NOVEMBER 2004
Sun 28th November, 11.30pm - Internet Stalking
I’m hungover, and manifestly not doing what I’m supposed to be doing. Which is recording myself singing a lullaby wot I rote, so that I can pass it on to a musician friend who may or may not Do Something With It.
But I’m not doing that. I’ve become sucked into a brand new secret world. Although I was vaguely aware that this world existed, I wasn’t sure how to find it. And to be perfectly honest I assumed it wouldn’t be much cop. I was wrong.
In the past, when I’ve been sat at the computer and looking for distraction, I’ve logged on to the Big Chill forum. It’s a bit of a hit-and-miss affair, though. On good days, it fairly fizzes and flies with humour, intelligence, politics, philosophy and downright silliness. But on a Sunday night there’s not much happening, and you end up feeling like a rather sad person trying to catch people’s eyes in the doctor’s waiting room so you can force them to engage in conversation with you.
Anyway. Maybe those days are in the past. Because this evening I’ve been meandering around the world of UK bloggers. First I discovered Troubled Diva. It may well have stopped there, as it was really only a whistle-stop tour and I didn’t hang around long enough to get hooked. But I did spend enough time there to realise me and the blogger (not a woman at all, as I first assumed, but a gay IT worker called Mike) had quite a lot in common.
So I emailed him. Because this is what I do. When I find people on the internet I like the look of, I email them. I’ve made some really good friends this way, Francis being the best example. Of course, you could say that this is just more evidence of my stalkeresque tendencies. And it is true that my stalkerdom has reached new heights in the last few weeks, as I decided to email my ex boyfriend despite having written at least three letters and received no responses. Needless to say he didn’t respond to the email. Oh all right then, it was three emails. But only because after I hit Send I thought of something I’d forgotten to say, and then hit Send again only to think of something else. What do you mean, it’s no surprise he didn’t respond? Look, he was my First Love, I was only 16, surely it’s only natural that I wonder what he’s up to these days?
Pah. Actually he will probably be cursing his mother, who has managed to re-open the whole can of worms. After the non-response to my emails I finally accepted that not everybody likes to re-connect with their past and I should just leave the poor sod alone. But then I got a letter from his mum, who has read my book and enjoyed it (well OK, that’s not quite what she said, but she was at least “impressed” or something like that)... and is going to pass it on to him to read. Poor man. I bet he wishes I’d stop stalking him. But I will. I promise. Just after I’ve finished parcelling up this severed head... ;o)
Anyway, what was I talking about? Oh yes. I emailed Mike, the troubled diva blogger. I found his blog because it was linked to from gaekwad’s blog, as is mine. Actually Mike isn’t the only person I’ve emailed this week. There was also another ex, Guy. Well, not really an ex. I had a bit of a crush on him and he indulged me a couple of times but I suspect it was more about my dogged persistance in pursuing him than his interest in me. Anyway. He popped into my head so I googled him and emailed him. No response as yet... poor thing, he probably thought he’d finally escaped me.
Oh. Got distracted again. What I’ve been trying to say is that Troubled-Diva-Mike emailed me back, almost instantly. Actually I guess you’re guaranteed a much better hit rate if you email bloggers - because they spend a lot of time on the internet and they like getting feedback.
So. Because he emailed me back, I went back and revisited his blog, and got thoroughly sucked in. His blog is great - not just a blog but full of funny little tricks and devices. And from there I followed some links to some other people’s blogs... and of course it’s now several hours later and I haven’t sung one single note. I can see why “blogging” can be so addictive. It’s not just about writing your own, you see - it’s about reading everybody else’s.
For what it’s worth, as well as Troubled Diva I’d recommend Little Red Boat (a woman called Anna with a genuine talent for comedy) and Jonathan (does a great line in surreal mouse stories and lives just down the road, apparently - maybe I should stalk him).
Mon 22nd November, 11.30pm
Felix kept telling us he was juicy the other day. We were quite confused, until we realised he meant he was thirsty, and wanted a drink of juice.
I did the workshop last Tuesday for the Manchester University Lesbian Gay Bisexual and Transgender group, or LGBT for short. It was odd being back in the union building - almost like I never left, even though they've moved everything since I was a student 15 years (!) ago, and the toilets have turned into a kitchen. When I arrived there was nobody there, and I thought “Oh well, fair enough. Nobody’s heard of me, and it was organised at short notice after all. I wonder how long I should stay before giving up?” And then seven lovely people appeared. We had lots of fun dressing up in newspaper, and wrote a story about Scooby Doo having a threesome with a student and... I forget. We did some serious stuff too, I promise. I now have a copy of the student newspaper in which I’m described as a “celebrity author” which I thought was very funny.
Bent
We went to see Bent on Sunday night. The music was good enough that I didn’t notice it most of the time. This sounds like an insult, but it’s not. It’s very rare for me to actually pay attention to music at a live gig - in fact I suspect I may be pathologically incapable of it. If it’s good music I disappear off into my own little world. Music stimulates my creative juices and I have all sorts of interesting thoughts and reveries. If it’s bad music I just get very bored very fast and start noticing things like the fact that I’m standing up in a hot sweaty uncomfortable club.
Anyway, the music was good so I slipped straight into dream land. Every now and then I was dragged back to the land of the living for a particularly beautiful musical moment, and then I’d be off again.
When we arrived at the venue (Night & Day, Manchester), I was appalled to see it was standing room only, and a tightly-packed crowd at that. I was knackered after working late and ...
Right. Now this one of those moments when I get a bit confused about who my audience is and what I can and can’t say. I’m a very open person. Possibly too open for some tastes. I’m the kind of woman who farts and burps around her friends without even noticing she’s doing it, and loudly announces when she’s menstruating. Well, amongst friends anyway. I do have some social graces. Not many, but some. For instance I try not to burp quite so loudly when at work, and don’t tend to update my male colleagues on the details of my monthly cycle.
And then there’s other stuff. Like drugs. I don’t actually take drugs these days, apart from I do still like to get stoned. On dope. As in marijuana. Now that’s another thing I wouldn’t talk about at work. Although I also wouldn’t deny it if anyone asked.
So what do you lot count as? Surely I can be a bit more open and honest with you than I can at work? After all, this is my own private website. But I have no idea who reads it. Colleagues, relatives, CIA agents... who knows.
But wouldn’t it be silly to pretend that I don’t smoke dope? It must be pretty obvious to anyone who’s read my book that I’m no stranger to illegal substances. And it’s hardly unusual. And it really isn’t harmful or addictive.
Well, that’s it. Unless I delete the last few paragraphs, I’ve done it. Which is a relief. Now, where was I? Ah yes, I was going to tell you how I was really quite stoned at the Bent gig, which is partly why my reverie was so delicious. I was also on the first day of my period, which means I was knackered and filled with dismay when I realised I was going to have to stand up throughout the whole gig. “I can’t do standing up! I need a chair!” I thought to myself. But then I thought, “For heaven’s sake you’re 35, not 85. You’re quite fit. You can cope with standing up for an hour or so.” And I was right. I could.
But I didn’t have a pen with me. How long will it take before I learn that the bin-having-to-be-emptied stoned-at-live-music must-write-everything-down situation is unavoidable? And that I should carry a pen with me wherever I go?
I realised on Sunday that I get stuck in a tree-like structure. I have a couple of interesting thoughts, I try and remember them so I can write them down later. This involves keeping each thought in my head by repeating it over and over. Every time I repeat the list, I get distracted by one of its items and think up more stuff connected with it. I then have to remember the new stuff, and in the process of trying to do that.... the tree expands. Eventually the tree is so full the fruit starts to drop off. This is the bin-needs-emptying point at which, if I don’t have a pen (and paper) on me, I’m doomed. Every now and then I consider the possibility that I could just let the fruit fall, and not worry about picking it up. More fruit will grow. But even the thought of it makes me impossibly anxious. I blame my parents, for teaching me never to waste food.
As for fitness, this morning I ran round the park five times straight after breakfast. I was knackered all day, but still I’m rather proud of myself. Dipsy (our dog) comes with me. She thinks it’s great.
The singer with Bent was great, too. Beautiful, charismatic, cute, bouncy... mesmerising. There’s something some women have that I don’t think men ever have. I don’t know what it is, but it’s definitely a contributory factor to my bisexuality.
My story was published in Scarlet magazine this week. You can get a copy from Borders. The magazine is looking good. It’s about sex, so be warned. The story looks good too, although I’m strangely unexcited about it. Have I got blasé about being a writer already? Surely not. Maybe it’s because I originally wrote the story for another purpose altogether, but the people who asked for it decided they didn’t want it, so I turned it into an erotic story, which isn’t at all what it was originally. I think in my head it’s still in its original format. Whatever. It’s a great mag.
I’ve finally made a decision about which idea to choose for Novel II. I decided today. Despite plans to be terribly methodical and scientific about it all, in the end I just said, “That one,” and that was it. I pretty much always make decisions this way. Big or small, I’ll spend an arbitrary amount of time thinking about it in a very vague sense, and then finally I’ll get bored of the faffing about and just choose something. Because I want to have made a choice and I don’t really care what it is - I just want to know what I’m doing.
OK, so it wasn’t quite that arbitrary - there are lots of good reasons for choosing the one I’ve chosen. But anyway. It’s done. Not that I’ve started writing it yet. Or maybe I have. Depends how you define “writing”. I’ve spent a few weeks now thinking about plot, shape, characters, tone etc. I have copious amounts of notes. In fact... [checks word count] I’ve written 9883 words of notes! In software engineering, this would be referred to as the design phase. It would be considered good form to spend as much time as possible on the design. So I’ve decided not to worry too much about how long it takes. But I would like to have started “writing” - i.e. producing actual chapters - by some time in January. And I’d still like to have a first draft complete by next Autumn. It may be pie in the sky, but here’s hoping.
Mon 16th November, nearly midnight
Blimey, how did it get to be a whole fortnight since the last blog? I thought it was only a week...
A nice thing just happened - I got a text from a friend who bought The Dying of Delight two days ago and is already over halfway through. He texted me from the bath to tell me how much he was loving it. I never tire of these texts, phone calls, emails etc - luckily I’m still getting a steady trickle of them, although I guess they’ll have to dry up at some stage.
This evening I have been mostly
(a) pondering the earth’s elliptical orbit around the sun (even going so far as to draw this diagram here)
(b) eating home made quiche
(c) writing this blog
(d) randomly surfing the internet...
Anything, in fact, except
(e) getting on with Novel II, which is of course what I’m supposed to be doing.
I should have been doing it during the day today, but I kept being interrupted by builders. They’ve been giving me quotes. For new windows and a loft conversion! Wahoo! I expect to be sleeping under the stars within the next twelve months. Of course, some would say that the point in our lives at which our joint income is lower than it has been for the last five years is not really the right time to be borrowing a ton of money... but my theory is that I should get in there while the going’s good. Anyway, who can resist a skylight?
I still haven’t made a decision about which idea to go with for Novel II. I keep thinking I’ve made my mind up... and then changing it again. I got an email yesterday from a friend who thinks I should go with Idea Number One, when I’m currently favouring Idea Number Two. Aaargh. I am going to make a decision soon though. I really am. Although as the said friend (Francis) pointed out, I’ve made it really. He sent an email back to me, highlighting all the unconscious signs I was giving off. So. Idea Number Two it is then. That’s the one I’m working on this evening. I have several documents open in front of me, all full of lists. I like lists. The Dying of Delight was just a series of lists for large parts of its inception.
Here’s an edited highlight from one of my lists:
Russian dolls
Red herrings
Climax
The parts being united
Love story
Sex
Music
Fireworks
Water
Nightmares (limbless people)
Relationship tensions
Ghosts
Community spirit
This is a good list. I like this list.
Tomorrow morning I’m doing a workshop for Manchester Uni’s LGBT (Lesbian Gay Bisexual Transexual) Society. I’m looking forward to it. I’ve never met a lesbian gay bisexual transexual before. I hope they won’t find a boring old bisexual too much of a let-down. I’ve had some nice ideas for activities to do with them though. I think.
Felix has started showing distinct signs of masculinity. It’s probably my fault for writing here that I saw him as genderless. But I still can’t decide whether it’s the result of testosterone or stuff he’s picked up at nursery. He has little bursts of about half an hour or so where the only thing he’ll do is bash stuff. “My fighting!” he says with glee (he uses “my” to mean “I’m”). Nature / nurture / nature / nurture... argh, I dunno.
To be honest I’m really not bothered. He’s going to be a male in a male-dominated society. He’s basically an incredibly soft child. It won’t do him any harm to have a bit of aggression in him. Fuck knows, his mum’s aggressive enough at times. And I have to confess I find it rather cute. Maybe that’s just cos I’m his mum.
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Clare Sudbery
