Back to the Forties

Chapter 12 this week has sent me back to 1948, and any writing I do about that era means I have to do a ton of research to get my head in the right space, so its slow work. You can’t go make yourself a coffee, turn on the washing machine, and listen to miscellaneous music – (The Rolling Stones - Miss You, Bananarama - Robert De Niro’s Waiting and E.L.O - Mr Blue Sky) and then think right, 1948. Or at least I can’t. So I have a CD called Number Ones of the Forties and am currently listening to Tuxedo Junction, a slow swing band tune by Glenn Miller. It would be even better if it didn’t have the underlying hum of the computer twirling the disc. I could go and play it on J’s mega boom stereo thing but turning that beast on means the whole flat vibrates, and I quite like our neighbours.

It sounds so silly, but the main thing that has stumped me this week is what shoes my female character would have been wearing. Normal everyday shoes and I cannot picture them, which means in the bit I am writing; I can see everything in that scene apart from her feet. And because I cannot picture everything, I find it impossible to write about. But I am behind, so I really need to crack on today.

Attack of the Doubts

I had an attack of the doubts (like the clones, but worse) last night. This last year my confidence has plummeted, not on the book or writing side of things, but on the real world and being a non-nervous, secure part of it. I keep doing things to try and challenge this state, such as my writing for the local paper, this forces me in a way to go out there and try new things, to try and join in. If you met me, you wouldn’t think I have a problem with this at all. But left to my own devices I do have a tremendous problem with self-confidence; I really am my own worst enemy and I know this, yet I cannot stop listening to that little poisonous voice inside that whispers worries to me.

Being at home alone writing probably doesn’t help… yet it is the only thing I have ever wanted to do, so I just have to work through it, I think. And then I read other people’s blogs about their very real concerns over the health of their family, or they are ambulance drivers or physician's responsible for others, and I feel a bit humbled and annoyed with myself. I’m only really responsible for my own state of happiness and ok, I’m a bit wobbly at managing that, but I am relatively healthy and have a great opportunity here (even if it is flushing away my life savings!), so really I should zip it. Consider it zipped.

I find it hard to commit to things beyond deadlines, even my yoga class and me only manage to combine once every three weeks. But I am really considering volunteering some time to a charity, or seeing if there is anyway I can help somewhere down the line. It needs a bit of thought, but even if it is just cleaning, perhaps knowing I was helping a little would in a funny sort of way help me. Or perhaps I could volunteer with writing/editing/subbing a charity’s newsletter or something… Hmm, now there’s a thought…

Update

There is a local cancer charity that helps people in the community with that illness, and I got in touch with their main fund raiser this afternoon. The result is I'm going to pop over for a chat next Tuesday, and hopefully I will be able to help not only with their newsletter, but in a few other ways as well. Excellent!

C’mon – motivate!

Where is Mr Motivator when you need him, huh? If I had had some dude in nasty Bermuda shorts and a bad baseball cap leap into my flat and tell me to start pumping that keyboard, then perhaps I might have got some work done this week, as well as a potential Crimewatch spot warning people of the ‘Bermuda Terror’. As it is, with no Mr Motivator, my motivation was at an all time low and I cannot quite explain it.

Was it because it really is, no word of a lie, blooming cold in here? Yes it is the heating’s fault, I try to negate it by turning on the piddly little heater and then practically hugging it all day, but this behaviour warns me that fingerless gloves and potentially looking like Steptoe’s niece could well be in my future, neither of which make me happy.

Was it because my other half was home sick for two days? Yes, it was, let me unfairly blame him, as that was a great excuse to ‘not do so much work, if any, at all’, and to instead eat chips at lunchtime and watch clever films, where I sit there and go ‘but what’s happening?’ every five minutes.

Was it because my project manager friend took me out for an end of the month pep talk and got me squiffy on wine? Yes, it was, as that meant I had to take off Thursday feeling poorly, which is no doubt the start of a nasty flu bug and not anything to do with the fact I had three glasses of red, of course not.

Or, was it because I got so bogged down searching for a 1948 song with lyrics that suit a particular bit of chapter, that I managed to spend all week pulling my hair out over it?

I think the main answer is D to be honest… still, I have gone with Frank Sinatra’s ‘My Heart Stood Still’, although it is still not quite right… I was also thinking of Doris Day’s (or Patti Page’s) Confess, You Call Everybody Darlin’ (Al Trace), Little White Lies (Dick Haymes), Rumours Are Flying (can’t remember) or Peggy Lee’s It’s A Good Day.

The only problem is none of these are quite right… maybe an earlier song… See, a scene is being played out in a garden, but music from the wireless (or gramophone) deadens the voices, so the music becomes like the soundtrack to the action… So it has to represent the scene, which is a suspected adultery on the part of the husband being spied on by the wife… Any ideas gratefully received!

Oh - and Blogger thinks I am German again for some reason... More biscuit crumbs dropped down an important keyboard somewhere?