And the Oscar goes to. . . .

BJ Kerry for best screen play.
Or best adaptation of a Novel to a screenplay.
Or any thing really.
Wouldn't it be the maddest thing ever to be in Hollywood today for the
glitz and glamour!
To be honest I probably wouldn't go.
I'd just film a message and have a GREAT party at home surrounded by my
(close) friends and (friendly) family.
I'm too shy to walk anywhere there are so many people with cameras and as
for wearing fancy frocks that you can't pee in?
Well thats a step too far.
Fashion is meant to make you pretty not cry.
I'm hoping Michael Fassbender gets something because he's one of our own.
Meryl Streep for being so fantastic everytime.
George Clooney just because . . . .
Well what do you think?

Death in many forms

I haven't been blogging of late due to a total lack of ideas.
And now that the weather is a bit Springy all I want to do is gardening.

I was pondering Chuck Wendigs Challenge re: describe your death but the
superstitious in me did not want to play Russian Roulette with that one.
Imagining it might just make it come true!

But it did get me thinking on writing about death, killing off characters.
How do people die normally.
What is believable, acceptable, plausible ?

Womens Christmas.

Nollaig na mBan!
We celebrated women's Christmas on Friday.
Its also called Little Christmas or the Feast of the Epiphany.
Its the 6th of January.
2012 will always remain special for me because it was the first time I had
a group of great women to go on the tear with!
(translation on the tear means out of the house having a good time eating
and drinking and being merry)
(but because we were all driving ourselves home no one was drinking)
(but being sober didn't stop a sing song erupting in my local pub)
It was great!
And I am still feeling buoyed up because of it.

And I survived Christmas.
I don't mean to denigrate people with real troubles and stresses to
survive.
However
Money is tight, tighter than its ever been but we had a feast on the big
day, bought and got presents and managed to do everything we wanted to do.
The kids were content with their gifts.
It means a lot to be able to achieve all that.
So the relief is palpable.

Also there is a real Spring feel about the place.
The days are getting longer, its a wonderful time of the year.
Better than Christmas in my opinion,
(no pressure)

On the writing front:
I've had a bit of a wake up call.
If I don't assign time to it every week and treat it like a real job its
going to be a haphazard jumble of ideas that never goes anywhere.
Other bloggers talk about word count and reaching targets each week.
Some people ask for time to dream and plan plots and story lines.
So what do I need.
1) time to plot
2) time to write
3) time to edit
Lets say I spend 3 hours a day doing all this and I do this 4 days a week
thats 12 hours.
Its not nearly enough is it?
If I could make that 20 hours I think then something serious would develop.

OK. Some Calculations.
How do I up my hours?
there are 24 hours in any day
minus 8 hours for sleep
that leaves 16 hours.
Of thoses 16 I spend 8 hours working (paid work that is) and commuting
that leave me with 8 hours
Minus 1 hour for walking the dog (I love this so it has to stay!)
minus about 2 hours for cooking and eating
so I should have 5 hours a day Mon to Friday for writing shouldn't I?
Shouldn't I?

Ah I forgot
-washing clothes,
-washing myself,
-badgering about home work,
-helping with home work,
-turning off TV and arguing with boy child and girl child about TV,
-meeting friends
-visiting relatives.
-trips to the cinema

All that has to stop.
Who says you cant wear 3 day old socks?
And I wear my hair like this cause lank and greasy is the new hmmmmm shiny
and glossy (?)
And washing it just takes so much time.

Happy New Year!

Or is it.
That phrase has been getting on my nerves for the last 4 days.
And. . . I know why.
Last year was one constant struggle on a lot of fronts and I really don't want to go through it all again. Unfortunately this is what 'Happy New Year' has come to represent in my brain.
Happy More of the Same.

With the best will in the world I am not in a position to improve/change things for myself or my family. Each year has melded into the last in terms of achievements and accomplishment. They don't make for inspiring reading.
I worry I am turning into some old farty bag who just goes around snapping at everyone in a state of constant disappointment.
Who has stopped showering and changing her underwear -because who gives a damn.
And whose own family stops having anything to do with her because she's just not worth the bother.
Sigh
Dramatic Sigh.
All this anticipation of the newness of the new year is just bugging me.
I mean if we didn't have calendars and newscasters to tell us it was new years on Jan 1st what day would we pick?
Today?
The first sunny day in February?
The first dry day (because it rains SO MUCH here)
The day we some see something in nature (the birds return, the leaves spring out of their buds, baby chicks,)
Ok so we settled on January 1st some time in the past and now we are stuck with it.
Today I noticed the first glimmer of light (literally) because the days are getting longer. And I need that bit of Spring in the air to revive me.


And so to the writing
This quote from Calvin Coolidge has often made me sit back on the saddle so to speak.
(and the one about eating an elephant. Don't know it? How do you eat an elephant? One piece at a time!)

Nothing in the world can take the place of Persistence.
Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent.
Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb.
Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts.
Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent.

Calvin Coolidge (1872 - 1933)
30th president of US


Seriously though when would you pick your new year?

Christmas!

And Christmas is over.
Phew!
Until next year when we do it all again.
Why is that every year I end up doing my shopping on Christmas eve?
I can't seem to face the crowds and the mania until my back is truly and firmly up against that wall.

The kids were happy with their gifts and seemed very contented - bickering at an all time low!
Hubster was pleased with his gift too.
All good no?

No actually.

Got the dinner cooked and nobody was poisoned by the 'frozen' turkey which refused to cook through in the allotted time.
Hmmmm
I took it out the day before and left it in the kitchen to defrost.
I expected one day (24 hours ) to be enough ........
however when I went to carve up it was raw so
We had everything else instead.
and a few slices off the outside of the bird where it was cooked perfectly.
So I re-wrapped her in her magic cooking bag and banged her back in the oven for another hour and she was cooked fine .
Only now everyone was stuffed to the gills
What am I going to do with 4 lbs of turkey?
Cold cuts to the visitors and spaghetti with meatballs for lunch yesterday and its gone!
just like that.
It was an uneventful Christmas
and that's how I like it.
Hope yours was deadly boring too.
Without drama.
We don't need drama.

The 'flu laid me low

And because of it I want to cancel Christmas.
I haven't gone shopping, I haven't sent cards and I have no appetite so Christmas dinner is looking dodgy at best.

In an attempt to get the old creative juices flowing I did a bit of surfing and came accross this article in 'Galley Cat' from 2009. So its 2 years old but I thought relevant.
The article that lead me to this one was a Bloomberg one called 'getting dirty in dutch'and was about the rise of Amish Romance fiction http://www.businessweek.com/magazine/content/10_31/b4189069953563.htm
While the article is judgemental and condesending (I kind of expected that) what I didn't expect was the analysis of each genre and how the interests (quilting and knitting ) contributed to the way the books were categorised.
What ever happened to saying 'I enjoyed that. It was a good story with characters I cared about'


10 Most Popular Professions for Romance Novel Heroes
In the upcoming book A Billion Wicked Thoughts, neuroscientists Ogi Ogas and Sai Gaddam studied thousands of romance novels looking for clues about social expectations.
After analyzing 15,000 Harlequin books, they came up with the most popular professions for heroes in romance novels. The complete list follows below–

what do you think?
1. Doctor
2. Cowboy
3. Boss
4. Prince
5. Rancher
6. Knight
7. Surgeon
8. King
9. Bodyguard
10. Sheriff

I think I like the idea of a doctor cowboy who is the boss on the ranch!

Warring Women

Immediately Lilah shuffled in from the cold she knew something was up. As she waited for her glasses to clear from the instant blindness that plagued her whenever she stepped into a warm pub from the icy outdoors she was deafened by the silence. Tom, the owner, was in his usual spot behind the Guinness pumps and Jane his cheery plump wife was not looking cheery at all.
Everyone was staring at Mary Crowley: the bus driver’s wife. She was standing statue-still at the mouth of the snug. An empty glass in her right hand. Ann Kelly was facing her. The front of her sheer cotton blouse shining and slick and see through where Mary Crowley’s Gin and Tonic had connected.
The citizens of the Happy Shamrock were staring, waiting. Ann Kelly picked up a half pint of Guinness and emptied it over Mary Crowley’s head smacking her on the forehead at the same time. Tom made as if to launch his lanky frame from behind the bar. The glass didn’t break until it slipped from Ann’s hand and smashed on the cold granite tiles. The sound of the glass against the floor acted like the starter pistol at the local point to point.
Ann Kelly launched herself at Mary Crowley, Marys large girth and short body made her a difficult target, Ann’s tall frame and translucent blouse were no match. Mary buried her head in Ann’s stomach and drove her back into the snug upturning two small tables and landing her onto the couches. Tom grabbed Mary from behind and started to pull her back. No mean feat, his arms are long but she has a strong attachment to the ground. ‘Stay outta this Tom’ Mary bellowed at him. ‘It’s got nothing to do with you’. ‘It’s my pub Mary, when you’re on my turf it is my business’ Tom panted onto the top of her head. ‘I don’t want to have to bar you. Now go on home and cool off’. Ann started laughing from her couch. ‘you’d never manage to bar her on your own Tom, there’s not enough of you.’
The whole pub started sniggering like schoolboys smoking in the bike shed. Lilah felt her face burn, her mother and her aunt at it again. Getting drunk and making a show of themselves. She wasn’t in school anymore but she could hear the taunts of the other children ‘ your mammy’s a drunk, she’s a slut, she can’t hold her drink’ they were right. Almost. Ann Kelly only ever got drunk when she went drinking with her sister – in – law Mary Crowley and they always ended up fighting – they were married to two brothers and were the best of friends most of the time. Ann always ended up with drink down her front. ‘That was the best part of the show, seeing Ann Kelly’s underwear’ Lilah had heard an old man at the bar smirk to his drinking buddy.
Tom was still trying to move Mary out of the snug area ‘your Geoff wouldn’t want to hear you two’d been at it again Mary’ he reasoned ‘go on home and sleep it off’.
Ann hopped up from her position on the couch ‘no way are you sending her home, she’ll get an earful from Geoff. Let her go Tom or I swear I’ll swing for you’
Tom took her at her word and suddenly released his grip on Mary who tumbled forward two or three steps promptly fell on to Ann and the two of them ended up on top of the couch like lovers.
A roar went up from the bar and the men began to clap. Lilah was so embarrassed she thought of turning around and sneaking out the door but it was too late. Jane was beckoning her over to the bar ‘Lilah love can you not get your Mum to go home with you? She’s had a skin-ful and that was before she got here at all.’ Tom stood beside her at the bar his face like an undertakers. ‘They must have been hitting the shorts pretty hard at the hotel after Eamons funeral. He was only a neighbour what would they be like if he was a close relative I’d like to know.’ Jane nodded her head towards the snug that was Lilahs queue to go and intervene. She’s been doing this since she was ten years old and it never got any easier.
She looked at her mother in disgust. Her short black curls were plastered to her skin by a slick of sweat. There was a dark stain across her breasts where the Guinness had hit her top. And there was a smell of sweat from her clothes. ‘Lilah my darling girl. Will you have a drink with us?’
‘Dad sent me, he wants you to come home now, its late.’
‘ah your father is such a fuss pot. The night is young’
‘She’s like her father and her uncle’ Ann Kelly started ‘too uptight to know how to have a good time’
Mary Crowley was having none of it ‘What do you know about having a good time? You’re so uptight your idea of having a good time is to sit at home knitting and drinking tea’
A ‘you’re idea of a good time is to sit on the toilet waiting to pee’
M ‘You’re idea of a wild time is to pee on the seat’
A ‘You’re idea of a crazy time is to pee standing up like a boy’
M ‘You’re idea of a crazy time is to take a dump in the corner of my kitchen’
A ‘That wasn’t me’
M ‘On no, well prove it’
A ‘How can I prove it? That was months ago’.
M ‘Did you DNA test it? Did you keep samples for analysis? Hah thought not.’
A ‘I know it was you’
M ‘No it wasn’t’
A ‘Yes it was’
M ‘Shut up’
A ‘No you shut up’
M ‘Get out’
A ‘You get out’
M ‘This isn’t your house its a public place I can stay if I want to’
A ‘I said get out’
M ‘Make me’
Ann stood up but Mary was too quick for her. She lunged for Ann grabbing her blouse and pulling her across the bar tearing the flimsy fabric as she went
Ann trotted after her grinning like a lunatic
Lilah followed the circus that was her family, cheeks burning, head hanging.
‘See told you we’d get to see more of Ann Kelly’s underwear’ the old smirker by the bar said.
Lilah emptied the last of his drink over his head. Maybe she was more like her mother than she liked to think.