The Return of the Ladybirds

Just as sinister as it sounds...
So, you may recall from a distant previous post that I had an infestation of ladybirds in my bedroom last winter. Well, they're back. I just looked up from trying to write a song to see a large reverse coloured one facing me, stock-still, as if to say 'We meet again, nemesis,'. Now, firstly, I don't consider ladybirds - even reverse coloured ones - to be my nemeses, so I don't know why it was looking at me like that. Secondly, this is not the first such insect to appear in my room in recent days. Just last night I awoke, pulled my duvet along a bit, and felt something small, cool and button-like. On autopilot, half asleep, I picked it up and threw it onto my bedside table, only at the last moment realising what it could be. I then had to go through the anguish of whether or not I had hurt or even mortally wounded it before I feel back to sleep. When I woke up again in the morning, it was gone. Hopefully it hadn't just limped away to die of its wounds. I have also had several do the idiotic wall of death around the lampshade, flying into it several times before landing on the lip of it and just crawling relentlessly around and around. Foolish creatures. The only difference is that last time it was September or so that they started to appear, and due to the unseasonably warm weather this winter,they have only just now, in January, begun to accumulate. And I've only seen a maximum of three at a time. Though that is quite enough.
I still have no answer as to what to do with them though. And still have a slight fear of finding a writhing mass of them in a drawer or somewhere. Still not my nemeses though, just a bit annoying. Still pretty.

The Summer of the Bear/The Tiger's Wife - Book Reviews (yep, I mostly choose books with animals in the title)

Books are strange things. They can utterly move you, can expand your mind and knowledge, show you worlds and places you'd never be able to physically explore. Beginning a new book is like throwing a ball high into the air; it will come down, but where, when, and what will be the repercussions? The ball may be wafted out of reach by a stray gust of wind, may come down fast and out of control, may have gone up as a ball but come down as an orange, a knife, a chicken. The first page of a book gives you a window into a world of infinite possibilities, is the start of a journey that can take you halfway around the world, or away into space, while sitting on the sofa or lying in bed. There is little that a book can't do, if you let it.

I have had the pleasure of reading many of those forget-the-world, stay-up-all-night, don't-move-from-the-spot-until-it's-finished books; had tears stream down my face that I've had to blink away in order to carry on reading; and been taken to an adventure in the Cornwall sun while snowflakes have settled on my icy window in January.
My most recent book that fell into this category was the magical The Summer of the Bear by Bella Pollen. I read it on the train to work, walking across the station to change trains, at work and just sitting on my sofa in the silence of my front room. It took me away from wherever I was, and into the lives of the characters. Told from the perspective of each member of a family learning to live with the loss of the government agent father, it manages to be touching and intriguing, ranging from adult anger and fear of betrayal from the mother to the childish innocence of their youngest son, who barely understands what is going on, but helps the family come to acceptance through his imaginary (or is it?) conversations with an escaped circus bear. Set on the harsh terrain of a Scottish highland island, which mirrors the barrenness of family connections since the father's death, I could practically taste the salty spray of the ocean as it whipped out of the book and onto my face. I have only vague memories of the previous Bella Pollen book I've read - Hunting Unicorns - and mainly remember being slightly disappointed, the subject matter not being what I'd expected. Whereas The Summer of the Bear has just the right amount of bear - I don't recall ANY unicorns in Hunting Unicorns. That's what I call disappointing. But now I feel I should try her again, and have had various recommendations from friends (though I can't actually remember which books were suggested). Watch this space.

However.

I have read a book recently that did not have the same effect, and I'm not sure why. The Tiger's Wife is an ambitious and, in many ways, lovely book. But somehow by the time I'd finished reading it, it had become a chore. It is basically a series of stories that illustrate the main thread of the story by explaining the lives and backgrounds of various minor characters - in order to illuminate the life of the main character, the recently late grandfather of the narrator. With so many references to Rudyard Kipling's The Jungle Book, I'm assuming it borrows heavily from that style of short stories, but this felt less than cohesive, and became, for me, a little tiresome. There was so much stuff happening around the main story, colouring but not especially effecting it, that the main plot felt a bit lost, felt secondary in the whirl of other stories. I began to forget to care about the lead characters as I was trying to understand the minor ones and how they influenced the main story.
The oddest thing about the book though, was the place. I felt that there wasn't a strong enough sense of place - I may be merely showing my ignorance, but at no point was I certain (and I'm still not) where it was set. Names of small towns, and talk of war and going across the border, did not pinpoint for me how to imagine the world of the book. At first, due to the talk of tigers, I assumed we were in India or a nearby country. After a little while I realised that the idea of there being a tiger there was unusual - so it was set in a place where tigers do not live. The place has cold, snowy winters, and warm summers. There is always the possibility of bears or wolves, but the escaped tiger is an anomoly. I eventually had to look up the author's bio for a clue - she (Tea Obreht) was from Yugoslavia, so it seems logical that it must be set there. I just thought it was a little strange to be halfway through a book and not know where I was imagining.
Unfortunately, these are the main feelings the book left me with. I kind of liked it, the story was nice and it was mostly well written. But the overbearing sense for me was one of mild confusion, both about the story(ies) and the setting. I may well read it again one day, to give it another chance. The one thing that didn't disappoint was the amount of tiger involved - there was lots. I do like books that do what they say on the cover.

The Summer of the Bear I wanted to read again straight away. I probably will soon. The Tiger's Wife I shall leave for a while.

I Must Be Better...For Me

So, the new year is all about self-improvement, right?

Well I'm sure there are plenty of things in me that need to be improved, but this year I am focussing on my career. The hope is that then everything else will just slot into place - I think that's the way things go. Here's hoping!
As a writer, my career involves putting words onto paper, preferably in a sensible, even entertaining, order. This blog is just the first step in the process of Writing More. This year I want to finish my (first) novel, rewrite and expand my show to take to Edinburgh (and Ireland, hopefully), start doing reviews of shows, books, or whatever, give private creative writing classes, and write in this blog as much as possible. I hope to have a busy and productive year. I think this part is the hardest, however - the start. Since finishing my MA (I officially graduated on Thursday) I have considerably grown in confidence. Lots of things have contributed to this; firstly the fact that I got through the MA, having written a show of which I am quite proud, with performances of said show well exceeding my expectations (mostly to the credit of the great team I had around me). The run-off of that feelinig of confidence that was bolstered by the rehearsal and performance process then got me a job - having applied and gotten an interview, I was feeling so good that I really showed the best, most confident side of myself at my interview. (Actually, I bordered on arrogant, to be honest. Still, I got the job - it works!) Now I have the job, my confidence has been further buoyed by the wonderful friends I have made, who like me for the eejit I am! And I really feel happy. And it's nice.* So I now think I could take on the world, and win, so that is the plan this year!
For the first time since I was four years old, I am not a student. And, much to my surprise, I love it. I feel free, free to pursue my own interests, my own learning, my own self-improvement, with no deadlines, no worries, no guilt. The guilt of the pure joy of, say, reading a book for pleasure when you should be writing an essay, has abated. The guilt of going on facebook, or DYAC for the evening instead of working on the show that was a huge chunk of my degree(s!), is no longer there. Freedom from guilt feels great, and I am not putting that kind of pressure on myself any more; this freedom will not be taken away by those chains. I have no doubt that I can do all of the things I have mentioned, I'm sure I can do anything to which I put my mind (except, possibly, writing grammatically correct sentances without sounding like a douche - but that's a world-wide ailment. Actually, writing grammatically at all is a world-wide ailment.). The things I want to do, I WANT to do. I don't need to do these things by a certain date, or for anyone else. I will please myself. This year I will finish my first novel, because I want to. This year I will read more books, because I want to. This year I will write more, because I want to. But I will not put too much pressure on myself, because I don't need to. I will have a productive, happy, and, above all, a relaxed year. And I wish you all the same.

Be all you can be, you can be all you believe.

And finally...Happy New Year!

Oh, and follow me on twitter: @GillianPen

*Every writer's pet hate word. But one can over-describe, I feel.

Girl About Town

It is a beautiful, warm, sunny, summers day in England. I know, but it's true.


I have spent the last couple of days hanging out in central London, which is a beautiful place to be in the sun. Not as beautiful as, say, being on a beach, but you have to take what you can get really. It has been so warm that I'm just wearing a vest top today (and trousers - I'm not indecent), and this is me, who wears 47 layers in the mildest of winters, plus legwarmers, plus gloves and a hat. It is properly warm. Lush.

Clearly my Britishness is coming out here - we do love talking about and marvelling at the weather. We're constantly surprised by it, especially when it is anything other than rain. Which it mostly is - it doesn't actually rain all that much. Honest. British people think 'Sun? In summer? Whatever next!'. Ditto snow/cold in winter. I don't think we'll ever be used to these things people like to call 'seasons'. The only guaruntee is that if you go camping, or to Cornwall, or worst of all, both, it will rain. A lot. But that's all part of the fun.

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

So I just forgot about this blog for several hours while me and two of my housemates had a barbeque, then got cold and came inside and I made cakes. I <3 being a student.

Peace out.

Yo Momma...Harry Potter!

Me and a friend are massive Harry Potter geeks, and spent the afteroon recently coming up with these:

Yo Momma's so fat, her Patronus is a cake.

Yo Momma's so fat, the sorting hat put her in all four houses.

Yo Momma's so fat, she ate Cornelius Fudge.

Yo Momma's so fat, she splinched herself and no one noticed.

Yo Momma's so fat, Hagrid hit on her.

Yo Momma's so fat, she thought Hagrid was a skinny bitch, and actually went out with Grawp.

Yo Momma's so fat, she has to turn her knickers into a Portkey to get out of a chair.

Yo Momma's so fat, her version of the Philosopher's Stone is the Philosopher's Scone.

Yo Momma's so fat, she got stuck in the Floo network.

Yo Momma's so fat,she went for a swim in the Great Lake and squashed all the Mermaids.

<script src=”http://www.stumbleupon.com/hostedbadge.php?s=300″></script>

Screw you, Time, screw you.

Time is screwing up my life. Not only is there not enough time in the day, not only did 'adulthood' creep up on me and then try to take over - it's OK, I'm resisting and, I think, winning - but the actual 24-hour clock is ruining my life. I will explain:

This is nearly four o'clock: 15:58 - right?

This is nearly twelve: 11:53

So why isn't this: 1356 nearly one thousand four hundred words of my essay done??

Every time I look at the wordcount and it's something fifty-something, I think 'Great! Nearly a hundred' or whatever. I am wrong. Or rather, the Babylonians* are wrong. Or perhaps decimalisation is. Whichever, someone or something out there is screwing with my mind! GO AWAY NUMBERS AND WORDS.


* The Babylonians had a counting system which went up in blocks of 60, which is where we get our time keeping system from. Losers. Don't believe me? I read it in 'Taming the Infinite' by...someone. A maths writer I guess. Look it up, I'm busy writing an essay.

You Know You're Over-tired When...

I am writing an essay at the moment. (Well, clearly I'm actually procrastinating. It comes to much the same thing.) It is the fourth essay due in the last two weeks. This is not good. Especially for a dyslexic eejit like myself - no siree, this is hard work. I so far have 1000 words out of 3000. I have one more day. One day more. It's not looking good.

So, yesterday I decided to get up early and work all night if necessary, just to get to my target of 1000 for the day. This did not go as planned. After a day of sitting at my computer I had read about a hundred blog posts, stumbled several thousand times and been on facebook innumerable times. I had written a measly 500-odd words. And odd they were. So I basically continued the drudge of sitting in my computer chair, but now with the computer on my lap and me (and the chair) facing the other way. I thought a change of scenery might help. I proceeded to write another few words before my legs got really hot (maybe I should buy a laptray?) and my head started falling off. Ok, that's en exaggeration, I just kept nearly falling asleep. I shook myself awake and tried again. Nope, more sleepy tired head nodding. I forced myself awake for a bit more time and assumed it was ridiculously late - hence the drooping. It was 11.30.

11.30 and 600 words in, I gave up for the night. I began to get ready for bed...and then the scary things happened:

I picked up my top pillow to fluff it, basically punch it into submission. This I did on one side. And then I turned it over. To my HORROR there was an EVIL SNAKE curled around the other side, clearly a tough snake as is had not been disturbed by my pillow-punching. My heart rate shot up and what little adrenaline I had (I have Addison's Disease - my body doesn't produce adrenaline) shot around my body like a ferret on speed. This happened in a matter of seconds And then my eyes focussed. The 'snake' was a crease in my pillow, which instantly straightened and disappeared when I dropped it in shock. Embarrassed isn't a strong enough word.

Having begun to calm down after this escapade, I turned to put my pyjamas on. As I looked down at the floor to put my legs into my trousers, the floor became THE SEA, waving and swaying in front of me. At this point I realised just what a good idea going to bed at this point was. If that's what happens to me physically when I'm tired and stressed, imagine the rubbish I might write in the essay! I was saving myself, and my grades. Probably.

Anyhow, it is now 6 o'clock the next day and I have written only 1000 words. Better get back to it.

Stupid essay.