A Writer’s Paris

So, I am off to Paris for a few days. This in itself is not a particularly big deal - but for me is is an adventure. This is the first time that I’ve ever ventured outside of the UK on my own and I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m a little bit scared. I worry about everything, especially the details - and have been worrying all week in the build up to my departure.

I wanted to go somewhere that was ‘easy’ - and I figured you can’t get much easier than hopping on the Eurostar, so I shopped around and got a very good deal from Railbookers (who, incidentally, were extremely helpful and nice to deal with). I will only be there three nights - but I’m treating it like an experiment; if I like it, and it proves as straightforward as I hope, I’ll go back. My plan is not to be a tourist - my plan is to unwind and to write. I’ve been reading a book by Eric Maisel, called A Writers Paris, which is utterly inspiring. It’s on Amazon - click the image below for details:

The book inspired me to go to Paris, but more importantly, it inspires me to write. even if you have no intention of going to Paris, it’s still a great read.To date, I have not been very good at cafe writing - I feel self conscious if I open my laptop in a public place - as if everyone thinks I’m showing off - so the next few days will be a real change of writing practice. I think I have to decide NOW to leave the worrying me at home. I have to decide that I don’t care what other people think of me, and I don’t care if the odd thing goes wrong, or if I look stupid because I can’t speak French - the next few days is about me being selfish, and about me writing. If I can go home with another chapter of my novel complete, it will have been a great success.

So here I am, Sunday 13th May, on board Eurostar, bound for Paris. Before leaving, I worried about the details of this trip - I had no idea what happens when you check in for the Eurostar, or what happens when I get to Gare de Nord, or how I get from there to my hotel, or how the Metro works…I am completely oblivious to everything. So, I thought I’d write exactly what happens, just in case someone stumbles across this page and is in a similar position.

Eurostar say that you should arrive at least thirty minutes before check in, but being the sort of paranoid person I am, I left home very early (having had a good talk to the cats first and reassured them that Auntie Lizzie will be popping by to feed them) and arrived at London Waterloo just after 3pm. My train to France was due to leave at ten past five, so I checked in early and found a coffee shop to hide in.

The check in process at Waterloo was straightforward. You’re supposed to put your ticket in barrier machines, very much like the tube. Of course, mine didn’t work so a member of staff sent me through to a booth where my ticket was checked and then it was straight through to baggage checking. This set up was just as intimidating as airport security - all bags go through an x-ray machine and then you get your passport/ID checked.

After that, it’s just like being at an airport, with a few shops and cafes. I made a latte last an hour or so and then that was it - the train boarded! And here I am (just leaving Ashford) and so far, I’m very impressed. I upgraded my ticket to 1st class, and it was definitely worth it. You get a meal which really wasn’t bad and any wine that you want - and the seats come complete with UK power points, so I can use my laptop which is splendid.

The good news is that I left London in pouring rain and we’re now heading into glorious sunshine.

Words written on novel on Eurostar: 291

Handbags & Glad Rags

I know that this is supposed to be a blog about writing - and I will get to that at some point, honestly - but I feel compelled to write about something else that is very dear to my heart. Is it a man? NO. Is it a child? NO. Is it a cat? NO. It’s a handbag. And, before you run off with the impression that I’m a shallow, shell of a woman who thinks of little more than handbags and designer labels, let me put your mind at rest. ish. Well OK - I might just have a bit of an addiction to handbags - but never of the designer label variety. I prefer mine to be a bit more organic - always leather, always dark brown, always big enough to house at least half a mobile library and/or a great dane. I go to work, I live alone, I have no responsibilities other than than the need to provide cat food from small round tins, not larger square trays or (heaven forbid) plastic pouches. So, if I want to pay a fair whack for a lovely new bag, then I will.

However, even I have limits. I have, I feel, found the ultimate bag and it is the first time (I think in my whole life) that I have coverted a so-called designer label. It’s a Mulberry bag. Normally, I scoff at Mulberry - over priced and over fussy (in my humble opinion), but this one is different. This one is, I believe, perfection. And apparently, perfection comes at a cost of £350.

Three-hundred-and-fifty whole English pounds. Alas, I do not have the kind of girly girlfriends who support me in such a purchase. When I emailed one and tentatively raised the subject, her response was: “I could buy TWO of the new top of the range twirly Samsonite suitcases for that!”. Hmmm. Not what I wanted to hear - though I should probably point out that she was a Girl Guide until she was twenty and is now a travel journalist, hence her rather unnatural enthusiasm for suitcases, albeit twirly ones.

Anyhow, I cannot bring myself to stump up that amount of money - even if it is big enough to carry the whole ten pages of my novel-in-progress and “would probably help me write” - so I have a plan. I am going to raise the money by selling some of my worldly goods on Ebay. Oh yes. I am heading for the great car boot sale on the Information Super Highway. So, this weekend, I gathered no less than nine, highly sellable items (including three lovely, large, brown leather handbags, *coughs*) and spent far too long putting them up for sale. They are there now, like my little babies - I feel terribly proud and have to keep going back to peek at progress. Actually, that’s a bit of an under statement; I am currently refreshing the page at a rate of 120 times an hour, and I am extremely offended that there isn’t so much as a sniff for my Without a Trace, Season 1 DVD box set. Do people have no taste?!

That said, I am pleased to report that there are a number of people watching my bags and if they sell, I can probably afford two-thirds of PERFECT BAG and everything will be lovely.

Do you think…

… if my blog is thinner, people will think I write more?

Oh well, spring/summer (who knows?!) is here and my little garden is looking lovely, as is my office… the place where no writing happens:

And here is the inside:

If ever I am in danger of actually writing, I like to stare out of the door instead:

And given the amazing weather we’re having, I sometimes like to not write outside:

… the other side of the table:

When giving up seems like a good idea

Number of hours in front of computer: 2.5
Number of different websites visited: 14
Number of pointless emails sent: 2
Number of fiddles with wordpress theme: 6
Number of words written: 0

Awake…

… sigh.

Even my fridge is neglected

You may or may not have noticed the tag line for this blog. I am a fraud on both levels. I am not writing and I am not cleaning my fridge. My fridge contains:

1. One almost-empty bottle of milk
2. One shrivelled romana lettuce
3. Four bottles of vodka ice - mmmmmm
4. One bottle of pinot grigio
5. Boursin cheese
6. Houmus (is that spelt right? it looks wrong)

So, it’s not exactly a FULL fridge in need of reorganisatioin, but it could probably do with a clean. Apathy is my middle name. I have no excuses for apathy because I have something so amazing to help me write now that I know the only thing stopping me is me. I can’t write about what that thing is yet because it is too lovely and deserves more attention than I can give it now, while watching Desperate Housewives.

Bow and I are in Lothlorien. She is curled up on the desk right beneath the anglepoise lamp - in other words, she is slowly cooking herself. Bow is my cat (not the one featured elsewhere on this blog). I don’t know how she knows when I’m in Lothlorien, but she always does. Lothlorien is the name of my office, which is a glorified shed in the garden - I will post some pictures one of these days.

I think Bow must listen for me to leave the house and then she trots out and scratches the door of Lothlorien so I let her in. So I’m thinking that maybe she does that every time I go out. What if she spends entire days scratching at the door while I am at work? That would be too sad! Maybe I need to fit a cat flap for Lothlorien. That would solve the problem.

I will write when I have one of these…

Last year I attempted the Open University A215 Creative Writing course. My motivation for doing it was to try to kickstart my writing, and to develop a writing habit. Did it work? Well, I’m still un-decided. To be fair, I don’t think that I gave the course the commitment that it needed. At the time it began, I’d just started a new job and, let’s face it, I was in a state of apathy with my writing. In the end, I just didn’t give it the time that it deserved - I turned in the assignments (usually right up to the wire) but I really didn’t do any of the background reading or exercises inbetween. So, I didn’t help myself.

Obviously, your own commitment to a course like that is key, but I also think that a lot depends on your tutor and their ability to inspire people in the group. When you start, you’re divided into tutor groups and allocated a chatroom - the theory being that you develop a little community and provide encouragement and support, led by the tutor. In my case, that didn’t happen. I was disheartened by the lack of engagement from the tutor and it rather set the tone for my approach to the course. However, I heard that other people in other tutor groups had good experiences, so I guess it’s the luck of the draw. And I did get some things from the course. I got:

1. a respectable tranche of short stories that I can edit and submit to magazines or competitions.
2. a little more belief in my writing ability.
3. a few ideas for writing practice.

Now, I’ve never been a big fan of writing practice, but the A215 course spends a lot of time encouraging practices like freewriting and clustering, and I did find them to be useful techniques. Setting yourself a time limit for freewriting can be liberating - it’s OK to write rubbish and you haven’t got to write for hours and at the end of the exercise, you’ve often got the germ of an idea for a story or a poem, or whatever you want to write.

Anyway, the point of this post was to talk about the lovely timer that I bought, in a bid to start freewriting again.What a splendid illustration this is of my shameless procrastination…Amazon can’t deliver it for another week and so OBVIOUSLY I can’t begin my writing practice until it arrives.

I wish I was Carrie Bradshaw

And yes, the more perceptive reader will now realise that I have spent an entire afternoon immersed in Manhattan culture, otherwise known as DVD box sets.

As of today, I have a new dining table and chairs. The entire room smells of wood and my MacBook looks rather splendid against the grain. I think my new table will be a good place to write. Carrie Bradshaw writes late at night at a desk in her window, overlooking the city. But I bet her desk doesn’t smell like mine. How could it? It’s not real.

How come the couch is always free in Central Perk?

When did you ever walk into Starbucks (other coffee chains are available) and find that it was free? The place is crowded, people are sat at tables but for some reason, nobody has bothered with the super-comfy couch. Hmmmm. Let me think. That would be NEVER. Obtaining the couch in a coffee shop always calls for stealth manoevures. You go in, and you check who’s on it, then you check how full their cups are…anything less than half and there’s a chance it will be free before you finally get served so you keep watching, slipping your coat off so you can bagsy the couch if the lazy gits ever move. Which of course they don’t so then you reach the counter and your purse is on your bag but you can’t look properly because you’re holding your coat and the girl serving tuts and rolls her eyes, meanwhile the bastards on the sofa look like they’re falling into a coma.

You never get the couch in coffee shops. It’s the law.

Unless your name happens to be Monica, Rachel, Chandler, Joey or Ross.

Almost New Year Resolutions

I am not a fan of New Year, and I am even less of a fan of New Year Resolutions. However, by my reckoning, it is not currently New Year and it just so happens that I have a few things in mind that I should try and achieve in the next twelve months (please note that I did not say in the new year). These are (in order of expulsion from brain, not importance):

1. submit short stories for publication
2. don’t be sniffy about what publications I approach as long as they are paying good, old fashioned money
3. write my novel
4. learn about writing a screenplay
5. do not spend months looking at screen writing software when any old text editor will do
6. complete a script reading course if I have not lost interest by this stage
7. get serious about freelance (technical) writing
8. take photographs (I never said they were ALL writing-related)
9. can’t think of anymore and I’m bored now anyway