What's one thing that matters to you? Just one thing. One thing, no matter how tiny and insignificant. One teeny weeny thing that you could write pages and pages on - or one huge thing, whose significance to you is impossible to articulate.
I could tell you about anything.
Spotify. Gigs. Wikipedia. Rainbows. Manga. The NHS. The number 7.
Supporting unknown bands and discovering new music. Windows. Wrapping paper. Tutus. Boys' jeans. String. Hair dye.
Idividuality. People with big noses. Toothpaste. Text messages. Scars.
Geodes. Shoelaces. Smiles.
That feeling you get when you see someone you've been missing.
So right now, I am going to tell you one thing which matters to me. Words.
Think about it - ha, see, you've already started. We think however we like, in colours or shapes or numbers or feelings or sounds, but as soon as we start to try and describe it, we have to use words. Words do their best to take all those impossible things and wrestle them into submission so they make some sort of sense. Words convey impossible thoughts and ideas. Even if you can't describe something in English, there will be a word for it in some other language. The way perfume smells as it lingers in the air, the smell of it leaving - it's a clumsy sentence in English, but in French you have "sillage".
Words create my favourite things in the world; lyrics, poetry, novels, articles, websites. You can explain to people all kinds of abstract ideas. The way you phrase things can change people's moods, and different words can carry different connotations.
"The weather is fine" makes you think of a clear day. Maybe a bit grey. But a typically British, "fine" day. Compare it to -
"The weather is balmy" makes you think of gentle warmth. You can taste the ice lollies and tissues and sunshine like a watery egg.
Words matter to me because without them everything would be done in pictures and sounds - which is all fine, but why do we teach language to children? So they can communicate. Music and pictures speak in ways language can't manage, but words can explain things that music and pictures can't.
So, if you've just read this, leave me a comment about one thing - anything - that matters to you. And your favourite word, while you're at it. Mine is "mellifluous", which has the same route as the name "Melissa" - Greek for honey. Mellifluous is a word to describe things which flow like honey; so, the word mellifluous is itself mellifluous. Aren't words fun?
Tuesday 23 March 2010
Saturday 20 March 2010
The beginnings of Casper's story
I'm trying to write the beginning of my weird "humans vs vampires in a world war" story. Here is what I have managed to write so far. This is a rough draft done late at night so don't be expecting anything Nobel prize winning. Here you go:
I had figured that there were three possible ways for me to die. I hadn’t expected this to be one of them. For a start, I never thought I’d live to be dead.
The first way I had imagined was what I expected to happen, had life remained the same. I expected to grow up, get good grades, go to university, and end up in a dead-end job anyway. After a string of whirlwind romances in my early twenties, I would have settled down with a polite, well-bred man, ten years older than me, with thoughtful eyes and curly hair. We’d have a few children; they would grow up and have children of their own who I’d dote on, and we’d holiday in Tarriland or the Bai’lai Islands every summer. My husband would die at seventy years old of a heart attack; I would move to a little country house, where my children would visit me every week, when they remembered. After being cooked dinner, I die in my sleep on the morning of my eighty-fourth birthday. Oh, the joys of suburbia.
The second way I had imagined was that my punk band, Everything Sarah Said, became huge after our debut album – recorded when I was sixteen – became everyone’s new favourite record. Our sound developed from snarling punk into snarling alt-rock, and we became a cult band for the first six years, and gained amazing influence. By the time I was twenty, I’d sold two hundred and fifty thousand records, and yet managed to keep my private and public lives separated. Finally, at age twenty-nine, after a night out drinking with the girls, I accidentally crashed my motorbike into a tree. The whole of the Vessenian speaking world mourned my loss, and I was hailed as a real rock star. That’s the dream, anyway.
The third way was what I was now ninety-nine per cent sure was going to happen. Since the war with Jesnar started, and all the conscription started, I am now sure that I will die on the battlefield, blown up by a Jesnari bomb in Intoh or Genoland. Maybe I’ll be captured and die in a prisoner of war camp. Maybe I’ll be hit by shrapnel or fall from the sky in my shot down aeroplane. In any case, I will die fighting for my country for values I don’t believe in. But I guess it’s better to be killed in battle than be shot for treachery. Maybe I’ll object on moral grounds and die doing hard labour, or run away to West Seminor on a boat. But more than likely, it’ll be this: I will die making sure that Jesnar does not take over the country where I was born.
Well, that was what I assumed would happen, anyway. But it turns out that I’m not allowed a nice, neat death like everyone else. But before I go any further into the present, allow me to explain the past.
I had figured that there were three possible ways for me to die. I hadn’t expected this to be one of them. For a start, I never thought I’d live to be dead.
The first way I had imagined was what I expected to happen, had life remained the same. I expected to grow up, get good grades, go to university, and end up in a dead-end job anyway. After a string of whirlwind romances in my early twenties, I would have settled down with a polite, well-bred man, ten years older than me, with thoughtful eyes and curly hair. We’d have a few children; they would grow up and have children of their own who I’d dote on, and we’d holiday in Tarriland or the Bai’lai Islands every summer. My husband would die at seventy years old of a heart attack; I would move to a little country house, where my children would visit me every week, when they remembered. After being cooked dinner, I die in my sleep on the morning of my eighty-fourth birthday. Oh, the joys of suburbia.
The second way I had imagined was that my punk band, Everything Sarah Said, became huge after our debut album – recorded when I was sixteen – became everyone’s new favourite record. Our sound developed from snarling punk into snarling alt-rock, and we became a cult band for the first six years, and gained amazing influence. By the time I was twenty, I’d sold two hundred and fifty thousand records, and yet managed to keep my private and public lives separated. Finally, at age twenty-nine, after a night out drinking with the girls, I accidentally crashed my motorbike into a tree. The whole of the Vessenian speaking world mourned my loss, and I was hailed as a real rock star. That’s the dream, anyway.
The third way was what I was now ninety-nine per cent sure was going to happen. Since the war with Jesnar started, and all the conscription started, I am now sure that I will die on the battlefield, blown up by a Jesnari bomb in Intoh or Genoland. Maybe I’ll be captured and die in a prisoner of war camp. Maybe I’ll be hit by shrapnel or fall from the sky in my shot down aeroplane. In any case, I will die fighting for my country for values I don’t believe in. But I guess it’s better to be killed in battle than be shot for treachery. Maybe I’ll object on moral grounds and die doing hard labour, or run away to West Seminor on a boat. But more than likely, it’ll be this: I will die making sure that Jesnar does not take over the country where I was born.
Well, that was what I assumed would happen, anyway. But it turns out that I’m not allowed a nice, neat death like everyone else. But before I go any further into the present, allow me to explain the past.
Wednesday 17 March 2010
Writing!
So I've managed to get some writing done today, in my Physics class of all places.
Only... instead of managing to write anything interesting and fictional, I wrote a load of cheesy song lyrics.
Well, it marks a change. I have progressed from whiny emo to cheesy pop. Or is that a regression? Aaaaanyhoo, I may stay up late and just do some writing. Because I'm really liking my Vamps-At-War universe, and I need to get fleshing it out.
Only... instead of managing to write anything interesting and fictional, I wrote a load of cheesy song lyrics.
Well, it marks a change. I have progressed from whiny emo to cheesy pop. Or is that a regression? Aaaaanyhoo, I may stay up late and just do some writing. Because I'm really liking my Vamps-At-War universe, and I need to get fleshing it out.
Tuesday 16 March 2010
Stop dreaming. Start (writing) something!
So after a stresful day of French orals (my teacher said he predicts a high A or low A*) and swimming (coming in late and spending ten minutes treading water "playing" water polo), I came home to discover that my 32 Lostprophets posters had arrived from eBay - win.
And that there was a huuuuuge box of French Lindt chocolates that needed eating up... Of course I didn't eat ten of them in one go *cough*
And then, when I booted up the computer, I worked out what had been bugging me for the past week: the Wicked New Writers' Competition. Premice is simple: write a 750-word short story. Deadline closes in July sometime. But that reminded me: some people get their game on - I need to get my write on!
So I've already started trying to puzzle out a plot or something. Thing is, everything I come up with is more suited to a novel rather than a short story.
But I do have another universe worked out - humans at war with vampires. Government conscription means sending more people off every year to "fight" the vampires - really, they're just human sacrifices to appease the vampires and stop them invading. Conscription has certain get-out clauses, depending on whar job you do: think WWII rules... only mean. Convicts got sent to battle. Back home, all the orphanages are full, so prisons are being converted into orphanages. Main character is Bella, a.k.a. Caspar (because she feels like a ghost). I haven't worked out a plot for her yet, but I rather like her universe! ^^
So, expect quite a few writing-orientated blogs while I try and warm up. Also, I have Script Frenzy coming up in April (writing a 100-page script in 30 days). I may make Casper's story into a script. Y'all think she should have a play, a movie, a TV show... what? Feedback in much appreciated, I need to get my arse back in gear for writing!
(P. S. This blog is dedicated to Kath because she told me to go write one, in as many words. I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY NOW!)
And that there was a huuuuuge box of French Lindt chocolates that needed eating up... Of course I didn't eat ten of them in one go *cough*
And then, when I booted up the computer, I worked out what had been bugging me for the past week: the Wicked New Writers' Competition. Premice is simple: write a 750-word short story. Deadline closes in July sometime. But that reminded me: some people get their game on - I need to get my write on!
So I've already started trying to puzzle out a plot or something. Thing is, everything I come up with is more suited to a novel rather than a short story.
But I do have another universe worked out - humans at war with vampires. Government conscription means sending more people off every year to "fight" the vampires - really, they're just human sacrifices to appease the vampires and stop them invading. Conscription has certain get-out clauses, depending on whar job you do: think WWII rules... only mean. Convicts got sent to battle. Back home, all the orphanages are full, so prisons are being converted into orphanages. Main character is Bella, a.k.a. Caspar (because she feels like a ghost). I haven't worked out a plot for her yet, but I rather like her universe! ^^
So, expect quite a few writing-orientated blogs while I try and warm up. Also, I have Script Frenzy coming up in April (writing a 100-page script in 30 days). I may make Casper's story into a script. Y'all think she should have a play, a movie, a TV show... what? Feedback in much appreciated, I need to get my arse back in gear for writing!
(P. S. This blog is dedicated to Kath because she told me to go write one, in as many words. I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY NOW!)
Wednesday 10 March 2010
one craaaaazy man...
Have a very short blog today.
Eddie Izzard is truly amazing. Actor, comedian, transvestite; one of the few comedians who can crack me up with almost anything he says. He learnt French and German, so he can make audiences laugh in their own language in Europe.
And he ran 1,160-odd miles for Sport Relief; 43 marathons in 51 days. That's a marathon, every day, six days a week, for seven weeks. And despite all the pain and obstacles, he didn't give up. I can remember looking through all the tweets at the time, thinking he was crazy. Well, yes, he really is, but he's also really amazingly brave, and touchingly funny the whole time too.
Just watch this.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b00r8zr8/Eddie_Izzard_Marathon_Man_Episode_1/
And if you can, text EDDIE to 70005 to donate £5 to Sports Relief, plus the network rate of 1 text.
But, yeah. All I know for sure is that next time Eddie tours the UK, i am gonna be there, laaaaaaughing. Chicken a la arabiata, anyone?
Eddie Izzard is truly amazing. Actor, comedian, transvestite; one of the few comedians who can crack me up with almost anything he says. He learnt French and German, so he can make audiences laugh in their own language in Europe.
And he ran 1,160-odd miles for Sport Relief; 43 marathons in 51 days. That's a marathon, every day, six days a week, for seven weeks. And despite all the pain and obstacles, he didn't give up. I can remember looking through all the tweets at the time, thinking he was crazy. Well, yes, he really is, but he's also really amazingly brave, and touchingly funny the whole time too.
Just watch this.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b00r8zr8/Eddie_Izzard_Marathon_Man_Episode_1/
And if you can, text EDDIE to 70005 to donate £5 to Sports Relief, plus the network rate of 1 text.
But, yeah. All I know for sure is that next time Eddie tours the UK, i am gonna be there, laaaaaaughing. Chicken a la arabiata, anyone?
Wednesday 3 March 2010
I'm sleeping so little these days, I guess this is growing up...
Fuck growing up. I wanna be a teenager forever.
Yes, I have developed Peter Pan syndrome at age 15. I have less than 2 weeks till my GCSE French Orals and I don't know a bloody word. Every lesson I have, homework is being piled onto us and we're expected to do it, and be grateful for the experience - nay, pay for it! No, seriously dude, if I was forced to bring 2 hours of work home with me after a paid day of work, I'd be pissed.
See, I've got to grow old (unless I die before then o_O) but, as a great man once said, growing up is optional. I'll probably remain kidlike forever, whining about irrelevant stuff, craving attention and getting pissed at how much money footballers earn (seriously, what the FUCK?!). I'll spend all the money I earn on gigs - though with any luck, I might be working in a career where going to gigs is my job. (That reminds me, I still need to find that business card.)
But yeah. I'm overworked, stressed, and craving someone just doing something nice and unsollicited. I mean, it's all very well saying I want a hug and getting a hug, but it's totally different just getting one spontaneously, you know?
Lastly, I'm pissed I'm missing Ispystrangers in Luton, because I don't have anyone to go with. Graaaargh. But I have Don Broco and my wife around on Friday, and FTSK on Monday. That should cheer me up aye?
Yes, I have developed Peter Pan syndrome at age 15. I have less than 2 weeks till my GCSE French Orals and I don't know a bloody word. Every lesson I have, homework is being piled onto us and we're expected to do it, and be grateful for the experience - nay, pay for it! No, seriously dude, if I was forced to bring 2 hours of work home with me after a paid day of work, I'd be pissed.
See, I've got to grow old (unless I die before then o_O) but, as a great man once said, growing up is optional. I'll probably remain kidlike forever, whining about irrelevant stuff, craving attention and getting pissed at how much money footballers earn (seriously, what the FUCK?!). I'll spend all the money I earn on gigs - though with any luck, I might be working in a career where going to gigs is my job. (That reminds me, I still need to find that business card.)
But yeah. I'm overworked, stressed, and craving someone just doing something nice and unsollicited. I mean, it's all very well saying I want a hug and getting a hug, but it's totally different just getting one spontaneously, you know?
Lastly, I'm pissed I'm missing Ispystrangers in Luton, because I don't have anyone to go with. Graaaargh. But I have Don Broco and my wife around on Friday, and FTSK on Monday. That should cheer me up aye?
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