Kapitano

Abso-de-fragging-lutely.And what's more, keep a record of what's backed up to where. Twenty discs labeled "Misc" aren't a backup - they're a lucky dip.If you're anything like me though, you'll wind up with a hundred discs marked "Various", "Misc" and "Backup", and eventually have to spend a month doing nothing but sorting them out.Actually, if you can get one of those portable USB hard drives, you can back up each day's data before you go to bed. More convenient than burning everything to DVDR. I copy all my most useful programs to <a href="http://mozy.com/">Mozy</a> too.

I know what I'm doing on Valentine's DayI'm meeting a friend who's also gayAnd though it once seemed we were set to be loversIt always worked better when we were like bruvversSo we meet and drink tea and discuss this and thatHow we don't want to get old and don't want to be fatBut sometimes hold hands and feel sort of romanticBoth knowing it won't lead to the wrong sort of antic

He introduced me to his new boyfriend. At first I thought I wanted to take his new man away from him. The man was young and handsome, and they obviously wouldn't have lasted long anyway. Then I thought I just wanted to break them up. It wasn't fair that he had someone and I didn't. It wasn't fair that he was happy. Then I thought I just wanted to make him suffer. I wanted to take away the thing which made him happy, just like he'd taken away the thing which had made me happy - himself. Then I realised I didn't want to hurt him at all, because I still loved him. After a slight hesitation, I shook the new boyfriend's hand.

Not at all. Good to hear you've got such a romantic relationship with a good man.Oh no I'm not envious at all. You're sure? Okay. But if you get really stuck on the novel, it's not like you've made a blood oath to not try another short story till the muse returns.As with so many other things, it's nicer to have several completed short ones than one long one that doesn't finish.

I'm twenty. Twenty, gay, out and proud. I'm dressed to kill and looking for thrills. Single and ready to mingle, grooving and moving in the middle of the dancefloor, surrounded by thumping bass and flashing light. I don't know what the hell I'm doing. These tight white jeans and this shiny lycra shirt. They looked so good in the bedroom mirror. Now they feel like I'm just desperate for someone to notice me. One, two, step, shake. Bend, flex, turn. I'm trying really hard to look like I'm not trying - and it's not working. I've just started and I feel like giving up. "Hey, nice moves. Not see you here before." For a long time I can't think of anything at all to say. Then... "Thanks". "Great threads too." He's either spent hours to look like he hasn't bothered...or he hasn't bothered. But then, he doesn't need to. Plain white teeshirt, battered jeans, trainers. He looks good. "Thanks again. I'm a bit new to all this." He smiles, eyes crinkling. "You're doing fine. I'm Tim, and I'm pretty new myself." He likes me. I want him. I want him and he likes me. I can't believe it. I don't believe it. "I.... Um. Do you want a drink?" I'm forty and respectable. How did that happen? I'm dressed like my dad making polite chit-chat at a fucking cocktail party. The hostess is flitting around like a butterfly, frantically introducing us all to each other. She grabs my arm and pulls me to the center of the room, leaving me with a paunchy stranger in a bad sports jacket. For a few seconds we awkwardly avoid looking at each other. Then he suddenly focuses. "James?!" A different silence. Then a third. "Tim? Is that you?" "James, yes. How long has it been?" "Must be...fifteen years." Fifteen years since you said you hated me. And I shouted back that I didn't care. I still think about that night. Think about it all the time. "So. So. How are you?" "Oh, fine. I'm with that one over there - nearly three years now. You?" "I'm with someone too. We're thinking of adopting a child. We're very happy together." "Oh that's good. I'm happy for you." "Things seem to have turned out pretty well for both of us." "Yeah." How did I get to be sixty? When did I start being bald and boring? When did I lose it...whatever "it" was...if I ever really had it? I shuffle along the middle of the pavement, lost in thought, and it's some time before I realise someone's tugging at my elbow. "Excuse me but...it isJames isn't it?", he says hesitantly. "I'm Tim - do you remember me?" "Tim? Of course I do. It must have been...I don't know how long. How are you?" "Oh, same-old same-old." "Yeah, nothing changes." "Are you still with...what was his name?" "No, we split up a few years ago. Still good friends though. And you, you we going to adopt weren't you?" "Oh yes - we never got 'round to it. We spent a long time not getting 'round to things. Eventually we didn't get 'round to having a life together." He smiles, the creases on his liverspotted face deepening. I find myself smiling back. "A bit like me and you then." "I suppose it was. Why did we split up? I can't even remember now." I think for a while, and we stand in silence. "No. Neither can I." For a long time, I can't think of anything to say. Then... "Um. Do you want a drink?"

Are you sure you haven't been smoking something?I'm not sure it's possible to mainline glue. But then, I'm not sure it's possible to snort E. Or take a peyote cactus rectally.Maybe it's me been smoking something.Looking forward anyway to the NaNoCamyRhino.

Yep, we're definitely getting darker and more bitter in here. A very convincing and perceptive picture of the mind of a true sadist - the kind who doesn't want a masochist because that would involve trust and exchange of pleasure. This one thrives on breaking trust and gets their pleasure by denying it to others. The end was a surprise too. I was expecting the cocoa to be poisoned, but didn't expect Jeremy and Benji to team up. Anyone else want to write another variation? It doesn't have to be dark. Hot milk maybe?

"Good Morning." Nice pillow. Soft and warm, feels creamy and fat, smells slightly of lemon. I drift off again. "You look so happy there. There's tea on the table if you fancy it." Duvet. Thick and hugging, clean and safe. I nuzzle further in, grinning and mumbling before fading back to sleep. "I could stand and look at you all morning, and from the looks of things you could snuggle there all day." Nice pillow. His voice, not sure I know it. Sheets lovely and... ...his voice. Whose voice? Whose duvet? Whose bed?! My eyelids fly open, but my eyes don't move. "Oh good, you are awake. Drink your tea, then we can see about breakfast. There's a shower if you want one." The room is a burnt orange, black and white photos of old movie stars on the wall. The sheets and bedside table are white, and there's a steaming mug next to the alarm clock, which reads 09:34. "Um", I hear myself say. He smiles. He's wearing a red stripy dressing gown and carrying a second mug with a picture of Garfield. Straight greying hair and a slightly lined face with stubble, And I do know him. I...know him. The hair on his chest, the smell, the taste of... "Uh!", the syllable breaks out of my throat. Then after a strangled pause, "I'm not gay!" I'm embarrassed as soon as I blurt the words. I feel my face flushing, and I'm intensely aware of my nakedness. ...the way his arms felt when he hugged me, the lips that... He smiles again and shrugs a little. "Okay", he says. ...his fingers stroking my hair... "Um, gotta go. Gotta go. Sorry. Where's my clothes? You're a nice guy and all but I'm just not like that, must've been drunk, yes, yes not that I don't like guys who like, who like guys like that but I'm just not...thanks for...thank you but...my jeans, where..." I furiously realise that I'm crying. Crying in front of him, helpless and stupid. I try to hide my face and turn away, ashamed, pathetic. He carefully puts the mug down and sits on the bed, putting a hand on my bare shoulder. "I'm sorry", he says quietly, "I didn't realise. Was this your first time? You seemed so confident last night." I look up, somehow resentful that he thinks I was a virgin, mixed with shame that I let him see me like this, and fear of his hand on me. I'm angry at him for what he did last night, and angry at myself for letting him do it, and angry at him for making me enjoy it, and ashamed of myself that I did. I'm shaking, tears are pouring, and his arms are around me once again. Holding me, saying nothing, stroking my hair. Stroking my hair. We stay like this for what feels like a long time. Slowly the tension and pain flows out of me, and I'm left only with the sense of being with someone who cares for me. Eventually I pull back and he lets me go, but still holds onto one hand. I don't want him to let go, but I don't want him to know that. "Feeling a bit better?", he asks. I nod, and manage a rueful smile. "My name's Tom", he says, "What's yours?" I sniff and wipe my eyes. "James." "Pleased to meet you, James." We drink our tea.

Oh I'm quite sure there are plenty of rules, but:* They're not what the books say they are.* Sometimes what gets called a rule is really a guideline.* If breaking a rule makes a better sentence, it probably wasn't a rule - just someone's opinion.* They change all the time with the rest of language.* There are some occasions where what you're trying to write doesn't yet have clear rules - and by writing you're helping to make them clearer.And finally:* There is a difference between rules and personal style. Some teachers of writing get confused about the difference.

First of all...Elbow are good. Elbow are surprisingly good. Elbow are very good.Odd how we can say "very good indeed" but not "surprisingly good indeed". Hmm.They're what James Blunt thought he was, what The Beta Band could have been, and what Oasis should have been.Dennis Potter said "Elbow" was the most beautiful sounding word in the English langage. Tolkien said something similar about "Cellar Door".As for Tracy Emin's bed, it wasn't actually her bed. For the obviousl reason that she was sleeping in her bed while the famous "My Bed" was on display. An early draft of the "bed" installation involved the sheets covered in blood. So there.Coffee and flies. I like having flies in my mouth, and coffee is usually the excuse for putting them there. I bet you got that sentence as you were reading it for the second time.Do Emu's actually have quills? Do they have the right kind of feather, or is it just parrots?

Aww! He calls you "Emu". That's rather sweet.My ex still calls me Goat. And I call him Camel.

Y.M.C.A! Or to put it another way... Young manIf think you're like meYoung manIt's a good thing to be, I sayWrite itI am sure you will findMa-ny ways...to...ex...plore...gay...loveIt's fun to read his stuff!Y...MCA!I think it's gotta beY...MCA!You can tell a good taleYou can write a quick songYou can do wha-ev-er you feel

Kapitano's Usual Solution: Set aside a room and fill it up with the boxes. It doesn't actually get rid of any stuff, and it makes your home a bit more cramped...but it (a) saves money and (b) motivates you to do something about the heap - so you can have your room back.The Trial By Fire Method: Get a little bit drunk, and have a bonfire of every second item. If, through the slight alcoholic haze, you identify an item as really really necessary, don't burn it. If, in your relaxed inebriated state, you decide you can do without the item, watch it burn and have another shot of tipple.The Subcontraction Method: Find someone else to make the decisions for you about what to keep and what the throw away - and then lose their mobile number so you can't interfere. That way, when they've thrown away something you absolutely wanted to keep, you can blame them, not yourself.This method is good if you have a friend who you want to get rid of, as it garruntees a fight. So probably don't ask M to do it.Speaking of the lucky man M, maybe he could do a guest post on Camy's Thang?

I suspect the couples who don't occasionally tell each other to go fuck themselves are the ones who secretly plan to kill each other.You know how constantly being on your best behavior makes you build up resentment? So you wind up hating the person you're being nice to all the time? Yeah. Been there and done that.Of course, there are those couples who genuinely never argue. They're the ones who never communicate. I'm sure there's some flashy fiction in there. It smudges the make-up?

The leadership of a group often fixates on something trivial precisely to distract the membership from more important things. Also, a collective panic in the group and the isolation of a scapegoat can be good for internal cohesion. Oh, and it's not limited to religious groups. The story of the calender is actually over a year old. But it's only now the Mormon leadership is whipping up a fuss over it. Hmmm, I wonder why.

Ah, the Atkins diet. Or is it The Atkins Diet ™. or possibly The Most Remarkable Dietry Plan of Doctor Robert Atkins, For The Reduction of Corpulence For The Non-CarboHydrate Consuming Gentleman.Anyway, it is indeed a pain in the rear end, and not just 'cos it causes constipation. Mother and me were on it for a week together - a week of feeling ill, being irritable, and not losing and weight after the first three days. Now I know what it's like to have the same headache for a whole week.It sounds like a lovely day out. I could do the same things myself - having an overweight friend, a beach with sharp pebbles, and a flask for tea. But I won't 'cos there's also rain clouds a sewage outlet near the pier. Also very British.Oh well, Where's this fiction about flashing on the beach?

There are entire communities in India and Africa that live like that. They literally make their homes in garbage dumps - the only places they can afford to live. Life expectancy is not high. I just find it interesting that CNN presents a story about one person living in rubbish as a novelty, while ignoring the, shall we say, bigger picture.

My funky word:Abandon, meaning either1) to leave something alone without protection, or2) wild in unconstrained frenzyComes from the French "Abandonner".According to the OED: "Surrender to natural impulses; freedom from constraint or convention"It's one letter away from "Abadon" - Satan.It has no anagrams, though first three letter rearrange to "Baa", and the first two become "ab" - which is either "abdominal muscle" or a latin prefix indicating negation.An "Aba" is "A sleeveless outer garment of various forms, worn by Arabs.", and homonym of a Swedish pop group.In the 16th century literature there was the related word "Aband", with the same meanings.Rhymes with: Pandan (a Malaysaian shrub), Mandan (a Sioux language), Ugandan, Boundan (the limits of a cricket field), and Undern (literally "3'o'clock in the morning" but figuratively "the evening").Collocation: Abandon ship, Abandon hope all ye who enter, Gay abandon

I'd wager every one of us here has felt just that. And half or more have found themselves sitting with a razorblade, trying to figure out the best place to cut. Maybe more than once. But it's difficult to describe in a way that isn't bombastic, or whiny. It's difficult but you've done it. So congratulations, and thanks.

Piers Anthony, in one of his science fiction serials, found a way to indicate that communication was coming from some source other than human vocal apparatus - telepathy, creatures that communicate by touch, or by light pulses etc. He used "pseudoquotes". That is, symbols from elsewhere on the keyboard, pressed into service as quotation marks for things other than human speech. For instance, something like this: Not strictly relevant to the topic, but I thought it was an interesting technique.

You can be gay behind closed doors says BNP Well they should know. "It's not immigrants that are at fault here, never has been, it's the establishment, our own governing powers and their greed or their ignorance or their simple gutlessness to do anything about it," So immigrants are okay as people...but immigration is a problem. Immigrants good, immigration bad. So immigrants are fine, so long as they don't come over here. "It was an art film, not a bloody porn film. Good, then let's all see it. Not that we don't believe you or anything. Because you've never told lies before. "Anything to do with my past politics or my past work, I am not interested in commenting on." How convenient. "Some unfortunate people suffer from homosexuality so we will just have to tolerate them. If we suffer it's because of people like you. It's us who have to tolerate you. So the PinkNews is now interviewing neonazis. Presumably to create controversy, disguised as "debate".

Is that snow on your bush?Good to know you're finally getting to sell up - hopefully before house prices come crashing around our ears. And maybe you get to move in with the one true love and his keyboard?So you can spend the nights strumming each other's planks.WHAT? What is it about everyone here they've got to see smut in everything? Honestly. Congratulations Camy.

Yay! A daily dose of Camy. I always liked Troy Maclure.What? How many years has the simpsons been running? Surely he must be legal by now.

I can't see anything wrong with using italics in written speech, so long as they're used sparingly. As for capitals, they lack a certain "respectability", probably partly because some very bad writers overuse them. I can't think of the last time I saw all-caps used for emphasis in a paper novel, but it's common on the net. I'd say, use them if there's no other way - and you may well never be in a situation where there is no other way. So I suppose they're a last resort. Personally, I think italics are good for showing personality traits of characters, where these traits show up in their intonation patterns, and where it might be laborious to tell the reader what the character is like. Often readers like to work out the personalities of characters for themselves. For example: "Purple is just so last week" (Valley girl) "Oh my God! That's just fabulous!" (Screaming queen and/or fashion victim) "What on earth are you blithering about, man?" (gruff sargeant major)