OCTOBER 2004
Fri 29th October, much later than I thought
I’m in a bit of a quandary. My focus group all preferred one of my ideas for Novel II, and I prefer another. In one sense it doesn’t matter what anybody else thinks; I should write what I want to write. Then again I understand all the arguments people have made - and agree with them to some extent.
There’s no avoiding it: I’ll just have to do more work on both ideas, aiming for a point where I can proceed confidently with one of them - ’cause at the moment I’m not sure about either.
Interestingly though, I’m all fired up to write something. Whatever I choose will end up moulding itself to my current creative state of mind. Er. I hope. This evening I’ve decided I want to write something voluptuous, sensual, colourful and sleek. Mmmm. That sounds nice. I want to cut down on clutter, but still burst onto the page with noise and brightness. I wonder if those are incompatible concepts. We’ll see.
I really annoyed myself last week by postponing The First Day of Writing in favour of much more mundane matters such as filing and general organisation. Classic distraction activity. And then this week I put up very little fight when the idea arose for me to work a five day week to reach a software deadline. In typical over-zealous fashion I also decided to build a fence. Of course, if I hadn’t persuaded my friend Doug to demolish half a wall for me last weekend...
But it is at least a very good fence. On Tuesday and Wednesday I brought my computer home, built my fence during the day and wrote software late into the night. There was a point on Tuesday at which I thought it was the worst fence ever built, would fall down in the first gale and was a great example of what a sad deluded would-be carpenter I am. But I have to say that now it’s finished it’s shockingly solid, looks rather nice, and I’m quite proud of it. Still, it’s not a book.
Next week. Next week I will start writing my book. Or at least begin thinking about it very hard.
The slump on Tuesday may or may not have been related to the PMT that seems to have plagued me for almost a fortnight. It’s a relatively new phenomenon for me, and I still don’t know whether I’m imagining it or not. I’m a self-aware hypochondriac, which means I never believe my own claims about my health. I’m stupidly suggestive, and I know it. Most serious health problems I encounter seem to be attributable to an overactive imagination (read: psychosomatic), and the best example was a serious anxiety disorder, which felt so tangible, external. It took a while for me to accept that the symptoms were generated by my mind’s over-reaction to itself. The thing I’ve been describing as PMT feels similarly separated from me, but who knows - maybe it’s just a self-fulfilling prophecy.
There was a fascinating programme last night about children with gender dysphoria. They obviously focussed on extreme examples that would make good telly, but they featured kids who were so convinced they were trapped in the wrong sex, and so disturbed by the prospect of continuing to live the role mapped out by their biology, that their parents helped them to live as the opposite gender.
There was a suggested theory that gender dysphoria might be best dealt with by breaking down the binary view of gender and encouraging a child to embrace a more fluid concept - i.e. boys don’t have to behave like boys, and girls likewise. So rather than colluding in the child’s insistence that their gender is “wrong”, you tell them that gender is not a rigid classification.
I found myself wondering how we might cope if Felix started to tell us he was a girl. Apparently it’s at about his age that it starts. If only all gender dysphorics grew up to be transexuals, it would be easy - but apparently a large proportion of them change their minds. Puberty is a minefield. Is there really something about these children that is inately different, or are they simply reacting badly to social constructions? It would be terrible to encourage a child into one mould or another, only to cause more confusion and distress.
Of course it’s unlikely I’ll ever have to make these choices. Felix seems pretty “ordinary” to me. But something interesting is that my parents (and others) often make comments about how “boylike” Felix is, whereas I see him mostly as gender-neutral, and sometimes even as feminine. I don’t see him as being typically masculine.
Blimey, this was only going to be a short entry. But I always say that. If only I could learn to edit these buggers.
I was rooting through an old box of memorabilia, and found something I wrote when I was seven. I was drunk the other weekend and read it out to some friends. They said I haven’t changed a bit. I still talk, and write, the same way. Hmm.
What else has happened? John Peel has died. I feel very weird about that. I was a big fan, but I now realise there were an astonishing number of much bigger fans than me. I feel humbled. A wonderful man.
Scarlet magazine has hit the streets. I had trouble finding it at first, but they’re stocking it in Borders in Stockport. They also have a copy of my book. In the erotica section, which is strangely synchronicitous as I will have an erotic story in next month’s issue of Scarlet, and another in a forthcoming Red Hot Diva anthology called “VA-VA-VOOM: RED HOT LESBIAN EROTICA”. Ha ha. It’s not porn apparently, but still. Tee hee.
The Dying of Delight is not an erotic novel. I’m a bit worried that someone will buy it and be horribly disappointed.
Speaking of which, a nicely positive review of it appeared in an issue of Student Direct, Manchester University’s student paper that goes out to 60,000 students. Blimey.
My friend Andrea has this to say about our outing to Wythenshawe Park the other week: "I found it very, very amusing. The kids got to do what they wanted, the dogs got to do what they wanted and I got to watch you perform a gigantic juggling/herding task of escorting 3 kids and 2 dogs :-) Most entertaining!"
A mysterious Russian doll landed on my desk at work. It’s tiny. And the middle doll is teeny-weeny-tiny. I love it. I so hope I get to keep it, but I think it probably landed there by accident, and right now some poor forlorn person is wandering the streets in search of their doll; bereft and alone.
I spoke to Rachel Brooke at HEADS in Todmorden, about the possibility of doing a series of workshops for them around the theme of the River Calder. Apparently I'm on the shortlist. I'm stupidly excited about this - it sounds like a great project, and I love the idea of working with the "community" - precisely because that could mean anyone and anything. And then there's the water! I'm such a water baby. I've no idea whether it'll come to owt, but my fingers are well and truly crossed.
I did another interview on the Big Chill forum. I’ve been doing them with randomly selected contributors, in an attempt to give people the Parkinson treatment - they get to see what it feels like to be a star, and I get to prove my theory that “ordinary” people are just as interesting as celebs. Maybe I ought to put a page up on this site for them all. I can’t make my mind up about that - maybe their place is on the Big Chill forum. If I take them from the nest, their mothers may react to my odour and abandon them.
On which sort-of-makes-sense-but-not-really note, I should probably go to bed. Night night.
Mon 11th October, 11pm
Hmmm, once a week is my aim for this blog, but I never quite manage it. This is going to be a short one to tide you over. Actually, that in itself is quite a weird thing - who are “you”, and do you care? I do at least know that someone visits this blog (I get stats, but I don’t know who you are - don’t panic), so that’s incentive enough to keep it up.
Anyway. I had last week off work and was thoroughly exhausted all week as I ran around putting shelves up (16 of ‘em - and five of those over six feet long), sorting, filing, drilling, screwing (I’m rather proud of the new stair rail), spending over four hours in B+Q, and, erm, oh heaven knows what the hell I was doing all that time but it felt productive.
Then at the weekend I took two 2-yr-olds, a 3-yr-old and two dogs to Wythenshawe Park. Clearly yes, I am insane. But I did at least arrange to meet two very obliging friends there (Andrea and Sarah), and without them I might now be reduced to five bloody stumps - two with dog leads attached to them, and the rest carrying dripping ice creams - having been torn apart by small creatures running in opposite directions. Needless to say, it was fun - and I’ll probably do it again. My favourite moment was in the car on the way back, when they were all competing with each other in a screaming match. It was good natured screaming - interspersed with hysterical laughing - and I wasn’t the first to snap. It was the 3-yr-old who finally gave in and shouted, “Calm down!” - hilarious.
Ally is in London, living the life of a superstar DJ, having got himself two gigs in the space of a week at the Big Chill bar (you can still go to the one on Wed - and you get the bonus of being able to buy a copy of the Big Chill Crossfade book, for which he wrote a chapter). This makes me a single parent for the week, so I’m trying to be super-efficient. But really I’ll be very glad when he returns - I can go back to lounging around barking orders, and he can be my slave again.
I’ve had tons of feedback already from the focus group charged with helping me decide what Novel II is all about. It’s been intriguing, as the clear favourite is the one I least expected. And they might even have persuaded me to write it. We’ll see. I’m going to decide very soon.
I bought a laptop on eBay. It didn’t arrive. Finally I was forced to admit I’d been ripped off. I was just about to contemplate being a little pissed off about the whole thing when the IT guy at work informed me they’re about to give me a laptop... doh! Still, good news really. Moral: don’t buy laptops on eBay.
Hey, I might have found the source of the mysterious article about me seen on the tube. Well, maybe. Apparently there’s one about me in Student Direct. But it’s a Manchester publication, so quite what it might have been doing on a train in London, I don’t know. And I haven’t seen it yet, so for all I know it’s dead small. Watch this space.
I am now linked to from someone else’s blog. I have arrived!
Here is a question: “Is there a place where someone can go to recover from mental?” The answer, apparently, is my website. This is definitely my favourite search string so far. I do hope they feel suitably refreshed after Google directed them here. I can make you all a cup of tea if you’d like?
Sun 3rd October, 5pm
Oh, the joys of the internet! I’m all happy and buoyant after Googling myself and discovering a review I didn’t know about on the Gay Community News (GCN) website. It was written by Aine Duffy, who said all sorts of lovely things like "begins with one of the best opening sequences I've encountered", "striking and poignant" and "remarkable novel". Needless to say I’ve emailed her... it’s a bit of a hobby of mine, emailing people I’ve never met. I expect people mostly think I’m a bit odd, but I’ve also made some great friends.
A few other things I found through Google: My book’s being recommended on the front page of the Silver Moon website (the women's branch of Foyle's) for being "original", and on the “Staff Picks” page of the Gay’s the Word website. Also a bloke called Stu name-checks me in his blog entry about Eastnor. I remember meeting him, at the NuPoetics poetry event - he read out a poem he’d written, and I liked it (*waves* at Stu). Oh yes, and there’s a link to my Big Chill interview from a “Write A Novel In Ten Days” website (not entirely sure why, but there you go).
I suppose I could feel embarrassed about Googling myself... but come on, wouldn’t you??
My mum tells me that her friend Carolyn has been marching into shops in the Lake District, brandishing leaflets about my book (“available in all good book stores”) and demanding that they order a copy forthwith. I love the idea of a little army of well-wishers getting hold of my book by hook or by crook. I’ve had quite a few emails from people who enjoyed it and have passed it on to friends, family etc - it’s a lovely feeling.
In other news, I surprised myself by meeting my self-imposed deadline and finishing the three prototypes for Novel II. They’ve been safely dispatched to my “focus group”, and I’ve already had a bit of feedback. I’ve been surprised by people’s preferences, but also very happy (and relieved) to get really positive reactions on all three ideas. I still don’t know which one I’m going to write, but I’m starting to firm up my own opinions. I’ve decided to make a decision by 18th Oct, which is when I’ll start writing. Right now I feel like I could write any one of them and really enjoy doing it - which is making me dead excited about 18th Oct.
In the meantime I have the week off work this week to get all those niggling jobs done in the house and garden. Of course, my To Do list contains at least a fortnight’s worth of work, but still I plan to be a whirling dervish, shedding screws, offcuts and weeds in my wake. If I don’t have several blisters by Friday, I’ll feel a terrible failure.
The other morning as we were leaving the house, Felix said: "Bit raining. Man turned it on." So I said, "Did a man turn the rain on?" to which he replied, "No, people spit!" He’s having a great time exploring the world and applying his burgeoning imagination. Of course he’s just progressing like any normal toddler. Which is not to say that he’s not amazing, just that all toddlers are amazing. But that doesn’t stop Proud Mum here from getting carried away and convincing herself he has magical powers...
About a year ago I was changing his nappy and he had a small toy car in his hand. He threw it (a favourite game) and I saw it disappear under a chest of drawers. But when I went to retrieve it, it was gone. Being rather anal, I hunted high and low. It never reappeared, and I still check for it every now and then. I’ve always had this sneaking suspicion that he threw it into another dimension... and then this week he was playing with a fire engine and a small lion in the back of the car. “Put it in,” he said. “No, you can’t,” I said, “it doesn’t open.” But moments later he was shaking it and saying “Take it out.” Sure enough, the fire engine was rattling, and the lion had disappeared. But the fire engine was moulded plastic, and had no entry points...
Hey, talking of magic, I don’t think I ever told the story of The Incredible Walking Car. While we were in the Lakes, my sister’s boyfriend was woken up one night by a strange noise. A kind of metallic juddering, and very loud. After it had happened a couple of times he looked out the window to see his car in the centre of the road. The engine was warm, but the handbrake was on, and it appeared to have driven itself a few yards uphill. While they stood by it, the engine started making the noise again. Spontaneously and with no human intervention. It seems the alternator was somehow starting itself and shunting the car forward. The battery was flat and the man from the AA fitted a new alternator (and claimed he had never come across a similar phenomenon). There was a lot of dicussion about whether this was possible or not but my mechanics isn’t good enough to have remembered the details. Luckily I don’t believe in ghosts.
I saw a programme about synaethesia the other night. I’ve always been fascinated by the concept of people whose senses get muddled up. I know one woman whose field of vision fills with colours when she hears certain sounds; particularly music. They had a scientist on the pogramme who has a theory that it’s linked with creativity. Apparently arty types (painters, writers etc) are eight times more likely to be synaesthetes. For writers he points out that a lot of metaphors are about comparing and crossing the senses (e.g. people being “bitter” or “sharp” or “blue”). Still I’m pretty sure I’m not a synaesthete (you can do a test on the BBC website), although I do see time as a visual thing. Weeks have a particular shape, as do days and years. I can see time stretching back behind and ahead of me as a multicoloured abstract 3D thing; and when I was a child, weeks were chests of drawers - a drawer for each day.
Another thing that used to happen to me as a child was an incredibly strong sense of nostalgia. When I was six I vividly remember crying and telling my dad I was sad because I wasn’t five any more, and the previous summer had been soooo lovely, but it would never happen again. I’d forgotten about that until I heard an old 80s song in the car tonight and was filled with this overwhelming sense of loss. I had a flashback of exactly what it felt like to be 14 years old, and realised I would never feel that way again. It was incredibly strong, but as is the way with nostalgia it was a sweet poignant sadness, and strangely enjoyable.
Something I don’t miss about being 14 is acne. I have three enormous spots on my chin at the moment. Ally says it’s my badness coming out. What a strange phrase that is - at first sight it appears an unpleasant religious concept: “You are evil, and here is the proof.” But then I’m not sure whether it’s designed as an admonishment or a comfort. After all, if the badness has come out then maybe I can give it a good squeeze and rejoice at its passing?
Ally has a knack for saying disconcerting things. The other night he walked into the room and said “I shouldn’t really tell you this, but... no, I won’t tell you.” Of course I was left thinking... But what? But a mice has died in our sugar bowl? But everybody hates you? It turned out he had discovered some uneaten cakes in our fridge. I’m on a diet, you see. Not that I approve of diets. Nor does Ally, come to that - but I keep telling him I’m not allowed cakes. My diet has some very strict rules: No Calorie Counting. No Weighing. No Guilt. No Cakes. It’s the Patented Sudbery Diet, and it seems to be working... but I only know this because I broke one of the rules.
Apparently this is a real headline: “First Round in Second Battle for Third Forth Bridge.” Brilliant. And this is made up, but still rather ace: “First round in second battle for third Forth bridge to Fyfe all at sixes and sevens when eight or nine tenders come in at eleventh hour.”
By the way, Felix’s lion turned up under his car seat. The fire engine is still rattling.
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Clare Sudbery