An Eleven Month Ramble Round-Up...

It might be only twenty-four hours since the fridge became a leftovers storage facility, but blog-wise, we're moving on. Because this is the last post of the year. Twenty-twenty-two, where has it gone? Well, wonder no more. Here's a round up of the past twelve months, via the monthly long-winded Ramble I pop out between the weekly updates. I aim to publish it on the first Monday of every month. So don't look too closely or you'll notice I seem to have missed March. No matter. Just enjoy my Eleven-Month Ramble Round-Up of 2022. Happy New Year, everyone!

Brett Goldstein's podcast
all about death and movies
features this month.

In January I talked about death, my funeral plans, and Barry Cryer. It was way more cheery than I've just made it sound. Click here for more.

Come February, and the world was a scary place. In the face of the horrendous situation in Ukraine, I retreated into You Tube escapisms. Click here for more. 

The Lady Gaga/Liza Minnelli 
double act was one of many
memorable moments.

In April, the Oscars took place. There was one big news story the morning after, and it wasn't any of the ones it should have been. I tried to right that wrong, here. Click here for more.

In May, I wrote about a new podcast I'd found, that was taking me right back to my Uni days and the love I used to have for a literary debate. Why can't there be seminars in adult life too? Click here for more.

I wrote a whole blog
on euphoria without 
mentioning the definitive
meaning of the word.

June came around, and a random question by my brother saw me engage in my first psychological study since my degree. When did you last feel euphoria? When, goddammit? Click here for more.

July saw one of my more self-absorbed posts. No, really, it's worse than all the other self-absorbed ones, honest. I talked about the inspiration for each of my books so far, covering the specific TV programmes, authors, and stories that represented the vibes I was trying to create. Click here for more. 

By the time it was August, I was doing anything I could to distract from the heat. Remember that? When it was hotter than the surface of the sun? A random eBay session resulted in me receiving some old copies of Smash Hits through the post. I loved it so much I broke down the contents. Click here for more.

As the September term started, I was on a writing roll. The new school year always makes me feel refreshed and ready to work. As I was nearing the end of the first draft of my new novel, I wrote about the experience. Click here for more. 

By the time we hit October, I'd been dealing with peri-menopausal insomnia for eighteen months. The extra waking time forced me into rewatching the series Eldorado via You Tube. I loved it a lot, despite its obvious flaws regarding political correctness. Click here for more. 

November came with a revelation. I was well-used to Imposter Syndrome, but for a very small window, events had conspired to let me feel like I knew what I was doing. I wrote about it, as well as the importance of taking the time to spot those moments when they occur. Click here for more.

And then it was December. This, from three weeks ago, was about whether we can ever fully know anyone, including ourselves. That makes it sound way more deep than it was. Click here for more.

If you've gone back and reread all of that, then fair play to you. You deserve a prize. There isn't one, but you'd deserve it if there was. That only leaves for me to say, have a peaceful and/or raucous as frig New Year's Eve, have an excellent 2023, and, as always...

...have a lovely week, folks.

Tidings of Comfort and Joy and Stuff...

Christmas has arrived! Almost. This time next week, it'll be Boxing Day and all that entails. Lies-in and leftovers for many, an actual family Christmas dinner for me. It takes all sorts. Regardless of what next Monday brings, this Monday is the official Writer's Ramblings Christmas post. 

I do this every time. In a bid to avoid not blogging for one week of the year, I dig out an old photo of child-me at Christmas, I write some meaningful, festive sentiments, and I wish everyone a marvellous time. Well let's not fix what ain't broke. Strap in, hold tight, and let's go.

It's circa 1981. I'm wearing a dress and I have a bowl cut. Two things that Adult Me has successfully avoided, most days of her life. (Actually, my hair style from fourteen to the mid-twenties wasn't massively dissimilar. My face is weirdly over-exposed, there's a random balloon behind me, and I'm standing in front of the drinks cabinet part of the sideboard. Oh how I enjoyed being repulsed by the taste of bitter lemon that was kept with the gin at the time.

I only vaguely remember Christmas in this house. I had three of them before we moved and this'd be the last one. The thing is, I know I enjoyed them, but I can't remember the specifics. That's got to be a good thing, right? For anyone who's madly dashing about this week, trying to make everything perfect, it's worth remembering that it's vibes that last, not tiny details that you're currently stressing over. That's got to take the pressure off, surely? Christmasses tend to blur into each other. Especially if you're a kid. Smiles, laughter and jolly songs do a lot of heavy lifting. That's my theory, at least.

Meanwhile, for something lovely, give this a watch. From the Ghosts Christmas special a couple of years ago. Alison wants to sing carols but none of the family are into it. She sits at the piano alone, but then the ghosts join in! The ghosts that only she can see. It's lovely.  

Alternatively, and more secularly, here's Tim Minchin singing White Wine in the Sun. One of my long-time faves, this was recorded last year, and it's a right old emotional rollercoaster. Check it out and wallow in non-religious Christmas loveliness.

OK then. Let's cut to the chase. Next Sunday might not be a great day for you. If so, I hope it's bearable, over quickly, and normal service resumes ASAP. Also, you mightn't celebrate Christmas and are sick of hearing me bang on about it. If so, I hope you get some decent time off work, or at least enjoy good food and ramped up telly. Regardless of your stance, I'll be back next Monday, saying goodbye to 2022. Have a marvellous Sunday, but before that...

...have a lovely week, folks.

Ticking Time, Golden Oldies, and Breadstick Banter...

It's the 12th December! Yes, we're on the home strait. We've reached the 50th Monday of the year, the 346th day of 2022, and the 82nd day of Fall. (At least that's what this US website is telling me.)

Christmas Eve viewing!

With so little festive season, and indeed year left, I can only assume we're full whack into the Christmas Movie schedules. No more saccharine Netflix or Channel 5 cannon fodder, the big guns are coming out! Look, I can't lie. A weapon-based metaphor to describe something fun-filled and twinkly does seem a bit much. Please adjust the imagery in your head. But I have a valid point. It's time to go big. There's no point saving the likes of Elf, Home Alone, Miracle on 34th Street, or It's a Wonderful Life for much longer. Actually, strike that. Reverse it. It's a Wonderful Life is reserved for Christmas Eve alone. But it's time to embrace every other classic film. What are you waiting for? Stop putting off the inevitable and make yourself merry!

 

Writing News

I've definitely wound down for Christmas. I've gone into my Book 4 draft a few times over the past weeks, and I know what I need to do. I just haven't done it yet. My To Do List come January says things like, 'Beef up the Poppy thread', or 'Check Jake's story isn't too tropey.' Lots to do when the time comes. For now, my weekly writing consists of this blog and the witty insights I'm contributing to social media. Back soon, with a vengence. Defo.

I mean, she's a fully grown
woman being called a kid, but
I'll let that pass.

Culture

I've got a new Christmas film to add to the canon. Yep, Spirited is in cinemas and available through Apple TV. A song and dance spectacular, it's based on A Christmas Carol with Will Ferrell and Ryan Reynolds hamming it up brilliantly. Worth adding to your future festive viewing lists. Also, Helen Skelton doing Sally Bowles on Strictly will live forever in my heart. A perfect, F-You performance. I've mentally channelled it most days since. Finally, for its 80th anniversary showing, I watched Casablanca at the cinema.  I'd seen it before but only once, and it was stunning. A big screen ramps every film up to a million.  

Food and Drink

Not sure why in this weather, but I've been all over Spanish omelettes. With dashing about and squeezing in lots of quick teas, they've hit the spot and filled me up. I also made hot chocolate (Dairy Milk chunks melted into hot milk) served with a shot of brandy. Yeah, I know. Take it in. Delish! It was a Christmas miracle. 

It's Breadstick Man
Stick Man!

Out and About

For reasons that will become clear, I watched a live performance of Julia Donaldson's Stickman in Warwick Arts Centre, yesterday. It was a birthday present for my three year old niece and I went with her, and her ma. I've had a running joke with my niece - wait for it, it's piss-funny - that the story we saw was called Breadstick Man. I know! I'm hilarious! Sadly, my niece has found this wordplay more irritating than amusing. She just doesn't get me. After repeating the 'banter' regularly since her October birthday, I've now retired the joke.  But luckily, through its inclusion on this post, it will live forever in the Blogiverse. (That's a thing, right?)

So as we get through the 346th day of 2022, let's look forward to the 347th, the 348th, and all the rest to come. They'll be here whether we like them or not. Let's get onboard!

 

Have a lovely week, folks

Who Are Ya?...

24601 is also correct.

Who am I? I'm John Valjean! Yes, musical theatre fans will have involuntarily sung that opening aloud. But forget Les Miz's hapless bread thief. Who am I? Who are you? Who are any of us? And can we ever truly know? It's been on my mind recently. Not in a bad way. Just in a 'thought-process I keep pondering' way.  Recent events have come together to make me question the big stuff. 

First of all, what kicked it off? Well, some family stuff, that's what. My mum is about to reach a new milestone, age-wise. She'd probably like me to imply it's somewhere around the 40/50 mark than the actual age she's hitting this week. No matter. When we got together on Saturday to celebrate her vague new decade, we surprised her with a video montage of the people and places in her life. This was put together by myself and my six siblings - all people who'd say they know their Mum well. But as I'm sure any parent will appreciate, your kids only know what you tell them. Likewise, for non-parent humans, people only know the parts of your life you've chosen to share. If relatives of mine put together a 'This Is Your Life' video for me, it'd be the sanitised, user-friendly version of events that I'd opted to share with them over the years. A thoughtful tribute? Absolutely. Entertaining? Sure. Accurate? Probably not. Can anyone ever know the real you?

But forget other people, what about you? Can you adequately explain who you are to yourself? When I joined Mastodon last month, it became apparent that an introductory post was standard etiquette. A post that would say hello, mention topics and conversations of interest, and use hashtags to find members of any shared communities. I soon realised I struggled to identify who I was via hashtags. When I thought of who I enjoyed following on other social media, there were clear groups. LGBTQIA+ people, trans-inclusive feminists, lots of Eurovision accounts, writers, political pundits, and - randomly - a few people involved in the world of competitive quizzing. (There seems to be  an overlap between clever, funny people who like Eurovision, and quizzers.) Anyway, I typed out a post and said hello. But it wasn't great. Saying what I'm interested in doesn't explain who I am. Perhaps this is the pathetic lament of the straight, white, middle-classes? There's no need for solidarity in the face of systemic threat and discrimination, so the privilege that's taken for granted comes with a dull lack of specificity. And being an ally doesn't mean automatic inclusion into an othered community. My identity can't be defined by group hashtags that I'm supportive of and adjacent to, but not part of. It's standing beside, not standing amidst. Otherwise I'd be making it all about me. Something to think about, even if it doesn't answer my questions. 

An early Mastodon post.

Finally, in less convoluted thinking, I've started redrafting the next Leeza McAuliffe novel. In the current version (all subject to change) Leeza's on a mission. She's struggling to identify what she's good at and where her talents lie. She wonders how her family see her, and whether she agrees with them. It's no spoiler to say, this is a year long quest, that doesn't throw up easy answers. Clearly this is a theme in my head right now.

 
Can we ever be fully known to others? Who knows? Did we get me Ma's video right? Possibly not. What can followers on Mastodon expect from me? Ooh, I can answer that one. Gushy enthusiasm about TV and films, and lots of Eurovision when the time comes. Follow me for fun times!

So who am I and does it matter? Well yeah, I think so. Is there any rush to find out? Nah. Like Leeza, I think it'll be a long-term quest with no obvious answers. But it's fair to say, we're all more complex than a pithy social media post can convey. And perhaps trying to define someone through a video montage might miss out some of the nuance and contradiction of a person. In the end, I guess I'll stop trying to summarise myself via hashtags and crack on with experiencing more of real life and learning along the way. It's a plan, I guess.

Have a lovely week, folks. 

Tangible To Do Lists and Other Delights...

Kitchen wall of dreams...

Last week's Readers may need some closure. Ready? Here it is. I've still not put up my Christmas decs. It continues to be all quiet on the Christmas front round my way. At least I assume it is. I've not been there since Friday (more of that below) so I've no up-to-date data. Either way, my away-days in a city covered in lights, have kicked me up the arse. I'll be doing the tree as soon as I get back. That's my plan. Meanwhile in other seasonal news, I'm continuing to swerve the World Cup. I thought I'd miss it, but I don't. I'm sticking with Strictly, and I managed to ignore anything from the jungle. (Although Jill Scott won, which you wouldn't know from today's front pages.) My Christmas shopping's almost done and mostly wrapped, and I've made a tangible and user-friendly Festive To Do List. It's a bunch of Post Its, stuck on my kitchen wall, with a different Christmas task written on each one. The plan is to make it less overwhelming. Opening up a mofo of a list every time I want to check where I'm up to, can be a head-frig. And I've found it much more satisfying to rip off a Post It from the wall than score through a line of typing when a task's done. Just passing it on. #BondiesTips

My wares! Click here for 
all their marvellousness.

Writing News

First, a history lesson. This blog only began because the 'How To Market Yourself As A Writer' articles from around ten years ago, said it was essential. I'm not convinced it is. I mean, I like having a weekly deadline to write some published words, but I'm not sure it forces people to find me, discover my hidden depths, and rush straight to their choice of online book retailer to order my wares. (Obviously, if I'm wrong, here's a handy link for you. They make BRILLIANT Christmas presents.) But yeah, that was the plan. As you may well know, Subscribers get this email pinged into their inboxes at 11am every Monday. Then, after that, I post a link on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and as of recent weeks, Mastodon. That's my Monday morning routine. But now, since Twitter had it's meltdown, I've noticed a huge drop in blog views. The past three weeks have seen a clear difference. It's the same time period as the mass-exodus of Tweeters, along with technical upheavals that have gone on behind the scenes. It's made me realise how much Twitter was a driving force in directing traffic this way. So far, I've accepted it. There's nothing I can do. And I'm trying to up my Insta game which feels the most 'Buy My Stuff' social media out of the rest of them. But either way, it's an interesting development. For all the 'Lolz at the rich man wrecking Twitter' posts, there have been plenty of writers, creatives, and freelancers that have been adversely affected. Twitter was pretty useful once. Especially for writers trying to hustle.

Daniel Craig's beachwear is worth
the Netflix subscription alone.

Culture News 

I rewatched the murder mystery, Knives Out last weekend. It was my preamble for the second Knives Out movie that hit cinemas recently. For one week only. Glass Onion is actually released on Netflix at Christmas, but I managed to catch it during it's limited big screen outing. Twice. It was glorious. That's all I need to say. The two-hours and twenty-minutes flew and I can't wait to rewatch for a third time. In alternative Culture News, I binged The Horne Section TV Show on All4. Mad, daft, silly, and surreal are all decent adjectives. But mostly, funny. I laughed a lot. 

I never said I was a photographer!
 (I really wish I'd taken this without
 the almost empty side plate.
Ignore it please.)

Food And Drink

Lovely, lovely tapas. It never lets you down. And the best tapas is non-shared tapas. Thank you Brindisi for my chilled evening of garlicky wonderment. 

Out and About

The city with the lights that I mentioned at the top? That'll be London, baby! Yep, an enforced mini-break to work around the rail strikes. But extra time in London is never wasted. Oh no. I filled it with my second watch of Glass Onion - in one of Leicester Square's Odeons, like it was a premier. (Reader, it was not a premier.) I also lucked out by being given a free ticket to GOOD, with David Tennant. (He was on stage, not my date. Probably best. He'd never handle it.) The story of a 'good' professor in 1930s Germany, it charted one man's descent into fascism as he struggled to fight against the Nazi regime. David Tennant, his fellow actors, and the production as a whole, were powerful, chilling, and at the top of their game. I don't imagine it'll be leaving me any time soon.

By the time this hits your inbox or you've clicked the social media link, I'll be on my way home. Avanti, permitting. (Lolzzzzzz.) There's a tree to decorate, Post Its to rip off, and the best month of the year to gear up to. May all your To Do Lists be as satisfyingly tangible. 

Have a lovely week, folks.

Timing, Genre, and Home-made Peppers...

It was all so easy in 2020. Not the year itself. That was a bin fire. From March through to December, the daily death toll and restrictions on normality were mentally exhausting. It was not a year that, should I be given the chance to revisit via the medium of time travel, I'd jump right back to. That honour would be reserved for 1985 (I loved Live Aid!) or 1995 (loads of snogging!) So, no, 2020 was not an easy year. But there was one aspect to that time that was shed-loads easier than now. I was clear on when to put up my Christmas decorations.

When 2020 hit, with all the grimness and disruption, I knew the appropriate time without a second's thought. The end of October. Bam. As soon as the clocks changed, I whacked on my Christmas lights.The twinkly glow gave me a regular lift any time I walked into the hall (FYI they're in the hall) or arrived back from a daily walk. It was, quite literally, a light in the darkness, and I didn't think twice about anyone else's thoughts on the matter. Now, I'm feeling the need for a regular lift all over again. Things are bleak out there. Every time I talk to anyone, the chat soon comes around to bills. Bills, heating, and rising prices. People are worried sick, and I'm not loving feeling as cold as I can handle before putting on the heating for half an hour. And I'm one of the lucky ones in that I can afford a daily half hour. I'm craving the twinkle of a fairy light more than ever, but it feels wrong. No one else in my neck of the woods has made the leap yet. People are being cautious. Whether it's down to the need to save leccy, or no one wanting to look flash in the face of a financial crisis, I'm not sure. But I'm primed. I'm ready. My lights are strung up and ready to go, as soon as it feels appropriate. And even though they'll use energy, I won't be putting any other lights on in the hall, so it should even out. I just wish I had the clarity that 2020 brought. They'd have been on for weeks by now, and I'd have felt marvellous for ages. Soon. Hopefully. Watch this space.

Writing News

One of my favourite authors of recent times - Lev AC Rosen - had a new book out that I've just finished, Lavender House. I devoured it, like I do all his stuff, but it made me think. In the past, he's written Young Adult LGBTQIA+ fiction but this time, Lavender House is a Queer murder mystery. I like it when authors switch things up and try different genres. I imagine, if your writing style is established (to yourself, I mean, not in terms of mega-sales) then it's an easy enough switch to make. Writing a story from start to finish is hard regardless, but trying a new genre needn't be a challenge. At least that's what I'm telling myself. So far, I've written contemporary adult fiction, and pre-teen novels. Now, for the first time in ten years, I don't know what I'll be writing after the current thing's finished. Oh don't worry. I'll work it out at some point, but I quite like feeling the world's my oyster. Maybe I could try a mystery. A modern day Agatha Christie, with a feminist slant or a northern setting? Or how about a romance? Or thriller? Or sci fi or fantasy? Nah. Nothing quite hits me like a mystery. That's my favourite genre from all of the above. Maybe that's the way I'll go next. Something to think about, anyway.

Series 4's Charles, 
played by Josh O'Connor.

Culture News

I've finished the latest series of The Crown. I don't know whether it's to do with being alive for the events of this one, or that the creative team has changed, but I found it dafter than usual. Nothing wrong with silly escapism, but I think we're all clued up that this is the soap-opera-ing of the royal family and not hard facts. I still enjoyed it, mind.

Food and Drink

The garden continues to throw out veg, willy nilly. This week there was a glut (about twenty, calm down, Nicky) of jalapeño peppers. As jalapeño poppers are my favourite party food ever, I had a bash at making them. Slit the pepper lengthways, scrape out the seeds, pack with Philadelphia, and coat in egg and breadcrumbs. I don't possess a deep fat fryer (can you imagine, I'd be frying EVERYTHING) so they were baked in the oven. Nowhere near as nice as the bought version, but perfectly acceptable and lovely with a beer.

Out and About

It's been a quiet one. A Wednesday brunch, a Thursday tea and a Friday drink notwithstanding, I've done nothing else. This time next week, I might have my Christmas lights on. I might have written some Christmas cards and I might have wrapped some presents. If I say it here, it might come true.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Gargantuan Mistakes All Over the Place...

Everyone cringe-watching
Matt Hancock.

I don't usually watch I'm A Celebrity. I did the whole thing once, about six years ago, but since then I get the gist of each camp's comings and goings via other watchers' chat. This year, I've even less interest. Time will tell but it feels like a gargantuan mistake to put a disgraced sitting MP, still awaiting an inquiry into excess deaths during his time as Health Secretary, into a light entertainment show. The juxtaposition is simply too jarring and feels inappropriate. But that's not all in the Land of Bad Decisions. There's also the up and coming World Cup to contend with. That too feels like a gargantuan mistake - giving the hosting duties to a country where human rights cannot be guaranteed. Individual fans can choose not to go (although why should they?) but players, backroom staff, TV pundits, camera crew, hair and makeup artists, and technicians, can't. It's their job and there are rising bills to pay. Not everyone that has to attend will be on footballers' salaries and can afford to refuse to go. With that in mind, it feels wrong to watch. But then that's what some people said before the last World Cup in Russia It was all soon forgotten once England started doing well. I think, to keep sane as a TV consumer, I'll stick to my daily dose of Netflix Christmas films. They're terrible, with flimsy plots and hammy acting, but at no point do they pretend to be a disgraced MP having nightly televised japes, nor a country that criminalises LGBTQIA+ people. As far as I know.

Watch. Me. Go

Writing News

The first draft of Book 4 is done, the first read through of Book 4 is complete, so now comes the next stage. Editing. Some writers love this part. It's where they whittle the wood or chip away at the marble block, all the while their genius creation emerges bit by bit from the sawdust/marble shards. (Look, I never said I was an expert woodswoman/sculpter-extraordinaire! Just go with it.) So that's the next part. The whittling and chipping. I'm not as much of a fan. I know it's a necessary part of the process, but I find it unfathomable for far too long. The emergence of an actual tight plot, with convincing characters and clear intention, is ages away. But the whittling and chipping has to start somewhere. And that's where I'm up to now.

Watching The Offer made me want
to watch The Godfather all over again.

Culture

I've finally seen The Mousetrap! I'm in the loop and know who did it. Thanks to The Mousetrap tour that came to Liverpool and did a bang up job. After realising that every film Dexter Fletcher has directed, is an absolute dream, I watched his new TV show, The Offer. On Paramout TV, it tells the story of the creatives behind the making of The Godfather. If you want 1970s Hollywood business shenanigans that look amazing, give it a go. I had a second watch of Bros at the cinema, whilst my new padded winter coat was over my knees like a blanket (fit!) and then, like many others, I've calmed down my Twitter usage in favour of Mastodon. Watching the one social media platform I used daily, disintegrate under my very nose has been disconcerting. Hey, maybe the reports of boardroom chaos and coding glitches are overblown. Maybe that bloke didn't make a gargantuan mistake by taking over and changing everything. But all good things must come to an end and it seems Twitter as we know it, is nearing that day. Mastodon is set up differently, feels kinder, and is run by nice people. I hope the mass movement to the platform by ex-Tweeters, doesn't change that.

A Saturday morning
breakfast of champions.
But doesn't it look
MEATY!

Food and Drink

Because I had a couple of siblings over last weekend, I made a chilli. And because there was a healthy representation of vegetarians in the group, it was a Burnt Aubergine Chilli from BBC Food. And then, because it was so nice, I made it again on Tuesday and have eaten it most days since. All I'm going to add is, there's proper magic at work here. One look at the ingredient list and you think, 'Well that sounds shit'. It's all lentils, veg, and powdered spices. But follow the instructions and you end up with the tastiest, heartiest, warming bowl of meaty-esque chilli in the world. Try it. It's my gift to you.

Out and About

I had a mid-week tea in town, prior to The Mousetrap, got my microbladed eyebrows topped up, and then visited my aunt in Sheffield. Not too busy, not too boring. Just right.

My new sofa arrived in the week. As of now, it's spill and stain free, unburdened by backside imprints, and as plump and firm as the day it was born. It won't last. If you need me, you'll find me being extremely careful with my drinks, sitting comfortably in the lounge.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Gatekeepers and Cheerleaders...

It's time, once again, for the monthly Ramble. No Weekly Update this time, just me and some paragraphs banging on about whatever. Exciting, yes? This week, the topic is Imposter Syndrome. Or rather the fleeting feeling of joy when it's kicked into touch. First of all, let's get down to brass tacks. Imposter Syndrome is... 

'"a psychological occurrence in which an individual doubts their skills, talents, or accomplishments and has a persistent internalized fear of being exposed as a fraud"

Bloody gate keepers.

That's what it says on Wikipedia*, anyway. Put simply, it's when you feel like you're winging it, 24/7. Back when I had a proper job, I don't think I experienced it. Not because I was annoyingly cocky, but because various gatekeepers along the way had happily waved me through. The recruitment process for my PGCE and the interview panel at the school that employed me, for example. If I was a crap teacher, they wouldn't have let me crack on. As a result, I got on with the job without considering it much. (It's easy to say that eleven years later, now the pressure of stupid lesson observations and nonsense OFSTED inspections are a distant memory.) Not that any of it matters now. Because Imposter Syndrome has most definitely arrived. 

It makes sense really. Teaching myself how to write and publish a book is still the most brilliant thing I've ever done, but because there are no gatekeepers, I have to gate-keep myself. I have to be my own critical eye. I have to be the arbiter of my own standards every single day. And ultimately, that means I assume I'm shite most of the time. It's the best way. Thinking everything I do is brilliant, is never going to help. No, the best thing to do is to rubbish any and every attempt at writing that I make. Look, I never said it was a mentally healthy place to be. 

Feeling like I'm winging it, is standard. It's been standard for years. And that's OK. Feelings of inadequacy are just part of the deal. But sometimes, every so often, I get a break from the insecurity. Sometimes I feel like I know what I'm doing.

It's happened twice recently. First of all, a friend of a friend, who's coming to the end of his own novel, got in touch. He wanted some advice about what comes next, so our mutual friend suggested we meet up. We did, had a great chat about writing and life in general, and I passed on some things that might be useful. Later, I thought about it. I'd given him a bunch of info that I'd pieced together over years. Whether it was about editing, front covers, formatting manuscripts, publishing imprints, ISBNs, or even the emotions involved in the process, I had a bunch of experience to pass on. Having never been trained for what I do, it was a bit of a revelation that I'd been the 'expert'. I drove away from the meeting, having had a lovely afternoon, and with a massive, throbbing ego. Until later, when I had a word with myself, but you get the gist.

The second thing that happened, was I read my completed first draft from beginning to end. This is the first draft of Book 4. I've been working on it since February, and I finally got to the end. It currently weighs in at 65,000 words and it took me five and a half hours to read (including time for note-making).

Here's the thing. It's not good. Not yet. It's waffly and meandering. I need to tighten up a few key plot lines and the ending needs more oomph. But blimey, it was a joy to read. My lovely characters that I'm emotionally invested in, have a marvellous time working out the next part of their story. There are highs and lows, I laughed out loud and got choked at the poignant bits. Even though I can see there's a shit-tonne (technical term) of editing to do, I still felt the rosy glow of achievement. It lasted for the rest of the day. I know what I'm doing and I feel confident that at some point, it's going to be a great book.

Obviously, the glow faded. Pretty much by the next day. By then, I'd started to make notes about what to change first, and found myself getting bogged down in the hugeness of the task. But I still had that day. The day I felt like I wasn't winging it.

Goooooooooo.... NICKY!

Being my own boss can be great. The autonomy to decide what to do next, along with full control over the end product is supremely satisfying. But at times, Imposter Syndrome can reach debilitating levels. It's important to make sure that, as a boss, I support well-being within the workplace. Taking the time to notice when I feel confident with what I'm doing, helps with that. Even when it lasts all of five minutes. If I have to be my own gatekeeper, I should definitely be my own cheerleader too.

Have a lovely week, folks.

*It's a full reference-date at Writer's Ramblings. Here's the study where that definition came from.

Too Old For That Bucket List...

Michael Owen being younger
and brillianter than me.

The year was 1998. A flatmate's boyfriend was reading the sports' pages and said, 'Nicky, what do you think about this Liverpool player that's been called up for England?' I didn't think anything because I had no idea who he was, nor anyone who played for Liverpool Men but as the token scouser in my East Midlands Uni, I presumably did my best to represent. Later, when I found out Michael Owen was nineteen, I felt a gut punch of disappointment. I was twenty. It was now unlikely that the England Men's team's would ever ask me to get involved. Tbh, it hadn't been on my bucket list so I didn't need to let it fester. But the point had been made. I was past it.

I remembered this, last week when I found myself googling 'How old is Rishi Sunak?' Two whole years younger than me, that's what. And whilst being PM is also not on my bucket list, it's much more on it than being an international footballer. I mean, not in any real sense. But when I watch elite athletes score goals and win tournaments, I know without a shadow of a doubt I couldn't begin to attempt that. When I see a newly elected Prime Minister re-promote people that should never have been there in the first place, I feel comfortable that even I could give it a better stab. Hey ho, I'll get over it by continuing to be as arsed as possible for as long as necessary. Just as we all must.

Live scenes from my desk, in a bit.

Writing News

My short pause on the writing front has now come to an end. Today, after I post this, I shall start to read my rough draft from the beginning. A printed off copy and ev, just like the olden days. In itself, that should only take a few hours. But I'll also be doing it with a pad of paper and pen to hand. Every time I spot something that needs to change, I'll be scribbling a bunch of notes about whatever comes to mind as I attempt to lose myself in the narrative I've forgotten. Wish me luck.

Bloody love Tim Key

Culture News

I saw Tim Key's latest standup/poetry show, Mulberry, at the Lowry on Wednesday, all about the three lockdowns of COVID. It was brilliant. I laughed out loud significantly more than poetry readings have led me to do in the past. And lots more than the pandemic led me to laugh too. Top work. Then there's the latest TV series I devoured in no time at all. Bad Sisters on Apple TV is an excellent use of your time. Four sisters plot to kill their truly hideous brother-in-law in a darkly comic caper. I lapped it up. I also loved Bros, which is in the cinema as we speak. Funny and smart and sexy and sweet. I'll be going again at some point. I'm still reading Wolf Hall, and after that I'm looking forward to starting Lev Rosen's, Lavender House. My Evri driver is winging it to me as we speak.

I used Nigella's Scandi
Cucumber Salad recipe which
is not online. But it's
similar to this one.

Food and Drink

Just as after my Welsh mini-break, the days following my Scottish mini-break have involved more vegetables and less booze. Last week saw me pickle some cucumber. I know, I'm mad, me. That, tossed through a warm mackerel salad was lovely. I've also reminded myself about grapes. Yeah, I'm not even trying to be funny. Grapes pass me by most of the time, but I was at two of my sisters' houses last week, and both had grapes in the fridge. My subsequent lunches of cheese, cucumber, grapes, and crackers have been fit.

Out and About

As a childfree, ex-teacher, I don't expect to see children most of the time but last week, I was riddled with them. On Monday, I did a whole day of babysitting for the three year old niece. A WHOLE DAY. I know! Can you even imagine? As it turned out, she was top company. Talked non-stop whilst respecting me enough to save the grimmer aspects of toileting for when her parents got back. If she keeps that up, I'd do it again any time. I also visited my other sister's new gaff, which is a bit further up North than her last one, and was given an intensely detailed tour by my other niece and my neph. Then, the following day, I took the same other niece for her birthday present from me - a mani/pedi at my salon in Liverpool. How I became the aunt that took a niece to a beauty salon for the first time is a question for the ages. I like to think I balance out my love of nail varnish with an almost obsessive spouting of feminist principles at every given opportunity. If nothing else, I'm teaching my niece and the world at large that I'm complex and interesting. Probs.

Happy Halloween, if you celebrate. Happy Only Connect night, if you don't. Every year I gamble. With no kids living in my immediate vicinity (there's one, but he's a bit old now) I don't buy a bag of sugary crap to dish out at the door. So far, this has proven to be the right choice. The last trick or treaters that came knocking were in the house I left in 2002. Let's hope my gamble continues to pay off.

Have a lovely week, folks.