Happiness

Sometimes I get confused and think happiness is all about the big chunks – the large events, the all-singing and all-dancing milestones. A conversation with a friend last night made me think again. 

Happiness is also found in the quiet hours – contemplating the flowers in the garden, watching the cats at play, hearing the raindrops patter on the roof and knowing you are cosy inside. I get so focused on the big picture that I forget all the little pictures that are part of me. So here are some little things recently that have made me happy…

• The two girls I sit with at work also have creative ambitions outside of the day job – one is an actress and the other a singer – so we share each-other’s triumphs and root for each-other to succeed, which is rather lovely. And chocolate mini rolls were given out at tea-time in honour of my upcoming birthday (sh!).
• Throwing myself into weird shapes at Zumba aerobics class and being pleasantly surprised at my fitness level. I still have one! I thought we'd have to send in Time Team to excavate it.
• Last week at Jitterbugs (lindy hop dance club) I had a great time dancing and remembered my lindy turn, swing out and circle. We styled out our own moves and had tons of fun. It was also nice that so many people came up to say hello to me, considering I hadn't been for ages.
• The line ‘touched down in the land of the delta blues in the middle of the pouring rain’ in the song 'Walking in Memphis'. Also the sax in Gerry Rafferty’s 'Baker Street'.
• Far-flung friends remembering my upcoming birthday (sh!) and looking forward to celebrating next week by combining a love for hidden history, London, cupcakes, cycling, walking, fab food, and possibly a glass of wine (or two).
• Having time off the day job to hopefully do tons of writing!
• Wearing my ‘Knights of Good’ T-shirt. Do you watch The Guild? If so you will know what I mean. 
• Watching Hi-de-Hi. This was a BBC sitcom that ran in the 1980s and was filmed in a real holiday camp during the off-season. My family used to go there on holiday so I love watching the show (which is very funny) and recognising the situations and surroundings.
• Meeting up with a good friend for dinner - we laughed and swapped thoughts over white chocolate and raspberry ripple swirl cheesecake. Yes, I did savour typing that sentence! (As well as the eating. Mmm.)
• The instagram photography app. Beautiful filters that just make every single photograph stunning. As used on this post!
• Being able to jump in my car and drive... (drive, drive, drive... *sings Rihanna*)
• A cuddle with my cats. Cuddling Ginger is like holding a purring warm furry sunbeam. Cuddling Abigail is like holding a curious little fur-baby.  You can probably guess which one is which!

What little things have made you happy recently?

Forget your troubles come on get happy

Today I am channelling Judy Garland. I am missing the following items though:

Some sort of gingham checked material
A small dog called Toto
Magical ruby slippers

Instead I have:

Black office attire (including annoying hip-circling-with-every-step black skirt)
A small handbag (unnamed)
Scuffed black boots that have no magic about them whatsoever

I can now see where I have been going wrong. Wallace & Gromit had the wrong trousers, and it appears I have saddled myself with the wrong wardrobe.

Oh boy. A wandering lassitude has taken residence in my soul and it’s not shifting for toffee. Hence being quiet... it’s only my own pressure I know, but I like to be cheerful here on the blog, if I can, and when I feel like this it just doesn’t happen. Chocolate will only rectify a few ills, then the concentration (and obsession) moves to the lack of waist. But I so hate feeling negative – surely that energy can be put to better use. The problem with negative is that it is so solid an emotion and positive can feel so flimsy.

Today I decided at lunch that the cure may be found in hair dye. This will be the wash in/wash out variety as I quite like my natural hair colour (until of course the day comes where silver out-threads the red, and then I will go positively bonkers. Blue? Bring it on!) It’s not really so much the hair dye, but this sort of thing shows a commitment to caring about yourself, in a funny way. Today my soul feels a bit unkempt. Tomorrow it may feel a bit pampered, and who knows what that will do to my creativity? It shall Unleash The Tiger. Or something.

What do you mean, unleash the tiger?!

Best get spruced up. Thanks sis.

While we are waiting for tigers, we are going to have a snooze. You didn't want this arm back again any time soon, did you? Good.

Random thoughts on a hot night

How would I address Lady Gaga if I met her? Lady, Gaga, Steph, Stefani? It’s probably not likely that I’ll see her in the local supermarket queuing for courgettes, but, you know, just in case. Would you treat ‘Lady’ as a first name, go straight for ‘Gaga’, or go the whole hog on the grounds it is like a double-barrelled first-name? It is the sort of thing a singer can get away with, giving yourself a title. I don’t think an author could although it would be fun to style author names like singers.

King Stephen
Lil’ JK
Princess Stephenie M
Dan Diddy Brown
Lady Jackie Collins

I miss making my own summer collection of songs on cassette tapes. I used to weigh one song against the other very carefully, make lists in exercise books of songs that I felt worked together, and then record my own collection. This would then be the tape that would be my soundtrack to summer – it would accompany me on beaches, it would be played thin on car journeys, it would be the background to lazing in the garden watching butterflies. My holiday hand luggage would consist of a sandy walkman and piles of cassette tapes, as well as books. The bag straps would leave red grooves on my shoulders, but I would have a song (and a book, and a grain of sand) for every eventuality.

I’ve been writing a short story idea, on top of polishing my query covering letter and my synopsis. I’m a bit in love with it. I absolutely hated it on Saturday morning, though, but I think me and it have come through the hard place and now we are holding hands again. I’m also in the holding hands again phase with my covering letter. Getting there!

What do cats think? Cats can sit in absolute stillness and look totally content with their world. Do they think as we do?

This looks a good spot. I’ll sit here. Grass tickles. Nice and warm. Bit hot, actually. Won’t move though. Watch it, bub. Buzz any closer and you’ll be a snack. Although I am too regal to move. Where’s my minion? Oh there she is, bothering the flowers again. What’s that she is saying? Something about me, looking good. Of course. I’m a cat. Cats always look good (and when we look bad we don’t like to dwell). Oh, here comes her camera again. I won’t pose. Well, perhaps a little bit. There. Perfect. Now if you don’t mind, it’s nap-time. Cats don’t need beauty sleep but we like to sleep beautifully.

Proof that redrafting has taken over my life

On the way to work today my mind idled upon whether or not to be seduced by the chain-store coffee shop as I changed from Delayed Train One to Stupidly Delayed Tube Two. I had been fooled by the promise of good coffee from this place before, when what I got was a few squirts of brown boiling steam. And you know what I thought to myself? I thought:

Do not be tempted by the offer of ‘good coffee’. Good coffee is a bad literary device...

And then I blinked and wondered what on earth I was thinking! Is this proof that redrafting has finally sent me bonkers?

Good news is that I have finished the edits from the final print out (or rather, draft eight). Since then I have been tackling four pages of ‘anomalies’ (pictured below) – these are general queries and questions about the story for me to answer / sort out / ponder upon.



For example – some of these anomalies were changing character names. A lot of the time I will think a name goes really well together and sounds really good in my head, only to discover that it’s the name of a 1980s TV presenter, or my old junior school teacher, or a friend’s ex-boyfriend. I remember once an old novel idea of mine that had the name ‘Andy McNab’ in it, as I thought the name sounded good, and then I realised I’d obviously seen it in a book shop / newspaper somewhere! (Andy McNab being a best-selling action author.) So I have to doubly check the names I have used. There’ll be more on the topic of anomalies later!

Another thing I have been doing is recording an audio version of my story. Oh my. There are a couple of reasons for this – one being to speak the words aloud and see how true they sound, the other to listen and gauge if it all hangs together and works well on the ear. Sadly I have to also listen to my voice! Who is that girl with the odd accent? I feel I need to do some vocal warm ups, whatever they are. My dodgy voice aside, this was a really excellent idea. I cannot stress it enough. There were a lot of superfluous words creeping in the body of my text – even in the beginning chapters – which I hadn’t spotted before, but after listening I could safely take out them out without compromising the story. Managed to prune 800 words from the first three chapters – and I was thinking those puppies were done and dusted! Just goes to show I must never get that complacent. I have only recorded the beginning chapters for now, but will go over the whole book in time.

You'll be pleased to hear that my furry writing coaches have been hard at work keeping me focused by snoozing on all my important papers. Even better than that, Ginger kindly let himself be an additional work surface when I was running out of room.

I just cannot go wrong with writing coaches like that! Helpful, cuddly, and always sitting on the thing I want to find. Like homing beacons. Although I am starting to get paranoid that my eventual queries will be sent out with bonus cat hair.

The End is Nigh

I am so excited! Over the weekend I finished the main bulk of redrafting. Hooray! I’ve already explained my revision process in an earlier post, so those of you familiar will know that it has really been an epic learning-curve for me.

The first thing I did was attempt to print out the whole thing on my clunky breezeblock of a printer. Of course it ran out of black ink halfway through, and I didn’t have a new cartridge, so printing was delayed as I got on a bus to dash to nearest town for supplies. Dash probably isn’t the right objective when placed alongside the word ‘bus’, come to think of it. ‘Rumbled slowly with much deliberation’ is a better description. But once I was home again printing resumed, apart from the inevitable pause for the printer to take full advantage of the spotlight like a hammy actor - ‘agh I’m choking, I’m going to die, take this paper out of my throat agh agh’.

Eventually, despite the drama, my manuscript was printed. I beamed at it in delight. Shiny, thick, real... heavy! I am going to have to plant some trees to atone for this one day. This is the first time I have seen the whole thing printed out since I finished the first draft of the story back in March 2008. Yes I know – March 2008! My revision period has been long, but I felt I had a lot to learn to improve. I also have The Fear (of course – the fear of failure, of it being crap, of rejection – I think every writer has this. But we have to conquer it!)

So now I’m in the last stages of redrafting. Woohoo! Yesterday I took myself to a different part of the house, and settled down for the Grand Read-Through.



As you can see, the grand read-through needs some sustenance! You can also see the list I make as I read, headed Anomalies. Underneath it is another page I am compiling of acknowledgements – my story references a few quotes that need full citation. As I read through I am also editing anything that leaps to the eye – a comma here, a word change there – nothing major so far, I am pleased to report. The rigorous redrafting has helped so much – I can’t begin to describe how much the story has improved.

There are still things to do in this last stage – mainly sort out the anomalies! I am also going to create an audio file of the whole thing. I hate listening to myself but it will be fab to hear the rhythm of the words. After that any further changes will be updated, but then it will be ready to go. By the end of this stage I will have got this story as perfect as I possibly can – for now my talent goes no further. I feel I am holding the manuscript high above my head and it will need a professional agent higher than me to take it and swing it further. Can’t wait for that day! Until then I have my two furry writing coaches...

You aren't still reading, are you?

Don't mind us. We'll just sit here waiting.


Your first novel? Impressive. Now shush while I clean my backside.

Happiness

Happiness is being let loose for an hour or two in a second-hand bookshop, with nothing but a determination to find something groovy.


Happiness is doubled if the bookshop in question comes with bonus ladders for customers to continue searching by the rafters for the book of their dreams.

Happiness is finding a Graham Oakley book that is affordable, a Daphne du Maurier with an interesting cover (it will be the subject of a book worm review one of these days when I get my act together!), a 'photo-mag' of The Beatles filming 'A Hard Day's Night', and a 1959 edition of children's book The Borrowers Afloat.


Happiness is my cat Ginger, a beautiful boy with soft fur who likes his creature comforts as much as he likes his dinner. He is very sure of himself in the world as long as he gets regular cuddles. He has the loudest purr in London. His nickname is Mr Big Paws (AKA the Ginger Whinger).


Happiness is my cat Abigail, a beautiful girl with an inquisitive nature (see her staring past me at the window) and the gentlest paws. She goes into raptures of delight at being the highest in a room, preferably balanced around my neck. Abi is my little shadow, and where-ever I am in the house she loudly brings me her favourite toy, a long snaky piece of fluff we call The Wiggly. Her nickname is the Naughty Tortie.


Happiness is exploring somewhere new, preferably somwhere with a classic plane/car show. I will examine every car, nodding knowledgebly but if coaxed into conversation will reveal that I know nothing about cars, and my only scale for car liking is whether it will suit a wicker picnic basket. Deciding which classic car best suits a picnic basket is something that I will happily ponder for hours. I also rather like pointing my camera in the sky at these things, as you can see.


The reason for the watermark is I am debating doing something 'proper' with my favourite photography - more than likely some sort of mixed media collage thing as a bit of an Arty creative diversion when the book is done. Gosh - when the book is done! Oh fateful day!

Autumn Stomp

I thought it might be a nice idea to go for a brisk stomp today. So I set off across the dale (alley) by the bubbling stream (brook decorated with shopping trolley), across fields (scrubby park) nodding to neighbours (keeping an eye on scary looking bloke with his three dogs). I then passed the farm (allotments) using a well-trodden track (pavement by motorway), until I ended up in yonder village (the high street). And I thought I'd share some pictures with you...




What gorgeous colours everywhere! But London is such a busy place - if you stop to take a picture someone bumps into you. Everywhere you walk is a person - washing their car, driving, walking dogs, on bicycles, digging in their garden, tidying leaves, fixing telephone wires, delivering pizza leaflets, trimming hedges, playing football, carrying bags of shopping - you cannot be on your own for longer than a minute.

This is the 'bubbling stream' - as a child I played near it, wrote stories about it, and finally fell in it as a curious but overly stupid nine year old. The moral of that tale is never cycle with your eyes shut down a slope towards water 'to see what happens'.

When I got home I played in the garden with my cat Abigail. She is very fascinated with falling leaves, and spends a lot of time pouncing on anything that moves in the breeze, including my shoes. We played catch with the yellowing leaves, and then we both explored what lies beneath the tree. My exploration stopped when I saw a huge spider. Abigail is fearless when it comes to spiders. Besides, she'll eat them if they come too close.

And since she is so pretty...


She is sitting on my lap at the moment purring. I think she knows what I am typing!

My cats

I thought it was high time to share the story of my two constant companions, especially as it is their tenth birthday today!

Back in the year 2000 I was a small feverishly working cog in a shiny advertising agency, and over shared work dilemmas and glasses of wine, became good friends with work colleague S. She had a lovely house in Islington (one of those split residencies – we were the top half, another family below), and, since I stayed over a lot anyway, asked me to officially move into her spare room and I leapt at the chance – yeay! Great company, beautiful room and the pleasure of living with two gorgeous little curious cats as well – Abigail and Ginger.

I have a confession to make here to the family that lived downstairs. Yes, our cats were the Koi Carp Killers of Newington Green. The family downstairs had the back garden, and a pond (known to cats as ‘the sushi bar’). Nothing more alarming than the sound of the cat flap repeatedly banging in the dead of night, as that meant one of the cats was trying to bring in a ‘present’. We were never quick enough to save the ‘presents’, and usually would find something unappetising tucked around the house the next day, like a fish head. One Sunday me and S decided nothing else was happening and cracked open a bottle of wine at midday. We were on our second bottle when the man downstairs rang the doorbell. I have visions of S standing valiantly at the doorstep, wafting wine, and trying to exonerate our cats from their killer reputation. No they hate water, she said sincerely, all the while knowing that both cats were not scared of it at all, and could no doubt be found at that very minute diving gracefully into the pond while we were diverting attention at the front.

S moved back to South Africa after a couple of years, and asked me if I wanted to keep her cats. By now I loved them to bits and so said of course - an emotional response not really based on the practicalities - but I was too attached to be practical. I was moving in with good friend C, and so arrived on her doorstep complete with meowing baggage. Luckily C was pre-warned and loved cats, and marvellously put up with the fact they made loud demands to have access to all rooms of the house, including wardrobes of black clothing. I meanwhile cycled to and fro from the pet shop with their heavy cat litter in a rucksack, and they rewarded me by mostly using it correctly. This worked for a while, but after a year we had me, C, C’s soon-to-be hubby, his two cats, and my two cats all under the same two-bed roof, and after yet another all out cat attack over the territory of the living room, I decided I perhaps better ship out and take the cats to my mum’s.

This worked very well – my mum loves the cats, they love her, and they all keep each other company. The cats have a garden, and space to play – but it meant when I left to live with J I had to leave them behind, as we couldn’t afford a place with a garden. It broke my heart to leave them, but why upset the status quo when everyone was happy? I used to cycle home just to sit with them for an hour or so, and play with them so they didn’t forget me.

So being back home has a silver lining, I am back with my cats, and they are as lovely as ever. They are great cuddlers – Ginger has the world’s loudest purr, and likes nothing better than to nudge his head under my chin as he settles in for a hug, and Abigail loves sitting on my shoulders - she gets in raptures of delight at being the highest thing in a room. I love them to bits, and I like to think they love me too.

Happy 10th Birthday!

A moose loose about this hoose

There has been a strange rustling and scurrying noise emitting from a little-used cupboard in the kitchen. I have noticed the cats are often to be found sitting beside this cupboard with their ears perked. Houston, I said (as I like to call my mum), I think we have a problem.

The screech from the kitchen this morning confirmed it. My mum burst into my room, panting, and said she had seen a mouse. Various sizes were given (size of a finger-nail to half a hand, depending on where in the story she was) and various threats were made to our furry uninvited guests. I pointed out we have nothing to fear, as we live with two cats who are fearsome mice hunters. At least, when they can be bothered and haven’t got some top-level snoozing to get in first.

I am now convinced I can hear plotting mouse activity behind every room in the house. I have taken to singing loudly every time I walk in a room so as to give them time to duck out of sight. It’s the scuttling I don’t like, the quick scampering. It gives me the heebie jeebies.

So here I am, working from home in Mouse Central. And what are my fearsome furry warriors doing? Sleeping. I presume this is to raise energy for the final push this evening, she says, glancing nervously over her shoulder.