Thursday, 31 January 2008

PS another thought

I've had another thought. This writing lark is fine all the while the muse has kicked in - but writers are funny mortals, we have feelings - doubts - worries - uncertainties that we are doing it as well as we should be - and that is a killer. Sitting here, with a blank screen and the cursor blinking, almost daring us to put the first word up is a scary thing. But we carry on doing it. Braving that cursor - daring to believe that what we have to say might actually be interesting, entertaining - even educational or debatable. And do you know why? It's because we're driven. No, not to drink, although the odd gin and tonic does help - we are driven by the need to write, to express ourselves in an imaginary world, where lives unfold, and characters battle with their problems. It's odd, isn't it? Some people take up fishing or stamp collecting - but my hobby - my reason for being here, is to write. And I just can't stop. So, forgive me if I witter on - I'm an author, a story-teller and weaver of tales. I write by the seat of my pants, with only a vague idea of where the story will end. But my characters tell me, they lead me along by the nose. In fact, I have communication with them when I try to take charge, and they put me very firmly in my place. For this is their story, their lives that I am writing about, and although you'll probably think I've lost my marbles, it's true. Stay safe, Tamara

New Year Blues, Reds, Champagne and Rose

Hi, yes, I know it's been a while, but a girl has to do what a girl has to do, and the season of good will is not always aimed at MEN! Apart from cooking lunch, entertaining him indoors' family and generally being a domestic goddess and sex symbol, I've had to put up with a bad back, throat virus and face ache - and it ain't pleasant, believe me!
The good news is that the celebrations (?) were eased by copious amounts of wine, mostly white and sparkling, but occasionally pink when I was feeling particularly girly. The back is good now, just the odd twinge which I can ignore - the virus has gone, the face ache has cleared up, and although I look like Dracula's grandmother, I feel okay. Actually, okay isn't a good word, it's sort of mediocre isn't it? I feel fine - the diet is going well, I can get into that skinny little black dress and when I have the full make-up on I look passable in a good light as long is it's gaslight - or candlelight. You get the drift.
Anyway, I'm sitting here after spending a lovely evening with a girlfriend, in which we drank far too much Jacobs Creek pink wine - we were feeling girly - and talking nonsense all evening. You know, the usual thing, men, children, the vagaries of men, the house, our careers, what bastards men could be given half the chance - the usual thing. Funnily enough, shoes and chocolate never entered the conversation. We must save those topics for another time.
So, how was Christmas and the New Year? It was fine - I survived - and that has to be a good thing - a bonus - because few people will honestly admit they enjoy the season of so-called good will etc. New Year was fun, we were in Cornwall at a fancy dress party. Well, where else would you get a fairy, the phantom of the opera, Elvis, Maid Marion, a cowboy, a nun and the snow queen all in one place? It was a riot, and I bet you can guess who was the snow queen. ME!!!! I just love wearing lots of bling, and I had so much on it was quite blinding - and I actually thought I looked really good in that silver wig - but then I sobered up and realised there was no way one could go with a trolley around tesco in such a get-up! I might frighten someone.
So, here I am - I think I said that before - but I'm in my office, it's past midnight, I've had a drink or ten and thought I'd better catch up. Because I have it on good authority that certain people - Lindsey, I know it's you - are keeping a check on me. Him indoors has left me. Not permanently, just for four days. He's gone to Cornwall so I can have some peace and quiet to write, and I have been writing up a storm, and will probably continue after I've finished this. If there's one thing I've learnt over the years, it's that if you're on a roll, keep going until you fall off the end of the cliff.
Him indoors has been doing work to the cottage in Cornwall - he gets terribly bored if the weather decides not to play ball - and it hasn't this time - so he's been to the pub - several times, and this evening he met up with some people from Ross on Wye. They had attended a rather jolly funeral, judging by their demeanour, and had scattered ashes on a beach before adjourning to the Salutation Pub in Looe. Him indoors knows Ross on Wye, evidently, struck up a conversation and several pints later staggered home to the arms of Digby and Lins - who then poured unsolicited wine down his reluctant throat while holding his arms behind his back. The poor man - I can see it now - the torture!!!!
Anyway, here I am. I've said that twice now, and it's getting boring. I've worked my socks off for the past four days, not eaten much, which is brilliant for the diet - the house is TIDY - there are no shoes in the hall, lounge, kitchen, back door, front door and half way up the stairs. The laundry basket is empty. But the cat has just pooed in the hall. Welcome home Tamara - you knew he would do it one day - and tonight was the night!
So, tomorrow I'm going to sit and write until my arms drop off. NO. I'm going out again to another girlfriend's for lunch. You see, the life of the author is not always about shutting themselves away and battling with the muse - it's about getting out there, finding some stimulation and companionship - then I can write. Oh, boy, you're going to love the next book! So cheers to you, happy new year and have a good one. I certainly shall.