Wednesday, April 12, 2017

J is for Jewellery, Jacob and Jinxes

So this post is going to stray from my normal gibberish and a be glimpse inside my life.

The alternative was writing about jelly which is far too wobbly and reminds me of my arse. So it's a no go area. 

So if you've read my A for Anno Domini post you'll know that recently my life has completely changed. I thought in two years time, when my youngest son went to university, I'd go back to part-time work and pursue my writing career which although wasn't earning any significant amounts was on an upward trajectory - one of London's top agents had considered the full manuscript for The Changing Room and I'd had two top publicists interested in it too even though I decided when the agent eventually declined my novel to self-publish. In other words -by choosing self-publishing - I decided to put my money where my mouth is believing The Changing Room filled a gap in the market for women's fiction - contemporary humorous fiction for middle-aged women but which also had substance. Unfortunately, the first publicist, who had represented some of the biggest names in contemporary thriller writing, pulled out at the last moment due to "over commitment to her traditionally published novels" by which time, I'd spent already a £1,000 on a new cover at her request so it could be more commercially marketed. As you can imagine, I felt more than a little jinxed having now lost a top agent and a top publicist. 

However, a second experienced publicist stepped in. My spirits lifted for a while but I soon began to realize that the momentum had been lost and even though she got me a commission with one of the national papers for this article, in the end, they didn't run with it. Why I don't know - I'm guessing it was either my humour or it wasn't controversial enough for their readers to do what that paper likes best - unleash vitriol in the comments. I'd thought very carefully about that article because it was such a great opportunity but I also knew it was always going to be a very difficult remit for a very controversial paper. 

I guess you could say I felt a bit jinxed. My breakthrough moments as a writer had been lost. But overall I was still pleased - I'd gone from writing obscurity to obtaining the interest of a top agent, two top publicists and I'd micro-managed every aspect of my novel from the editing to the design and distribution. I'd gained the support of Whitefox, who were my go-between on the publicity front, who have since offered to represent me for my next novel at a very reduced cost having acknowledged certain aspects of the campaign did not go as they should have - and I know they are sincere. Ultimately, it was a huge learning curve which had cost me a few thousand from my inheritance but even now, two years on, I still think it was the right thing to do. Jinxes or no jinxes. What pleased me most though was the reaction I got to The Changing Room. There is room in fiction for laughter in the lives of middle-aged women. It doesn't all have to be chick-lit or Bridget Jones.

Yikes, this post is rambling on a bit. It must be the writer in me.

And so that leaves just jewellery and Jacob. Jewellery is what I work in now - many years ago I trained as a retail jeweller and worked in London in a prestigious store. I've had to go back in a lowly position after so many years as a housewife, but returning to London is now my objective - it is the only way I can help Jacob and my other sons financially in their immediate future.

Below is Jacob. He is the second of my three sons. He is dyslexic but wasn't diagnosed until he was in his last year of schooling, despite me banging on teacher's desks for years. Consquently, his academics are not strong and he has worked at his tennis to compensate and to give him a career. A few days ago, he signed a tennis scholarship with McPherson College, Kansas in the US. As our family unit has fallen apart these last few years one of my biggest concerns is that he and his younger brother might lose their opportunities in life but Jacob has been very lucky - the kindness and generosity of a relative means that Jacob will now still be able to go to the US. I will have still have to find some of the fees which, even with a scholarship and a donor, are very expensive but it is doable now. A few months ago I was crushed that it might not be possible.




As for my writing, this is probably the longest thing I've written for some considerable time as my life is now so complicated. But what I know is this: I may be a mother, an employee and soon an ex-wife but I am also me and I am a writer. And I will not lie down and take the shit that has come my way anymore. I will live my life with love and laughter.

 And I will write another book. 



Tuesday, April 11, 2017

I is for Iambic Pentameter

So this going to be one of my intellectual posts. (Ho hum.)

Let's talk about iambic pentameter.

Now to refresh your minds, since I'm sure many of you might have forgotten what iambic pentameter is from your school days (I can't remember anything prior to 1990 so if you're older than me there's a good chance you can't even remember your name) I shall refresh your memory with an explanation taken straight from a dictionary rather than using my own explanation because my own garbled definition would probably make you wonder if I have any brain cells left.

So, accordingly, this is the explanation from the Oxford Dictionary:

A line of verse with five metrical feet, each consisting of one short (or unstressed) syllable followed by one long (or stressed) syllable.

Yep, makes no sense to me either. Thirty years ago I think it did. Although, frankly, at school, I was a bit of blagger back then too and had an uncanny ability to sound like I knew what I was talking about when in fact I had absolutely no idea. This was probably because I read a lot and knew lots of big words thus pulling over the wool over many of my teacher's eyes. Unfortuantely, that didn't work well in Maths where big words can't replace numbers. Although I think I tried a few times. Unfortunately, the answer "Gobbledygook" doesn't impress most maths teachers who usually have some type of personality disorder. 

Who other than a maths teacher would snort with laughter when you put down 2X for an answer instead of 2Y?

So back to iambic pentameter. Basically, it's quality prose or poetry that sounds really good and trips off the tongue. The best way to appreciate it is to read or listen to some of the best or most famous pieces. Like these pieces from master craftsmen, William Shakespeare:

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.


Richard III


Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date


Sonnet XVIII


If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again! it had a dying fall:
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more:
'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.

Twelfth Night

Now I have been lucky enough over the course of my life to have seen some of our finest British actors perform Shakespeare and if you ever have a chance to see the Royal Shakespeare Company in action at Stratford then do take up the opportunity. Shakespeare is not always easy to appreciate if you are unfamiliar with the language but I guarantee that the live spectacle of theatre in the home of Shakespeare is something not to be missed and will keep you riveted to your seat.

Anyhow, I've been trying over the course of the ten years writing this blog to get to grips with poetry and iambic pentameter. And the result has been - I have failed miserably! I am now reduced to writing free poetry (without rhyme or rhythm) in the form of 3 line haikus. Here are a few previous A to Z attempts:

Haikus in praise of Jason Statham:

Jason is very cool
Even though he is bald
Sometimes he wears a flat cap

Jason has a big gun
His aim is accurate
He doesn't have to lift the toilet seat

Jason and Vin Diesel in Fast and Furious
OMG
I am so going to watch it

Now to be honest, as you can probably tell from the above attempts, I'm not sure if I've really got the hang of this haiku business. Three lines are just too complicated for me. I'm now working on developing my own form of poetry called the "Two Liner." Here are my first attempts:

Shakespeare, awesome.
Me, shit.

Brexit, bring it on
Tunnel sealed

Jason, still cool
Ring me

Daniel Craig, what again?
I vote Jason

Trump, floppy hair
Scissors please

Daily Mail, pictures
pictures, pictures, fail

Poetry awesome
Me, bucket of piss

So there we go - I've developed a new form of poetry and I'm rather impressed with my own first attempts! I may yet get the Nobel prize for literature! Now if you'd like to try the new "Two Liner" leave your attempt in the comments. The best one gets a copy of my novel - paperback or ebook (your choice) of my novel The Changing Room.

Saturday, April 8, 2017

H is for A Horrid And Heinous "H" Story



Tonight, I am going to relate to you one of the worst experiences of my life which happened about three years ago. It was very late at night and I was out in the garden securing the chicken hutch when I was stopped in my tracks by a truly revolting noise. I'm not going to even try and describe it as it was so abhorrent it will make you throw up. However, what I will say is - as a mother of three sons - I have heard some pretty gruesome noises including:

1. High-octane exploding bowels.  This was after about a month of constipation when I doubled-dosed one of my sons on constipation-relief medicine. The memory of this sound and the high-impact splattering adorning the bath (the toilet was too small to accommodate the outpourings) will stay with me forever.

2. Severe nauseating and overpowering flatulence.  After the consumption of burnt beef curry by someone who is not me and not my children. (Work it out.)

3. The screams of childbirth. These were not my own which would have been preferable. After having spent 24 hours in labour, I was wheeled to the maternity ward, exhausted and with my assets resembling an imploded jam roly poly and desperately wanting to sleep. Therefore, I did not enjoy listening to the screams of the woman in the labour ward below who had either:

 a) given birth to triplets through a vagina the size of a pea shooter

 b) given birth to an alien

 c) realized that the birth was being shown live on national TV

or

 d) finally realized that sex leads to a lifetime of misery

Anyway, as you can imagine, all the above experiences involved pretty horrific sounds.

However, they do NOT compare to the sound that accompanies the discovery that one of your chickens has died and is being eaten by the garden hedgehog.

I will never feel the same about the heinous Mr Hedgehog again.


Hands up who likes chicken.
Bastard.


Slurp slurp slurp

Friday, April 7, 2017

G is for Glasses

Tihs posst waaaaaaas going tto be aboooutttt "gulags  "  so i loook bra iny as I''m worrird peopke mifgt thimk I'm stipid/

Bit i can@T  finnd  my asses.

GLLASSES

('m hopping I wil l fiiiid theeeeeM by tomotoe/

TOMMORROE

Leavvvvvw ideas for H pleass/

fetting old is shhit/

Thursday, April 6, 2017

F is for Fantasies

This is going to be one of my rare intimate posts. This is a post where you discover something about me and I get to, hopefully, discover something about you! So don't forget to leave me one of your fantasies in the comments.

Okay so here are my top twenty fantasies:

1. I win the ManBooker prize.

2.I win the Nobel prize for literature.

3. I win the Nobel Prize for literature and the ManBooker prize in the same year - for different books. (I've always been ambitious.)

4. I bump into Tom Cruise at Harrods and say "Oh I am so sorry.... Oh you look familiar....Now don't tell me.... you're... your'e... Justin Bieber."

5. Our Prime Minister, Mrs May, invites me to be the Minister for Literature. I decline because I am too busy on the international book circuit talking about my Nobel prize for literature and my ManBooker Prize. (Awarded in the same year.)

6. I go onto the Daily Mail Website and the headline reads:

Kim Kardashian's arse explodes.
Large crater appears on Hollywood Walk of Fame.

And underneath the headlines are 952 close-up photographs. And a video.

7. I wake up one morning and I have lost 4 stone.

8. I wake up one morning, turn on my side and there is a (youthful) man there who looks like a Roman God with a lithe body and muscular torso. I say:

"Do you have a twin brother? We could have a threesome."

9. I win 70 million on the lottery - on the same day as I win the ManBooker prize and the Nobel Prize for literature.

10. I never get caught for speeding. 

11. I never get caught for speeding and driving irresponsibly whilst eating a bar of Cadbury's fruit and nut chocolate.

12. I bump into George Clooney in Harrods. I say... " Oh you look familiar. I'm sure I know you from somewhere....you're.. you're... Donald Trump!"

13. Her Majesty makes me a Dame for services to Literature. I graciously accept.

14. I wake up one morning and discover a horse's head on my pillow. Luckily, its made of chocolate so I stay in bed all day eating it.

15. I discover a miracle cure for facial hair.

16. I write a kick-ass film script. I am asked to help audition the lead roles. Jason Statham comes into the audition room and I say "So Jason, what can you do for me?" He says "Anything you like. I love this script and I really want this role." I say "I'm in room 52 at the Ritz. No need to knock."

17. I'm in the foyer of the Ritz and bump into Gerard Butler. He says; " I've heard you've written a kick-ass film script that would be perfect for me. Is there any chance I could audition for it?" I say "Can you come to my room after 10pm? I have a late night appointment with ...my accountant."

18. I wake up one morning and go over to the Daily Mail website and the headline reads:

Kanye West airlifted to Hospital.
Enormous sinkhole appears at Kardashian's mansion. Kim Kardashian still missing.

19. God has a sense of humour.

20. I meet a very wealthy senile old man with 7 younger brothers.

*******

By the way, you can pick up my short story for children and adults called Fantasia free HERE on Amazon kindle for the next five days. If you enjoy it please write a review!

Wednesday, April 5, 2017

E is for Eggplant, European Union and Equestrian

So I've had a couple of suggestions from my writer friend Derrick LoRusso for today's E post. He recommended I write about the words "equestrian" or the "European Union."

Which are both better suggestions than the only word I've come up today which is "eggplant."

I have no idea why "eggplant" keeps popping into my head. Now, no offense to my lovely American friends but calling a vegetable an eggplant which looks nothing like an egg is completely nuts. When I imagine an eggplant instead of looking like this:

It looks like this:




And when I imagine a European Union eggplant it looks like this:



As for "equestrian," Derrick told me I should write about it because us Brits are obsessed with horse riding, polo and fox hunting etc etc. However, I am going to have to come clean and admit that the only horses I am interested in are the ones I might pull in the sweepstake at work and win at a 100-1 on the Grand National. I know nothing about horses except they have four legs and leave large amounts of shit on the roads around here. Now I am sure there's a European law that forbids either too much or too little horse shit on the roads but I can't be bothered to look it up as it would probably take me about 10 of my remaining 25 years to wade through the legislation and, as you know from my previous post, I need that time to find a series of senile old men to marry and fleece out of their cash.

Anyway, we Brits are on our way out of the EU so we can do what we like with our horse shit in about 18 months. In the meantime, in honor of this upcoming momentous event, I've written one of my thought-provoking haikus. It goes like this:

Britian is gone. France is left
With Germany.
Grins

Tuesday, April 4, 2017

D is for...Divorce.

The only word beginning with D that has been cropping in my mind all day in order to write about tonight is "Divorce"- even though I'd already decided I wasn't going to write about it. So I'd been putting off writing all day, hoping some other word would come into my mind, so a few minutes ago, as it's almost the UK 12pm deadline, I decided to go to one of those random word generators for some much-needed inspiration. I requested ten words, beginning with D...and the second word that came up was... divorce.

Spooky.

The first word was directory.

Anybody want me to write about "directory"? I doubt it. Maybe some weird techy geek with a telephone directory fetish, but that's about it.

Okay, so I'm going to write about divorce, as that kind of spooky stuff is fate's way of telling me it's okay to let loose.

But I now only have...12 minutes before the deadline! Crap. I better make this quick.

So this is what I know about divorce:

Elizabeth Taylor got divorced 7 times.

Zsa Zsa Gabor got divorced 7 times

Mickey Rooney got divorced... 6 times, I think

Lana Turner got divorced 8 times.

So...you know I ain't doing so bad - only 1 in over thirty years!

Now let me see - I'm 52. I have approximately 25 years left in me. So, if I want to beat Lana Turner's record, I need to marry and divorce 8 more times in the next 25 years, assuming I don't peg it early. This means I need a new husband every... 25 divided by 8 = um um um..... nearly every three years.

Cripes. I better get a move on.

Okay, any of you folks out there who know any willing victims (preferably with large wallets), email me at Jane@easylay.com.

Okay, that's it. I've got 4 minutes to spellcheck.

Ps -  I'd prefer a toy boy, but if you know a rich oldie, make sure he's senile so I can line the next one up whilst he's kipping.

The Witty Woman Is Still Not Dead

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