'm in the mood I thought I would.
    I'm now past halfway in my NaNoWriMo tale 'Harvest Time', which started out being one thing and has now turned into something else. I still have faith that it will be a good something else, but who knows.
    That's the trouble with being a pantser. One the one hand it's like exploring a vast empty city - you're constantly surprised - and on the other you really, really wish you'd thought about it a bit before you set off, and had a map.
    I went through my 'work in progress' folder yesterday, and found a whole slew of stories that I'd forgotten I'd started. It was actually rather nice, 'cause I read them fresh, and with dispassion.
    There are painters who hang up a bunch of canvases, then paint them as they see fit. If they get stuck with one they move on to another - which is all very well, provided at some point you finish them. I feel similar, though I have almost too many half written and not enough close to being finished. Hmm.
    And then there's The Dude! He shocked the hell out of me the other day, by saying he wanted me to be part of the AD Family of sites. I don't have a webcam, so he missed the point where I fell off my chair and hastily dusted myself off. He also missed the dance I did ... which was like this - but for one:

    The cats told me it was 'entertaining'.
    Then - 'cause I'm a total moron with money, my bank hates me, and I couldn't do it myself - Dude organises camysgaff.com. There was a repeat of the falling off the chair followed a dance thing. Though this time cats stalked off shaking their heads.
    The best thing was that when I woke up the next morning, it wasn't all a dream!
    Back to 'Harvest Time'
    Camy

PayPal

Help Keep

AwesomeDude Online

Scan to donate

QR code
×
×
  • Create New...