Dear 2012, the year that will be.

So here is it. A brand new year, rising grim and grey and just a tiny bit hungover. Breathe in that anti-climax. It is always like this – there’s a point between Christmas and New Year that’s like being in suspended animation and you just want the New Year to come already! And then it does, in a great gleaming rush of music, dancing, fireworks and ill-advised snogging. So in the end, despite all your best intentions, you crawl out of bed halfway through the 1st January, aching in places you never knew you had and unable to bear the thought of a run and a salad.

Ah, New Year. How I love you.

Because despite all this I love the promise of a New Year. A smooth sheet of white paper which you can blot or write a masterpiece on. 2012, be prepared to be my masterpiece.

This year I have no resolutions – it’s too easy to say things like Lose weight, Tone up, Save £1,000.

This year, I’m just going to savour it.

I’m going to do my best to keep up my running, Zumba and yoga sessions. I’m going to be mad busy at the beginning of the year so I’ll need these to get out of my head and keep myself sane.

I’m going to work damned hard at my course. I’m going to face those “What if I’m totally crap at it?” thoughts and then wave them away. I am not going to be crap. I’m going to work too hard to be crap.

I’m going to keep dressing to impress – it makes me feel good.

I’m going to see loads of my friends. I can too easily wrap myself up in thoughts and work and that’s no good for me. I’m going to get out and see my peeps.

I’m going to keep on with the cooking. I don’t suck! It tastes good! It’s healthy! Everyone’s a winner!

I’m going to stay positive. Affirmations are their own kind of magic.

Now do excuse me, I’m off to make come hither eyes at 2012 while I brew up my tenth green tea of the day.

*Bows out*

Dear 2011, the year that was.

Oh how the times do change. This year has been great. Ok, so I don’t have the job I love (yet!), I didn’t win the lottery or get engaged to Richard Armitage (yet!). But I can honestly say that 2011, you have been good to me. Before we hit 2012, here are 12 things that 2011 taught me:

1. Things can only get better. This time last year I thought that things could only get better because they couldn’t get any worse. I know that things can only get better in 2012 because the foundations have been laid in 2011 for a great year and a great future.

2. Good times and bad times make a friendship. They say you learn who your true friends are when the shit hits the fan. But you also learn who really cares when things start coming up roses. Also you can stay friends with someone, even if they have buggered off to Australia. In-depth conversations about Buffy the Vampire Slayer are go! 

3. Having direction brings positivity. This year I finally realised what I wanted to do with my life. Or, more accurately, how I wanted to pursue it. In only a matter of weeks I will be starting a course, training as a make-up artist. This thrills and terrifies me in equal measure.

4. Never go back. Whatever old feelings might come crashing back, the past doesn’t change. Always move forward. Like a shark. Let it go and you open yourself up to much cooler things.

5. Personal style is important. I always used to say that I didn’t really care what I looked like, that what was inside was what mattered most. At the same time I didn’t want to look like everyone else. But this year I took control of my appearance. I threw away every item of clothing that I didn’t like, didn’t suit me, didn’t wear. I started to think about what I wore, how I did my hair. I started to think about what I bought. I bought and wore only things I loved – both new and vintage. It’s amazing how much a bright outfit that you feel really good in can make the day start in such a great way.

6. Dancing is essential to life. Not only is the best work out ever – I know this because I ache the next morning – it puts you in the best mood! No matter how crap your day, how tired you are or how blue, shaking it on a sticky dance floor to epic tunes will fill you with joy. Don’t even get me started on Zumba!

7. People are inspirational – find them. I have found such inspiration in the following blogs: GalaDarling.com (check out her book Love & Sequins – too good!); A Beautiful Mess; Bangsandabun.

8. Kundalini Yoga is an addiction. It just makes me feel so good – so calm and exhilarated afterwards. I’m totally addicted to it. I’m not the world’s greatest runner, this is much more my thing. I still try to run at least once a week though. Exercise really does make you feel great in your own skin.

9. Natural beauty is the ultimate. I use raw cocoa butter from Akoma which I melt down in silicone cupcake cases with a drop of olive oil and a few drops of essential oils. I use it as a massage bar and it is a delicious treat. Also, Lush facial skincare has been wonderful to me.

10. TV steals your soul. All right, that’s a bit dramatic. But I live in a house with people who worship the great soap trinity: Eastenders, Coronation Street, Emmerdale. I’ve always watched them too. Out of habit I flick on the TV when I’m cooking, cleaning, generally whenever I enter a room. I’ve well and truly shaken that habit and I’d encourage you to try it. These days I live for Doctor Who, Merlin and Downton Abbey (which jumped the shark big time, which I sort of love) but otherwise I rarely watch TV. It’s freed up so much time for exercise, writing, reading and chatting with friends.

11. Validation is important. Much as you might tell yourself that you are talented, much as your friends and family might agree, there is something really powerful about being told you’re good by a stranger.

12. Positivity breeds delight. Nothing is so awful that it can’t be faced. Look for the good and you’ll find it as surely as you’ll find the bad.

The Blog That Was: 2011 edition

So the blog has been running for over a year now and I’ve been reviewing for Vulpes Libris for over two years. As I’m planning stop blogging in 2012, I thought it might be nice to revisit some of the posts I’m most proud of as well as blogs from other people that have had a particular effect on me.

Dear London: In which I write a love letter to my city in the aftermath of the London riots.

Lessons to be Learned: In which I address the sneaking incipience of casual racism.

Define Thyself: In which I define myself. Obvs.

Ten years ago today: In which I give my personal memories of 11th September 2001.

Over to Vulpes Libris, where I say Goodbye to Harry Potter and friends and look at Arthurian Legend.

Now for other blogs:

This is porn to an organisation junkie like me: A Filofax love affair!

Inspiration for gloomy days: The Radical Self Love Manifesto and The Sad Trombone List.

Whenever procrastination hits, this is where I go: The Wild Donkey Guide To Getting Things Done

For happy days read My Top 50 Awesome Happy Things List and for giggles, watch Bangs Goes Rap.

And, last but not least, you should check out The Pursuit of Life. She’s a great friend of mine and she’s doing something pretty amazing!

The fat lady sings!

After a very long blogging break, some conclusions have been reached…

Firstly, just to let you know WHY I disappeared. I was working on the play. I handed in the final draft on the 30th November, but I’m not done with it. I’m planning to go back and start over with another strand that wasn’t able to this time round. The plan is to finish this version before the end of the year and then I can totally focus on my course.

But it wasn’t just the play that kept me from blogging. Life got a little in the way. It’s just that time of year for getting sociable and doing overtime. Add to that the sudden – frankly quite shocking – acquisition of a boyfriend, I haven’t exactly had time on my hands.

So, I’ve been having a think about the planned relaunch. I had such plans – weekly updates on my course, fashion/style posts, inspiration posts! It was going to be goooood. But unfortunately, given that I’ll be juggling my course, work, learning to drive, a relationship, my friendships and social life, not to mention continuing to write, something has to give. And unfortunately, I’ve decided that it’s this little blog.

Hopefully I’ll be back. I’d love to continue blogging once I’m more settled and have a few less things to focus on. That’s the plan at the moment – a sabbatical. But rather than just go dark like I did for the last month plus, I’d like to say so straight up.

Coming up over the next few weeks are a couple of winding down posts. Just to sum up the year I’ve had and the year I hope to have.

2011 has been pretty pivotal for me. Things changed massively. I was really glad to be able to share some of that with you.

Thanks

Truth

Found on StumbleUpon and I agree with every single word:

“I may still not know what I want to be when I grow up, but I do know that someday I want to live in a house filled with my books and travel souvenirs. And the walls that aren’t covered in bookshelves will be covered with photos of my family and friends. When I leave the house I will be going to a job I love, and I’ll return to a person I love. So, that’s my dream I’m working on.”

~Amber Morley

[Currently AWOL while I work on that play. The editing is killing me, I have started talking to myself and acting out parts.]

A new career.

I started this blog just over a year ago when I was unemployed and determined not to let it get me down. A lot has changed over a year. I got a job – not the job I wanted, granted, but it put money in the bank and paid my bills, which makes me luckier than many.

But over the year I’ve been thinking hard about my next step. Do I throw up my hands and just accept my life as it is? Do I hell. Quitting isn’t really my thing. Admitting defeat comes after the last resort. But the time had come for a re-think.

I knew what I loved. I knew what I loathed. I knew what I thought I would love to do every day and I knew what would make me want to leap out of the nearest window. So after months of thinking, I came to a decision.

I’m never giving up writing, it’s just what I do. Even if nothing I write makes it onto shelves, screen or stage, I’ll still do it. But I have decided that I’m not really designed to write for a living – it’s far too solitary a pursuit. That’s why I wrote so little when I was unemployed – when I’m busy and purposeful, I write so much more. So I had to figure out what job I wanted to do.

And I did. On Saturday, I put my deposit down and in January I will be starting to train as a make-up artist for tv, theatre and film. I am so excited by this. At the open day on Saturday, I was fascinated by everything and really appreciated being able to talk to the tutors and students.

I also decided to learn to drive. As a Londoner, I’ve never really felt the need. It’s just another expense, parking is a nightmare and it’s just so easy to get eveywhere by bus or tube. But if I can drive I’ll be able to take on so many more opportunities, I won’t have to worry about whther or not the trains will be running.

And it means that one day I will be able to fulfill my life time ambition of owning a Mini Cooper. But that’s by the by.

I feel like a year ago I was a totally different person. I have had such an incredible year and I already know that 2012 is going to be even better.

So, as I said before, the blog will probably change in the new year. I’m planning to do a weekly post about my course and also blog about the people and things that have inspired me this year and spurred me on. Things are in the pipeline.

Thanks to everyone who has read and commented on this blog over the last year. I’ve really appreciated it

Play it again

(Also known as – Announcement Number One)

A few months ago, a friend found a very small advert in the local paper. Angle Theatre were looking for new submissions. You had to submit three scenes with no more than five characters. Thankfully I had quite a while before the deadline because I totally blanked on ideas.

Then, on an incredibly hot summer day, I printed off my scenes and promptly decided to scrap one scene and write a new one. So I didn’t really hold out much hope given that I took it straight to the post office before the panic set in.

So off my little play went and I promptly forgot about it because I’m of the opinion that my thinking about it and worrying about how it is received doesn’t help anyone, least of all me.

Then last month I heard back. Not only did they like my play (!) I had actually made it onto a shortlist of six.

*Keels over*

Unfortunately, I received this news at work. We have recently been taken over so it’s likely that I scared my new boss because I totally freaked out.

I heard again this week that they won’t be producing my play in their January season as it’s not finished. However, they want me to finish it by 30th November in the hopes that it can get taken on by someone else.

But the absolute BEST news? A masterclass at the National Theatre Studio. So looking forward to this – I’ve only just finished reading about how they developed War Horse in that studio – and I’ll get to meet the other five on the shortlist. Will definitely be telling you all about that. There will be exclamation marks. You have been warned.

C-c-changes

(With apologies to David Bowie)

A lot has been happening in good old real life lately, but I haven’t been sharing them on the blog because I’m wary of jumping the gun. I mean, it’s one things to ring up your family and mates in a babbling mess, but to announce stuff on your blog can be very embarrassing if nothing comes of it. And, as we know, I am nothing if not proud.

So coming up over the next couple of days are two big announcements. The first is a stroke of luck that still has been pinching myself and I am so excited, I can’t describe it.

The second announcement is something that I’ve been considering for a very long time. It may also lead to a change in this blog as I will be a world away from the reason I started this blog in the first place. Life is about growing, shrugging off old skins and trying on new ones. I would like this blog to grow with me. But that’s for another post…

I have split my announcements into two posts so as not to bombard you. I have had an excellent weekend, I hope all of you have too. Really looking forward to sharing this stuff over the next couple of days!

The personal post.

Coming up is a personal post. As in, I’m not about to pass judgement on books or drama or riots. I’m here today to pass judgement on myself. So here goes.

I have always been pretty determined, some might say stubborn. Oh, all right, I am stubborn. This is not always a bad thing – it means I’m pretty focused on what I want and I am notoriously hard to talk into anything I don’t really want to do. (If you ever think you have me wrapped round your little finger – think again!)

However, the last few days I’ve been thinking about pride. I once had a row with someone and vowed never to speak to them again. I knew it was all blown out of proportion, but I did stick to it for, oooo, six months. We made up in the end, enough to almost embark on a romance. When I said that we shouldn’t get together, his response was “Is it because of your pride?” My first response was laughter – after all, the real reason had nothing to do with that and everything to do with the fact that we would have killed each other.

But it did give me pause. For someone to notice that about me must mean it’s a big deal. I don’t think I’m arrogant or anything like that, but I sure can stick to my guns, even when I know that I’m being silly. I’m just too proud to go back on something that I’ve said.

This is stupid. I mean, I didn’t speak to a friend because I vowed, in the heat of the moment, never to speak to him again. What sort of madness was this?

Part of that was knowing that if I apologised, he’d take the mick. But when we finally made up, it was relief on both sides. Six months, people! Six months of awkwardness, wondering what he was up to. Six months of not having my mate about.

So there we go. There’s my flaw – I am far too proud. It’s fiendishly difficult to overcome for various reasons. But I’m going to try. There’s just nothing to be gained from it is there. Maybe I won’t overcome it. But there’s something to be said for realising that about yourself.

Ten years ago today.

Ten years ago today something happened that changed the world as we know it. We all know what that was.

Where were you?

I was at 14 and I was at school in North West London. Not a word was said while we were at school, something I still find odd and wonder if I’m actually remembering that correctly.

At the end of the day I waved goodbye to my friends as I left the school and crossed the road to where my Grandad always parked down a side street opposite. He was quiet, but then he always was. As he pulled away from the kerb, he said:

“Two planes have hit the twin towers.”

“The what?”

“The twin towers. In New York.”

“By accident you mean,” I said. Because it honestly didn’t occur to me that it could be anything else, even though he had said two planes.

He didn’t answer, just stared straight ahead and shook his head slightly. I remember opening my mouth, but I said nothing. I wasn’t even sure that I was thinking of the right place, at that point they weren’t part of my mental landscape.

We had drawn level with the school, moving slowly against the rest of the traffic. The road was dense with cars parked, cars inching slowly along, the spaces between filled with students, arms linked, jaws working against gum, earphones plugged into just one ear. I remember staring out of the car window, the noise of teachers shouting at the girls dodging between cars, the cries of adolescent boys after those girls in the short skirts with their enviable confidence. The world had changed and no one seemed to have any clue.

We drove home in uncharacteristic silence. We sat on the sofa at home and watched the replays – as though replaying it would make sense of it. We reached blindly for the phone to call our American relatives – two of whom lived in downtown New York at the time. The room was filled with fragile puffs of air because every time we tried to say something none of us could find words big enough. It was the first time I realised that actually, sometimes words are not enough – sometimes words provide no answers, no comfort. It was a realisation that made me feel adrift and lonely. The first certainty of my life was cut.

The next day at school was strangely tense. By that point people were talking about Al Qaeda, throwing around the term “Islamic extremism.” My school was a melting pot of religions and I will never forget that sudden “us and them” that sprung up, despite the assembly that warned against it.

It was fantastically naive of me, but I was so surprised by that – we had been friends, we shared Bunsen burners during our Chemistry classes and swapped pens and made up dances in the playground.

11th September 2001 left a mark on all of us, to greater or lesser extents. The images of each collision, the towers crumbling, the heaving cloud of dust and debris that moved like a monster through New York that day, still chills me, makes the hairs on my arms stand up.

I hope it is not still naive of me to say that I hope that more love was born that day than hate. I hope it taught us to cherish those we love, to make the most of every day. If we have learnt that people can do horrific things that have the power to freeze the entire world in one moment of shock, then I hope we have also learnt that people have untold capacities for bravery, love and compassion.

My thoughts today are with the families of those who were lost that day, not just in the Towers, but at the Pentagon and on flight 93.

In the pink.

I mentioned my life list in an earlier post and dying my hair pink was another thing on that list. As I’ve mentioned in my hair posts, I’m lazy when it comes to my hair. I dyed my hair brunette in my first year of uni and after two weeks my roots were showing. I couldn’t be bothered to dye it every couple of weeks, so I went Back to Blonde.

As I’ve never been that adventurous hair colour-wise, mainly because blonde suits me, but I wanted to do something a bit different. As I’ve got a week off, I decided to seize the chance to dye my hair pink. It’s only semi-permanent and will probably have washed out completely by the time I go back to work and that’s ok.

We were going to go for all-over pink and then thought that as I’m so pale it might not suit me. I don’t think it would have, so I’m glad it’s just highlights. Still, I love it!

So here’s moi, rocking the pink hair.

Funny how hair colour can make you feel so different. I’m walking with a rebellious spring in my step. I’m planning to bang out a solo at karaoke this week (another life list ambition) and I think the ‘tude this hair gives me is really going to help!

Creep.

Something really weird happened to me yesterday. I was on the bus to meet a friend and I was standing in front of the back doors. I looked around to see if there was any seats and spotted one in the back.

Only it was in front of a guy who appeared to be filming me.

He was holding his phone up, the camera part clearly visible. The way he was holding it was that caught my attention – he wasn’t texting, he was holding it up clear of the pole and the people in front and it was pointed right at me. I looked around – nope, definitely pointed at me.

He had on the sort of pitch back glasses where you couldn’t see a thing through them, which unsettled me even more.

It’s happened before – someone opposite me on the train once took a photo of me, only he’d forgotten to turn the camera sound off, so at least then I had a reason to say “Excuse me, are you taking a photo of me? What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” (We were just pulling into a station and he scarpered, so no, he didn’t explain himself).

This time I had no evidence, but you know when you just know? I found it really creepy and was really happy when he got off the bus.

Seriously though – what is the etiquette when you think someone is filming or taking secret photos of you? Where do you stand? Is it harmless or an indication of something more sinister? Should I have been flattered or creeped out?

Dear London

I love you. Given what's gone on over the last few days, I know I shouldn't say that. I know I should be thoroughly ashamed that you are the city I was born and bred in, that I count myself a Londoner as surely as some of those people do. I know I should no longer see the beauty in you.

But I love you, London is written through me like a stick of rock. It's marked everything from my accent to the way I act, so it's not that easy. London has a place in all my memories.

I love to eat chips, hot and salty out of the packet on the Embankment, right where I can see St Paul's. I love the solid cold stone of the seats at The Scoop, the twinkle of lights as the sun goes down over Regent's Park theatre. I love the close heat of the underground, the phantom gusts of wind as I miss my train. I love weaving through the crowds on Oxford Street on a sweltering June day, the heavy Christmas decorations and the slush on the pavements. I love the post-club crush on the bus, the long walks home in blistering shoes.

I once kissed someone, pressed up against the wall of my house one New Year. I once had a Hollywood kiss at 3am on Camden High Street. I fell in love in Harrow and my heart broke in Kensal Rise. I have eaten cupcakes in Brixton and enjoyed music on the South Bank. I meet people under the clock at Waterloo station. I have collapsed on the top of Primrose Hill and then hauled myself up to make a fool of myself as I did a circuit in front of Sunday picnickers. I have had my wallet nicked in Camden Town and my hand held in Golders Green.

London is something that lives and breathes for me. I feel that it is mine in a way I cannot describe. And to see what I have seen on the news these past few days makes me sick. Where are those sweet strangers I have chatted to on the bus? Where are the people who give up seats on the train or help you pick up your dropped shopping?

I'll tell you where they are - they are out with brooms, sweeping up the mess left by a minority. Because it is a minority - that is not the true face of London, not the London I know at least. The London I know is full of brilliant people - bright, funny people who make music, hold their drink and are not to be beaten by a bunch of hooligans.

But these people are Londoners too and as much as I want to see them punished for what they have done to our beautiful city, how they have shamed us, I also want to understand them. My friends and family, have sat and watched all of this unfold on the news. Some of us have gone out to help with the clean-up. All of us would quite like a new computer, a new pair of trainers or a snazzy new plasma. None of us have gone out to grab one. I want to know why these people thought that would be ok. Punish them, yes, of couse they deserve it. But I hope that someone, somewhere, will figure out the why so that we can make changes and so that this will never happen again. We should be - we are - better than that.

Today, parts of London are blackened ruins. Businesses, the products of people's dreams, have been destroyed. More damage has been done to our city than was done on 7th July 2005. But we fought back then and we shall fight back again. With brooms and spades and plastic bags. And humour and love and respect.

That is what London is - full to bursting with people who are unbelieveably tough. We have this city in common. No matter our race, our religion, our sexual preference - London is our city.

London, I still love you. We can get through this.

(We shouldn't forget that these riots are no longer just occurring in London. But I've been heartened to see the clean-ups going on all over the country. I am really proud to see this - this pulling together should be the enduring legacy of these riots)

The girl gets fashionable.

I’ve been feeling pretty underwhelmed by my wardrobe for a while now. When I have to be up at 6am for work I tend to reach for old faithfuls – jeans, boots and a shirt. But it’s not really me. I’d like to think I have a bit more style than that (cue canned laughter).

So last weekend, as I was planning to go to a vintage fair on the Sunday, I spent the Saturday going through my wardrobe. I was utterly ruthless. My trouble is that if I see a pattern or a colour I love, I often overlook the shape, so my wardrobe is stuffed with things that don’t quite suit me but I love.

No more! If it didn’t look good on, it went into a bag, ready for the next clothes swapping party or boot sale.

On the Sunday I bought some vintage hair scarves – it was far too warm and too crowded to really hunt for clothes. Monday, the last day off before my 10 days of 12hr shifts, I watched some videos on hair styling and tried them myself.

Coming up are some posts to show off my new hair styles. I’m not someone that does much with my hair – my friends will attest to the fact that I tie up it every morning and that’s it. I’m not that good at styling my own hair so I’m very proud of my ‘dos.

More lessons.

As someone who writes I try to avoid cliché at all costs, but clichés don't just occur in writing. When responding to a comment on my last post Lessons to be learned I said that although there are people who scam, we need to realise that this is a minority and not use it as an excuse for prejudice.

But racial clichés abound. Scottish people are tight. The English are snobs. The Irish are stupid. Arabs are greedy. Americans are lazy.

What??

I mean, seriously, in this day and age?

Yes, I know that some of these are used in jest, but some people think this racial stereotyping is accurate. Isn't that sort of terrifying?

In the comment that prompted this post I said "If a man steals a car we don't assume that every man on the planet is a car thief." That sort of sweeping generalisation isn't believed in (we'll get into the female "Men are rubbish!" generalisation another time!). So why are racial generalisations believed in?

Is it because we feel the need to define something different? For example, I personally would find having to wear hijab very restricting. It's not something that I would be comfortable in. I haven't been brought up with it, it has nothing to do with my religious beliefs. And while I don't really understand why you'd choose to wear it I'm not going to say "It's oppressive to all women!!" Why? Because what the hell do I know about it? For all I know, this is their choice and they embrace it happily for whatever reason. It's not for me, but it's also not for me to tell you how to dress. Some people, because they can't understand why this might be someone's choice, perhaps it's easier for them to decide it's a symbol of oppression. That's something they can get.

Is it easier to relate to people if you can lump them into a certain category? I can only imagine that this is the reason for this casual racial stereotyping.
We're all guilty of it, I'm sure. So maybe next time a generalisation rises to your lips, you can pause, reconsider.

All right, enough of the heavy stuff now, I promise. I’m actually planning another post on fashion and hairdos.

Lessons to be learned.

I would just like to express my horror about what has happened in Norway. Over the last few days I've been watching the coverage with increasing unease. It was such a chillingly calculated attack - that sort of coldness really scares me.

But what really scares me is the increasing racism I see about me every day. Breivik was a Nationalist who attacked the Labour party because he believed they were allowing "the Islamification" of Norway and Europe. It would be a relief to be able to dismiss this as the belief of a crank, someone who - given his actions – was clearly an extremist. But...

Only days after the attack someone told me that they sort of understood where he was coming from - "foreigners taking over and all that". I was stunned. I mean, apart from the comment itself, when did it become ok to voice those views to someone you barely know? I - perhaps naively - thought that was the kind of sentiment you only revealed to people you knew well, who you trust to have similar views. The fact that it's now something that you can casually mention to someone you barely know suggests that this is a feeling that is growing in acceptance and that really scares me.

I grew up and still live in a very multi-cultural area. As a white girl at my school, I was actually in the minority. It never bothered me - it never occurred to me to be bothered. Everyone rubbed along well enough. But in the last couple of years, I've heard derogatory words bandied about like it's nothing. Racist sentiment seems to be on the rise, I’ve heard it and my friends have been on the receiving end of it. It is disgusting.

I really think we need to stop and think about this. I'll be honest - I am frustrated by people who move to our country and then just go on benefits. I'm as annoyed with them as I am with Brits who do the same. But I have no problem with people coming to our country, looking for a better life for their children, more opportunities. Surely we should be proud that when people want to get a better life for themselves they think this the place to do it?

We're all grown ups, can't we be mature enough to respect each other? When I mentioned this to a friend she said "It all kicked off with September 11th, didn't it?" The so-called "War on Terror" started and what it's mutated into is a war on difference. Why are we so terrified of people being different? This is the 21st century - we should have learned by now to be more inclusive, accepting and understanding of all walks of life.

I applaud the Norwegians for deciding that they will respond to these attacks with democracy rather than violence. There's definitely a lesson to be learned there.

Midnight Matinee.

Making a life list is a bit of a trend at the moment, isn’t it? I’ve written mine. Got almost 60 things to do. So far I’ve ticked off two things. One of these was seeing David Tennant on stage (which I did a little while ago in Much Ado About Nothing at Wyndham’s Theatre). Last night I ticked the second thing off.

I saw my very first midnight matinee at the Globe. I’ve heard about these for a while and always wanted to go so when I went to get tickets for a few plays this summer my friend and I decided to get tickets for Dr Faustus on 23rd July – the midnight matinee.

We left just after 10pm, which felt weird – if I’m out I’m normally out by then! And got there in plenty of time. We even got chatting to some French tourists at Southwark station, they were going to the Globe too so we showed them the way.

The play was really good – a great cast. Arthur Darvill, of Doctor Who fame was fantastic as Mephistophilis, as was Paul Hilton who played Faustus. Felix Scott, who took several roles, is one to watch I think. I’d really recommend it.

There’s always a good vibe at the Globe, but it was even better last night. I think there was more camaraderie because it was something a bit different. Everyone really loved the “jam session” at the end. It was great fun!

It was a bit of a trek coming home, I’ve got to admit. But at 5.30 I was tucked up in bed with a cheese and onion toastie, watching the sunrise.

An excellent night. I’ll be doing it again next year!

The Weekend That Was

I once said that I’d grow up when Harry Potter did. And guess what, people? According to the films, he’s barely 18! (Epilogue? What is this Epilogue of which you speak?)

This weekend, I saw the final film. I loved it. I told myself I was going to enjoy it and not pick it to pieces like I normally did. And I did enjoy it. There were two things that I really think they should not have changed (Neville’s hero moment and the final Harry vs. Voldemort showdown – won’t say how they were changed for fear of spoiling people). But then they included something that made me squeal (again – won’t say what because of spoilers). Thank you to Janice for putting up with my continued crazy.

And actually, thanks to J.K. Rowling and everyone – actors, crew, production, special effects – who created these films. I seriously think Rowling needs to be my home girl. I know that when I start shouting Expecto Patronum at shizzle, she’d be down with it.

But enough of Harry Potter! I have a life outside of Hogwarts, you know. (Oh the ways you can interpret that sentence).

In other news:

I have given up on Camelot – nothing on earth should be that big a disappointment.

I like writing like a demon.

I am yoga-ing to my heart’s content. Hello, abs!

I already know my week off is going to be fab. It’s going to start with a dye job, which may or may not be utterly ruined by Bikram Yoga. We shall see.

And next weekend I’m seeing my first midnight matinee at the Globe. Can’t wait! Swiftly followed by a vintage fair. What more could a girl want?

So you know those moments where you think “Well, Bradley James has yet to declare his undying love, but apart from that life is pretty sweet”? I’m having a lot of those moments lately.

P.S. For some reason I can’t comment. Who knows why! So – DOT, just to say I agree with the comment you left. Humbug indeed!

So that’s that…

You may or may not know that I often do reviews at Vulpes Libris, the book review blog. I’ve done a couple of long pieces, including The Death of Arthurian Legend, a review of the Lord of the Rings trilogy and a piece on Why I Love Shakespeare.

Today I posted this piece – my farewell to the Harry Potter series. With the final book published and the credits rolling on the final film, I just wanted to say – a somewhat tearful – goodbye to a series that I have adored.

Thought I’d share the link to that. I know there are lots of people out there that just don’t get the Harry Potter thing, but I was one of those girls that always wanted to be a witch. Combine that with the age I started reading the books (I was about 11, Chamber of Secrets had yet to come out) and you can see why it coming to an end is a bit of a big deal for me. And if you don’t, well, read that piece if you’re interesting in finding out why!

Does anyone remember the ”Previously…” trailer before the Buffy s.5 finale? It encompassed everything from s.1 onwards. HP7.5 should have that.

Tips.

Has anyone seen this, in the Guardian: Ten Rules for Writing Fiction (Part One)?

It made me think. If I was a best-selling author, what would be my advice? Well, I’d probably agree with several of the rules stated above, particularly Margaret Atwood’s advice:

You chose this, so don’t whine.

But there is one original thing that I would suggest:

Write fanfiction.

Yeah, I know. I can hear the tumbleweeds. But that's actually how I started out.

I always knew I wanted to write, when I was about 11 I started a work of non-fiction called Why Did Dinosaurs Die? This was going to be the definitive work, epic in its scale, the foundation for my ground-breaking thesis. Then I moved onto fiction (more dinosaurs!) But I was young, so of course, these books came to nothing. Then, when I was about 16, I discovered fanfiction.net. A little while later I posted my first story, a one-shot, and that was it - I was hooked.

I actually consider fanfiction my apprenticeship. I was using characters that already existed, creating my own tangents from stuff that had already officially happened. The pressure was off - I didn't have to do all the hard work of creating real people and real worlds, I just got to play in it.

I learnt a lot. Fanfiction is a cruel business – if you're making a character do something they wouldn't do, if the plot is boring or unbelievable, reviewers will tell you. You quickly learn about pacing, plot, rhythm and keeping people interested. Even learning to recreate a character’s voice is useful.

Soon though, you'll want to commit one of the cardinal sins of fanfiction - create an original character. Generally referred to as a Mary-Sue. I'll hold my hands up, the last thing I wrote was an OC. But my reviewers liked her. I had learnt enough that I actually managed to pull it off (I'm still quite proud of this). And that gave me the push I needed into my own original fiction.

Be warned - the move into purely original fiction is not as easy as you think. Yes, you've now got yourself into a writing habit, you've got a clearer idea about pacing, rhythm, if you're lucky you're even well on your way to finding your voice. But now there's no safety net. You can no longer rely on Steven Moffat for your plots, Joss Whedon for your characters. It's all on you now. And that can be scary. You can start by twisting some of your short fiction - turn your vampires into accountants, maybe. Lift one of your plots (maybe you’ve got Harry Potter taking Ginny Weasley on a date to the cinema) scour out everything that isn’t yours and shape it into something that is unrecognisable as fanfiction.

I actually just got cracking on stuff that came to me, but the idea from my first novel actually had a fanfiction base. I saw a made-for-TV film, thought about how I would have changed it and that was the starting point.

Try it. It might work for you. It worked for me.