Name and Shame

There is clearly nothing for it but to name and shame. Time over time, it is made clear to me, that if I don’t have some kind of stick poking me I’m (1) never going to get back into the blogging groove and, perhaps more importantly, (2) I’m never going to knuckle down and finish the story I’ve been yabbering about for so long now.

So here goes.

Words written this week = 300 (total word count = 300 approx).
I’m starting from the beginning again. I’ve written a lot more over the last six months, but it’s all in the way of prep work. There’s nothing like discovering 20,000 words in, that your main character is a douche bag you would cheerfully push off the Clifton Suspension bridge to really put a spanner in the works! Still, at least I’ve worked through that particular problem now.

Because I work best with a deadline, RugbyLass has given me one: she wants to read a first draft (or 80% of one at least) by the end of October. I’ll give it a go… Which means:
Days till the end of October = 50.
Eek! If I’m ball-parking 100K words, that’s 2000 words a day!?!!??!?!?!!! Or if I’m going for 80%, that’s 1,600 words a day. Sigh. I wish I hadn’t just worked that out. So I am perfectly capable of bashing out 5,000 word blog posts in an evening, but doing that night after night? Even if I’m going to settle for giving RugbyLass just half a book, I still need to be spewing out 1,000 words a day. More to the point, those 1,000 words need to be well written words.

I’m stopping working it out now, because it is just depressing me. A little while back, I had a goal of 500 words a day. That seems a little bit more doable? But if I am supposed to be hitting this deadline, what am I doing wasting time blogging?!

…

Characters in the book who are fully fleshed out with back story = 6.
That is, six I am sure of right now. The way things are going, their back stories are sure to shift some over the coming months. You think you’ve given them cast iron motivation and then, they rebel.

Characters still to fully give a back story to = 4
Though this number will grow I am sure. Characters keep popping in to say “hello!” and never end up leaving, like the house-guests from hell. There’s one in particular who was only meant to be a name in a back story, but all of a sudden I have had to rewrite the entire introduction just to give him a chapter in which to shine. The blonde sod (I love him to bits and pieces, he deserves a book all of his own!)

Characters who have changed their name = 3
And counting. I expect all of them will have changed their name at least once more by the time I’m finished. Right now, our cast of characters includes Ishabel, Thaniel Bengiaric, Pirael Giacomo, Nahen, Jariel, Kriss, Rofan, Kirk and Artosi. There’s more, but they’re the main suspects. Where’s Luk in all of this? He took a swan dive off a high bridge, sorry.

Place names fixed = er, 1.
I have place-holder names for all the main locations, but they are going to need some major tweaking before I am happy. I am fairly fixed on the actual geography though, even going so far as to have drawn a map to help keep it all straight.

Lost siblings to give the plot drive and focus = 1.
I’d be quite happy to have this number at zero, because lost-sibling is a bit of a fantasy cliche, but cliches are cliches for a reason I suppose.

And to have some non-writing counting:

Times got the bus this week = 10.
The aim is for it to be no more than 4. I’ve fallen off the exercise/healthy eating wagon BIG time and I’ve got less than a year till the Big Bruv’s wedding, so it’s time to kick some flabby butt. My flabby butt.

Muffins from the staff canteen had for breakfast = 2.
This should be ZERO (or one at the outside). Followed by…

Flapjacks had from the staff canteen = 3.
This should ALSO be zero (or one if it’s been a really tough week).

Books read this week = 6
Aren’t local libraries just great?

Which brings us to the end of our counting spree. For the purposes of the blog, the ‘week’ will run Friday-Thursday. You can expect one of these recap posts at the end of each week. I’m also going to aim for a few other posts scattered throughout the week. We’ll see what happens. I’m not ready to say goodbye to Bright Meadow just yet, but there’s no denying it is getting harder and harder to stay fresh and interesting. Jump into the comments, peeps, help me bring back the magic! BM was always more than just me – we can’t all have decamped to Twitter!

~Cxxx~

Holding Pattern

Please watch the tumbleweeds for a few days more, dear readers. I’m digging my way out from beneath a contracts, and filing, and catalogue designing pile of hell right now. I think I can see my way clear… Blogging will resume very, very shortly!

Chess

Chess. I don’t think I have ever told you all about my love-affair with chess, have I? Forgive me if I have – six odd years of blogging; it’s inevitable that I repeat myself occasionally.

Anyway, Chess. I am not sure when I first played a game of chess, but I do have very vivid memories of playing my granddad when I was young and he said to me “keep playing, you’ve got a lot of promise”. That one little line has stuck with me for more than twenty years and is, quite possibly, one of my most cherished memories of him. If nothing else, it took a vague interest in the game and made it something personal.

We had chess lessons at school as well (yes, Hogwarts, I know!) and whilst I can’t remember if it was a regular thing, or just a one off, I do remember that I was one of the only members of my class who 1) enjoyed it and 2) ever won a game. I’m sure the teacher tried to show us things like strategy and the like, but none of that consciously sticks with me. What is ingrained in me is a knowledge of where the pieces should go on a board, the ability to see how a knight can move without having to count out the “L” shape, and an abiding sense that this is my game.

And a love of chess sets.

At last count I have eight or nine different sets of varying sizes and antiquity, not including the two sets I made for myself. Something about the black/white alternating squares on an 8×8 grid. The myriad of shapes and characters that the standard pieces can be carved into. The smell of an old polished wood set. The little indentations and knocks that show it has been loved. I just impulse bought set number Nine, the Oxford Set. I tried to play mum on my little travel set which is all I’d brought to Oxford, but it was just too cramped. Yes, I could wait till I got my main set back from Glastonbury (an inlaid agate board with carved Indian agate pieces I got for my 21st birthday) but… Where’s the fun in that? New house, new chess set. It is a basic 12″ wooden folding set, with the pieces stored underneath the board, but already I treasure it. I think the sheer ugliness of the knights is what drew me to it. The poor things look like they’ve been carved by a blind Trobriand Islander who was going by a description of a horse his great grandmothers third cousin had heard from his uncle’s brother’s wife’s father.

As I said, I love the variety sets come in.

I think this love of the set – the whole ritual around a game of chess, settling down across from someone, a drink to hand, for an hour or so of concentration and joking – might have something to do with how I never got into computer chess. I should point out, I don’t claim to be a chess grand wizard or anything. My game is far too reactive and impulse driven. Playing my mother I can win two games out of five (more if I can get her drunk). Playing my brother I win four out of five – one of the few things I can reliably trounce him in actually! Playing a computer just isn’t the same, not to mention demoralising when you loose time after time.

But no one these days seems to play chess. And that is a problem, because I’m lucky if I get in two games a year, and I need the practice.

So… Anyone out there up for a game of correspondence chess?

Excerpt 2

Bare feet flat to the padded floor of the practice room, he just brushed 6 feet tall, making him a good hand-span or two taller than the blonde man stretching in preparation across from him. His limbs were long and toughly muscled, as opposed to bulky – built for distance and endurance over brute strength. When not tied back from his high forehead, and matted black with sweat, his shoulder length hair was the dark brown of polished delan wood. Rough chopped ends testified to his impatience with guild rules which dictated hair could be no longer, and with custom which had short hair as the province of the ruling Houses.

“So you’re actually going to take the trip? Sim hadn’t been at the ale after all?” The other man on the mat gripped his practice sword in a two-handed stance and prepared to attack.

Luk shrugged and raised his own sword in defence.

“Seriously? You’re going past the borders?” the blonde shifted forward and then circled before lunging.

This time the only answer Luk gave was a grunt as he easily parried the blow and started an attack of his own.

“But with Tribal guides?” The shorter man stumbled backwards from the force of the attack, but kept up his stream of questions. “And one a woman?!”

“They’re the best”. Luk swung his wooden blade up under the guard of his opponent, twisting it so the other blade flew to the floor with a clatter, and his own ended up resting at the base of the other’s throat. “You weren’t even trying, Jac”.

“I had my mind on other things!” Jac – Pirael Jiacomo, as he was listed on the guild rolls – retorted as he stooped to collect his blade, then made to return it to the racks at the side of the room. “Enough. The only time I ever could best you was when you’d had the hide thrashed off you by a Master and even then you were fighting with your right hand tied behind you in forfeit. I’ve had about all the humiliation I can handle at your hands today. Time we sat down with a brew and you explained to me how the best mercenary on the Guild’s books got himself marked for guide-dogging a merchant through the borders with just the backup from some tribal scurf of dubious descent”.
“And a scholar. Don’t forget there’s a scholar as is one of those I am to guide too”. A tiny grin lifted the edge of Luk’s wide mouth.
“How could I forget the scholar!” Jac threw his hands in the air and pushed his tall companion out the door towards the changing rooms. “Shower – beer – explanation. And in that order. I’ve a feeling I’m going to be needing as much fortification as I can get down my throat to get a handle on this news”.

Goodbye Palace Meadows

It’s been eight months as opposed to the three initially planned, but the time has come to leave Palace Meadows for pastures new – The Meadow-Yet-To-Be-Named. I am going to miss my bijou little room in central Oxford. It has been so ridiculously conveniently located for everything, I’ve never been more than a ten minute walk from a destination. Plus it has been a haven for me whilst I was settling into this strange and wonderful new city.

Still, a girl has needs and those needs are primarily:
1) more bookshelf space
2) more wardrobe space
3) somewhere to sit other than her bed
4) rent that leaves enough left over each month to actually afford to eat
and 5) fewer mice making their home under her desk.

Plus it’s just time for a change – as ever, the lure of new people and new places to explore is pushing me onwards. OK, so that ‘onwards’ is just the other side of Oxford (a bare thirty minute walk from my current front door), but it is still an adventure. Plus the new house has a cat, so I should at least be safe from any mice that have stowed away in my packing boxes!

Talking of packing boxes, long experience has taught me that you always need twice the number of boxes you thought you did. I’d thought I’d taken this into consideration… Turns out my stuff has been breeding behind my back (and that I am better at utlising space than I’d thought). I keep finding yet more STUFF in this room! Hands up who wants to help Cas move tomorrow?!

The next time I blog it will be from the new house. Eek!

(And hangers? Hangers are the worst things to pack. They take up so much space, weigh more than you’d think, and form an impenetrable bundle of plastic and wire when you try and unpack at the other end. There has to be a better solution…)

Your Council Needs You

I voted today and for the first time in many years, I felt odd about it. Unconnected from the process. Previously, walks to, and from, the polling station would have been filled with debate, and the odd argument, on the different candidates, their policies, and what it would mean. This evening it was just me and my thoughts, composing this post as I walked along. This is the first time in years I have not been actively engaged in the very policies that affect me.

I couldn’t pick my candidates out of a line up if you paid me.
I have no idea which party is best for my area.

So I was left voting for the party which has held my allegiance for years now. So I invariably voted for that party in the past as well, but then I at least felt that I was making an informed decision.

What is different about this year? It’s simple – this year I am not working for the local government. Between 2006 and 2008, my life was inextricably linked to the policies and the people that made them. My job was, to a certain extent, dependent on the whim of the councillors I voted for each year. They weren’t just faces on an election leaflet to me, or names on a ballot – they were people who I might talk to on the phone, or hold a meeting with. I wrote briefing papers to sway their opinion one way or the other. You couldn’t help but know the ins and outs of how the local government was made up, and it certainly made you appreciate being able to vote for new bosses each year!

Since moving to Oxford, I have moved in different circles. I have felt completely separated from local politics and I have missed the knowledge I used to have about what was happening in my community. I never thought I was privileged before, but I realise I was actually very lucky.

I could have kept myself up to date, read the leaflets, watched the news, but somehow I just couldn’t engage myself to do that. And if I, an educated, intelligent woman, couldn’t engage, are we really to be surprised when turnout is so low?

Either way, if you haven’t already, there is still time till the polls close this evening. Your vote really does matter. Feel your Council Tax is too high? (This, for the curious, is what has led me to have to depart from Palace Meadows). Want to grumble with me about the state of parking in the city, or how stupid the recycling system is? If you didn’t vote, I will refuse to talk to you about it.

Take it from me, your local councillors really DO have a lot of impact on how you live your daily lives. It’s up to you to make sure your opinion is listened to. As a nation we are incredibly fortunate to have regular and democratic elections. Make the most of it.

Movies Movies Movies

Just so you know, I’m breaking a cardinal rule and blogging whilst drunk here. OK, not drunk, just mildly merry, but still. Intoxicated. Not good. Please feel free to ignore anything said from here on in…

Why am I buzzed on a school night? Because this evening was the work annual party (because we rock), so the whole division went punting on the Cherwell, then had a lovely BBQ, and wine, and strawberries and cream. You really couldn’t have had a more English evening! Plus the weather was perfect.

Only one movie trailer for you today – it’s been a bit of a quiet week. There was this one to do with secret agent guinea pigs, but I just couldn’t bring myself to sully the blog with it. Low they might be, but I *do* have standards.

So the trailer?

9 – I’ve shown the teaser to this before (and actually the teaser works better, more intriguing), but this still looks like an awesomely screwball movie from some brilliant minds. A must see.