It's always good to see the year end stats that some writers post on their blogs. They show just how much hard work has gone into each and every success.
Just as I'm always interested in the records of others, I love keeping records myself. And I love numbers - they seem to make a chaotic world more sensible. One of the best things about writing (other than having written, of course) is to fill in another line on my Black n' Red Ruled A5 book after I've posted another envelope.
My trusty Black n' Red has followed me around for very nearly the last eighteen years. It's accompanied me as I've job-hopped through countless career changes. It's seen the birth of my daughter (not literally, I didn't take it into the delivery room). It's outlived husbands (well, one). Even survived a number of house-moves during which I've lost many other sentimental artifacts. It was at my side as I pounded out my first short story on my Amstrad PCW and it's beside my IMB laptop now.
Between it's pages you can read the tale of my writing life. Each submission throughout each frenzied bout of writing over the best part of the past two decades is lovingly recorded. Each hit (28 at the last count - over so many years the average is dire) is detailed (publication date, payment received). Each rejection tells its own tale of heartbreak.
With the numbers at my fingertips, I'm very tempted to reveal my own current stats now that the year end is only hours away. However, reasons for reluctance include:
1. Have cheated relentlessly to get my number of submissions up.
2. Despite 1, haven't reached the goal I set myself at the beginning of the year.
3. My successes have cheered me up no end, but I do wonder if Real Writers might not laugh at them.
4. My failure rate might reveal just how hopeless my writing really is and everyone will know that I'm just a deluded saddo.
My writing life has been lived in short bursts with nothing committed to paper in the intervening times. Beaten down by life, by the time 2008 dawned, I hadn't written anything other than a shopping list for years. But 2008 was the year I was going to persevere. I was going to capitalise on previous successes. I was going to power through those rejections, submit regardless until I was being published regularly.
That hasn't happened (adds tentative 'yet' here).
So do I own up to my failures?
It seems like such a brave thing to do to cast those very personal figures out into the public domain. I think I'd rather run topless up and down the local High Street (would probably bruise my knees - things aren't as pert as they once were).
Monday, December 29, 2008
The Squeaky Wheel Gets The Oil - Suzanne takes on a major credit card compnay and wins a small victory
This probably goes under the heading of 'too much information', but the only people who read this and know who I am are already aware of my situation. For anyone else out there, the information may prove useful, so, here goes...
For reasons I won't go into here, credit cards have been a necessary evil in my life for the past few years (and no, I didn't spend the money on chocolate).
It's all part of a long-term plan and, although it's an expensive way to borrow, I always knew exactly what I was getting into and exactly when I would pay off the balance.
Recently though - and especially in view of the current base rate - I've been appalled at the APR charged on my account. I know this is a variable rate, and I know that the banks have decided the base rate has nothing whatsoever to do with credit cards (as was pointed out to me this morning by a call operator named Liz) but it seems obscene that banks carry on charging whatever they like.
Today, I decided that I'd had enough. The big, bad bankers can't have it all their own way. So I phoned and put my case forward.
It took 15 minutes, a couple of threats to move my debt to another card company, several pointed remarks reiterating what a good customer I am (always pay on time, but never pay off the balance in full), a request to speak to a supervisor and a mention of the Financial Ombudsman but they eventually lowered my APR by 3 percentage points.
A small victory, but it means I'll pay off my balance that much sooner. Anybody else in a similar position should phone their credit card company at once and ask to have their interest rate reduced. Make a fuss. Make a noise. At the very least it's worth a try.
For reasons I won't go into here, credit cards have been a necessary evil in my life for the past few years (and no, I didn't spend the money on chocolate).
It's all part of a long-term plan and, although it's an expensive way to borrow, I always knew exactly what I was getting into and exactly when I would pay off the balance.
Recently though - and especially in view of the current base rate - I've been appalled at the APR charged on my account. I know this is a variable rate, and I know that the banks have decided the base rate has nothing whatsoever to do with credit cards (as was pointed out to me this morning by a call operator named Liz) but it seems obscene that banks carry on charging whatever they like.
Today, I decided that I'd had enough. The big, bad bankers can't have it all their own way. So I phoned and put my case forward.
It took 15 minutes, a couple of threats to move my debt to another card company, several pointed remarks reiterating what a good customer I am (always pay on time, but never pay off the balance in full), a request to speak to a supervisor and a mention of the Financial Ombudsman but they eventually lowered my APR by 3 percentage points.
A small victory, but it means I'll pay off my balance that much sooner. Anybody else in a similar position should phone their credit card company at once and ask to have their interest rate reduced. Make a fuss. Make a noise. At the very least it's worth a try.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Boxing Day Madness
Under normal circumstances, I would amble to the sales in the final few days and pick up a few half price items. This year, though, in a brutal attempt at budgeting, I've decided to give the sales a miss altogether.
It seems I'm alone.
From reports in the news, it's obvious that most of the country has decided to do the opposite. Not only have they gone to the sales, but they've positively embraced the experience.
What's happened to the promised recession? Why isn't the public conserving cash in these hard times?
In Aberdeen, people queued from 3am (that's THREE am) on Boxing Day morning in order to secure those bargains. Personally, I'd rather go without than force myself out of my warm bed into the freezing cold to huddle with hundreds of strangers on a damp pavement.
Food shopping is enough of a chore. Along with about 50 others, I made it to Marks and Spencer's Food Hall for when they opened at 8am last Tuesday. It was hell - grumpy people pushing and shoving, and I still have a rather impressive bruise on the back of my leg from someone else's trolley. This trip was necessary - if I hadn't gone we'd have had nothing to eat over Christmas.
You may have guessed that shopping doesn't feature on my list of favourite activities (unless it's for books).
As I read these reports of successful bargain hunters, though, something happened. Despite my aversion to crowds and cold mornings, my serious lack of funds and the knowledge that if I had braved the Boxing Day sales I would have loathed every second - I began to think that I was missing out on something.
The shoppers all seem so jolly. It was almost as though they'd had a great time at a party that I hadn't even been invited to.
It seems I'm alone.
From reports in the news, it's obvious that most of the country has decided to do the opposite. Not only have they gone to the sales, but they've positively embraced the experience.
What's happened to the promised recession? Why isn't the public conserving cash in these hard times?
In Aberdeen, people queued from 3am (that's THREE am) on Boxing Day morning in order to secure those bargains. Personally, I'd rather go without than force myself out of my warm bed into the freezing cold to huddle with hundreds of strangers on a damp pavement.
Food shopping is enough of a chore. Along with about 50 others, I made it to Marks and Spencer's Food Hall for when they opened at 8am last Tuesday. It was hell - grumpy people pushing and shoving, and I still have a rather impressive bruise on the back of my leg from someone else's trolley. This trip was necessary - if I hadn't gone we'd have had nothing to eat over Christmas.
You may have guessed that shopping doesn't feature on my list of favourite activities (unless it's for books).
As I read these reports of successful bargain hunters, though, something happened. Despite my aversion to crowds and cold mornings, my serious lack of funds and the knowledge that if I had braved the Boxing Day sales I would have loathed every second - I began to think that I was missing out on something.
The shoppers all seem so jolly. It was almost as though they'd had a great time at a party that I hadn't even been invited to.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Rejections and paperclips...
One near miss and one outright rejection this week.
The near miss arrived on Saturday. Enclosed was a detailed letter from the fiction editor suggesting how I might rewrite and an invitation to submit more stories directly to her. Have decided to look on that as a very big positive.
The outright rejection arrived today - and a Merry Christmas to you too. It turned up sooner than expected - this magazine normally keeps stories for anything up to six months. They were obviously clearing their decks in readiness for all the writers who will by submitting in January as part of their New Year's Resolutions (either that or my story was such a load of rubbish they couldn't wait to get rid of it).
The odd thing about this second magazine is that they always keep my paperclips. Don't get me wrong, I don't particularly mind (in fact, if it would help my case I'd send them a box full - am not above blatant bribery) I just wonder if mine are the only ones they keep? And if not, what do they do with all of them? Have visions of the editorial staff drowning in a sea of metal.
The near miss arrived on Saturday. Enclosed was a detailed letter from the fiction editor suggesting how I might rewrite and an invitation to submit more stories directly to her. Have decided to look on that as a very big positive.
The outright rejection arrived today - and a Merry Christmas to you too. It turned up sooner than expected - this magazine normally keeps stories for anything up to six months. They were obviously clearing their decks in readiness for all the writers who will by submitting in January as part of their New Year's Resolutions (either that or my story was such a load of rubbish they couldn't wait to get rid of it).
The odd thing about this second magazine is that they always keep my paperclips. Don't get me wrong, I don't particularly mind (in fact, if it would help my case I'd send them a box full - am not above blatant bribery) I just wonder if mine are the only ones they keep? And if not, what do they do with all of them? Have visions of the editorial staff drowning in a sea of metal.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Now Wash Your Hands – A Rant Against Sharing The Planet With Other People
I hate public toilets. I only use them when there’s no alternative. Even if they look clean I never sit on the seat – I hover (as do as many of my female friends as I’ve questioned on the subject). This is apparently not good for health as the female bladder doesn’t empty properly in this position (ew, too much information?). However, on balance I’ve decided that this is preferable to picking up goodness only knows what germs.
And germs are what it all boils down to.
Or, to be exact, other people’s germs.
Mindful that unwashed hands will have touched the door lock of the cubicle and the tap I try not to touch any part of the fixture or fittings of a public toilet with my bare hands. I employ copious amounts of tissue to cover my hand before I lock the cubicle door, more before I flush the loo, another couple of sheets to unlock the door, more to turn on the tap, to squish soap out of the dispenser and then still more tissues to turn off the water. Finally, yet more tissues so that I don’t have to touch the door on the way out.
All very hygienic (if not particularly green – but my visits to public loos are few and far between, so really very few trees are massacred).
But maybe just a bit excessive? Why would I worry about germs on the door handle on the way out? Surely all hands that touch this will have been thoroughly washed and scrubbed squeaky clean using warm, soapy water?
You would think.
Outrageously I’ve witnessed countless women leave their cubicles - having presumably conducted their business - and waltz straight out (with perhaps a quick glance at the mirror – after all, appearances must be kept up). They fail to venture anywhere near the sinks.
Being a ‘laydee’ I can only comment on the female perpetrators of this crime against all that’s decent.
The germs left lingering on those hands must go somewhere. The question is where? Everything that person touches until the next time they wash their hands will be contaminated.
Just the thought makes me cringe. I’m left not wanting to touch anything anywhere unless I’m wearing gloves – and even then I want to burn those gloves as soon as I get home.
Some might think I’m obsessive/compulsive, but it’s a valid fear. The spread of superbugs in hospitals has been attributed in part to the lack of hand washing that goes on.
When did hand washing go out of fashion?
Why isn’t it cool to be clean?
With a new 'flu epidemic promised, perhaps it's time to start a new hand washing campaign.
And germs are what it all boils down to.
Or, to be exact, other people’s germs.
Mindful that unwashed hands will have touched the door lock of the cubicle and the tap I try not to touch any part of the fixture or fittings of a public toilet with my bare hands. I employ copious amounts of tissue to cover my hand before I lock the cubicle door, more before I flush the loo, another couple of sheets to unlock the door, more to turn on the tap, to squish soap out of the dispenser and then still more tissues to turn off the water. Finally, yet more tissues so that I don’t have to touch the door on the way out.
All very hygienic (if not particularly green – but my visits to public loos are few and far between, so really very few trees are massacred).
But maybe just a bit excessive? Why would I worry about germs on the door handle on the way out? Surely all hands that touch this will have been thoroughly washed and scrubbed squeaky clean using warm, soapy water?
You would think.
Outrageously I’ve witnessed countless women leave their cubicles - having presumably conducted their business - and waltz straight out (with perhaps a quick glance at the mirror – after all, appearances must be kept up). They fail to venture anywhere near the sinks.
Being a ‘laydee’ I can only comment on the female perpetrators of this crime against all that’s decent.
The germs left lingering on those hands must go somewhere. The question is where? Everything that person touches until the next time they wash their hands will be contaminated.
Just the thought makes me cringe. I’m left not wanting to touch anything anywhere unless I’m wearing gloves – and even then I want to burn those gloves as soon as I get home.
Some might think I’m obsessive/compulsive, but it’s a valid fear. The spread of superbugs in hospitals has been attributed in part to the lack of hand washing that goes on.
When did hand washing go out of fashion?
Why isn’t it cool to be clean?
With a new 'flu epidemic promised, perhaps it's time to start a new hand washing campaign.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Romantic Novelists' Association
I'm sure that writers of romance all know that the Romantic Novelists' Association offers great support to unpublished writers - mainly in the form of the New Writers' Scheme. Under this scheme, published writers critique a novel submitted by unpublished members.
Last year I got a terrifically helpful report back - detailed suggestions of how to improve my story, along with oodles of encouragement and praise. Okay, I was hoping not to have so many changes (in fact,if I'm honest, I had hoped my story was of publishable standard), but once I'd read the report I could see weaknesses that hadn't been evident before. Isn't it strange how flaws are bleeding obvious once they've been pointed out by an expert?
I've left the story to stew for a few months and intend to start another draft (with the suggestions for improvements in mind) in the new year. The plan being to resubmit to the RNA next year.
Obviously, I need to renew my subscription to do this.
My eagerly awaited renewal form arrived last week - along with a warning that applications will only be accepted from 1st January. Not a huge problem until you consider that places are limited, so everyone will be trying to get their forms in for the same date. They've done this in an attempt to give everyone a fair chance, but an added complication is that in Scotland (where I live) EVERYTHING closes for two days at the new year - so no postal collection until the 3rd.
Applications arriving early will be disqualified, so my only chance is to post on the 31st December in the hope that the Post Office workers won't have started the party early and will be collecting as normal. I'll also have to hope for a good wind to hurry my envelope across the border before midnight.
I won't sleep now until I know if I've been accepted (I find that fretting about the less worrying things takes my mind off the big problems).
Last year I got a terrifically helpful report back - detailed suggestions of how to improve my story, along with oodles of encouragement and praise. Okay, I was hoping not to have so many changes (in fact,if I'm honest, I had hoped my story was of publishable standard), but once I'd read the report I could see weaknesses that hadn't been evident before. Isn't it strange how flaws are bleeding obvious once they've been pointed out by an expert?
I've left the story to stew for a few months and intend to start another draft (with the suggestions for improvements in mind) in the new year. The plan being to resubmit to the RNA next year.
Obviously, I need to renew my subscription to do this.
My eagerly awaited renewal form arrived last week - along with a warning that applications will only be accepted from 1st January. Not a huge problem until you consider that places are limited, so everyone will be trying to get their forms in for the same date. They've done this in an attempt to give everyone a fair chance, but an added complication is that in Scotland (where I live) EVERYTHING closes for two days at the new year - so no postal collection until the 3rd.
Applications arriving early will be disqualified, so my only chance is to post on the 31st December in the hope that the Post Office workers won't have started the party early and will be collecting as normal. I'll also have to hope for a good wind to hurry my envelope across the border before midnight.
I won't sleep now until I know if I've been accepted (I find that fretting about the less worrying things takes my mind off the big problems).
Hunk of the Day Is No More but Welcome John Barrowman Corner
The choices made by whoever made the decisions were getting odder and odder so the Hunk Of The Day has been banished from my page. All those underpants and skin tight swimming trunks were getting on my nerves. Why didn't they have done with it and just picture the models starkers?
Personally, I prefer a little more left to the imagination.
For the time being, a range of John Barrowman related items from Amazon will feature in the Hunk's place. When I've worked out how (technology is not my friend - but I'm working on the relationship) I'll eventually get rid of the Amazon border, but the link will remain.
Would have just used a plain photograph, but am never sure about the copyright issues involved. Certainly, if I'd taken a photo I wouldn't want all and sundry to publish it on the internet.
Personally, I prefer a little more left to the imagination.
For the time being, a range of John Barrowman related items from Amazon will feature in the Hunk's place. When I've worked out how (technology is not my friend - but I'm working on the relationship) I'll eventually get rid of the Amazon border, but the link will remain.
Would have just used a plain photograph, but am never sure about the copyright issues involved. Certainly, if I'd taken a photo I wouldn't want all and sundry to publish it on the internet.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
Finally dug the tree out of the attic.
Get loads of green points because it's now eight years old. A few of the branches look a bit suspect, but the 12-year-old's put so much tinsel on it that it's hard to see there's a tree underneath let alone that it has bald branches.
All I have to do now is to find the crackers I bought in the January sales. I know most people don't tend to put crackers on the tree, but my mum always did, so we always do, too. Buying them early always seems like such a good idea when I see them on sale at half price - but I always seem to manage to lose them by Christmas and don't find them until June.
Have decided not to do Christmas cards this year. Every year I send fewer and fewer, but this year, what with the economic climate and concerns for the environment, it seems to be an acceptable thing to do (or, rather, not do).
Scrooge is alive and well.
Get loads of green points because it's now eight years old. A few of the branches look a bit suspect, but the 12-year-old's put so much tinsel on it that it's hard to see there's a tree underneath let alone that it has bald branches.
All I have to do now is to find the crackers I bought in the January sales. I know most people don't tend to put crackers on the tree, but my mum always did, so we always do, too. Buying them early always seems like such a good idea when I see them on sale at half price - but I always seem to manage to lose them by Christmas and don't find them until June.
Have decided not to do Christmas cards this year. Every year I send fewer and fewer, but this year, what with the economic climate and concerns for the environment, it seems to be an acceptable thing to do (or, rather, not do).
Scrooge is alive and well.
Google Analytics and John Barrowman
Somehow, it seems to be working. I've now had 17 visitors (welcome all) and 58 page views since I installed the Analytics code last night.
One visitor arrived after putting the word 'Barrowman' into a search engine. So thank you to the lovely John Barrowman for enticing someone to my blog.
I'm still not sure how it works - and that worries me. It makes me wonder what else in life I'm not quite getting.
One visitor arrived after putting the word 'Barrowman' into a search engine. So thank you to the lovely John Barrowman for enticing someone to my blog.
I'm still not sure how it works - and that worries me. It makes me wonder what else in life I'm not quite getting.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Forget Christmas - it's all about John Barrowman
Our tickets to see the lovely John Barrowman have arrived. Hooray.
The concert isn't until May - but have decided that I'm going to start looking forward to it straight away.
Perhaps I need to get out more.
The concert isn't until May - but have decided that I'm going to start looking forward to it straight away.
Perhaps I need to get out more.
Google Analytics - the search for ways to increase blog traffic continues
On the advice of someone who seemed to know what they were talking about (have lost the page so can't add a link), I've added Google Analytics to my page.
I don't understand how it works, or what I'm supposed to do with it, but in some mystic way it's supposed to help increase blog traffice.
I'm delighted, and not a little surprised, that it's kept track of the two (yes, that TWO) visitors who have called by since I installed it last night (thank you both - and don't worry, big brother isn't really watching you that closely, I don't know who you are, just that you've been).
To be honest, its all a bit beyond me. I used to be clever at school - got good exam passes, managed to get to university, was able to keep my side up in conversations - but somehow it all seems to have disappeared. It's Flowers for Algernon come to life, or perhaps something to do with old dogs and new tricks, but the fact is that I just don't understand half of what goes on in the modern world. Some days I feel so thick that I wonder how I manage to get dressed on my own (and if you saw some of my outfits, you'd probably think that I should have been supervised for this simple task).
Does anyone know what I should be doing with Google Analytics? So far, I've only managed to gain the same info as is supplied by my counter, but I feel I should be getting more out of it than that. Also, the code is supposed to appear on every page - does this mean I have to put it onto each post (this is what I've done so far - even going back and editing old posts)?
Help...
I don't understand how it works, or what I'm supposed to do with it, but in some mystic way it's supposed to help increase blog traffice.
I'm delighted, and not a little surprised, that it's kept track of the two (yes, that TWO) visitors who have called by since I installed it last night (thank you both - and don't worry, big brother isn't really watching you that closely, I don't know who you are, just that you've been).
To be honest, its all a bit beyond me. I used to be clever at school - got good exam passes, managed to get to university, was able to keep my side up in conversations - but somehow it all seems to have disappeared. It's Flowers for Algernon come to life, or perhaps something to do with old dogs and new tricks, but the fact is that I just don't understand half of what goes on in the modern world. Some days I feel so thick that I wonder how I manage to get dressed on my own (and if you saw some of my outfits, you'd probably think that I should have been supervised for this simple task).
Does anyone know what I should be doing with Google Analytics? So far, I've only managed to gain the same info as is supplied by my counter, but I feel I should be getting more out of it than that. Also, the code is supposed to appear on every page - does this mean I have to put it onto each post (this is what I've done so far - even going back and editing old posts)?
Help...
X Factor Final
Despite having gone off the X Factor half way through the series, I can't wait for tonight's final.
A tin of Roses is waiting, the phone will be off the hook and, despite the fact that a woman my age ought to know better, I will be glued to the tv.
Eoghan's storming of the stage to embrace his beloved Diana in last week's semi-final has been the talk of the house. Isn't young love wonderful?
The consensus around here is that Eoghan looks like he's escaped from planet Teddy Bear - he's just too cute to be true. And Diana is the sweetest girl ever.
They cynic in me is just hoping that their romance isn't hype to gain publicity. Meanwhile, the mum in me is also hoping that Diana's soon to be disposed of/already disposed of (depending on which tabloid is reporting) boyfriend isn't too heartbroken.
A tin of Roses is waiting, the phone will be off the hook and, despite the fact that a woman my age ought to know better, I will be glued to the tv.
Eoghan's storming of the stage to embrace his beloved Diana in last week's semi-final has been the talk of the house. Isn't young love wonderful?
The consensus around here is that Eoghan looks like he's escaped from planet Teddy Bear - he's just too cute to be true. And Diana is the sweetest girl ever.
They cynic in me is just hoping that their romance isn't hype to gain publicity. Meanwhile, the mum in me is also hoping that Diana's soon to be disposed of/already disposed of (depending on which tabloid is reporting) boyfriend isn't too heartbroken.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Snobbery and the struggling writer...
Well, it's happened. Having read accounts from others, I knew it would eventually. Even so, I wasn't really prepared for it.
Someone has been totally dismissive of one of my meagre writing triumphs.
So far on my writing endeavours, I've been blessed with friends who have offered nothing but encouragement. News of every little success, every little achievement - even finishing the novel that has yet to be published - has been met with jubilation. People have rushed out to buy magazines that feature my letters. My published stories and articles (few and far between) have been passed from family members to friends and praised by all.
However, this goodwill had to end.
Yesterday, I met with a friend for coffee. I've known this woman for years - we were at school together - and, although we don't meet often these days, we've always gotten along.
She asked what was new and I told her that I've started to write again. Have even had some letters published in recent months. Got £100 for the last one (yes, it might have been boasting, but she did ask and apart form that there isn't much else going on).
She tutted loudly and with much shaking of head declared that she couldn't believe I'd been paid £100 for that.
I was crushed (although I've yet to decide if I'm going to be permanently offended - I'll probably give in and ring her in the new year as she's always good with the gossip).
One good thing to come out of this encounter is that I now realise how lucky I am with the support and encouragement I receive from all my other friends.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Not a Review of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, Collector's Edition (Offered Exclusively by Amazon) by J. K. Rowling
This isn't a proper review as I haven't yet read The Tales of Beedle the Bard, Collector's Edition (Offered Exclusively by Amazon)
(The 12-year-old is hoping to find it in her Christmas stocking, so I wouldn't be so mean as to read the actual stories before she gets a chance to do so). In that case, then, I'm sure you'll be thinking that I'm not at all qualified to offer an opinion.
However, I have seen a copy and actually held it in my own grubby paws. Even from this limited experience, it's obvious that this edition is a must for all fans of Harry Potter.
At £50 it might seem quite pricey - especially when you can buy the standard version for much less (it can be bought for £0.99 in WH Smith if you make a purchase of £15 or more) - but it's worth every penny.
A book-shaped outer case opens to reveal a flock lined compartment where a velvet pouch contains a small volume decorated with silver-coloured metal and replica gemstones.
The presentation is faultless - although, some whingers on Amazon's Customer Discussions have complained that the silver skull isn't on straight and the gems aren't real - but what do they expect for £50? Others who have commented on Amazon have noticed a few typos and spelling mistakes - but, in a mood to be charmed, most declared that this added to the experience of reading the stories.
The Collector's Edition is meant to evoke the spirit of the original that was purchased at auction by Amazon. Not having been lucky enough to see the original, I can't comment on how true that is, but I have to say that this edition is pretty special and fun. It's not a limited edition, rather a collector's edition, so it's debatable whether it's a good investment in monetary terms, but the chance to own it feels like the chance to own a real piece of Potter history.
Also, a great way to contribute to charity - around £20 per unit from the collector's edition will be donated to The Children's High Level Group (CHLG).
Now all I have to do is wait until Christmas day so that I can read the stories over the 12-year-old's shoulder. Can't wait.
The Accidental Plagiarist
Sometimes, I think I can be quite a funny person (some would say I'm mostly funny odd rather than funny ha ha, but never mind).
My witty one liners often have my friends and acquaintances in stitches. I sometimes even laugh at my own jokes (the verbal equivalent of using too many exclamation marks, I believe) - and why not when my jokes are so original and funny?
Trouble is, they might be funny, but they're not original. Those one-liners that pop into my head at just the right moment aren't mine to claim.
Watching reruns of Friends on E4 recently, I was horrified to hear the gang's sparkling dialogue peppered with MY words. Obviously, those jokes had seeped into my sub-conscious and had resurfaced as my own.
What if it's the same with stories? What if all those years of reading fiction has caused my brain to unknowingly absorb other writers' words? I know there's no copyright in ideas, but there is in the actual way the words are crafted - and my fear is that the perfect story that pops into my head fully formed isn't quite as original as I'd thought.
It makes me cringe just thinking about it.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Rude Boy John
Oh dear. The lovely John Barrowman has let himself down by exposing his bits and pieces live on radio.
When I heard the story, my first thought was that he hadn't quite got the hang of this flashing business if he was doing it on radio - but I believe a webcam was involved so perhaps he did know what he was doing after all.
My understanding of the story is, however, that he was practically invited to do the deed by the presenter (have forgotten the name). Yes, John Barrowman is a grown man and should have had more sense, but he's also an exhibitionist, so it seems daft that it was suggested to him in the first place.
I just hope he doesn't decide to get his lad out at his concert in May - I'm taking the 12-year-old (thought it would be fine as he was squeaky clean at the last concert).
Monday, December 1, 2008
The Elusive 50,000
Of course, I didn't manage it (the signs were there when I hadn't even started writing half way through November). But I got a darn sight closer than I would have done had I just been scribbling away without a target.
I'm rather fond of setting targets and making lists. I remember reading a management/sales type book a while back that told a story of two salespeople who worked to privately set targets. The first was delighted to have doubled his target of £25k. The second wasn't quite so pleased with herself as she'd missed her goal by £25k - but her original target had been £100k.
So, aim high and succeed.
Of course, there will be those who'll say you're setting yourself up for failure, but in my experience it will make you strive that bit harder.
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