Today, I have been very "Surrey". Played golf this morning - much better than last week, thank the Lord (I couldn't have stood the shame ...) and I even sunk a hugely long putt to get four - hurrah! I know that won't mean anything if you don't play golf but, believe me, it's pretty hot! And I beat Marian, aha!, so honour has been satisfied. Not that I'm a competitive stressed-out bitch at all of course ...
Back home for my haircut, and Lynda arrived early, just as I was considering doing the cleaning, so phew what a relief! And, bless her, she's taking A Dangerous Man (http://www.flamebooks.com) on holiday with her next week (she likes the dark stuff, though she is making noises now about buying Pink Champagne and Apple Juice (http://www.goldenford.co.uk) sometime) - so hope Michael enjoys his quick trip to a Greek island. I'm sure he will - lots of hot men for him to check out, so I'm sure he'll be smiling.
And the article I sent to the Surrey Advertiser (http://www.surreyadvertiser.co.uk) about Goldenford has appeared in The Guildford Times - hurrah! It may not be quite what I intended, but hey any publicity at all is pretty good, as far as I'm concerned. We need all the help we can get!
Later on, I'll pop into Godalming to pick up a few bits and pieces - tea tree oil, Jiffy bags, Epsom salts - bloody hell, I am turning into my grandmother ... Anyway, it's all the things today's Harrassed Woman (great magazine title - I'd buy it ...) could possibly want. Naturally. Tonight, I'll be glued to the TV, sipping my wine (chilling nicely in the fridge even now, as you're asking) and thinking about doing the cleaning. Maybe ...
Today's nice things:
1. The Guildford Times article
2. Haircut
3. Golf.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.pinkchampagneandapplejuice.com
ANNE BROOKE BOOKS: Independent writer of modern fiction
Showing posts with label cleaning. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cleaning. Show all posts
Friday, May 25, 2007
Friday, May 18, 2007
The editing queen
Ye gods, but I've done so much editing today that my brain will probably explode soon - so beware of any sudden noises in the ether. Am now up to the start of Chapter 10 (they all get longer from here on in, so don't get too excited), but will start that tomorrow. I can do no more tonight.
And, yes, I know all the "experts" tell you to put the first draft away for a month before working on it but frankly, m'dears, that never works for me and I can't ever be arsed to wait that long anyway. Sometimes I think that my actual writing is done on the whole in the cool light of day and my editing takes place in the heat of the moment. Sorry about the cliches, by the way, but I haven't used any all day so need to up my quota before the onset of evening. Anyway, I've made some changes, added in some foreshadowing (aha! I can do the lingo too, you know!) for different parts and attempted to rid the work of my current recurring phrase which, this time round, appears to be "a little". (He stepped a little away; I withdrew my arm a little; the mountains were a little further than I'd thought - oh God, when will it all end? Ah, in just a little time, m'dear ...). Still at least it beats having to rid all my poetry of the word "shimmering" which was last year's literary tic.
Oh and in the middle of all that, I've managed to play golf with Marian. Very, very badly. She even won!!! Damn it - that hardly ever happens!! I am shrouded in shame. Hey, that's a good line - must use it sometime, ho ho. I've also popped into Godalming and bought a nice burgundy men's shirt (for me of course ... Lord H isn't so keen on burgundy) from the Edinburgh Woollen Mill. And I've had a ten minute phone conversation with Colin from the Surrey Advertiser (http://www.surreyadvertiser.co.uk) discussing the article I sent him about the new Goldenford (http://www.goldenford.co.uk) connection with Virtual Tales (http://virtualtales.com) in producing some of our books as eBooks. He's hoping to print it next week, so that'll be good. I also mentioned the Pink Champagne site (http://www.pinkchampagneandapplejuice.com) as well, so I hope he includes it. Hey, I can talk to journalists without babbling and sounding insane. Um, no, actually I can't. Damn it. But you knew that anyway.
I will have to start the cleaning soon and gain Wife Points before Lord H comes home - or at least show willing. Ah, I have so many marital points to make up after his superhuman efforts of last weekend on the domestic front. Best get down to it then (as it were).
Tonight, I'm planning on champagne (celebrating the first pass through of The Gifting) and TV. Hell, I deserve it.
Today's nice things:
1. Editing
2. Buying a shirt
3. The Surrey Ad ringing me up!
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
And, yes, I know all the "experts" tell you to put the first draft away for a month before working on it but frankly, m'dears, that never works for me and I can't ever be arsed to wait that long anyway. Sometimes I think that my actual writing is done on the whole in the cool light of day and my editing takes place in the heat of the moment. Sorry about the cliches, by the way, but I haven't used any all day so need to up my quota before the onset of evening. Anyway, I've made some changes, added in some foreshadowing (aha! I can do the lingo too, you know!) for different parts and attempted to rid the work of my current recurring phrase which, this time round, appears to be "a little". (He stepped a little away; I withdrew my arm a little; the mountains were a little further than I'd thought - oh God, when will it all end? Ah, in just a little time, m'dear ...). Still at least it beats having to rid all my poetry of the word "shimmering" which was last year's literary tic.
Oh and in the middle of all that, I've managed to play golf with Marian. Very, very badly. She even won!!! Damn it - that hardly ever happens!! I am shrouded in shame. Hey, that's a good line - must use it sometime, ho ho. I've also popped into Godalming and bought a nice burgundy men's shirt (for me of course ... Lord H isn't so keen on burgundy) from the Edinburgh Woollen Mill. And I've had a ten minute phone conversation with Colin from the Surrey Advertiser (http://www.surreyadvertiser.co.uk) discussing the article I sent him about the new Goldenford (http://www.goldenford.co.uk) connection with Virtual Tales (http://virtualtales.com) in producing some of our books as eBooks. He's hoping to print it next week, so that'll be good. I also mentioned the Pink Champagne site (http://www.pinkchampagneandapplejuice.com) as well, so I hope he includes it. Hey, I can talk to journalists without babbling and sounding insane. Um, no, actually I can't. Damn it. But you knew that anyway.
I will have to start the cleaning soon and gain Wife Points before Lord H comes home - or at least show willing. Ah, I have so many marital points to make up after his superhuman efforts of last weekend on the domestic front. Best get down to it then (as it were).
Tonight, I'm planning on champagne (celebrating the first pass through of The Gifting) and TV. Hell, I deserve it.
Today's nice things:
1. Editing
2. Buying a shirt
3. The Surrey Ad ringing me up!
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
Friday, April 27, 2007
The editing queen
I have worked like a trooper today and deserve countless gold stars, I'm sure. Well, maybe one anyway. For starters. First off, I must say how much I enjoyed the Goldenford (http://www.goldenford.co.uk) meeting last night - it was really good in terms of (a) taking me out of my slough of despond, and (b) planning ahead for our two books of this year. It was also nice as Jennifer has read A Dangerous Man (http://www.flamebooks.com) now and says she thinks it's the best thing I've written. Thanks, Jennifer - actually I think so too (if I'm allowed - as a UK female - even to type that ...), though I know my two genres are very different. She might even be able to pop into the Book Circle discussion on Monday, which will be great as there's a woman who can talk (sorry, Jennifer!).
Anyway, our two books of this year are:
1. The Gawain Quest by Jay Margrave, which you can find here: http://www.goldenford.co.uk/main.pl?quest
or here:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Gawain-Quest-Medieval-Mystery/dp/0953161358/ref=sr_1_1/202-0915331-5590251?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1177688801&sr=8-1
and which is, frankly, the best and raunchiest historical mystery you'll read in a long time. With a very punchy main character too. And I know because I edited it. It's available in June, but order now to avoid disappointment. As they say!
So this morning, I've typed up the Goldenford minutes and edited our autumn book, which is also our first non-fiction one - a quirky and extremely interesting book on weird and wonderful eBay sales entitled Sold ... to the Lady with the Lime-Green Laptop by Irene Black. It's great. I really enjoyed editing it. Wonderful pictures and stories behind the sales too. This one will be ideal for your Christmas reading/presents for sure. We're anticipating an August publication date for that one. So good for late summer hols too!
Ooh, and I've also received a very kind review of ADM from Roger Morris, author of "Taking Comfort" and "A Gentle Axe" (both available on Amazon and well worth a read) on the Writewords (http://www.writewords.org.uk) site here: http://www.writewords.org.uk/forum/97_141651.asp and which I reproduce below:
"Michael Jones, the dangerous man of the title, is driven by overwhelming ambition and desire: the ambition to make it as an artist, and the desire to show the world his true talent and vision by putting on the first ever exhibition of his drawings. (Surely a storyline that will resonate with many of us here on Writewords!) Michael is a complex and contradictory man: to begin with, here is an artist who seems to have a horror of colour. Indeed, the suppression of colour from his art is ominously intriguing. Colour, perhaps, is metaphor for truth, because the life Michael comes to live is only viable if he rigorously excludes the truth of his disturbing past. If art aims at self-expression, the artist who seeks to edit and trammel his self is heading for trouble.
What makes this scenario even more interesting is that Anne Brooke has chosen to make Michael her narrator. If there are things that Michael cannot admit to himself, then he’s certainly not going to share them with the reader. Connoisseurs of ‘the unreliable narrator’ take note.
There are layers of revelation and deceit in this novel. Confidences that are shared with some characters (Frank, the landlord at the Soho pub where Michael turns tricks to support his art habit) are withheld from others (notably Jack, Michael’s rich lover and benefactor). And then there are the things that no one is ever told, or at least not directly. But which surface nevertheless. We can’t help noticing the disturbing quirks of Michael’s behaviour, which hint at something dark in the past and something darker yet to come. The tensions that are set in play inevitably lead to violence, at which we may be shocked but not surprised. But there is also an uncontrollable outpouring of self-expression, a kind of rampage of artistic creation. Anne Brooke writes well about art, but of course we can never see Michael’s drawings. So we can never really know whether he has any talent as an artist. This is where her choice of Michael as narrator works particularly well. Is his self-belief justified? Or are those characters who are rather less enthusiastic about his work more to be trusted?
As we all know, the creative artist has to have a degree of self-belief, as well as self-will. Michael has both to excess. But does he have the necessary self-awareness? Possibly. At one point, commenting on his own ability to exploit an emotionally charged incident in his relationship with Jack, he confides to the reader: “Nothing we do is pure…” He then goes on to assert, perhaps protesting too much: “though I loved him, I swear it.” Michael’s best visual art, it seems, comes when he allows the difficult truth about himself to break through the emotional carapace that is, in fact, his greatest creation. But the process, of course, destroys him.
Anne Brooke tells a gripping story (at one point I missed my tube stop!) in a direct, conversational style that pulls you along. She is particularly good, I think, at delineating the power shifts and dynamics of Michael’s developing relationship with Jack. The honesty that a relationship demands is completely beyond Michael. The scene where Michael is introduced to Jack’s family is very well done, with the tension between Michael and Jack’s mother extremely well observed. Michael is dumbstruck by the family’s apparent ease together, even more than by their wealth. It turns out that the potential for happiness is a greater divider than class.
Although the author uses some of the tricks of a thriller writer to keep the reader guessing, I read ‘A Dangerous Man’ ultimately as a tragedy. Michael Jones may be guilty of wishing for too much, but we cannot help being moved by his fate. Given that he is in many ways a selfish and ‘unsympathetic’ character, this is a remarkable achievement."
Gosh, thanks, Roger. Hugely. More than hugely. And hey maybe it might tempt one or two more readers into the BSRS (Brooke Select Readership Society)! You never know. Come and join us ... you know you want to ... [cue creepy music and wild unearthly laughter, aha!]
Anyway, after all this I nipped into Godalming and bought a local paper and a present for my stepfather (birthday in May). I also bought a panicky last-minute present for a friend whose 40th birthday is on Tuesday, but I'd forgotten it was the big 4-0. Whoops. Ah well. It's in the post now, and I hope it's suitable, John!
My head is now throbbing with all this computer work. Might do some scribbling (by hand and on paper!) of The Gifting tonight, but don't count on it. I also have to think about the cleaning (argh, no, no!) and of course there's Friday TV comedy night to look forward to. And a weekend. Bliss.
Today's nice things:
1. Editing Irene's book
2. Roger's review of ADM
3. Being up-to-date with birthday obligations.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
Anyway, our two books of this year are:
1. The Gawain Quest by Jay Margrave, which you can find here: http://www.goldenford.co.uk/main.pl?quest
or here:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Gawain-Quest-Medieval-Mystery/dp/0953161358/ref=sr_1_1/202-0915331-5590251?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1177688801&sr=8-1
and which is, frankly, the best and raunchiest historical mystery you'll read in a long time. With a very punchy main character too. And I know because I edited it. It's available in June, but order now to avoid disappointment. As they say!
So this morning, I've typed up the Goldenford minutes and edited our autumn book, which is also our first non-fiction one - a quirky and extremely interesting book on weird and wonderful eBay sales entitled Sold ... to the Lady with the Lime-Green Laptop by Irene Black. It's great. I really enjoyed editing it. Wonderful pictures and stories behind the sales too. This one will be ideal for your Christmas reading/presents for sure. We're anticipating an August publication date for that one. So good for late summer hols too!
Ooh, and I've also received a very kind review of ADM from Roger Morris, author of "Taking Comfort" and "A Gentle Axe" (both available on Amazon and well worth a read) on the Writewords (http://www.writewords.org.uk) site here: http://www.writewords.org.uk/forum/97_141651.asp and which I reproduce below:
"Michael Jones, the dangerous man of the title, is driven by overwhelming ambition and desire: the ambition to make it as an artist, and the desire to show the world his true talent and vision by putting on the first ever exhibition of his drawings. (Surely a storyline that will resonate with many of us here on Writewords!) Michael is a complex and contradictory man: to begin with, here is an artist who seems to have a horror of colour. Indeed, the suppression of colour from his art is ominously intriguing. Colour, perhaps, is metaphor for truth, because the life Michael comes to live is only viable if he rigorously excludes the truth of his disturbing past. If art aims at self-expression, the artist who seeks to edit and trammel his self is heading for trouble.
What makes this scenario even more interesting is that Anne Brooke has chosen to make Michael her narrator. If there are things that Michael cannot admit to himself, then he’s certainly not going to share them with the reader. Connoisseurs of ‘the unreliable narrator’ take note.
There are layers of revelation and deceit in this novel. Confidences that are shared with some characters (Frank, the landlord at the Soho pub where Michael turns tricks to support his art habit) are withheld from others (notably Jack, Michael’s rich lover and benefactor). And then there are the things that no one is ever told, or at least not directly. But which surface nevertheless. We can’t help noticing the disturbing quirks of Michael’s behaviour, which hint at something dark in the past and something darker yet to come. The tensions that are set in play inevitably lead to violence, at which we may be shocked but not surprised. But there is also an uncontrollable outpouring of self-expression, a kind of rampage of artistic creation. Anne Brooke writes well about art, but of course we can never see Michael’s drawings. So we can never really know whether he has any talent as an artist. This is where her choice of Michael as narrator works particularly well. Is his self-belief justified? Or are those characters who are rather less enthusiastic about his work more to be trusted?
As we all know, the creative artist has to have a degree of self-belief, as well as self-will. Michael has both to excess. But does he have the necessary self-awareness? Possibly. At one point, commenting on his own ability to exploit an emotionally charged incident in his relationship with Jack, he confides to the reader: “Nothing we do is pure…” He then goes on to assert, perhaps protesting too much: “though I loved him, I swear it.” Michael’s best visual art, it seems, comes when he allows the difficult truth about himself to break through the emotional carapace that is, in fact, his greatest creation. But the process, of course, destroys him.
Anne Brooke tells a gripping story (at one point I missed my tube stop!) in a direct, conversational style that pulls you along. She is particularly good, I think, at delineating the power shifts and dynamics of Michael’s developing relationship with Jack. The honesty that a relationship demands is completely beyond Michael. The scene where Michael is introduced to Jack’s family is very well done, with the tension between Michael and Jack’s mother extremely well observed. Michael is dumbstruck by the family’s apparent ease together, even more than by their wealth. It turns out that the potential for happiness is a greater divider than class.
Although the author uses some of the tricks of a thriller writer to keep the reader guessing, I read ‘A Dangerous Man’ ultimately as a tragedy. Michael Jones may be guilty of wishing for too much, but we cannot help being moved by his fate. Given that he is in many ways a selfish and ‘unsympathetic’ character, this is a remarkable achievement."
Gosh, thanks, Roger. Hugely. More than hugely. And hey maybe it might tempt one or two more readers into the BSRS (Brooke Select Readership Society)! You never know. Come and join us ... you know you want to ... [cue creepy music and wild unearthly laughter, aha!]
Anyway, after all this I nipped into Godalming and bought a local paper and a present for my stepfather (birthday in May). I also bought a panicky last-minute present for a friend whose 40th birthday is on Tuesday, but I'd forgotten it was the big 4-0. Whoops. Ah well. It's in the post now, and I hope it's suitable, John!
My head is now throbbing with all this computer work. Might do some scribbling (by hand and on paper!) of The Gifting tonight, but don't count on it. I also have to think about the cleaning (argh, no, no!) and of course there's Friday TV comedy night to look forward to. And a weekend. Bliss.
Today's nice things:
1. Editing Irene's book
2. Roger's review of ADM
3. Being up-to-date with birthday obligations.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Cleaning, Gifting and exploding nuts
A fairly lazy lie-in today, followed by a wild bout of cleaning. With Lord H helping, even though he was supposed to be getting on with his theology presentation for Monday. Still, I didn't complain too much, eh! And the flat is now the cleanest it's been for a while. I even moved piles to dust underneath them - my grandmother would be proud ...
Afterwards, I had a brief yen to tackle the ironing, but instead got sidetracked into adding more to "The Gifting", which I hope to type up tomorrow. It was slow at first, but then I seemed to get into it more, which was reassuring. Still, I do seem to have had an attack of the "buzz words" at the moment - I can't stop typing "hands", "fling" and "a little". Make of that what you will. Oh, and I've also tacked a tanka (5 line Japanese verse) for an upcoming Writers' News (http://www.writersnews.co.uk) competition. I do admit to cheating - I took this week's haiku, fiddled it and added two lines. There, you see; I told you I had no artistic morals. So I've uploaded it to the Writewords (http://www.writewords.org.uk) site for comment and will see what they say.
After all that excitement, I had a glorious two-hour nap, followed by the decision that I really can't finish DBC Pierre's "Ludmila's Broken English" in spite of the glorious language. Unlike his previous effort ("Vernon God Little"), I just don't care enough about any of the characters. It's strange how cold and distant they feel, in spite of the exciting words/phrases he uses. A triumph of style over passion perhaps? I don't know.
Lord H and I had tentatively decided to go to the pub at the bottom of the road tonight, but actually neither of us can be arsed. So he's gone to the shops to (a) get a break from theology and dull Village Hall Committee stuff, and (b) get a Chinese. In the meantime, I've put a couple of beers in the fridge, and attempted to open some nuts, which have exploded all over our newly cleaned kitchen. Damn it. As he wasn't here and will never know, I have picked them up and put them back in the bag. For God's sake, never tell him! He hates that kind of thing ... But, hey, the kitchen was clean; it'll be fine!
Tonight, there's "Primeval" on TV (bliss), and I really have to do that ironing. Sigh.
Today's nice things:
1. Doing more to "The Gifting"
2. Getting the tanka done
3. Napping.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Afterwards, I had a brief yen to tackle the ironing, but instead got sidetracked into adding more to "The Gifting", which I hope to type up tomorrow. It was slow at first, but then I seemed to get into it more, which was reassuring. Still, I do seem to have had an attack of the "buzz words" at the moment - I can't stop typing "hands", "fling" and "a little". Make of that what you will. Oh, and I've also tacked a tanka (5 line Japanese verse) for an upcoming Writers' News (http://www.writersnews.co.uk) competition. I do admit to cheating - I took this week's haiku, fiddled it and added two lines. There, you see; I told you I had no artistic morals. So I've uploaded it to the Writewords (http://www.writewords.org.uk) site for comment and will see what they say.
After all that excitement, I had a glorious two-hour nap, followed by the decision that I really can't finish DBC Pierre's "Ludmila's Broken English" in spite of the glorious language. Unlike his previous effort ("Vernon God Little"), I just don't care enough about any of the characters. It's strange how cold and distant they feel, in spite of the exciting words/phrases he uses. A triumph of style over passion perhaps? I don't know.
Lord H and I had tentatively decided to go to the pub at the bottom of the road tonight, but actually neither of us can be arsed. So he's gone to the shops to (a) get a break from theology and dull Village Hall Committee stuff, and (b) get a Chinese. In the meantime, I've put a couple of beers in the fridge, and attempted to open some nuts, which have exploded all over our newly cleaned kitchen. Damn it. As he wasn't here and will never know, I have picked them up and put them back in the bag. For God's sake, never tell him! He hates that kind of thing ... But, hey, the kitchen was clean; it'll be fine!
Tonight, there's "Primeval" on TV (bliss), and I really have to do that ironing. Sigh.
Today's nice things:
1. Doing more to "The Gifting"
2. Getting the tanka done
3. Napping.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Friday, March 09, 2007
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Space for me and my men
Bloody hell, but that was a valuable weekend. I'd been dreading it beforehand thinking: should I go? should I stay at home? can I get to Bristol (and back) in one piece? But I'm glad I made the effort. And yes I made it through the wind and rain and lorries, and I'm back now. With my usual post-travel headache, but feeling something's changed inside. Which can only be a good thing.
So, Enneagram 2 - me and my relationships was the focus. On the technical side, as a Moody Romantic 4 (the Enneagram circle has nine numbers which you have greater or lesser leanings towards - I'm a 4), I've found out about how I can use my Loner neighbour (5 - the number which I do think Lord H is, by the way, but it's up to each person to work it out for themselves, so it's only my opinion!) and my Movie Star neighbour (3) in circumstances where that will be helpful, and also how my strongest links in times of stress & security are to the Perfectionist 1 and the Helper 2. And thinking about it, I do love so much to be at home (like a 5) so I can recharge, and I also do perform in public (like a 3), probably as a defence mechanism. Also, I think that when I'm stressed, I get obsessive about why things aren't perfect in some circumstances, and on flattering people so they don't attack me in others. Both of which actions are like the 1 and the 2 on the circle. Same with the security points really - when I'm feeling safe, I like the feeling of being in control (like a 1) and I also feel better able to help others (like a 2). Ye gods, Sherlock, it's all beginning to make sense. To me anyway.
Oh, and being a 4, I do love talking about myself, which explains the last paragraph - welcome to Anne's ego trip. Enjoy the ride ...
But far and away the best part of the weekend was what I feel I got out of the meditation/body work sessions (they focus on the combination of the physical and the spiritual at Emmaus House, which is something I appreciate). During the two meditations, we were asked to focus on our inner self and to hold that self with love and care. Not something I do very often, if I'm honest. For a while, I didn't really know what I was supposed to be doing, but then it came to me that it wasn't just me in that space. It was Michael too. And someone else. Which (in my tradition and understanding) I'd probably call God, but other people might call something else. The question I was asking, and which Michael was asking too, was: did I do okay? is it enough? And the answer was: yeah, you did good. It's enough. And then an overwhelming feeling of acceptance. No. More than that. Affirmation. Sounds simple, I know, but always the big question hanging over me in everything I do has been: is it good enough? am I good enough? And after five years of struggle with the book, the question becomes too huge to lose even on publication, believe me. To have it answered at least in terms of "A Dangerous Man" (http://www.flamebooks.com) and Michael in a way that means something to me and on a deep level is frankly revolutionary.
It also, I think, has freed something up in me in the way I've tried to ignore Michael and the Michael parts of me in my attempts to relate to God. After this weekend, I feel more that God might actually see the whole picture and not be as surprised or afraid of it as I am. Maybe (just maybe, mind ...) when that great supreme being in the sky looks at me, he already sees Michael, and Paul, and Simon, and ... whoever, as well and is even pleased that I've begun to acknowledge them too. Maybe even they can be part of the plan. Bloody hell, eh?...
Well. Phew. A lot to be pondering on, as you can see. But there were some lighter moments along the way - including having an ensuite room which had a toilet with only one wall between it and the window. And, um no other cover, not even a door. So, as Lord H said on the phone, more of an "en" than a "suite". I had to be jolly careful not to lean forward after getting off the throne (as it were) or everyone on the Bristol highway had a prime view of my unmentionables. Which may explain the amount of shrieking that appeared to go on at 2am on Saturday morning. Perhaps the Bristol youth were letting off steam at the horror of it all ...
Back home, I have yet to face the unpacking, but Lord H has done some cleaning (what a superhero - he now has huge numbers of Husband Points), so I'll leave it till next week. What a slut I am indeed. And tonight, it's "Lewis" on TV, so a slob-out opportunity. Hurrah.
Ooh, and for the first time, I've won the Writewords (http://www.writewords.org.uk) Flash Fiction II weekly competition with my "Another Time, Another Place" story, so that's a nice feeling for sure. And it means I have to set next week's competition - aha! the power! the power! My Enneagram 4 ego is loving it, dahlings!
This week's haiku:
Gravel and water,
sunlight, birdsong, a cool wind:
time and space to breathe.
This weekend's nice things:
1. Having space with Michael and God
2. The unexpected sense of peace
3. Laughing at the toilet arrangements.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
So, Enneagram 2 - me and my relationships was the focus. On the technical side, as a Moody Romantic 4 (the Enneagram circle has nine numbers which you have greater or lesser leanings towards - I'm a 4), I've found out about how I can use my Loner neighbour (5 - the number which I do think Lord H is, by the way, but it's up to each person to work it out for themselves, so it's only my opinion!) and my Movie Star neighbour (3) in circumstances where that will be helpful, and also how my strongest links in times of stress & security are to the Perfectionist 1 and the Helper 2. And thinking about it, I do love so much to be at home (like a 5) so I can recharge, and I also do perform in public (like a 3), probably as a defence mechanism. Also, I think that when I'm stressed, I get obsessive about why things aren't perfect in some circumstances, and on flattering people so they don't attack me in others. Both of which actions are like the 1 and the 2 on the circle. Same with the security points really - when I'm feeling safe, I like the feeling of being in control (like a 1) and I also feel better able to help others (like a 2). Ye gods, Sherlock, it's all beginning to make sense. To me anyway.
Oh, and being a 4, I do love talking about myself, which explains the last paragraph - welcome to Anne's ego trip. Enjoy the ride ...
But far and away the best part of the weekend was what I feel I got out of the meditation/body work sessions (they focus on the combination of the physical and the spiritual at Emmaus House, which is something I appreciate). During the two meditations, we were asked to focus on our inner self and to hold that self with love and care. Not something I do very often, if I'm honest. For a while, I didn't really know what I was supposed to be doing, but then it came to me that it wasn't just me in that space. It was Michael too. And someone else. Which (in my tradition and understanding) I'd probably call God, but other people might call something else. The question I was asking, and which Michael was asking too, was: did I do okay? is it enough? And the answer was: yeah, you did good. It's enough. And then an overwhelming feeling of acceptance. No. More than that. Affirmation. Sounds simple, I know, but always the big question hanging over me in everything I do has been: is it good enough? am I good enough? And after five years of struggle with the book, the question becomes too huge to lose even on publication, believe me. To have it answered at least in terms of "A Dangerous Man" (http://www.flamebooks.com) and Michael in a way that means something to me and on a deep level is frankly revolutionary.
It also, I think, has freed something up in me in the way I've tried to ignore Michael and the Michael parts of me in my attempts to relate to God. After this weekend, I feel more that God might actually see the whole picture and not be as surprised or afraid of it as I am. Maybe (just maybe, mind ...) when that great supreme being in the sky looks at me, he already sees Michael, and Paul, and Simon, and ... whoever, as well and is even pleased that I've begun to acknowledge them too. Maybe even they can be part of the plan. Bloody hell, eh?...
Well. Phew. A lot to be pondering on, as you can see. But there were some lighter moments along the way - including having an ensuite room which had a toilet with only one wall between it and the window. And, um no other cover, not even a door. So, as Lord H said on the phone, more of an "en" than a "suite". I had to be jolly careful not to lean forward after getting off the throne (as it were) or everyone on the Bristol highway had a prime view of my unmentionables. Which may explain the amount of shrieking that appeared to go on at 2am on Saturday morning. Perhaps the Bristol youth were letting off steam at the horror of it all ...
Back home, I have yet to face the unpacking, but Lord H has done some cleaning (what a superhero - he now has huge numbers of Husband Points), so I'll leave it till next week. What a slut I am indeed. And tonight, it's "Lewis" on TV, so a slob-out opportunity. Hurrah.
Ooh, and for the first time, I've won the Writewords (http://www.writewords.org.uk) Flash Fiction II weekly competition with my "Another Time, Another Place" story, so that's a nice feeling for sure. And it means I have to set next week's competition - aha! the power! the power! My Enneagram 4 ego is loving it, dahlings!
This week's haiku:
Gravel and water,
sunlight, birdsong, a cool wind:
time and space to breathe.
This weekend's nice things:
1. Having space with Michael and God
2. The unexpected sense of peace
3. Laughing at the toilet arrangements.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Golf and the Great Clean
A bit of a lie-in this morning, followed by a major panic as I realised that we really had to clean the flat before our golf session & lunch with Marian & Siegi. No matter how many hours/days you leave for the cleaning trauma, there is never enough time. And I do sooo hate cleaning - it makes me long for the days of servants (though they'd probably be shocked by the sort of stuff we keep around the place, to be honest). Anyway, we managed to do it in time, thank God.
And in the middle of it all, I received another request for "A Stranger's Table" - which is now on Amazon and can be found here:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Strangers-Table-Anne-Brooke/dp/1905126883/sr=8-1/qid=1172342554/ref=sr_1_1/202-0915331-5590251?ie=UTF8&s=books
... all you ever need to know about wasps, art and lesbianism, all in one book. Marvellous. The perfect gift for Lent indeed.
So, with today's request, I have sold the grand total of five poetry books. Ah well. Not quite Poet Laureate standards, one fears, but heck it's a tricky market. Still, the good news is that Ver Poets (Gawd bless 'em) have asked to review a copy so I have sent one to them. And my old poetry tutor (who bought today's copy) has suggested I send it to the TLS' review pages as well - which just goes to show there's nothing like optimism. I do fear that will be a totally wasted copy, but he's very insistent ...
So, golf at lunchtime with Marian and Siegi - we couldn't play on our usual course though (Charterhouse, if you're asking, dahlings - Lord H is a member, but only because the downstairs neighbour is a green-keeper, so don't get too excited ...) as they were having a competition, so we went to the local one instead. Which was surprisingly empty, probably due to the amount of sport on today. Nevertheless, we were still crap - the only one playing anything remotely like the noble game of golf today was Lord H. However, we did have a laugh. Mainly at how many times I could get in the mud and shower myself with the stuff when I attempted a swing.
Post-lunch, I have put the flat back to how it should be, so it feels more like our own now - is it just me, or does people coming round feel like invasion to others too? No? Ah well, it is just me then ... Sigh.
Tonight, I'm hoping to slump like a beached whale in front of the tv and catch up on (a) Primeval, and (b) my video of Life on Mars. And I have done a few sentences to "The Gifting" - but nothing serious like actually turning the pages over to write more. Too tired for anything complicated really.
Today's nice things:
1. Selling a copy of "A Stranger's Table" - which has boosted my sales by one-fifth, hurrah!
2. Golf
3. Slumping and tv.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
And in the middle of it all, I received another request for "A Stranger's Table" - which is now on Amazon and can be found here:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Strangers-Table-Anne-Brooke/dp/1905126883/sr=8-1/qid=1172342554/ref=sr_1_1/202-0915331-5590251?ie=UTF8&s=books
... all you ever need to know about wasps, art and lesbianism, all in one book. Marvellous. The perfect gift for Lent indeed.
So, with today's request, I have sold the grand total of five poetry books. Ah well. Not quite Poet Laureate standards, one fears, but heck it's a tricky market. Still, the good news is that Ver Poets (Gawd bless 'em) have asked to review a copy so I have sent one to them. And my old poetry tutor (who bought today's copy) has suggested I send it to the TLS' review pages as well - which just goes to show there's nothing like optimism. I do fear that will be a totally wasted copy, but he's very insistent ...
So, golf at lunchtime with Marian and Siegi - we couldn't play on our usual course though (Charterhouse, if you're asking, dahlings - Lord H is a member, but only because the downstairs neighbour is a green-keeper, so don't get too excited ...) as they were having a competition, so we went to the local one instead. Which was surprisingly empty, probably due to the amount of sport on today. Nevertheless, we were still crap - the only one playing anything remotely like the noble game of golf today was Lord H. However, we did have a laugh. Mainly at how many times I could get in the mud and shower myself with the stuff when I attempted a swing.
Post-lunch, I have put the flat back to how it should be, so it feels more like our own now - is it just me, or does people coming round feel like invasion to others too? No? Ah well, it is just me then ... Sigh.
Tonight, I'm hoping to slump like a beached whale in front of the tv and catch up on (a) Primeval, and (b) my video of Life on Mars. And I have done a few sentences to "The Gifting" - but nothing serious like actually turning the pages over to write more. Too tired for anything complicated really.
Today's nice things:
1. Selling a copy of "A Stranger's Table" - which has boosted my sales by one-fifth, hurrah!
2. Golf
3. Slumping and tv.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Friday, February 02, 2007
Letters, novels and phone calls
Feel rather better today, thank goodness. Though I could enter into the British Olympic Sneezing team and do quite well, in all likelihood. Still, it's good to have a hobby. But for that reason alone, Lord H and I have decided to give the play we were planning to see tonight in Woking a miss. If I sneezed at a point of high drama, the serious Surrey playgoers would probably lynch me. It's like the old Wild West out here in the shires, you know.
I had a brief word with Mother this morning, who rang at 8.15am. Which is nearly lunchtime for her. You can take a girl out of the countryside, but you can't take the countryside out of the girl. Except in my case of course - but I was never really there in my heart at all. During the week, I've been getting strange messages which appeared to be from her - hey, my own mother is stalking me; what a great henlit plot that is! - so I rang last night and left a message to see if she was all right. I was starting to have visions of my stepfather having tied her up and locked her in the office, and her only means of communication was to dial my number with her nose to try to call for help. Yes, I know. I should meet reality one day. I might like it. Especially as my stepfather is quite harmless really and was only ever remotely cross the once, when I ruined his raspberry patch by accidentally driving his car over it. Hey, anyone can make a mistake! We knew he was cross then as he sighed and one eyebrow went up. Anyway, all that's happened now is my mother has a new phone system and the shortcut button with my number on it is supremely sensitive. She reassures me that she's sorted it out, so I shouldn't get any strange calls while she's in the Canary Islands next week. Or no stranger than normal.
This morning, I finally got round to writing my letter to thank St Peter's for their book tokens gift. It's been preying on my mind all week, but I haven't really had the energy to put pen to paper. Well, today I've done it. It took longer than I thought it would, to be honest - I think because I wanted to say more than just "thank you and goodnight" - after all, whatever the current state of my religion (no, for God's sake, don't ask ...), they've been very sweet about the way I've been slowly withdrawing over the past year, ie coming off the Parochial Church Council, abandoning the prayer rota and finally giving my Sacristan notice in last September. I think I've hit the right-ish balance in the letter between keeping it light and being honest about things, but as always with one's own stuff it's bloody hard to say. I have to admit I got quite emotional at the end and had to sit and stare into space for a while before writing my final paragraph. It strikes me that I don't actually know what I'm saying goodbye to: being Sacristan? St Peter's itself? God? I don't know. This might be one of the few times in my life when I'm not sure which direction I'm heading in or where I'll end up, so it's hard being in this place of uncertainty and, yes, emptiness. Especially for an obsessive control freak like myself. After all, I've been a Christian for 24 years, in a variety of flavours and with a huge range of different dedication levels, and after an experience which was more deep, subtle and shocking than the sum of all my parts. It's difficult to let that go now.
Ah well. God, eh? Bloody hell, but you can't trust Him. And don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise ...
Anyway, gathering myself in, in the time-honoured fashion of many an Essex Girl, for the rest of the day, I've been chipping away at "The Gifting". 95,000 words done in total now, and it's feeling a little more like a real story rather than a series of disjointed scenes and sentences. I enjoyed it too. I may even have scaled my "middle of a novel hump", at least for the moment - though I'm sure there'll be more humps to come before the story finally disappears over the horizon and those magical words, "The End", arise mysteriously from the keyboard. Yes, I know - too bloody fanciful. I must get out more, and soon.
Tonight, I shall ignore the cleaning on the grounds of continued convalescence, watch mindless TV and not attempt the difficult sudokus - after all, that's what Lord H is for!
Today's nice things:
1. Speaking to Mother - strangely
2. Writing to St Peter's - bizarrely
3. Getting on with "The Gifting".
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
I had a brief word with Mother this morning, who rang at 8.15am. Which is nearly lunchtime for her. You can take a girl out of the countryside, but you can't take the countryside out of the girl. Except in my case of course - but I was never really there in my heart at all. During the week, I've been getting strange messages which appeared to be from her - hey, my own mother is stalking me; what a great henlit plot that is! - so I rang last night and left a message to see if she was all right. I was starting to have visions of my stepfather having tied her up and locked her in the office, and her only means of communication was to dial my number with her nose to try to call for help. Yes, I know. I should meet reality one day. I might like it. Especially as my stepfather is quite harmless really and was only ever remotely cross the once, when I ruined his raspberry patch by accidentally driving his car over it. Hey, anyone can make a mistake! We knew he was cross then as he sighed and one eyebrow went up. Anyway, all that's happened now is my mother has a new phone system and the shortcut button with my number on it is supremely sensitive. She reassures me that she's sorted it out, so I shouldn't get any strange calls while she's in the Canary Islands next week. Or no stranger than normal.
This morning, I finally got round to writing my letter to thank St Peter's for their book tokens gift. It's been preying on my mind all week, but I haven't really had the energy to put pen to paper. Well, today I've done it. It took longer than I thought it would, to be honest - I think because I wanted to say more than just "thank you and goodnight" - after all, whatever the current state of my religion (no, for God's sake, don't ask ...), they've been very sweet about the way I've been slowly withdrawing over the past year, ie coming off the Parochial Church Council, abandoning the prayer rota and finally giving my Sacristan notice in last September. I think I've hit the right-ish balance in the letter between keeping it light and being honest about things, but as always with one's own stuff it's bloody hard to say. I have to admit I got quite emotional at the end and had to sit and stare into space for a while before writing my final paragraph. It strikes me that I don't actually know what I'm saying goodbye to: being Sacristan? St Peter's itself? God? I don't know. This might be one of the few times in my life when I'm not sure which direction I'm heading in or where I'll end up, so it's hard being in this place of uncertainty and, yes, emptiness. Especially for an obsessive control freak like myself. After all, I've been a Christian for 24 years, in a variety of flavours and with a huge range of different dedication levels, and after an experience which was more deep, subtle and shocking than the sum of all my parts. It's difficult to let that go now.
Ah well. God, eh? Bloody hell, but you can't trust Him. And don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise ...
Anyway, gathering myself in, in the time-honoured fashion of many an Essex Girl, for the rest of the day, I've been chipping away at "The Gifting". 95,000 words done in total now, and it's feeling a little more like a real story rather than a series of disjointed scenes and sentences. I enjoyed it too. I may even have scaled my "middle of a novel hump", at least for the moment - though I'm sure there'll be more humps to come before the story finally disappears over the horizon and those magical words, "The End", arise mysteriously from the keyboard. Yes, I know - too bloody fanciful. I must get out more, and soon.
Tonight, I shall ignore the cleaning on the grounds of continued convalescence, watch mindless TV and not attempt the difficult sudokus - after all, that's what Lord H is for!
Today's nice things:
1. Speaking to Mother - strangely
2. Writing to St Peter's - bizarrely
3. Getting on with "The Gifting".
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Friday, January 19, 2007
Teeing up in the mud
Whirled round the Godalming shops today like a dervish, and even had enough courage to go into the boy motor shop in order to get more oil for my car. Not that it is a boy motor shop, you understand, but it is a motor shop, so full of boys. Mind you, as I was wearing trousers and a woolly hat, they may not have known the difference, especially with my grandfather's nose. Darn it. However, being a girl in spite of it all, I did have to stand in front of the oil shelves and take out my diary to check the exact type of oil I needed, even though I had memorised it before entering. They may well have cottoned on to my gender at that point - as of course boys don't have diaries. They have funny electronic things they can poke at (as it were), if they have anything at all. Or they are born knowing oil types as part of the species. It's hard to say. There were several smirks while I paid for it at the counter, but I frowned and refused to make eye contact, so honour of some kind was satisfied. Probably.
Back at home, I tackled The Gifting again with the kind of sinking heart that says: hey, babe, you can't write a novel so don't be ridiculous; or you'll never finish this, so why bother? But after the first few stabs at the keyboard and maniacal laughing, I actually managed to get a scene transmission half-page across in some kind of fashion (though I may well tweak it with vigour later), which brings me to the point where Johan (secondary character, but a key man) has to tell the story of where he's come from. I like to get my teeth into a main section, so that's good news. And - great excitement - I've thought of a cunning twist for 3/4s through which will shake everything up once more. Hurrah! Just have to write the darn stuff then ... Ay, there's the rub. And I've done (almost) another 1000 words, which cheers me. Achievement obsessive that I am.
Which brings me to teeing up in the mud. Though, come to think of it, that phrase also describes my writing life pretty damn well. Marian and I played golf in a post-storm Britain, and had fun bouncing off trees which hadn't been there last time we'd played - or at least not in that position - and landing splat in the mud, when we were hoping for something of a run-on effect. Hell, is that too much sad golfing terminology? Well, you know what I mean ... Actually, one of Marian's shots was utterly fantastic, over the ditch and curving beautifully onto the green, and looked really professional (argh! that word again! somebody beat me, now!), thus gaining a "10" in the Golf Cool stakes. Or it would have gained a 10 if I hadn't shrieked with joy at the sight of it and danced up and down with my club in the air. Hmm, bet that's not done during the Ryder Cup ...
And, talking of sad people (ie me), I was on the phone to the Tax Office today to make sure I could pay in their kind rebate cheque without fear of arrest and incarceration, and when the woman on the phone asked me to give her my National Insurance number, I found myself quoting it to her without even looking it up. Bloody hell, but that's sad. And it was right too. God, but that's even sadder. I should really get out more. Or possibly stay in more and not interfere with the day-to-day lives of normal folk.
Tonight, I'm going to do as little cleaning as possible, eat pizza and ice cream till my brain explodes and drink lots of red wine. It's good for my heart, apparently. But who the bloody hell cares about that?
Oh, and good news on the reading front - Roger Morris (http://rogersplog.blogspot.com) has another book out soon - "The Gentle Axe" - which, as a tip-off, will definitely be worth reading. His first book, "Taking Comfort", is seriously hot stuff and everyone should buy it. It's classy, readable and - to me - like an English version of Murakami. You heard it here first.
Today's nice things:
1. Writing more of The Gifting
2. Golf shrieking
3. Impressing the Tax Office.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Back at home, I tackled The Gifting again with the kind of sinking heart that says: hey, babe, you can't write a novel so don't be ridiculous; or you'll never finish this, so why bother? But after the first few stabs at the keyboard and maniacal laughing, I actually managed to get a scene transmission half-page across in some kind of fashion (though I may well tweak it with vigour later), which brings me to the point where Johan (secondary character, but a key man) has to tell the story of where he's come from. I like to get my teeth into a main section, so that's good news. And - great excitement - I've thought of a cunning twist for 3/4s through which will shake everything up once more. Hurrah! Just have to write the darn stuff then ... Ay, there's the rub. And I've done (almost) another 1000 words, which cheers me. Achievement obsessive that I am.
Which brings me to teeing up in the mud. Though, come to think of it, that phrase also describes my writing life pretty damn well. Marian and I played golf in a post-storm Britain, and had fun bouncing off trees which hadn't been there last time we'd played - or at least not in that position - and landing splat in the mud, when we were hoping for something of a run-on effect. Hell, is that too much sad golfing terminology? Well, you know what I mean ... Actually, one of Marian's shots was utterly fantastic, over the ditch and curving beautifully onto the green, and looked really professional (argh! that word again! somebody beat me, now!), thus gaining a "10" in the Golf Cool stakes. Or it would have gained a 10 if I hadn't shrieked with joy at the sight of it and danced up and down with my club in the air. Hmm, bet that's not done during the Ryder Cup ...
And, talking of sad people (ie me), I was on the phone to the Tax Office today to make sure I could pay in their kind rebate cheque without fear of arrest and incarceration, and when the woman on the phone asked me to give her my National Insurance number, I found myself quoting it to her without even looking it up. Bloody hell, but that's sad. And it was right too. God, but that's even sadder. I should really get out more. Or possibly stay in more and not interfere with the day-to-day lives of normal folk.
Tonight, I'm going to do as little cleaning as possible, eat pizza and ice cream till my brain explodes and drink lots of red wine. It's good for my heart, apparently. But who the bloody hell cares about that?
Oh, and good news on the reading front - Roger Morris (http://rogersplog.blogspot.com) has another book out soon - "The Gentle Axe" - which, as a tip-off, will definitely be worth reading. His first book, "Taking Comfort", is seriously hot stuff and everyone should buy it. It's classy, readable and - to me - like an English version of Murakami. You heard it here first.
Today's nice things:
1. Writing more of The Gifting
2. Golf shrieking
3. Impressing the Tax Office.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Mops, poems and tuts
Hurrah - no need to go to church today as I'm no longer doing the 8am service since giving up my role as Sacristan at Christmas, and we've never gone to the 10am Family Service anyway due to not liking choruses. Or children. Or anything written by that ruddy Graham Kendrick (the only songwriter I know of who can never manage to fit the tune to the words, no matter how much he thinks he can). Give me an old-fashioned hymn any day. At least they have depth.
So, a lazy morning followed by a lazy roast lunch and an equally lazy afternoon watching Michael J Fox in "The Secret of My Success". Cute film, though not great - but you can't really go wrong with the great Michael J. in my opinion.
In the meantime, we are having an interesting time with mops. I managed to break our mop a couple of weeks ago, and Lord H bought a new one last week, complete with spare mop parts. Ready for when I next break it, I imagine. Curiously, since that time, everywhere we go, we are followed by women bearing mops. Even in Brighton yesterday, we spotted three. Is there a national mop crisis, which I am not aware of? Or has the country been taken over by a sudden desire to keep the streets clean? Or are our womenfolk revolting with the only weapons at their disposal? Sometimes, I think I'm living in the twilight zone. Still, at least it's better than secreting illicit knives about one's person.
And, whilst I haven't been writing any fiction (poor Simon - he's still waiting for me to get him out of his current predicament ...), I have been busy with the poetry, and have managed to get two poems down this weekend. One for a Valentines Day competition in Writing Magazine (http://www.writersnews.co.uk) and one about my grandmother, which I reproduce below:
My grandmother
always thought
I was a little pagan,
someone lippy who didn’t believe
quite how she did
although our anger was the same.
She sang opera
at the kitchen sink,
songs from the shows
while stoking the fire
in cold northern mornings.
Her voice woke us
in summer holidays
filled with coal and sweet pink biscuits.
We were never quite comfortable,
she and I,
never sure how to be together.
Perhaps we didn’t try for long.
But I remember one day
in my bedroom
a bird flew over my hair,
sparking ancient childish terror.
I screamed
and the bird spun upwards and from wall to wall
in wild, unreconstructed flight,
a whirlwind of feathers and fear.
Disturbed by the noise,
my grandmother pounded upstairs,
calling my name, the note of panic
sky-clear in her voice.
The bird’s wings flapped a storm around us.
Her hand snapped out,
as fast as light or sound,
and caught it.
A quick movement,
a click, a silence,
and wings hung limp and soft
over her pale fingers,
the bird’s neck broken,
an angel in death.
She left without speaking,
taking the fresh carrion with her.
I never asked what became of it,
if its fate was fire or burial
or if she simply threw it in the street
for the rag-and-bone man’s cart.
Later, I cleared the mess of feathers
from my small room
and banked the memory down.
Hmm, a tough cookie, my grandmother. And good on hand-eye coordination too. Ah, memories, eh?...
Which brings me to tutting. Apparently, Lord H tells me I do this now without thinking and even before he's done anything wrong. Well, I like to save time, as you never know what he might be about to do. I don't like to have my tutting box empty. Be prepared, as Grandma used to say. Oh, and I've just finished reading the Selected Poems of James Fenton. Loved some of them, but others left me cold or were just plain irritating. Personal favourites are: the marvellous "I'll Explain", the haunting "Tiananmen" and the bleak but beautiful "Fireflies of the Sea". And I see I only have three poetry books left to read now, so I'll have to go on the hunt for more fairly soon.
This week's haiku is:
Brighton:
City of bright lanes,
couples, the windswept pier
and, always, the sea.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
So, a lazy morning followed by a lazy roast lunch and an equally lazy afternoon watching Michael J Fox in "The Secret of My Success". Cute film, though not great - but you can't really go wrong with the great Michael J. in my opinion.
In the meantime, we are having an interesting time with mops. I managed to break our mop a couple of weeks ago, and Lord H bought a new one last week, complete with spare mop parts. Ready for when I next break it, I imagine. Curiously, since that time, everywhere we go, we are followed by women bearing mops. Even in Brighton yesterday, we spotted three. Is there a national mop crisis, which I am not aware of? Or has the country been taken over by a sudden desire to keep the streets clean? Or are our womenfolk revolting with the only weapons at their disposal? Sometimes, I think I'm living in the twilight zone. Still, at least it's better than secreting illicit knives about one's person.
And, whilst I haven't been writing any fiction (poor Simon - he's still waiting for me to get him out of his current predicament ...), I have been busy with the poetry, and have managed to get two poems down this weekend. One for a Valentines Day competition in Writing Magazine (http://www.writersnews.co.uk) and one about my grandmother, which I reproduce below:
My grandmother
always thought
I was a little pagan,
someone lippy who didn’t believe
quite how she did
although our anger was the same.
She sang opera
at the kitchen sink,
songs from the shows
while stoking the fire
in cold northern mornings.
Her voice woke us
in summer holidays
filled with coal and sweet pink biscuits.
We were never quite comfortable,
she and I,
never sure how to be together.
Perhaps we didn’t try for long.
But I remember one day
in my bedroom
a bird flew over my hair,
sparking ancient childish terror.
I screamed
and the bird spun upwards and from wall to wall
in wild, unreconstructed flight,
a whirlwind of feathers and fear.
Disturbed by the noise,
my grandmother pounded upstairs,
calling my name, the note of panic
sky-clear in her voice.
The bird’s wings flapped a storm around us.
Her hand snapped out,
as fast as light or sound,
and caught it.
A quick movement,
a click, a silence,
and wings hung limp and soft
over her pale fingers,
the bird’s neck broken,
an angel in death.
She left without speaking,
taking the fresh carrion with her.
I never asked what became of it,
if its fate was fire or burial
or if she simply threw it in the street
for the rag-and-bone man’s cart.
Later, I cleared the mess of feathers
from my small room
and banked the memory down.
Hmm, a tough cookie, my grandmother. And good on hand-eye coordination too. Ah, memories, eh?...
Which brings me to tutting. Apparently, Lord H tells me I do this now without thinking and even before he's done anything wrong. Well, I like to save time, as you never know what he might be about to do. I don't like to have my tutting box empty. Be prepared, as Grandma used to say. Oh, and I've just finished reading the Selected Poems of James Fenton. Loved some of them, but others left me cold or were just plain irritating. Personal favourites are: the marvellous "I'll Explain", the haunting "Tiananmen" and the bleak but beautiful "Fireflies of the Sea". And I see I only have three poetry books left to read now, so I'll have to go on the hunt for more fairly soon.
This week's haiku is:
Brighton:
City of bright lanes,
couples, the windswept pier
and, always, the sea.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Friday, December 29, 2006
Velasquez and clotted cream
Yes, the ideal combination. Lord H and I were up at the crack of dawn today in order to get to London on the 9.20 train. I factored in huge amounts of time to drive to Woking during the rush hour, but the rush hour appeared to be inoperative (hey, is nobody at all at work this week? What is the country coming to ...?) and we arrived at the station at 8.55. The car park was virtually empty too - and is now charging a massive £8.30 to park all day. Ye gods, for that price, I'd expect to own the bloody car park. And have it lined with Daniel Craig look-alikes too. Naked ones. Thank goodness the machine accepts credit cards and Lord H was feeling noble. Talking of noble, I lightheartedly waved my railcard at Lord H and said I'd pay for the train. Forgetting of course that the card doesn't work till after 10am, so I had to pay £40 for travel cards for the both of us. £40!! I ask you ... And people wonder why I won't work in London.
Lord H had decided to make the most of the train journey to package his theology essay & questionnaires into the appropriate envelopes (proofread and printed off late last night - Good Wife points all round ...) - so as soon as he sat down, he unbuttoned his coat, scrabbled at chest level inside his jumper and produced a paperclip. Then he did it again. And I'd been wondering what men's nipples were for. Now I know ... When I voiced this in my usual dulcet (not) tones, his response was that I should wait to see where he'd stored the rubber bands. At which point, the tannoy announcement asked us to let the train staff know if we saw anything suspicious and the family the other side of the aisle moved seats.
Which brings me to the National Gallery Velasquez exhibition. Wonderful. I can highly recommend it. Best of all, there are only four rooms so you don't have to have art (oh Lord, where's the chocolate, please give it to me now) overload syndrome. And there's a free micro-booklet which tells you just enough about each picture to keep your interest. Bliss. My favourites? - rather surprisingly, the portraits of men at court whom Velasquez knew. Very realistic and humane stuff. Moving too. Lord H's favourite? - the Rokeby Venus (the naked lady with her back to us and gazing in the mirror). Need you ask? However, Lord H did comment that her bottom was in sharp focus but the rest of her was very soft and almost impressionistic. He was right too - the photographer's eye, eh? Not, of course, the half-hour he spent staring at it and salivating ... So the good Velasquez is a bottom man. You heard it here first.
Post-art, we dropped into Fortnum & Mason to (a) check out the sales - rather like an art gallery but with food instead of paint - and (b) have a snack - which turned out to be tea & scones, replete with clotted cream buckets x2. Heaven. As always, and in true Essex Girl fashion, I'd saved a large teaspoon of cream and jam in the buckets to lap up sans scone at the end. But the moment I'd got rid of the bun, the waitress made a foolhardy attempt to whisk my plate away. I fought bravely to retain my clotted cream orgasm rights and, after a brief tussle, I won. Lord H said the look on my face as my plate was almost removed was Munch-like in its expression of raw terror. Hell, I got the cream though. Ha!
And so, home. Tonight, I need to make a token cleaning gesture and then slump in front of the TV again. Hey, it's good to have an exercise plan.
Today's nice things:
1. Velasquez
2. Clotted cream
3. An evening in.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Lord H had decided to make the most of the train journey to package his theology essay & questionnaires into the appropriate envelopes (proofread and printed off late last night - Good Wife points all round ...) - so as soon as he sat down, he unbuttoned his coat, scrabbled at chest level inside his jumper and produced a paperclip. Then he did it again. And I'd been wondering what men's nipples were for. Now I know ... When I voiced this in my usual dulcet (not) tones, his response was that I should wait to see where he'd stored the rubber bands. At which point, the tannoy announcement asked us to let the train staff know if we saw anything suspicious and the family the other side of the aisle moved seats.
Which brings me to the National Gallery Velasquez exhibition. Wonderful. I can highly recommend it. Best of all, there are only four rooms so you don't have to have art (oh Lord, where's the chocolate, please give it to me now) overload syndrome. And there's a free micro-booklet which tells you just enough about each picture to keep your interest. Bliss. My favourites? - rather surprisingly, the portraits of men at court whom Velasquez knew. Very realistic and humane stuff. Moving too. Lord H's favourite? - the Rokeby Venus (the naked lady with her back to us and gazing in the mirror). Need you ask? However, Lord H did comment that her bottom was in sharp focus but the rest of her was very soft and almost impressionistic. He was right too - the photographer's eye, eh? Not, of course, the half-hour he spent staring at it and salivating ... So the good Velasquez is a bottom man. You heard it here first.
Post-art, we dropped into Fortnum & Mason to (a) check out the sales - rather like an art gallery but with food instead of paint - and (b) have a snack - which turned out to be tea & scones, replete with clotted cream buckets x2. Heaven. As always, and in true Essex Girl fashion, I'd saved a large teaspoon of cream and jam in the buckets to lap up sans scone at the end. But the moment I'd got rid of the bun, the waitress made a foolhardy attempt to whisk my plate away. I fought bravely to retain my clotted cream orgasm rights and, after a brief tussle, I won. Lord H said the look on my face as my plate was almost removed was Munch-like in its expression of raw terror. Hell, I got the cream though. Ha!
And so, home. Tonight, I need to make a token cleaning gesture and then slump in front of the TV again. Hey, it's good to have an exercise plan.
Today's nice things:
1. Velasquez
2. Clotted cream
3. An evening in.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Friday, December 22, 2006
Fog and scribbling
Or rather tapping. Another freezing fog-bound day in Godalming today. I wonder if the rest of the country is actually basking in glorious sunshine, and it's only Surrey which is lying under the misty curse? Reminds me of the start of one of those old Doctor Who episodes - possibly the one where the Cybermen first clump up out of the ocean. No sea here though. The Surrey matrons wouldn't allow it - Surrey's too rich for sea-water.
Anyway, I'm burbling. Have spent the day tapping like a madwoman on the computer and produced another 1000 words of "The Gifting". Hurrah! My day would have been different if Marian and I had been brave enough to play golf, but neither of us wanted to be snatched away by the fog demons and, besides, we were worried about losing our balls in the mist. Not that either of us can send the ball that far, but you never know ... Frankly, I was glad of the chance to stay in and nap. Which is what I did, after my 1000 words were done. Goodness, I am so becoming like my grandmother. Soon I shall be knitting and shouting at the TV phrases like "Don't I know him?" and "Didn't he use to be in Coronation Street?" Oh, I forgot. I already do this. But not in a northern accent.
In the midst of all this, I'm been doing some more reading of Tim Cantopher's book on depression - today's chapter was how to cope with recovery. Apparently it's all right to leave a task halfway through if you get tired. My goodness, how I need to learn that. I get extremely twitchy if I don't finish stuff, and start compulsively checking plugs and things - or is that just part of being female??
Tonight I will clean for Christmas, I think. Why do I always have to do that, by the way? After all, God willing, there will be a time after The Big Day when all the cleaning (damn it) can be done, and we (thank the Lord) don't have visitors, so why bother anyway? Hmm, once again, maybe that's something they embed into you when they hand you the womb gene at conception. As I don't think men ever have the urge to get out the Mr Sheen - though I'm happy to be proved wrong, of course. I might even leave it halfway through - you never know (oh Lord, I'm getting twitchy at the mere thought!...).
I'm also going to be glued to the "Strictly Come Dancing" update - an hour's special this evening - how my cup runneth over indeed! And later, there's always "QI" with the adorably marvellous Stephen Fry. Goodness me, that rhymes - there's hope for me yet.
Today's nice things:
1. Tapping away at the novel
2. Not going out
3. TV.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Anyway, I'm burbling. Have spent the day tapping like a madwoman on the computer and produced another 1000 words of "The Gifting". Hurrah! My day would have been different if Marian and I had been brave enough to play golf, but neither of us wanted to be snatched away by the fog demons and, besides, we were worried about losing our balls in the mist. Not that either of us can send the ball that far, but you never know ... Frankly, I was glad of the chance to stay in and nap. Which is what I did, after my 1000 words were done. Goodness, I am so becoming like my grandmother. Soon I shall be knitting and shouting at the TV phrases like "Don't I know him?" and "Didn't he use to be in Coronation Street?" Oh, I forgot. I already do this. But not in a northern accent.
In the midst of all this, I'm been doing some more reading of Tim Cantopher's book on depression - today's chapter was how to cope with recovery. Apparently it's all right to leave a task halfway through if you get tired. My goodness, how I need to learn that. I get extremely twitchy if I don't finish stuff, and start compulsively checking plugs and things - or is that just part of being female??
Tonight I will clean for Christmas, I think. Why do I always have to do that, by the way? After all, God willing, there will be a time after The Big Day when all the cleaning (damn it) can be done, and we (thank the Lord) don't have visitors, so why bother anyway? Hmm, once again, maybe that's something they embed into you when they hand you the womb gene at conception. As I don't think men ever have the urge to get out the Mr Sheen - though I'm happy to be proved wrong, of course. I might even leave it halfway through - you never know (oh Lord, I'm getting twitchy at the mere thought!...).
I'm also going to be glued to the "Strictly Come Dancing" update - an hour's special this evening - how my cup runneth over indeed! And later, there's always "QI" with the adorably marvellous Stephen Fry. Goodness me, that rhymes - there's hope for me yet.
Today's nice things:
1. Tapping away at the novel
2. Not going out
3. TV.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Haircut and black tie dinner
Never say I don't lead the high life on occasion. This morning was a lazy lie-in followed by a half-hearted cleaning session in preparation for doing lunch for friends tomorrow. But there is some good news! - cleaning is much nicer with an iPod. It's true - technology works. It does make our lives nicer. I feel much calmer if I'm listening to Mozart while scrubbing the kitchen, and Blondie's "Sunday Girl" is a wow for washing the floors to. You heard it here first. And how Blondie takes me back to my school days - ah happy memories (at least in terms of secondary school anyhow). The only trouble was the sing-along moments disturbing Lord H's efforts to do his theology essay (not that he complained, and before anyone asks, yes, he had done his share of the cleaning by then ...) - I'm not sure I have the range that Deborah Harry had. Ever. In any circumstance.
Managed to squeeze in one episode of the original "Star Trek" (ah, they don't make 'em like that any more, more's the pity) before my hairdresser turned up to get rid of the neck flicks and fringe which have crept up on me over the last couple of weeks or so. Thank God. I was beginning to think that the '40s had come again.
Lord H has gone to the shops to stock up for tomorrow's lunch and tonight's wine offerings, but has actually now come back as the queues to get into the ruddy Waitrose car park were so long he'd probably be there till the next millenium. The hell that is Christmas indeed ... Anyone for fish 'n' chips tomorrow?
Tonight we're at Liz & John's for Liz's annual black tie dinner. We went for the first time last year, and rather enjoyed it - there are only about 8 people and it's in her home, so it's manageable even for me. Surely. Last year, I was on something of a high though, and suspect I didn't stop talking for three hours. Though I don't think they minded. Still, I hope to be on a calmer roll this year and try to avoid my usual performance defence mechanism. Now that would be nice.
Oh, and I've given up with my Handbook for Depressed Christians (or similar title - I can't be arsed to get off my ... well ... arse and check it, sorry) as it was getting on my nerves and was beginning to be so shallow I could have held it up and seen right through it. Not bad for 400 pages plus. Instead, I bought another book for non-religion specific depressed people last week - Tim Cantopher's "Depression: the Curse of the Strong" and ye gods, it's bloody good. Small, very readable and highly sane. Not bad for a psychiatrist author then. I'm getting more out of that than I did the other, for sure. Interestingly, Tim is actually a Consultant Psychiatrist at the University, though I've never actually met him - so at least I'm keeping it local.
And, for those of you keeping up with this kind of thing, did I get my copies of "A Dangerous Man" from Flame Books (http://www.flamebooks.com) this week as promised by them? Did I heck! I'm almost beginning to wonder if I did actually sign a contract with them last spring at all, or whether it's a figment of my overactive imagination. If the latter, this would explain their slight air of confusion when I call. Hmm. To be honest, if it is real, I don't mind the delay so much as the lack of communication. Even something saying: "we're sorry for the delay, there's no news but we thought you'd like to hear from us anyway to let you know we're still working on it" would be nice. And it can't cost much. Or am I asking the impossible from a small press? How I wish there was someone out there who could tell me. Till then, I'm stumbling on in the dark.
Today's nice things:
1. Haircut
2. Dinner tonight
3. Star Trek.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Managed to squeeze in one episode of the original "Star Trek" (ah, they don't make 'em like that any more, more's the pity) before my hairdresser turned up to get rid of the neck flicks and fringe which have crept up on me over the last couple of weeks or so. Thank God. I was beginning to think that the '40s had come again.
Lord H has gone to the shops to stock up for tomorrow's lunch and tonight's wine offerings, but has actually now come back as the queues to get into the ruddy Waitrose car park were so long he'd probably be there till the next millenium. The hell that is Christmas indeed ... Anyone for fish 'n' chips tomorrow?
Tonight we're at Liz & John's for Liz's annual black tie dinner. We went for the first time last year, and rather enjoyed it - there are only about 8 people and it's in her home, so it's manageable even for me. Surely. Last year, I was on something of a high though, and suspect I didn't stop talking for three hours. Though I don't think they minded. Still, I hope to be on a calmer roll this year and try to avoid my usual performance defence mechanism. Now that would be nice.
Oh, and I've given up with my Handbook for Depressed Christians (or similar title - I can't be arsed to get off my ... well ... arse and check it, sorry) as it was getting on my nerves and was beginning to be so shallow I could have held it up and seen right through it. Not bad for 400 pages plus. Instead, I bought another book for non-religion specific depressed people last week - Tim Cantopher's "Depression: the Curse of the Strong" and ye gods, it's bloody good. Small, very readable and highly sane. Not bad for a psychiatrist author then. I'm getting more out of that than I did the other, for sure. Interestingly, Tim is actually a Consultant Psychiatrist at the University, though I've never actually met him - so at least I'm keeping it local.
And, for those of you keeping up with this kind of thing, did I get my copies of "A Dangerous Man" from Flame Books (http://www.flamebooks.com) this week as promised by them? Did I heck! I'm almost beginning to wonder if I did actually sign a contract with them last spring at all, or whether it's a figment of my overactive imagination. If the latter, this would explain their slight air of confusion when I call. Hmm. To be honest, if it is real, I don't mind the delay so much as the lack of communication. Even something saying: "we're sorry for the delay, there's no news but we thought you'd like to hear from us anyway to let you know we're still working on it" would be nice. And it can't cost much. Or am I asking the impossible from a small press? How I wish there was someone out there who could tell me. Till then, I'm stumbling on in the dark.
Today's nice things:
1. Haircut
2. Dinner tonight
3. Star Trek.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Visiting, cleaning & napping
Goodness, what a wide variety of exciting activities makes up my day! Finally managed to pop in to see Gladys this morning - but didn't stay long as she was very confused, and I think my answers weren't making anything clearer. To either of us. We also had fun trying to change the battery in her hearing aid - why do the manufacturers make these things so damn complicated? You'd think they'd have more sense!!
Came home to help Lord H do the cleaning - finally! It's my most hated task, but I have to admit the flat does look less like a war zone now. Still got the hoovering to do though - hell, it's a man's job, ha! Spent the rest of the afternoon lapping up old Star Trek episodes before giving in to the overwhelming desire to nap. Have to catch up on my sleep somehow, y'know. Oh, and I also wrote a poem about spaces - which I think I'm fairly happy with. I'll type it up later.
Tonight, Lord H & I are off for dinner with some of my old university friends. It's funny how I used to feel they were the ones I was closest to, and now I don't. I think things have moved on for us all, to be honest. It'll be a pleasant enough evening, I'm sure, but the thought of making the 1.5-2hr journey down south just for food is a little exhausting. Still, at least we've decided not to stay overnight - I always find that prospect awkward, no matter who I'm staying with. My prime desire is to be home at all times!
Today's nice things:
1. Napping
2. Star Trek
3. Writing a poem.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Came home to help Lord H do the cleaning - finally! It's my most hated task, but I have to admit the flat does look less like a war zone now. Still got the hoovering to do though - hell, it's a man's job, ha! Spent the rest of the afternoon lapping up old Star Trek episodes before giving in to the overwhelming desire to nap. Have to catch up on my sleep somehow, y'know. Oh, and I also wrote a poem about spaces - which I think I'm fairly happy with. I'll type it up later.
Tonight, Lord H & I are off for dinner with some of my old university friends. It's funny how I used to feel they were the ones I was closest to, and now I don't. I think things have moved on for us all, to be honest. It'll be a pleasant enough evening, I'm sure, but the thought of making the 1.5-2hr journey down south just for food is a little exhausting. Still, at least we've decided not to stay overnight - I always find that prospect awkward, no matter who I'm staying with. My prime desire is to be home at all times!
Today's nice things:
1. Napping
2. Star Trek
3. Writing a poem.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Surf city & TV
Hell, what a lazy morning today. Though I did clean the dustbins (what a heroine, eh!) and I'm still in line to do the cleaning tonight. Hurrah - um, not ... Spent the rest of the morning networking on MySpace (http://www.myspace.com) and also setting up another account there for Angie, my heroine from "Pink Champagne and Apple Juice", which you can buy here: http://www.goldenford.co.uk/main.pl?champagne. Heck, she's feisty enough for her own account - the gal deserves it!
Have also lulled away the afternoon watching "Star Trek" - so TV heaven. And tonight it's "Strictly Come Dancing". I've already voted for Mark & Karen - twice - so my duty is done. I might even get a chance to do some more to "The Gifting" - you never know ...
Today's nice things:
1. Setting up Angie's account
2. Finishing cleaning the wretched bins ...
3. Star Trek.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Have also lulled away the afternoon watching "Star Trek" - so TV heaven. And tonight it's "Strictly Come Dancing". I've already voted for Mark & Karen - twice - so my duty is done. I might even get a chance to do some more to "The Gifting" - you never know ...
Today's nice things:
1. Setting up Angie's account
2. Finishing cleaning the wretched bins ...
3. Star Trek.
Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)