emma j. lannie

No Newts Is Good Newts

2011-10-04T22:58:00.006+01:00

Last week I got to revisit one of my childhood haunts. A lot has changed, but much of it was the same, only with taller trees and steeper riverbanks. It still felt as wild and overgrown as it did when I was a kid. It still felt big. And it felt calm, too. Something I maybe hadn’t thought about back then, but it was there, in the long days spent lying in tall grass, the slow afternoons of dipping my feet off the boardwalk into the water, letting them gently splash against the background hum of dragonflies.

In all my years of going back home to visit family, I’d never even thought about this place. Or of going back there, at least. Because as I write this, I realise I think about the place a lot. My stories are littered with the things I experienced there: the freedom of youth; the warm sun freckling my face; the sky seen through a carapace of trees; and ponds and canals teeming with life in all its slimy glory. Newts and frogspawn and leeches. And sticklebacks, caught and kept in coffee jars, pond water spilling out onto dusty tarmac as I made my way home.

As a writer, I’m constantly pilfering my own (and other people’s) experiences. Hiding truths in fiction and fictions in truth. It was amazing to go back to the place where so many summers were spent, summers that have found their way into story after story, and find that it’s all still there for others to immerse themselves in and perhaps let it become part of their own stories.

And on that note, I have a couple of new stories to tell you about. Sadly, there are no newts in either of them. The first is at there was nowhere to go but everywhere. It's part of a word association game they’ve got going on, which is an amazing idea, and lots of fun. I've just read Dave Schofield's piece, The Screams of Victory and Near Misses, the title of which is a line from my own story, and it gave me such a brilliant giddy feeling to see a line I'd written turned into something else entirely. Dave's piece is wonderful, full of so many great lines, so I can't wait to see what comes next.

My other story, Overexposed, is in the latest issue of Word Gumbo, which came out today. The theme of this one, issue three, is ‘light’, and I'm really excited to be in it. You can download it for free here. Maybe even sneakily print it out at work and take it down to the park to read while you sunbathe? In October? Yes, in October. We're not gonna get snow for at least another week.

O with an umlaut

2011-05-01T21:23:00.004+01:00

I have a new story in issue two of Red Lightbulbs. It's called Schrödinger.

(Every time I write that, I have to copy and paste the ö because I can't work out how to do umlauts. If I knew, I'd probably use them all over the place. Like these guys do.)

Our Cities, Ourselves

2011-04-01T05:23:00.006+01:00

My housemate has just released an album inspired by the city at night, or more specifically, this city, Derby. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the concept of home, and about the places we live and how when we leave, we give a little of ourselves to them. I have lived in fourteen houses in my life. That’s fourteen front doors I had keys to. Fourteen places I stepped inside, fourteen front doors I closed and leaned back against, breathing in that quiet stillness of a house welcoming its occupant home.

Apart from my childhood homes (2 of), the house where I live right now is the one I’ve lived in the longest. And that’s not wholly because of the fifty plus boxes of books I would have to move if I did decide to leave. It’s something more. It’s something I started exploring when I lived on the other side of town. Only then it was about the city, not the house I was living in. I would write out walks from memory. I would think about the paths I was taking as I took them, and I would try to take in every detail. I would then write these walks and try to make sure they could be easily followed, if I were to give the directions to somebody without a map.

The theme of psychogeography has been coming up a lot in my life lately. I’ll read a book, and the ideas stick with me for a while but then slowly the rest of life edges these things from the front of my thinking. And then I’ll see something or hear something, or get into a three a.m. discussion with a friend, and the city and how we map it with our lives, how we map ourselves onto it, becomes the main focus of my thoughts again.

I fell in love with this city by walking through it, across a span of months and years. Sometimes, I fell in love with it at night, whilst sitting on skateboards with a friend I loved fiercely, under those trees with the silver-green leaves, down by the river. We would always leave our house at four a.m., when we knew the city would be sleeping and unpeopled. The city was ours then, in that space between the night out and the new day.

I fell in love with it by day, too. There was a park I’d walk through to get to work, and with awe I watched it change before my eyes over the course of a year. Spring mornings, when the sun was just rising, and the leaves were coming into bud, I’d be completely caught up in the romance of being there. And afternoons of dappled sunlight through Summer trees. I’d collect energy as I passed through the green of them. There was a morning I crossed it after letting a boy I might have loved board a coach for France. It was six a.m. The trees were in blossom, and the crunch of gravel underfoot made everything a song, made everything bright and intense and amazing.

In a secret garden I figured myself out. Halfway up a three hundred year-old conker tree, I felt the safest I’ve ever felt. Standing on an old bridge I watched the past swim into the future, and made decisions, even if I kept them to myself for too long a while.

My camera is broken and I want to go out and photograph all these places, all the doors I lived behind. And all the intricate stonework and statues you only see by looking up, because hardly anyone looks up.

I loved Manchester in a different way. Manchester was all dusty summers that stretched forever. It was eleven of us riding our bikes to Daisy Nook and staying all day, our feet dangled in the water, jeans rolled up to the knee. It was hiding when the night trains went past, afraid of the ghosts they carried. Manchester was a hill so steep that cars couldn’t get up or down it in the Winter. It was sledges on Mountains, and carrying newts in our hands and teaching them acrobatics. It was Kick The Can and Hide And Seek, played out over days instead of hours. Manchester was never just me. I was too young to have a complete sense of self, and so all my memories contain other people, some remembered, others just blank figures who I know were there at the time but I’ve since forgotten their names.

Manchester was my home, but in another time. I’ve experienced Derby becoming my home and it has been a slow process. Like an old friend becoming a lover. These things take time, but when they do, they inevitably become everything you are. You don’t fall in love in a day. Not this kind of love.

And this house? I came to this house as a visitor often, and for years, before it was ever my home. So this house was in my psyche long before I first laid my head on a pillow in my own bed here. I always had an idea in the past of how settled I was in a house, by the time it took for my dream-house to catch up with the one I was in. Some houses never got there. Although even when I think about the bad times, something good will also come crashing through. A message showing through the paint every time the light hit it, or popcorn and absinthe on the first day of the year, and the best kind of recklessness.

This house has been home to more of my friends than I can count on my fingers. But it has always been a home. And sometimes people leave, and sometimes the people that leave come back.

I’m going away. Not just yet. Not all in one go. I’ll be doing it little by little. I want to explore the idea of Home, what it means, and I think you have to go someplace else to figure that out. There’s that T.S. Eliot quote,

“We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.”

I want that. And I want to look into the idea that we carry home within ourselves, see if it’s true.

Here's the album I mentioned. It's nice to listen to at night. And during the day, too. You can download it if you like it, for no monies or for some monies. Enjoy.

<a href="http://emphemetry.bandcamp.com/album/a-lullaby-hum-for-tired-streets">A Lullaby Hum For Tired Streets by Emphemetry</a>

*I also borrowed the photo from Biff's flickr. He's good people. He won't mind. He knows about my camera troubles.

Bright Lights, Medium-sized City

2011-03-16T23:57:00.006Z

There’s a new streetlight right across from my house. It’s super-tall and shines in through my window like it thinks it’s the moon. When I go out at night, it feels like it’s day. It’s weird. After they removed the old one and before they switched this new one on, there was a week when there was no light at all, and I had to fumble with my keys in the dark, trying to find the lock. But this brightness is strange. It washes the stars out. It will take some getting used to.

I have a story up at the very excellent For Every Year, where you can travel all the way back to 1400, year by year, and discover all kinds of wonderful things you’d maybe only chance upon if you spent an entire day clicking through on Wikipedia. And you don’t get stories and poems as part of that experience. I’ve been so excited, counting the years down until finally, today, it got to 1620. A glorious year for underwater innovations. Oh yes.

Things are happening in the background of my life, and some of them I have no control over. I’ve made some huge decisions over the last week, and now I’m waiting to see how things will play out. It’s a strange thing to make life decisions when there’s no one else to consult. I spent so long having my choices affect someone else’s life. The choices I made were smaller, then. And I was wary. But now, it’s all just me, and contained in that immense freedom is the equally massive fear that I will f*ck it all up and only have myself to blame. Oh well. I'm sure I'll come out the other side with stories to tell, if nothing else. Hehehe. Watch this space.

I Blame Don Draper

2011-01-01T23:59:00.001Z

What I do when I have a reasonable amount of time off work (anything more than three days will do) is turn myself nocturnal. I get way more done at night. It’s just easier for me to write and do creative things between the hours of 9pm and 6am. I usually take some time out to devour at least one TV box set, too. This takes place over the course of just one day. This holiday, I went with Mad Men (S3). And now I'm sitting here with a pack of chocolate cigarettes on my desk. I'm not convinced the two aren't linked. Who goes into a shop and comes away with a pack of chocolate cigarettes?

As a kid, my favourite part was always the paper. Or maybe it was the mix of chocolate and paper. It dawns on me now that the paper is not rice paper. The paper is, in fact, just paper paper. And I don’t know why I didn’t figure this out before. I’ve eaten rice paper. And I’ve eaten paper. I know the difference. So I think I spent my childhood eating and loving the paper from chocolate cigarettes. I feel like I want to pat my younger self on the head and sigh heavily.

So, 2010 is over and done. It was a good year. It was a crazy year. A LOT happened, and a LOT changed. Right now I've got that slightly-panicked, giddy feeling of living at the end of an era, just waiting for everything to collapse. It feels like it could, too, more so than at the Millennium. (Ooh, could the Mayans have been right all along?) I feel like my childhood obsession with survival manuals will definitely pay off, anyway. Sooner or later, sooner or later.

Here's one of my favourite apocalyptic stories outside of a Coupland book.

Here's the beginning of a very brilliant novel set at the turn of the Millennium.

And here's Coupland doing a bit of excellent zeitgeisty doom-mongering. I love him.

In 2010, I wasn’t quite so prolific with my short stories. I focussed on my novel, which made me a different kind of writer, I think. More “marathon-y”. Despite this, I was lucky enough to see some of my short stories come out in actual books - Best of the Web 2010, Even More Tonto Short Stories, Bugged, Scattered Reds - and it’s been amazing to hold them in my hands and smell them. New books are like crack to me. (I say that like I know what "crack" actually is.) Exciting things are afoot for 2011, too, and I feel like it’s going to be a very different kind of year.

I’m not doing resolutions this year. I’m having themes. Month by month, a one-word theme for each month. See if it shakes things up a bit. See if anything really changes at all. My word for January is “deliberate”.

deliberate adj 1 done on purpose; not accidental 2 slow and careful
>verb to think about something carefully
from Latin deliberare, deliberatum to consider carefully

I think I'll lean more towards the "done on purpose" part than the "slow and careful", depending on what I'm actually doing. I thought it up whilst walking back from the shops with some potatoes. I thought up February’s word then, too. I think February is going to be pretty funny. We’ll see how January goes first, though.

So I spent the first day of this year deliberately regressing. I stayed in my pjs all day and watched Big, then Star Wars, then The Empire Strikes Back. Does anyone ever get to Jedi? Might watch it tomorrow, deliberately. Might carefully consider Ewoks.

I think I adopted a deliberate attitude pretty much straight after midnight. Even before the fact that it was 2011 had sunk in properly. I was deliberate in my actions. I wasn’t particularly slow or careful (except for when walking up and down the stairs), but I did things on purpose. I even had a non-accidental conversation with someone I’d never really talked to before. I’ve stopped being a hermit so much, of late, and it’s been nice getting to know people I’ve been just nodding Hi to for the last however many years. I did, however, fail in deliberately not dancing like a robot. Oh well, it was a cusp time. I'll let that go.

I’m deliberately going to do some things this evening, and I’ll report back if they pay off. The things aren’t going to be press ups, btw. Just in case anyone’s wondering about my upper arm strength, i.e. if you ask me to arm wrestle, you will probably still win.

Happy New Year!

Scattered Reds and That Old Tornado-Feeling

2010-11-23T08:32:00.003Z

I'm missing a lot of good things this week. If I had unlimited funds and a jetpack/helicopter gunship, then this week would be looking very fine. This week, I'd be feeling a little like an international playboy, so to speak. Because this week, two books that I've been lucky enough to get stories into are being officially launched. The first launch, for Even More Tonto Short Stories was last night, in Newcastle. By all accounts it went really well. I'm sorry I missed it.

Then tomorrow, in Manchester, Bad Language are launching Scattered Reds, their second anthology. My story, Pause, is in the book. I won't know who else is in it till I get my hands on a copy, although I do know my fellow Bugged alumnus Calum Kerr is in there, and he'll be reading on the night.

Here's the official blurb:

Scattered Reds - Book Launch

Bad Language will be launching their second anthology at the Castle Hotel on the 24th November. There will be guest stars! There will be books for sale! There will be an open mic slot!

The launch will be free to attend, and if you wish to partake in the open mic slot, please e-mail events@badlanguagemcr.co.uk
in order to book a place.

We hope to see you down there!

Dan, Nici and Joe.

I wish I could be there. It promises to be an amazing evening. If you're in the vicinity, then you should definitely pop in.

In other news, I NEED to visit this place.

Also, it's National Short Story Week this week, and I've managed to get two new stories written, and finished one I'd been wrestling with for a while. (Yay!) It makes a nice break from editing. I do need to stop with the 4am bedtimes, though.

I spoke with a friend a while back about feeling like there's a tornado inside you making everything heightened and crazy. Sometimes it lasts a few hours. Sometimes it's a few weeks. And it's always fun, but it puts everything up in the air and you're never quite sure how things will land, or what will happen when they do. I've got that now, the tornado-feeling, and I don't know why. Maybe I should wear my red shoes today, just in case.

A "Thinking About Time" Kind of Day

2010-10-30T20:33:00.002+01:00

I’m always really surprised when the weather turns this cold. I feel like I’ve been caught out, like autumn has swapped itself for winter. Right now my hands are cold and numb and I’ll need to put on my hobo gloves in a minute.

Time is speeding up again. The last few weeks have seemed to last forever, but somehow it’s almost November now, and even though October has been full and crazy, I’m sure it can’t be the 30th already. Saw an interesting clip of a possible time traveller recently. I like to think it’s an actual time traveller, but the logical explanation is it's an "ear trumpet" and the person is hard of hearing. There must be some time travellers though. Someone must have figured out how to do it by now.

In a matter of hours British Summer Time ends, and we all get to travel back in time by an hour. I like thinking about this. That whole hour from 1am to 2am on Sunday 31st October, we get to redo. I have a feeling the hour will be a good one, based on the company I will be keeping. There are things I probably shouldn’t do. They are the things I want to do the most. We shall see.

I like thinking about how I’d live and what I’d do if I knew I could always go back and redo it, if I had the ability to stop and start and rewind time. Would I be more free if nothing stuck? Would I live a life full of risk and shameless abandon? Possibly. Or I might be just as likely to live with my hand on the snooze button, cosy and warm and forever in bed.

One of the reasons I always gave for wanting to be able to stop time, was so that I could read all the books I ever wanted to read. All the books. And I’m not alone on that...

...but what else? Maybe the fact that we only get one go at this makes the things we do more important. Telling someone you love them wouldn’t mean half as much if you could just rewind it and have it forgotten if it wasn’t reciprocated. We find a lot of who we are in those moments when we’re leaping over the abyss.

Yesterday I killed a cold, with effervescent vitamin C. Today feels like a good day. Maybe because it’s one of those “Time is being thought about/talked about/shifted around” kind of days.

Good things:

The Bugged launch in Manchester - reading to lovely people/reading with lovely and talented people/holding the actual book in my hands (also, Bugged getting a write-up on the BBC website, yeah!)

Fixing things myself - oh, I am so smart, and ever so slightly surprised

Raspberry-flavoured effervescent vitamin C

Doing my first post-Hundred Days book sculpture

The Panique Au Village film

Lots of planning and thinking and writing

Talk To Me About Love - a social experiment (the brainchild of Max Wallis)

Sexy music:

Lovely music

Thinking about linking to GWAR for the lovely music one

Preparing to erase an hour

Bugs, Books and Reading Out Loud

2010-10-06T17:29:00.008+01:00

Behold! This is the contents page of the Bugged book! (I'm right at the bottom of the left page. Yeah! Note: all thumbs in the photos belong to Jo Bell. There's no way I can do nail polish that neat.)

And this is the cover. Sexy, no?

There are two launches, one in Manchester on Thursday 14th October that's part of Manchester Literature Festival, and one in Birmingham on Thursday 21st October that's part of Birmingham Book Festival.

I'm going to be reading at the Manchester one. My name is in the listing, so it's official. I'm dead excited. I like seeing my name on things that aren't asking me for money. Cathy Bryant, Valerie O'Riordan, Liz Loxley and Susie Wild are also reading, so I'll be in excellent company. I can't wait.

The First Star I See May Not Be A Star

2010-10-01T00:46:00.004+01:00

Some music...

Some thoughts...

The moon these past few days has been amazing. And the sky has been so clear that I've been able to wish on the evening star (which yes, I know is really Venus and not a star at all, but I wish on it anyway) three nights in a row. Another birthday has come and gone and I don't feel any older or even particularly wiser, but I'm happy, and it feels important to be able to say that.

Someone else died tonight. It's 12:27 a.m. Sometimes I forget that every time the gate scrapes open in the night, it is the Body Truck bringing someone who has died in. We call it the Body Truck and it makes the people bodies, not lovers or brothers or mothers or friends. But just now I remembered it is a dead someone, and I let it make me a little bit sad. Because I know we all have our ways of dealing with the world, of shutting out what we need to shut out, but sometimes it's important to let these things in, if only for a little while. If only to see how we are shaped by them.

I will post less rambling things on here soon.

I am excited that there is a new story up at how men make love in the twentieth century. It is good.

I love mixtapes/cds.

There is a LOT going on.

I have a LOT to do.

Where did September go?

My Own Private Ladybug Picnic

2010-09-01T20:27:00.006+01:00

Encouraged by the folks at Bugged, I did some eavesdropping on July 1st, and was gifted with more than a few story ideas from my overhearings. I sat on the bed with the window open, hiding behind the curtains with a glass of pop, ears pricked, pen ready, having my own private ladybug picnic.

People always seem to have arguments in the street just outside my house - I do live in the centre of town, which makes it the route home from the pub for many many people, certainly adding a bit to the argumental vibe. It wasn’t even that late when I heard one poor chap’s heartfelt protestations to a silent/indifferent girl. I just knew I had to immortalise him and his cheesy but sincere words. And so the story, Scar, was born.

Then, I’m not sure what happened, but a month seemed to pass by without me realising, and the deadline for submissions was upon me. I made it by the skin of my teeth - I even won a prize for being the last entry!

And now I can reveal that my story made it into the book! It’s going to be in there with work from the core Bugged writers: David Calcutt, David Gaffney, Ian Marchant, Jenn Ashworth, Jo Bell, Leila Rasheed, Mary Cutler, Mil Millington, Stephanie Dale and Stuart Maconie, as well as with stories/poems/plays from other great "creative eavesdroppers". The official publication date is October 14th, but it should be available for pre-order on Amazon before that. Hooray!

The cover is still being designed, but I'm almost certain it will be something like this...

More news soon!

***

Also on the interwebs this week, I thought this article was really interesting, and found myself nodding my head and going "yes!" at frequent intervals.

And if you fancy a good read and/or like Fleetwood Mac, Stephen O'Toole's chapbook, Tusk, is now online at Pangur Ban Party. Stephen was kind enough to send me a hand-made copy of this a while ago, and it has some of my favourite sentences ever in it. If you ask nicely, he might have one or two left to send your way. He might not, though. Don't quote me or anything.

***
That's it.

The Pensive Paws

2010-08-25T23:58:00.001+01:00

I came up with a great name for if someone was making a film about some dogs that were in a band. The band of dogs could be called The Pensive Paws. One would need to wear glasses and be all thoughtful. Maybe the thoughtful one would be a Border Collie - they’re pretty smart. If anyone wants to make this film, you can have that for free. Also, email me, I have lots more ideas about films starring dogs, more than you’d even believe.

I held Even More Tonto Short Stories in my hand yesterday. I haven’t had my author copy yet, so when it came into the library with the other new books it made me completely giddy for the rest of the day. I went to get my phone to take a photo but when I came back it had already been checked out! I don’t know how writers keep it together when they have a whole book out. I wanted to do cartwheels and everything. And not even sweary “I live in a shed”-lady could dampen my spirits.

No News, Just Ramblings

2010-08-16T00:47:00.000+01:00

Last night I woke after sleeping all afternoon to find the house full of light. I cooked some rice and listened to a record. Upstairs, friends laughed. I went into the room and lay on the couch. They were being funny with words, swapping words. They were trying to think of new good words to swap. I pushed my feet against the arm of the couch. I felt straight, rectangular. I felt happy to be in the room with them. One of them tried to teach me a game but the rules were impossible. I played my hand anyway, hoping to somehow understand eventually. I still don’t understand. And then I did writing but I kept mixing the letters up. My fingers typed some things faster than others, swapping things around by accident while everyone else was asleep.

Today was lazy and spectacular. Today was a story pulled out of a hat at the last second. I have eaten a lot of hazelnuts. I still think I’m half-nocturnal. I am obsessed with Wuthering Heights right now. This week. Today. Not the song. I have a friend that I really miss being around. Today the friend seemed sad, but there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t even let them know I knew they felt sad. People wear masks and live in their own small worlds. Where I live, there is nothing wild. I miss the hills and ponds and tall grasses of my childhood. I miss climbing trees. I would give this friend a forest to lose themselves in. I think being lost might make everything all right.

I think I’m different to how I was. I still don’t know for certain if that’s a good thing, but I think maybe it is, that soon I will settle into this new skin and there will be stillness in my life again. Everything I write down feels like a story, or that it could be a story. I’m completely blurring the edges between fact and fiction. I always have done. I’m always thinking: can I use this?

I met two deadlines this week, one admittedly by the skin of my teeth, after realising my original piece was well over the wordcount. It’s been a good week. Not so strange as some of the weeks I’ve had lately. But interesting all the same. More of this please.

Remember This Guy?

2010-07-12T00:50:00.006+01:00

Yesterday I got a nice email from Ola, the guy behind one million giraffes, telling me he'd blogged about the giraffe I sent in. Yay! I did it as part of my hundred days project, on day 79, because (a) I have a thing for giraffes, and (b) I love the idea of someone collecting a million giraffes. He still has a ways to go...

(From the website)

My friend, Jørgen, doesn't believe I can collect one million giraffes by 2011. I'm gonna prove him wrong, but I need your help. You can create your giraffes in any way you like, but not on a computer and no store bought objects. You must create your giraffes yourself!

I've gotten 906 176 giraffes so far, so I only need 93 824 more and I have 172 days left to get. Please help me!

Go on, make a giraffe. Make two!

*

On a non-giraffe related note, I have a new story up at How Men Make Love In The Twentieth Century. Thanks Ben!

*

That is all.

Proxy in Print!!!

2010-07-06T21:23:00.006+01:00

So today's the day Dzanc Best Of The Web 2010 is released. You know, the one edited by Matt Bell and Kathy Fish, with my story Proxy, from kill author in it, along with stories from so many amazing writers. You can have a read of the contents and intro pages here, and maybe even buy it, if it takes your fancy? No pressure.

I originally wrote the story for the second Word Soup, a live lit night up in Preston. The theme was 'Skin'. Most of my stories have the word 'skin' in them, it's definitely a recurring theme. I read somewhere once that skin was the largest organ, and it's stuck with me ever since. (It's helped me out in at least three quizzes, as well. Ahhh quizzes. Lovely lovely quizzes.) But I wanted to write something new to read there.

I'm tactile. I like to touch things, like the way things feel. I'm not sure I'd always rate sense of touch above vision, or hearing, but there are times when that sense takes precedence, and it's often those times that stand out, the ones that are remembered on your skin. The way a certain song imprints itself on your brain, takes hold of you and keeps adding more of your emotions with every listen; holding someone's hand in the dark, and all the electricity of that, all the thoughts firing and the noticing every single small movement, is just as powerful for me. (And the songs that I love, I really love.) I wanted to write about that (all I do is write about that!), but this time from the angle of there being a lack: of proximity, of being able to touch. So, yep, that's what I was trying to do with Proxy.

Which sense or senses do you most focus on in your writing?

I promise that I will do my best to do my duty to Bugged

2010-06-30T17:14:00.005+01:00

Tomorrow is not only the first day of July, it is also a day to do eavesdropping, and do eavesdropping good. It’s all part of Bugged, a project for UK writers. They call it ‘creative eavesdropping’. I guess as writers we do this anyway, but this is like having permission to do it.

From the website:

1 On July 1st 2010, go forth and…. eavesdrop! Wherever you are – in the British Museum or Bradford bus station, in your office, the pub, on the train – listen in to conversations and fragments of speech around you. Be discreet. Try not to get punched.

2 Write a new piece of work based on what you hear. We want poems of up to 60 lines, stories up to 1000 words, flash fiction up to 150 words, scripts up to 5 minutes long. Our favourite recent overhearing is ‘I think it was the turtles that did for her eventually.’ Yours may be tragical, farcical, touching or mundane. You don’t have to quote your overhearing directly – it might just be a starting point for your piece.

3 Submit it to us by email after July 1st, and before August 15th. The sooner the better.

(Further details can be found here.)

I wish it had been B-Day on Tuesday, because there was a crazy lady in the library who could’ve set me off on a hundred stories. My favourite quote from her has to be: “I LIVE IN A SHED!!!” The rest is pretty unrepeatable. But I will be eavesdropping in the library again tomorrow, notebook in pocket, when I’m supposed to be tidying the Biographies. I’m sure I’ll overhear something good, something that will inspire a story. Bring it on!

I'm A Festival. I'm A Parade.

2010-06-20T10:00:00.003+01:00

We’re lying on the bed with the window open. The breeze sucks the curtain out of the room, billows it like a sail into the world outside.

His arm is wooden beneath my neck, but when he speaks he moves his hand, twitches his fingers, and I feel his muscles contract and slacken underneath me.

Our clothes are from another decade. We laughed at first, trying on outfits of the dead, their garish colours at odds with our complexions. But it soon exhausted us, the being other people, the being ironic. And so we lay down on top of the sheets. But we’re still not ourselves.

His eyes are hidden behind dark glasses, huge. Reflected in them I am a mass of gold and green. I’m a festival. I’m a parade.

We breathe soft under the weight of the clothes. He is layers of red and blue and brown. He is three shirts deep, strangled by a tie that’s bigger than all our dreams put together.

His body is unrecognisable. I press my hands against where his chest should be. All I can feel are buttons, shiny and smooth beneath my fingers.

I undo them one by one.

***

(I'm writing tiny stories/snapshots inspired by songs, either taking the title or a line or two. The stories don't really have anything to do with the songs, but maybe they'll evoke the same feelings, or maybe they won't. I'm making a tiny book of each story. Just one book per story. If you would like this one, leave a Yes in the comments or email me at ejlannie [at] gmail [dot] com with your address.)

Lucky Owl Writing Necklace

2010-04-11T23:42:00.007+01:00

It feels like it's been ages since I last wrote anything on here. Forgive me interweb, for I have been busy doing non-interweb things. Mostly writing, with a spot of gardening, some sitting in the kitchen with my housemates (avec tealights) during a power-cut, reading, making hassleback potatoes, counting words, oh, and making an owl necklace. (And half-pretending to imbue it with magical properties i.e. it is now my 'lucky owl writing necklace'.)

I think it's working, because I recently found out that my story from >kill author, Proxy, has been nominated for the storySouth Million Writers Award Notable Stories of 2009. It’s a long list of brilliant stories, and I feel honoured to have made it onto it. Big congratulations also go out to kill author, who won the Million Writers Award for best new online magazine or journal. Yeah! I think I’m a little bit in love with >kill author.

And Dzanc Books have just officially announced the line-up for Best of the Web 2010, which Proxy made it into. I think you can actually pre-order it now, and it’s out in June! Eeek! I’m very excited about that, especially after seeing who else is in it.

Other people who’ve had good news recently:

Jenn Ashworth. Her blog full of fibs has been shortlisted for the Author Blog Awards. Woop! You can sign up and vote here. Do it. Do it now.

Nathan Good and Aimee Wilkinson (who I do TTO/Hello Hub things with) both have stories in the new Tomlit.

And this is good news for people with ears: Biff (TTO/HH) has finished his record and you can listen to some of the songs here.

And...Word Soup is One! There is a Word Soup Birthday Party happening on Tuesday 20th April at the New Continental, in Preston. I'm not 100% sure I can go yet, but I'll be there in spirit if I can't. I think it's going to be ace.

Day 100 of #100days: End/Beginning

2010-03-17T20:51:00.002Z

And so the 100 days is over. I made it down to the event in the fairy-lit, balloon-strewn warehouse in Dalston, where I met some lovely hundred-dayers in real life (hello, and thanks for the camaraderie, the plagiarism, the couch, the Lego and the badges!); marvelled at the Museum; and laughed heartily at Josie Long, Isy Suttie, Sara Pascoe(who also made me cry a bit), and the Pictish Trail and his 30-second songs. There was even cake. A massive cake, with 100 candles no less.

My pledge was to do something creative every day, and to learn Icelandic. The ‘doing something creative’ suited me well, as it basically meant getting on with my writing. But the more I read the blogs of other hundred-dayers, with their photos and comics and sketchbook pages, the more I felt like I wanted to do something ‘visual’, something I could photograph and document. It wasn’t till I was about half-way through that I started to focus on the ‘altered books’ thing. It was something I’d played around with before and really enjoyed. So I went with it. And it progressed from painting on pages to actually cutting things out from the pages, making the pages themselves into other things. I enjoyed it so much that I think I’ll call it a hobby, and do it some more.

My Icelandic didn’t fare as well. Learning words in isolation does not a language teach. Or something. But I’m going to continue with it anyway. And the way I see it, I’ve given myself a head start.

Talar þú íslensku? Err...I'll get back to you on that one.

Am I a better person? Who can say? It’s felt like my life over the last three months has been part of something bigger. And that’s been good and bad. It felt strange for me to be blogging nearly every day, as I’m used to giving myself time-outs from the internet. So in the end I got around that by collating entries and doing catch-up posts. I’ve been more inclined to say yes to things. And I’ve been drawing more, which is something that I missed. And I think taking stock every day changes the way you look at things, too. It stops the days all blurring into one. Which to me, is a good thing. So, stepping onto the positive side of the seesaw, I think I’ll conclude that for me, it’s not necessarily the doing of a certain thing every day that’s been important. Rather, it’s been the reflection, and the thinking about each day and all its events, actions, plans, ideas that matters, and I think it’s this that has set me on the path (and it’s possibly quite a long-ish path) to being a better person.

Chrissy Williams, who was busy learning a new word a day for the whole 100 days, sums it all up beautifully here...

"Whatever we decide to do every day affects us. We affect other people, so what we do affects them. Small things accumulate into big things. This means that small things matter. What do you want to do today? Can you make time to do something small, or will you do nothing?"

Big thanks to Josie Long and the London Word Festival for making it all happen. And hurrah to everyone! We did it.

Days 96 to 99 of #100days: The final countdown or The end is nigh

2010-03-10T01:37:00.007Z

A while back, I volunteered to help out at the Writing Industries Conference in Loughborough, so that was how I spent Day 96. I got to run the bookstall, with Deirdre and Paul. It was a good day, with lots of writers and writerly things.

I've been really conscious of needing to do a big catch up on my 100 Days. The party is tomorrow (today now) and I'm really excited about meeting up with people and seeing the treasures in the Museum of 100 Days. I'm not going to exhibit anything because all but the last few cut-outs have been made in the one book, making it sort of impossible to display properly, or well. I did think about cutting the individual pages out, and mounting them on card, but then they'd just be bits of paper. I think I'll bring the book and just keep it in my bag, so if anyone wants to have a look, they can. I just hope no Mills and Boon authors are going. There were a couple at the Conference and I was a bit relieved that it wasn't their particular books I'd been slicing up. Although it would have made a brilliant story if I had. Hmmm.

See some of you tomorrow/later. Can't hardly wait.

Days 87 to 95 of #100days: When in Rome...you probably won't get that much sleep

2010-03-10T00:35:00.010Z

First half

Days 88 to 91 were spent between Torino and Rome. After a day in Turin and a nice bit of wandering, friends Maurizio and Simona got us up early and took us on an 8-hour roadtrip to the Eternal City, to catch up with the Fine Before You Came boys. FBYC had travelled down from Milan to play that night. It was all a bit hectic and a lot brilliant. I wish there'd been more time to see Turin, but it would've been silly to pass up the chance of sightseeing in Rome.

So here we have the cut-out Colosseum...

Trevi fountain allstar Neptune...

and Trevi fountain crazy horses...

and also, man with conch...

Second half

Days 92 to 95 were spent sleeping and catching up.

Things I've learned:

1) You really can never have too much Tiramisu.

2) If you say "when in Rome..." to people when you actually are in Rome, they just look at you funny.

Day 86 of #100days: "It's our time down here."

2010-02-25T05:05:00.003Z

I couldn't fit Data on the page, so I had to glue on a bit more page.
I could watch The Goonies every day and still not get bored.
The Goonies got played a lot on the old Ferguson Videostar.

Day 85 of #100days: "Where we're going, we don't need roads."

2010-02-25T04:53:00.000Z

Good old Marty McFly. Good old Michael J. Fox. Good old time travel. Bad Libyans.

Only 15 days left now. It'll be weird when it's all over. Maybe all the Hundred-Dayers can celebrate March 10th every year as a new holiday: "Better Person Day". A hundred days is nearly a third of a year. And I appear to have spent most of a third of a year cutting up books. I'm not sure what that says about my chosen profession. I do know I find it very therapeutic, though. And quite fun.

Day 84 of #100days: "Help me Obi Wan, etc"

2010-02-25T04:35:00.003Z

Everyone's favourite princess... Leia. Even if she did snog her brother.

Day 83 of #100days: Ouch

2010-02-25T04:30:00.003Z

...continuing with the video theme. I like themes. Themes are good.

Day 82 of #100days: "I gave her my heart, she gave me a pen."

2010-02-25T04:19:00.002Z

That old Ferguson Videostar got me reminiscing about all the videos I used to watch and love. It only felt right to make a paper cut-out John Cusack, from possibly one of the greatest "music" scenes in any film, ever.

Day 81 of #100days: ferguson (killed the) videostar

2010-02-25T04:05:00.002Z

Day 81 saw a call out from Hundred Days HQ for video. I briefly entertained the idea of doing some kind of stop-motion wizardry, but I'm nowhere near tech enough, and the Mr (who could probably do that kind of thing with his eyes closed) is in Italy, so I came up with a plan B: a paper representation of my beloved old Ferguson Videostar, in all its toploading glory. Ah, Ferguson Videostar, how I loved thee.

Day 80 of #100days: toy o'clock

2010-02-25T03:09:00.002Z

At work I was sent a link to a site called Toy-A-Day, for half term activity ideas. It's brilliant. There are so many that I want to make. There's even a template so you can design your own.

This book-cut was inspired by these toys. (I still appear to be pilfering.)

Day 79 of #100days: giraffe o'clock

2010-02-25T03:03:00.002Z

Still not quite over Homage Week, I decided to jump on the giraffe bandwagon with this giraffe for the ace one million giraffes site. If you're not busy you should draw one too, help a guy out.

Day 78 of #100days: Homage Week ends (with a biscuit-eating robot)

2010-02-17T19:38:00.005Z

Last day of pilfering! I'll be sad to see Homage Week go. I've thoroughly enjoyed it, and have even been plagiarised myself. Thank you Emerson! As a fitting end to this homage business, I decided to revisit 100 tiny moments from my past, present and future. Last time, I went back to my past, so I figured this time I'd head into my future.

This is me in the future when I'm a robot. The best part about being a robot is, I have extra long arms, which are excellent at doing that thing that Mr Tickle did, i.e. wriggling off downstairs to get a biscuit while Mr Tickle (now Robot Me) stays in bed.

Thoughts on The Future:

1) I'm glad they still have biscuits.

2) I hope my robot arms are retractable.

3) It's quite nice that robots have beds.

Day 77 of #100days: TV Party Tonight!! (Or maybe just a bit of a party and then a potato.)

2010-02-15T20:09:00.004Z

This is my homage to Greg Wohead's 100 Days project, whereby he's tweeting a play every day.

The TV Party

(My housemates and the Mr. are on tour and I have the house to myself, so, what normally occurs under said circumstances is I have my own dance party in the living room. Today, not unlike other such days, I decide I am the front(wo)man in Black Flag. [This is totally in keeping with the homage theme.] I get quite excited about having a TV Party, tonight.)

Me: (“sings”)We’re gonna have a TV party tonight.

Me: Really?

Me: Yep.

Me: What are you going to watch?

Me: Err...Glee.

Me: And then?

Me: Just Glee. Then I’ll eat my jacket potato and probably go back upstairs and work some more on my novel.

Me: You definitely know how to party.

Me: Hmmm.

THE END

Day 76 of #100days: For the love of knives

2010-02-15T17:45:00.000Z

Not quite sure who or what this is an homage to...maybe to knives? Or maybe it's just to the One Hundred Days To Make Me A Better Person project as a whole, and to everyone involved. Yeah!

(And I think that bit of positivity qualifies me to be plagiarising Toni/Missyaggrevation and her promise to always see the sunny side. Ace.)

Day 75 of #100days: Sharks Patrol These Waters

2010-02-15T17:21:00.000Z

For Day 75, I thought I'd have a go at Benjamin Partridge's Random Article project. He's writing/was writing a daily story based on Wikipedia's 'random article' button, pressing it once and then sticking with that article, whatever it happened to be. Instead of a story, I decided to stick with my book-cutting, which I am really enjoying. But it meant I had to cheat a bit, because the first few articles I got were either towns in Poland or lists of political candidates.

Based on the wikipedia article: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caribbean_reef_shark, as generated by the random article button.

Day 74 of #100days: Kaffi

2010-02-15T15:33:00.004Z

This is my homage to Angela Fernihough's 100 Days of Coffee. Coffee is good. It's definitely helping me with all this catching-up.

Day 73 of #100days: Hat Trick homage

2010-02-15T14:37:00.005Z

This one was pilfered from think tank toybox.

"I will read a book for at least 20 minutes a day, for 100 days."

This was even more of a cheat for me because it's something I do every day anyway. I can't stop myself. This would normally be quite boring to illustrate, but luckily the book in question was Missing Kissinger by Etgar Keret. I was spoiled for choice, but in the end decided on the story Hat Trick. Look at the bunny. Isn't he cute?

No.

Day 72 of #100days: Homage Week begins

2010-02-15T01:40:00.005Z

Josie’s mission for days 72 to 78 is to pay homage to other 100 Days projects. Hooray! I’ve been dying to nick some of the other hundred-dayers’ ideas. First up is my homage to 100 tiny moments from my past, present and future.

From my past. This is when I saved River Phoenix from that lion by singing to it. I forget the song. But it really chilled the lion out. Then me and River went and had breakfast, mostly fruit.

(I admit, this one might have been a dream.)

Days 60 to 71 of #100days: Excellent news, a b*stard cough, and cut-out rockets

2010-02-15T01:17:00.009Z

I’ve had some quite ace news, in that my story Proxy, which was nominated by kill author for the Dzanc Books Best of the Web anthology actually made it in! Woop! It’s a bit unreal. Some amazing writers are going to be in it. I’m chuffed to bits. I can’t wait till it comes out.

To celebrate, I did something that Dzanc Books would probably not approve of...

I had an unexpected breakthrough in my novel, too. A part of the plot that I couldn’t quite get to grips with has thrown up its own answers, and it makes everything make lots more sense. Phew. I was getting ready to chuck it in the bin. I tend to have these Eureka moments while I’m fuzzy-headed with colds/cold medicines. I wonder if there’s a certain part of the brain that’s only activated when I’m ill. Or whether it’s more to do with most of my brain shutting down and letting the story part just take over. I do have some great fever dreams. Which makes me think it probably is the latter. Handy to know...

This is a catch-up post, so I'm only going to put my favourite book-cuts from these 11 days up...

and my favourite...

The theme has been err...space. And coughing.

Day 59 of #100days: Spelling it out

2010-01-28T22:26:00.003Z

So today's the last day of love week. And I have loved every minute of slicing these pages. Oh yes. It's nice having a theme. I wonder if Josie's got anything up her sleeve for day 60?

Day 58 of #100days: The dinosaur with beautiful ankles

2010-01-27T23:59:00.001Z

On the withdrawn-for-sale shelf at work is a big book of dinosaurs. I walk past it about eight times a day. I think it wants me to make it into a 3-D pop-up extravaganza of a book. But as Jenn has reminded me, this cutting-up of books is a bit naughty. So I am going to stick with Mills & Boons for now.

As a compromise, I have cut out some dinosaurs who are in love. They are even having a kiss. Who said romance was dead?

Day 57 of #100days: The what what tree

2010-01-26T08:21:00.002Z

A sort of tree. Some grass.

Day 56 of #100days: A house made of paper

2010-01-25T22:23:00.004Z

This is my third attempt at making a house, and now I really am cutting this book to shreds. It's surprisingly therapeutic. Bad librarian! I definitely need a sharper knife, though.

Day 55 of #100days: Words slam into jumbled proximity

2010-01-24T20:50:00.006Z

Josie Long's not-so-secret, seven-day mission from Day 53 was to do love-themed things. I only got the instructions yesterday, but well, I think that err...doing "creative" things with Mills & Boon books counts. The books are about love. The fact that I'm essentially destroying them...well, we can keep quiet about that, right? After all, it is more "embellishing" than out and out destroying. Just look at the pretty words.

Day 54 of #100days: Voice-thundering-heart-breaking-bird

2010-01-23T19:40:00.005Z

While I've been looking at cut-up books and book sculptures, I've become aware of the craft knife nestling in the pot of pens on my desk, and over the last day or two, my fingers have been itching to grab the knife and give book-cutting a try. So tonight I Had A Go. (See above.) Initially, I tried doing a tree, but I do not have the patience for intricate things. (And this is also not helped by the knife's blade being so dull that butter could cut it.) And so instead of a graceful tree, I have a voice-thundering-heart-breaking bird. But hooray!

Day 53 of #100days: Fumbling as you glimpse a minute

2010-01-22T22:29:00.004Z

You shiver blink dance frozen numb.
Fumbling as you glimpse a minute.
It rains and it rains here, just down.

Tonight I read something that took my breath away. Here's a glimpse, click to read it in full...

Like, as if there are all kinds of weather inside him and a city library with a domed roof and the biggest flock of starlings forming all the words and shapes in the sky you can imagine.

Day 52 of #100days: Because language is just one regret

2010-01-21T08:21:00.001Z

Day 51 of #100days: In the blinking of an eye

2010-01-20T23:56:00.005Z

In the blinking of an eye life scorched her.

A split-second suspended.

The laughter sudden, darkening.

Days 32 to 50 of #100days: Catching up and altering books

2010-01-20T22:34:00.002Z

I’ve mostly been keeping myself away from the internet. I spent too much time last year just clicking ‘refresh’ a hundred times a day, losing hours of real time. So I’ve cut back, and it’s been good. I’ve got a lot of writing done. I spent a day making a board with timelines and multi-coloured Post-it notes and did lots of “Narrative Arc” playing and planning, and everything with the novel feels more solid now. Yay.

Instead of learning a word a day, I've been working on my Icelandic course a couple of times a week, getting to grips with pronunciation and short conversations. It's harder than reading, but essential if I'm going to learn properly.

Another thing I’ve been doing over the past few days is ‘altering’ pages from books. Not in the way that the crazy borrower does with the Jeffrey Archer books, ‘correcting’ the grammar/Jeff’s word choices/etc, which is highly amusing, but mostly because it’s Jeffrey Archer and not because Library Property is being defaced. Although it is a bit in the same ball park. It does essentially mean destroying a book, which I am dead against normally, but in the case of ‘altered’ books, it can create something that is more than it was. (See above, by the amazing Su Blackwell, for example.)

I am choosy about what I will alter. Old poetry books from charity shops are good. But the books I feel least guilty about using are old deaccessioned Mills & Boons. Not that I have anything against them, but I also have no qualms about painting over things like “lush breasts” and “hot-pink t-shirt” and “impressively muscled thighs” and “skin the colour of cappuccino”. It makes it kind of easy to get my paintbrush out.

I don’t know where I first read about it, but there are lots of artists doing amazing things, (Brian Dettmer does great things with old encyclopaedias. Read an interview with him at Orange Alert) far better than the things I do, which is basically paint gesso primer over most of the words, leaving the ones I like or that feel right. (Similar to this.) Most times a small story appears, or a poem, or a killer line that I’d never have thought of in a hundred years. Sometimes I momentarily get sucked into what “Eduardo” said next, until the paint whitewashes him away. Mostly though, it helps me shut off my left brain, so that when I write straight afterwards, it always seems to flow.

So for the last fifty of the 100 Days, I’m going to do a page a day. Some I think will be the starting point for stories, others might be stories in themselves, and maybe if I put a few together a pattern will emerge. We'll see.

* the photo at the top is from Su Blackwell's blog. She rocks!

Day 31 of #100days: Happy New Year!!

2009-12-31T17:15:00.005Z

Today I wrote about how I spent Millennium eve for my friend Sian. Her novel, Fluids, begins in the early hours after 1999 has been partied out, and she’s gathering Millennium stories for her blog at the moment. If anyone wants to add their own story, she’d be well chuffed. Just drop her an email. (They can be anonymous if you like.)

And now I'm about to start on the wine, in preparation for the musical festivities above.

Gleðilegt nýtt ár / Happy New Year to everyone! Hope it's as loud, quiet, fun, lovely as you want it to be!

Days 26 to 30 of #100days: Late Night Scribbling and Short Story Bliss

2009-12-30T23:42:00.003Z

[26/100] Wore my new wellies but still nearly ended up on my face on the ice. Drove home very slowly. Creativity FAIL. Knackeredness won.
[27/100] Italian friends Simona and Maurilio are over from Turin. Spent most of the day just hanging out, but came up with a story idea once I’d gone to bed, so had to quietly scribble it on the back of an envelope in total darkness.
[28/100] Spent all day in my pj's. It was awesome. Read all of one of my Christmas books and started on another. No proper writing, just more scribbling of ideas.
[29/100] I wrote a story that might be called 'Something Inside Me Has Jumped The Track', although the final story doesn’t fit the title, so I will probably change it and steal the title for something else. It’s a story about kissing and gin, and I really like the main character in it. After reading a book of Michel Faber’s short stories, I’m back in short story mode for a bit. I’ll try and get a couple more done before the novel sucks me up into its bowels again.

Which brings us to today [30/100]. Fellow Hundred-Dayer Lizzie Poulton has come up with a brilliant idea: 10 Weeks Of Plagiarism - To Make Me A Better Person. In her own words:

Basically the plan is for the next 10 weeks (the remaining 70 days) I will copy/rip off/pay homage to other people’s inspired 100 days projects in the hope of improving my creative output.

Now why didn’t I think of that? I sort of wish I hadn’t been so vague with my pledge, but I knew that Christmas was coming up and that I’d feel like a constant failure if I’d set myself big tasks. Maybe I’ll break it down into weekly projects? I’ll have a think and see what January 1st brings.

Well, it feels like I've been updating for hours, but I'm finally all caught up.

I've been learning the months. I'm finding it fairly easy to read Icelandic, which is encouraging. I'm nowhere near mastering it yet, though. But I'm enjoying it a lot.

januar
februar
mars
april
mai
juni
juli
agust
september
oktober
november
desember

Day 25 of #100days: Gleðileg Jól!

2009-12-30T23:13:00.000Z

[25/100]

I got very creative with my baby nephew’s xylophone, did some making-up-of-songs, that kind of thing. (It counts!) Santa brought me some ace wellies with daisies on, so I would no longer have to cry in my no-grip Cons when the ground got slippy. And my sis got me a proper Icelandic course, so now I have no excuse.

Talar þú íslensku?
Ja!

Days 20 to 24 of #100days: Wrapping, Rasputin and Wellington Dreams

2009-12-30T23:01:00.001Z

Siobhan from wigglymittens very kindly made me a couple of Rasputin stickers. I spent more time than is probably healthy posing Rasputin around the house. I think he looked most at home in with my peace lily, though. He looks a bit like a jungle explorer.

I finished off my robin cards, wrote a bit, did some very creative wrapping, and marvelled at the lovely snow whilst wishing for wellies.

And I learned some family words:

mamma (mum) pabbi (dad) foreldrar (parents)
systir (sister) bróðir (brother)
amma (grandmother) afi (grandfather) barnabarn (grandchild)

Days 15, 16, 17, 18 and 19 of #100days

2009-12-19T23:42:00.001Z

I finally got my very overdue submission sent off to my mentor tonight. He is probably going to go mental. I’ve been messing around with the novel so much lately that I wasn’t even sure which bits to send this time. And I haven’t felt like I could do anything else until I had it done. But now it’s off in the ether and there’s nothing more I can do to it. So...sewing?

Yesterday’s [18/100] creative thing was drawing possible Christmas card designs. I always make my Mum’s card (and my sister’s if I can be bothered/have the time) by hand. I decided this year, since I was being creative and all, that I would be bothered and I would make the time. So today [19/100] I bought the things I needed, and I made these little fellas ...

(I got a bit carried away. I think some people might be getting two cards off me this year)

This is going a bit in reverse now. On Thursday [17/100] some Vikings came into the library. With my basic grasp of Icelandic I managed to ascertain that they were doing a project on schoolchildren. So, I found them some books.

My Icelandic words were skóli (school) and barn (child) and also bók (book).

Wednesday [16/100] and Tuesday [15/100] were all about the novel. Lots of creativity, but very boring to look at. However, I did manage to learn: skemmta sér (have fun, have a good time, party), and hatta (go to bed). Important things.

I’ll leave you with a joke Nath told me. A joke that’s definitely on a par with Jenn’s ‘baker with brown hands’ one.

Q: Who’s the coolest person in the hospital?

A: The ultra sound guy.

Days 11, 12, 13 and 14 of #100days: Sasquatch

2009-12-14T23:40:00.006Z

(Or, I have been a slacky mcslackface blogwise, but honestly, it would be really boring for anyone to read “I wrote some words for my novel and then went to bed” for three days in a row.)

[11,12,13 and 14/100]

I tried drawing on Friday and gave up. I messed up the mouth horribly. And I’ve just realised now that I can cover that mistake with hair, too, just like the other one. Hooray for beards! ...Except I just messed that up too, (too Jesus-y) so I decided to go the whole hog and make it Sasquatch. But it’s really not very Sasquatch-y either. Again, this is why I write.

Days 12 and 13 were good for writing. Although as a kind of distraction, (I had to eat!) I did discover a TV channel that shows made-for-TV Christmas films non-stop. I’ve been limiting myself to one a day. They are truly terrible and absolutely amazing. I love them.

I also found this game to help with my Icelandic, and I got every answer correct! My pronunciation obviously leaves a lot to be desired with some of the phrases, but I’m beginning to recognise and understand words when I read them.

Halló. Hvar er klossettid?

I think I’m going to write a paragraph each day about people who come into the library. I think that will be a fun thing to do to help me pass the time when I’m at work. I can make my workday 100% more creative if I’m imagining encounters with people who are or aren’t really there. I just thought of this now, whilst picturing Sasquatch in the library, trying to fit into one of the little wooden chairs we have for storytime. Nice one Sasquatch. So...

Today, Sasquatch came into the library. He needed to use the computer, but there weren’t any free. I told him I could book him onto one in ten minutes’ time, and he said okay and handed me his library card. He’d chewed it in one corner. I made his booking, and when I went to hand him his card back he grabbed it, which made me do a little scream. He was instantly apologetic, and so was I. He said it was a survival instinct, and I nodded and said ditto. And then we just smiled awkwardly, and he went over to browse the Local History section until his computer was ready. When I looked across a bit later, he was watching a YouTube video of a cat playing the keyboards, and when he laughed, the whole building shook like there was a miniature earthquake.

Days Nine and Ten of #100days: Bless is Goodbye in Icelandic

2009-12-10T23:44:00.005Z

[9 and 10/100]

Talar þú íslensku? (Do you speak Icelandic?)
Ja, ég tala íslensku. (Yes, I speak Icelandic.)

This is a lie. I should be learning, "Nei, eg tala ekki íslensku." (No, I can't speak Icelandic) but that would be defeatist. It's only day ten.

It's just been me and the novel for the last couple of days. Too boring really to blog about. I just want it done now, so I can have my life back.

One of my favourite borrowers died recently. It always upsets me when a husband or a wife or sibling comes in with a library ticket and says they won't be needing it anymore. And there are some borrowers I haven't seen in a while, and I wonder if they're okay, and steel myself for the worst. But this particular borrower has been coming into the library every week for all the time I've been working there. He would only read Jack Higgins books, and over the last few years all he's been able to manage were large print copies. Over the years I consulted "Who Writes Like..." a few times, trying to find him someone new to read. And he tried a few, but no one could match good old Jack Higgins. I got excited once when he asked for a book by Harry Patterson, only to find out it was Jack Higgins' pseudonym. I would print him off lists of all the Jack Higgins books we had in stock, and he would order a few at a time, checking them off. Once he'd got through his list, (and luckily for him it was a fairly long list) he would start again from the beginning. The last time I saw it, there were six ticks next to some of the titles. I printed him a new list about two weeks ago. I issued him "Wrath of the Lion" for the seventh time just last week. He seemed fine.

One of the best things about working in a community library is watching people grow. The toddlers who listen intently to "Hairy Maclary" are soon doing homework projects on The Tudors, and the schoolkids who'd spend hours copying facts out of Encyclopaedias soon become moody and amazing teens. And it's a strange thing to observe people like this, week in week out. But sadly, we also see the reverse. We watch people grow older, notice their coughs getting worse, their bodies growing shaky and frail. And even though we might interact, we are not part of their lives, we are just witnesses. But that doesn't make it any less sad when they go.

Day Eight of #100days: Colouring, Re-capping and a Kreativ Blogger Award

2009-12-08T21:06:00.007Z

[8/100]

I spent the afternoon colouring in snowmen (not the snow parts, but hats, scarves, brooms, carrot noses, etc) for the Christmas display in the junior library. I like 'quiet days' at the library. I always forget how therapeutic it is to do colouring in. When I studied Anatomy and Physiology, the lecturer gave us The Anatomy Colouring Book, and we'd spend every Monday morning colouring a different muscle/muscle group. It was a brilliant way to learn. Hello gastrocnemius! Bonjour sternocleidomastoid!

So that was my creative muscles being worked today, but I'm all settled in for a night at the coal face, chipping away at the novel wordcount, too. Colouring in AND writing. Blimey.

We're one week into the hundred days project now. It's been a strange week. Some days I haven't felt like being particularly creative, whereas others, I've gone crazy with it. Work does get in the way. Sometimes all I want to do when I come home is curl up in bed. This is why I didn't set anything in stone. I know that there will be days when the most creative thing I'll do is sprinkle cocoa dust on my coffee. So I've allowed for that. Sometimes small things matter just as much as the big things. But I also know that I enjoy being creative, and so pledging to do more things will make me feel better in myself. It's nice to give myself permission to do all these things I usually put off because I don't have time.

And I'm learning things, too. Getting my daily dose of Art History from Howard, who makes it fun and accessible and incredibly moving. And I'm getting to see original pictures/comics/stories/poems being created daily, all under the Hundred Days banner.

Jessica from Writer's Little Helper has very kindly nominated me for a Kreativ Blogger Award. Thank you Jessica!!

The rules are...

* 1. Thank the person who nominated you for this award.
* 2. Copy the logo and place it on your blog.
* 3. Link to the person who nominated you for this award.
* 4. Name 7 things about yourself that people might find interesting.
* 5. Nominate 7 Kreativ Bloggers.
* 6. Post links to the 7 blogs you nominate.
* 7. Leave a comment on each of the blogs letting them know they have been nominated.

Seven Things...

1. I cry at anything, especially that dog advert that's on in the daytime, when it's raining and the dog says, "Nobody wants you when you're old." Breaks my heart. The News gets me sometimes/often. Happy tears, sad tears, all the tears you could possibly imagine. I've long since given up being embarrassed about it.

2. If ever I'm given fancy soap as a gift, I use it as soon as the current soap runs out, because I read a poem once about a woman on her deathbed, who regretted not using the owl-shaped(or was it rose?) soap she'd kept 'for show'. I might have a lot of regrets on my deathbed, but hoarding soap will not be one of them.

3. I'm a trained masseuse.

4. I will sew for chocolate. Buttons, hems, you name it. Only one of my housemates has figured this out so far.

5. I want to live in a lighthouse.

6. The scent of privets makes me feel seven years old.

7. I wish I could travel through time.

The seven people/blogs I pass this award on to are...(in no particular order)

Forgetting the time - Annie Clarkson's lovely lovely blog.

Every day I lie a little - Jenn Ashworth's most excellent blog. Dead funny.

A Salted - Sara Crowley's newly-snazzied-up blog. I love her championing of the short story and wish she worked in the Waterstones near me.

Follow the yellow brick road - Katherine Woodfine's arts and culture blog that's won awards for being so ace. I always want to visit the places/exhibitions she writes about.

Wigglymittens - Siobhan Britton’s art blog. She's a fellow Hundred-Dayer, and I'm loving her sketchbook updates. The other day she made Rasputin stickers!

Missyaggrevation - another fellow Hundred-Dayer(it's beginning to sound like a weird cult!) on a mission to see the sunny side of everything for the next 92 days. Admirable.

Confessions of a middle-aged coffee addict - films and books and strange goings-on in the library. Makes SH! seem quite sedate.

Phew.

Oh and this blog post was brought to you by the word handleggur (arm). I'm remembering it by thinking of my arm as my hand's leg.

Day Seven of #100days: Decking the Halls

2009-12-07T23:59:00.001Z

[7/100]

Today's word in Icelandic is sjö (seven).

And today's creative act was to put the Christmas tree up and decorate it, deck the halls, etc. I've been off the internet most of today. I think it's good to take time out from it. It can sometimes steal my creativity without me realising.

I'm going to do a proper post tomorrow. I have good things to write about but right now I'm soooo sleepy.

Góða nótt.

Day Six of #100days: Novel Novel Novel and Post-it Notes

2009-12-06T23:36:00.006Z

[6/100]

Ég er að skrifa. (I am writing)

That's pretty much all I've been doing all day. It's been good.

I love One Hundred Love Stories. I'm fascinated by how couples first met, so this is definitely one I'll be returning to.

And for the tea-lover, there is 100 Days (of Tea) - lovely pictures celebrating all things tea.

I've figured out some good things tonight, about how bits fit together and how I can make things better. Good old Post-it notes, eh!

Day Five of #100days: Not-so-sneaky Afternoon Naps and a Story Called "Hat"

2009-12-05T23:01:00.000Z

[5/100]

It's been a fairly lazy day today. I got up, drank lots of water, ate a massive bag of Rainbow Drops, then got back into bed to catch up on yesterday's blogging. Then I had a nap. I like naps. Another 100-dayer who likes naps is Siobhan from Wigglymittens. She's been drawing in her sketchbook every day, and on day four she documented her "sneaky afternoon nap time". Yeah! Sneaky afternoon naps are the way forward!

Am also loving Benjamin Partridge's Random Article, where he writes a story every day based on what he gets from pressing Wikipedia's 'random article' button. Genius.

Today I learned the words blár (blue) and kaffi (coffee).

Before I hit the hay, I am going to finish a short story I've been working on. At the moment it's called "Hat". I sometimes have a problem coming up with titles. Sometimes I steal them from song titles. I think this is okay. I read somewhere that song titles can't be copyrighted. I'm sure it's fine.

Day Four of #100days: Brautigan, Stitchery and Reading Out Loud

2009-12-05T14:13:00.015Z

[4/100]

I had every intention of writing about my Day Four escapades on Day Four, when I got back from the reading I was going to be doing in Nottingham, but when I finally stumbled home, I was a little worse for wine and decided it was best not to do internet things in that state. I'm all good now, though. So...

Day Four was a good one. It began with the words Gott kvöld (good evening) and Góða nótt (good night). This boded well.

Inspired by Josie Long's amazing homemade Kurt Vonnegut t-shirt, I decided I wanted to make one of my own, only with a jumper, and with Richard Brautigan on it instead. (No, I wasn't thinking at the time about how the hell I was going to fit "B r a u t i g a n" across a jumper.) So I got my sewing stuff out

and cut out the letters in turquoise felt.

before deciding that it was "too blue", and so I then cut out some pink letters to make it look prettier. The fun part was trying to get it all to fit on the finished jumper. After various shufflings about, I realised that it would have to be diagonal. I started sewing at four-thirty, and finished just after six, so in the time that I would normally be panicking about reading in front of people, all I could think was: just keep your fingers away from the pins and do big stitches. (Maybe I should do more sewing before reading nights?) Here's the finished jumper...

Hooray!

I wore it for my reading with Hello Hubmarine at Beatnik Guild. As soon as we got there, host Hannah Heartshape gathered us up in a group hug, which was lovely. The Arts Organisation is an amazing open space, filled with big sofas and excellent artwork. They also let you bring your own alcohol, which meant that me and Nath got through both of our "two bottles for £5" wine. Classy.

There was some great open mic poetry and then we did our set, which has changed slightly since the Summer Sundae one. I read an older story, Communion, from the Coffee chapbook. (You can download the PDF for free here, if you like.) And Nath and Jonezy did extra bits to make up for Biff's absence, as he was playing a gig back in Derby. We also had Jo Lewis on singer/songwriter duties, who completely blew everyone away. The crowd was warm and friendly, and I actually felt comfortable on stage, which doesn't happen very often. Huge thanks to James Walker of WriteLion (and LeftLion) for inviting us!

The rest of the night included a horrible dash across Nottingham for a bus, a drunken bus ride, and arriving at Big Blue just in time to watch Biff's (and the Mr's) band play. Day Four was a good day!

Day Three of Eitt Hundrað

2009-12-03T23:43:00.005Z

[3/100]

Not the greatest day for creativity, although I did get to play with the staple gun at work to make an "advent-Christmas-tree" type thing for a display in the junior library. It was a little bit creative. Not very. So I decided to finish the day with a hundred word short. (100 words including the title.)

And We Swim Right Into The Middle

We’re caught in this swamp, that isn’t actually a swamp. The water is still clear, but overhead there are hundreds of branches, like brambles but without any thorns or green, just wood, like there is some kind of basket being woven above our heads as we try to swim our way out of here. It’s the kind of place there would be crocodiles, and as soon as I think this, I start to panic. I want to be back where it’s just a river. I want to be out in the sun again.

And in case you didn't notice, my Icelandic words for today are One and Hundred.

End of Day Three.

Phew.

Day Two of One Hundred

2009-12-02T14:00:00.007Z

[2/100]

Early edition...

Today I got the urge to draw. I used to draw a lot, but I get quite frustrated when things don't turn out the way I see them in my head. Maybe that's why I favour writing nowadays. Words are always words. So the words I see/hear in my head can always be perfectly replicated on the page. This started out as a cunning ploy to cover up yesterday's attempt at "calligraphy". If you look closely, you can see some writing beneath the hair.

I'm loving the Hundred Days website. It's ace finding new blogs that I'd never have stumbled on before.

This morning's find has been Untitled #23. Howard is going to write at least 300 words about a work of art every day. Day One actually made me cry. It's beautiful.

Late edition...

I got some writing done this afternoon/evening. 726 extra words of the novel, and a chunk of editing. Woop!

Góðan daginn/Góðan dag means 'good day' in Islensku. I know a bit of German, so some words are sort of familiar, which is nice. But obviously the pronunciation is different. It feels softer, less glottal. It's early days yet, though.

One Hundred Days To Make Me A Better Person

2009-12-01T23:35:00.008Z

[1/100]

About a week ago, I discovered Josie Long’s new project "One Hundred Days To Make Me A Better Person". It is part of the London Word Festival, starts on December 1st 2009, and finishes on March 10th 2010. I knew I wanted to take part. I just didn’t know what I wanted to do for it. I also knew it would have to be realistic. Even though I was thinking "pledge to write a thousand words of your novel every day", I knew in reality I had no intention of spending Christmas day typing. Or Boxing day. Or New Year’s Eve.

This is from the website:

From 1 December 2009, Josie Long cordially invites you to pledge to do one thing every day for 100 days in a bid to generally make things better. The plan is simple:

1.Register here with your name, email and pledge

2.From 1 December, this pledge must be fulfilled every day for 100 days (or longer if the spirit of goodwill takes hold!)

3.Document your activity where possible - snap it, film it, write about it - and keep us updated on how you're getting along

I ummed and ahhed, and finally decided on my pledge(s) yesterday, at four minutes to midnight:

1.Learn a new word or phrase in Icelandic every day.

2.Do something creative each day.

3.Blog about it here.

I like the vagueness of the "do something creative" part. It can mean I write a thousand words of my novel, or it can mean I arrange some pasta into pretty shapes. Perfect.

So, today, Day One, the first of December, what did I do?

I played with fridge magnets and took photos of them (see picture above), until the batteries in my camera died. I had bigger plans. But, I have bettered myself tonight by recharging said batteries, so that next time I come to take a photo, I will be able to. Good stuff.

And I learned “Ég heiti Emma.” My name is. I always thought it would be good if I hung out with Eminem, because we would be referred to as "Em and Eminem". It would make me laugh every time.

Anyway, other hundred days projects that I’ve checked out so far:

100daysofnonfiction - Hannah is reading a chapter of a non-fiction book each day and then writing about what she’s learned. This one ties in with my favourite quote, “It’s impossible to open a book without learning something.” Go Hannah!

100tinymoments - Every day, Edward is illustrating a tiny moment from his past, present or future. This is one I wish I’d thought of. I especially like the idea of the future moments.

my bit of sky - I love the title of this. And the idea of photographing things people have left behind.

missyaggrevation - Toni has started a blog and is going to see the sunny side of life. Lovely and positive. Yay!

All this and it's only Day One!

*************************************update

I just read the poem "Love Yourself, Or Else" by Daniel Bailey, in the brand new > kill author, and these lines jumped out...

"the only thing i trust is the sound of a magnet
sticking to a fridge"

amazing!

end of update***********************************************

The Weirdness Of Your Own Voice

2009-11-29T18:13:00.012Z

The E.P. launch for Grande Duke, whose song 'Lunacy By Sea Wind' I did a spoken word bit on, and blogged about here, is happening on Friday.

I already have my copy, and it was weird at first, hearing a voice that I knew was mine, right in the middle of ace instrumental music, but the more I listen to it, the less weird it is, and the more I can just listen without thinking too hard about it.

I looked up the science behind why your own voice sounds weird when you hear a recording of it. I'm glad I know.

I'm doing a reading in Nottingham, so I won't be able to make it till later on. Hopefully I won't miss too much. It's going to be ace.

Semaphore Stories

2009-11-22T21:37:00.009Z

I've been keeping myself to myself a bit over the past few weeks. I've been doing lots of things with Post-it notes, working out the structure of my novel. It nearly drove me mad, but I think the worst of it is over. I haven't been writing many short stories lately, as all my focus has been on the novel, which is a good thing, but I have missed the immediacy of shorter things. So, I cheated and wrote this for the ever-brilliant pygmy giant. I seem to be obsessed with semaphore at the minute. Maybe it stems from my childhood survival-manual-reading, but I've always liked secret codes. I'm crap at decoding them, but I like the idea of them. A good one I've found recently is tap code. Used a lot by prisoners, apparently. I like the simplicity of tap code. I get it.

* **
***** ****
* *****

Pay It Forward

2009-11-04T16:43:00.008Z

A while back, Annie Clarkson blogged about kindness and the gesture of Pay It Forward. She had been a recipient and was Paying It Forward to three people who would then Pay It Forward to another three people and so on...random kindness expanding out to (hopefully) infinity.

So, a few days ago, a parcel arrived in the post. It was addressed to me, but I was baffled by what it could be. When I opened it, still half-asleep, I pulled out all manner of amazing things. Beautiful Flax postcards, tasty chocolate lip balm, the Brace anthology(Woop!), a very pretty notecard and some gorgeous vintage buttons.

(my haul - thank you Annie!)

(the buttons and notecard 'artistically' arranged)

I'd forgotten all about Annie's offer, which made receiving the gifts even more wonderful. Presents are great at the best of times, but unexpected presents, totally out of the blue, well, you just can't beat 'em.

So now it's my turn to Pay It Forward. If, at some point in the future, when you least expect it, you'd like to receive a package from me, leave a "yes please" in the comments box. I'll send something to each of the first three people to say yes. Even if you live in Timbuktu. The only stipulation is, you must agree to then do the same for three other people at a later date and blog about it.

When Godzilla Met Medusa

2009-11-01T23:48:00.001Z

Medusa was standing at the bottom of the stairs, swigging from a flagon of wine, when Godzilla stomped into the hallway, looking for a quiet place to stand. She noticed his suit first; black, smart, with a crisp white shirt, and a black tie. His feet were big and green and scaly, and as he walked, a thick tail swung heavily behind him. Medusa smiled as he approached, and he took this to mean it would be okay to stand next to her.

“Nice costume,” Godzilla said.

“Thanks.”

“I like how you’re not just going for the one scare,” he continued, “like you’re going for the fear-of-snakes people, the fear-of-statues people, as well as those that are scared of being turned to stone. Good call.”

She hadn’t thought about it like that. But it summed her up completely to be multitasking even in her subconscious. One of the snakes came loose so she flicked it back over her shoulder, the way she’d seen models in commercials do. When they talked about their hair having a mind of its own, only being tamed by a certain shampoo, she sighed. They didn’t know the half of it.

Godzilla tapped his foot in time to the music. His tail remained perfectly still. He started to feel warm, so he loosened his tie. One of Medusa’s snakes found its way onto his shoulder. He turned to look at it more closely; it seemed to be an adder, native to this country and generally well-behaved. Whenever one of the snakes broke free, Medusa felt a lightness that took a few moments to register. After realising what had happened, she swooped the snake back with her hand.

“Sorry about that.”

“No worries. I don’t mind snakes. We’re kind of...kin.” Godzilla laughed as he said this. Medusa took it to mean he was thoroughly immersing himself in his character. She thought she should do the same. She tried to think of something witty to say about turning people into stone, but nothing came to her, so she did what she’d read to do in these situations, which was: turn the conversation back to the other person by asking them questions.

“So, have you destroyed any good bridges lately?”

Godzilla blushed. “Er, no. Not intentionally, anyway.” He let out a nervous laugh. Medusa took this as her cue and giggled. She worried that it sounded a bit forced, but Godzilla didn’t seem to notice.

“And you’re okay out of water?”

“Yeah. I’ve been using that KY-jelly. It’s such a great lubricator.”

She choked on her wine laughing at his repose, and he felt bad for taking the credit when all he’d done was tell the truth. It felt good to be honest, though, for once. Hallowe’en was the one time of the year when he could actually be himself. No having to hide his tail down his trouser leg, no painfully restrictive shoes, no problem discussing his skin problems with people. A good song came on and he started tapping his foot again. He suddenly felt brave.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked.

“Okay. Yeah. I hardly ever get the chance to let my hair down.”

Godzilla guffawed, clapping his hands. “Let your hair down. Brilliant.”

It took her a few moments to understand he was complimenting her on her apparent role-playing. She gave him a smile and followed him into the other room, past the Jenga tournament, to where the party was loudest. Facing each other, they began to dance. Timidly at first, and then, on deciding to make the most of their one night of utter freedom, they got lively. They threw lizard shapes and snake shapes and wriggled and slinked and cavorted around the dance-floor. They danced all night, not stopping when Godzilla accidentally knocked the Jenga blocks flying with his tail, oblivious to the fact that everybody else had been turned to stone.

(photo borrowed from here.)

Holy Crap!

2009-10-26T23:35:00.002Z

and a massive thank you to > kill author.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!

2009-10-09T20:11:00.006+01:00

I'm a winner!!! My story made it into Even More Tonto Short Stories!! And I am in damn good company! Hooray plus many many more exclamation marks. I'm just going to have a little run around now, victory dance maybe.

A Staple Diet of Words

2009-10-09T19:31:00.004+01:00

On Thursday 15th October I'll be getting my grubby mitts on the new issue of Staple Magazine, at a special launch at Quad.

Hosted by Staple editor Wayne Burrows, there will be readings from some of the issue's contributors, an open mic section, and the evening will be rounded off by poet Jacqueline Gabbitas. Hello Hubmarine are also doing a sneaky set, so I'll be either dusting off, or polishing up a story, as well as getting the Bach Rescue Remedy at the ready.

The event is free and starts around 7:30pm. The theme is words and art. Quad have good cakes. How many more reasons to come does a person need?

Geometry and The September Project

2009-10-04T22:42:00.005+01:00

For September I set myself a writing project, whereby every day I would find a photo and then write a few sentences inspired by it. The idea was to stop myself before I ran away with one idea over another. Hopefully, I'll be able to go back to each piece and pick up where I left off. I know there are a few that have the beginnings of longer stories. I've still to read over them all to see if there's a pattern. I'm sure there will be a pattern. I've been noticing the rhythm of my writing a lot lately. I need to write more and experiment more (in my writing) to see if my theory is correct, though. So, watch this space?

Good news for October is Ben has re-started the excellent blog How Men Make Love In The Twentieth Century, and was nice enough to ask me to contribute a story, which I did, which you can read here. The brief this time was, "a story inspired by geometry". Ben's own story, Perspective, is beautiful. You need to read it now. Thank you.

Last Day Of September

2009-09-30T20:20:00.001+01:00

Right at the end of things, when she’s just about to close the door for the last time, she takes a breath.

Here Be Monsters

2009-09-29T23:43:00.004+01:00

Even if I get my shoes muddy, it won’t matter. I could walk to the edge of as far as I can see, and it still wouldn’t end. And I know he calls it as he sees it. He looks out and yes, the world is flat here, but here isn’t the entire world.

The Time It Takes To Get From Here To There

2009-09-28T05:39:00.003+01:00

He walks past the empty houses, focusing only on the crunch of glass underfoot. He doesn’t worry that it will pierce his soles. He has had his tetanus shots, and the sight of blood doesn’t bother him.

Of Abundance And Goodbyes

2009-09-27T19:53:00.003+01:00

Everything felt okay. The spin of the world only altered a little. She took a step back from the kerb, waiting for the cars to clear a path.

The Reverse Of Light

2009-09-26T23:15:00.000+01:00

They held hands in the shade, practised being shadows. On the ground, their arms grew long where the sun caught them, and they watched as more of themselves spilled out, stretched across the stone.

Impasse

2009-09-25T23:48:00.000+01:00

As he passed her, he imagined she might put her foot out to trip him, but she didn’t move at all. He wanted to stop, to turn around and say something that would make it all better.

Not Sleeping But Dreaming

2009-09-24T23:59:00.000+01:00

The silence wasn’t absolute. As she lay back on the grass, she heard the industry of small things, quieter than her heartbeat, but still enough to rock the tiny bones of her ear.

In A Cellar, Somewhere

2009-09-23T16:52:00.003+01:00

They kept the fire lit and told stories. They would be okay because the roof was arched, her Mum told her. She stared up at the whitewashed curve and counted each brick.

The Absence Of Glass

2009-09-22T10:03:00.003+01:00

Before anyone else is awake, he goes to the window and takes in a first breath of the day outside. The space for traffic is still unfilled, and the only sounds are the chatter of starlings and the hum of bees. On a bed in the next room, a girl stirs and bats imaginary flies in her sleep. He leans out into the morning, feeling the warm rush of August air on his face. He remembers the dot-to-dots he made from her freckles, the spirals and flowers and creatures he drew across her arms and legs, and wishes he’d taken a photograph.

A Beginning. An End.

2009-09-21T10:03:00.000+01:00

When it’s time to leave he stands in front of the door, fastening and unfastening his coat.

Twenty-Two Years Of Occupation

2009-09-20T17:55:00.005+01:00

With breath hot as tar he pushes me back, tells me I’m being stupid. I graze my elbow on the wall, and when I look down, tiny atoms of my skin cling to the concrete, a small clump of red and pink against the rough white.

Being Ten

2009-09-19T23:02:00.003+01:00

He remembers how he tried to make that heart. Pressing his fingertips into the red clay, he made it as symmetrical as he could, and then he baked it in the oven for hours, hoping it would emerge as something unbreakable.

The Next Day And The Day After That

2009-09-18T23:30:00.000+01:00

It’s been years since we kissed on that bridge, when I lost my shoe and didn’t realise until the next day. There’s a way of knowing what’s going to be said before it’s said. So we kept quiet and let it be forgotten.

When To Stop, When To Stand Still

2009-09-17T15:05:00.002+01:00

He knows she will never be on time, and so he has learned to enjoy the waiting. He pays attention to the world around him, the small things, things he might miss if he was in a hurry, or if she was there with him.

And All The World Was Quiet

2009-09-16T11:00:00.002+01:00

The world collapses in with all its bright colours. There is a new language, felt only through fingertips. He taps this strange Morse code against the bones of my hand and I watch the shapes, try to make sense of it. He doesn’t move any closer. He doesn’t look up. I stare at his hands and the way his fingers cover mine and feel lost.

A Timely Reminder...

2009-09-15T10:03:00.000+01:00

...that tonight, the Time Travel Opportunists will be taking over Quad and filling it with stories, short films, science, and other nerdery. Join us. 8:30pm in the cafe bar.

Some Kind Of Invisible

2009-09-15T08:57:00.000+01:00

He wants to shut himself off. He wants the people he knows to stop calling, writing, knocking on his door. He wants to go through his day and have no human contact. He has changed his clothes. He has cut his hair close to his skull, angling the scissors, making mistakes in the mirror.

Staring At The Sea

2009-09-14T18:12:00.002+01:00

He leaves them inside and pulls the door to. There’s too much going on. If there was a way he could rewind things, he’d shift everything back to the day before she arrived.

The Ivy Is Plastic But The Missing Is Real

2009-09-13T20:14:00.004+01:00

I lost him somewhere along the way. Before the lights went out, but after the crowds. I wanted to leave a breadcrumb trail, but he’s scared of birds, so there’s no way he would have followed. We should have tied wool around our wrists, bound ourselves together at the end of things. Now all I can do is wait, and hope that somehow we find each other again.

At This Height, The Windows Are Stuck With Glue

2009-09-12T23:48:00.000+01:00

It doesn’t take her long to realise everyone else has gone. She wakes in an empty room, only half-remembering getting there. The curtains have been stripped, the walls whitewashed. The floorboards are flecked with paint and she scratches at the raised blobs, tries to dig her fingernails underneath them.

When We Were Green

2009-09-11T23:11:00.001+01:00

We are pretending it didn't happen. We are being economical with our truth.

An Evening Of Time Travel

2009-09-10T22:45:00.006+01:00

Next Tuesday, Time Travel Opportunists are taking over Quad in honour of The Time Traveler's Wife film being shown, and a general love of Time Travel-themed things. See the lovely flyers Biff made...

I especially like the part where he thought that we could actually travel through time and do it all a month in the past. He knows the Delorian is 'in the shop' at the minute.

Anyway, we're going to be reading from books about time (pretty much ALL of Momo if we have our way, but we might settle for just a chapter), showing short films about time, and reading our own stories about time, too. I'm writing mine right now. Well, I'm having a little break to write this, but I am in the middle of a story and I quite like it so far. I am being cheeky and writing notes in italics as I go along. I am asking myself questions like "where are they going?" and "how about graph paper?" and "does she know his sister?" It's fun. Better get back to it.

This Is Not A Test

2009-09-10T09:24:00.000+01:00

I tried to cover my eyes. Even though it’s not too dark in here, when the door opens sunlight floods right in and sometimes it can be blinding. He had his back to it, but it got me like an atomic flash. I squinted past him and he laughed low, from his belly. And when I closed my eyes, the shape of him burned there in the centre, like he was all the world.

Gravity

2009-09-09T22:24:00.001+01:00

He doesn't know how to take what she's said. He thinks he needs to just sit here a while longer and try to figure things out. She is running circles with the others, playing freeze tag. Half his friends are statues. He leans back against the wall and bits of stone fall in his hair. He knows he should feel heavy right now, but her laughter makes him weightless.

Time Travel Is Possible

2009-09-08T09:24:00.003+01:00

She draws a line in the dirt. Whatever happens he has to stay on his side. They sit cross-legged, knees almost banging. The line is a table tennis net between them. It is a spiderweb.

Conservation Area Please Keep Out

2009-09-07T23:07:00.004+01:00

There’s a space the size of a matchbox that nobody else knows about. It’s hidden underneath piles of old clothes and books. There are old cassette tapes scattered around, some of the ribbons unravelled and spilling out, words and music coming slowly undone. There’s a part of him in that space that doesn’t exist anymore. The part that was happy. The part that was loved by her.

The Right Words Will Always Come Back

2009-09-06T23:24:00.004+01:00

You write on brown paper bags. Sometimes it is just a few lines, sometimes it is more. Other times, it will just be a single word, and you will choose this word carefully, like you are choosing the only flower you will ever be able to look at for the rest of your life.

You don’t write in biro. Biro can survive water, and you need these words to be ephemeral, you need them to be as fragile as the thoughts behind them. You need to know they can be washed away with tears, that they will bleed into pretty patterns before they disappear completely.

Once they’re gone, you imagine the journeys they will make. The wind might catch a paragraph and sneak it into the tallest tree. There it will whisper to the birds, teach them a new song. A sentence might find its way into the pink hands of a child, as it crunches on cola cubes. A word might find itself part of a shopping list, and nestle there a little out of place, between bread and toothpaste, above bananas.

Your words will always be remembered, somehow. Even when washed away, even when the ink of them is just a swirl of an idea in a puddle, what’s important will go on, picking up pace like a downhill snowball, or a runaway train. Your words will go down the track, finding their way back to the one they were meant for.

And one day, a bird will sit on a windowsill, and like a postcard it will sing your words. And they will be heard, and absorbed, and kept for a lifetime in the soft rooms of someone’s heart.

By The Time It Gets Dark All This Will Be Gone

2009-09-05T19:37:00.002+01:00

He rolls pebbles under his hand so that they clink against each other in the dirt. In this light, I can only see the movement, not the details. The line of his arm draws my eye to the ground. He tells me something just crawled over his foot and I scream and he laughs and says, Just Ambiguity. And I know it’s a word and he’s trying to be clever, but all I can think about is how many legs an Ambiguity might have.

Everything Can Be Broken

2009-09-04T09:04:00.002+01:00

So you take one rock and put your hand on it and with a pencil draw round the outline. You do it enough times that the lines are nice and thick and there is no mistaking that what you've drawn is a hand. You place it by the side of the path, half in the grass. You stare at it every time you come here, hoping one day you forget about it and it surprises you.

On The Moon Things Are Different

2009-09-03T09:03:00.001+01:00

My girlfriend isn’t my girlfriend anymore. She stole my shoes and threw them on the garage roof and I tried to climb up to get them back but I couldn’t reach, so I had to walk home in my socks. When I got home, no one noticed my shoes were missing. I ran upstairs and locked myself in my room and cried, mostly about the shoes, I think. Not about her.

From The Window I See Thistles

2009-09-02T11:00:00.002+01:00

The floor is made of sand. Other people come here at night, but in the daytime, it is only me. I like to do a handstand against the wall, and then my legs go out through the window-gap, and sometimes I just hang there and take my hands off the floor and pretend there is no gravity.