Hazar!,

My aim for this month was to have over 200 blog views, and I'm so glad to say that I have achieved that, so if you have been a part of that, a massive thank you to you. 

This blog has been many different things over the time it has been running, and that has happened partly because of how long it has been going and partly because I have a short attention span sometimes, and can be very indecisive.

I am just going to take a step back to when I was writing about films for a moment though (which I did just to get into the habit of writing for this a lot) to ask quite a simple question - what the hell is with the ending of Magic Mike XXL?

**If you haven't watched it by now, don't get at me about spoilers - you have had ample chance**

I get that it was their "last ride" and everything, but when you're going to put something like that to bed (wrong, but oh so right phrasing) you put it to bed as best you can and don't leave them smiling like a bunch of sexy idiots on a pier. It would also be my opinion that you don't do it without Matthew Macona-honey (yes, I have silly names for other actors than Bumblebitch) because maybe the law says I can't touch that, but I definitely still would...

The ridiculous thing is that when I put that on last night, I was thinking; I'm going to watch one of McConaughey's serious films and that oh so clearly did not happen.

Aside from that, I have finally been getting some editing done which I'm sure most of you know is quite frankly a chuffing miracle because it is pretty much my biggest nightmare. It's slow going, but it's happening. I'm trying my best just to make a significant dent in it at the moment, and also have a life at the same time. 

Flying,

Just a heads up, this blog is going to have nothing to do with flying what so ever. :) I just couldn't think of a decent title so random word it was.

I've had an intense few days trying to work out the direction that my life is going in, and it's tough to describe the way I'm feeling at the moment. On the one hand, I'm happy to be out of university and be working and doing something, but on the other, I will never have so much time to focus on other things as I did when I was at university. 

My final year I was in 10 hours a week of lectures one term and 6 hours a week the other term. Yes, I had many hours of reading to do aside from that, and assignments and other things, and I had my job as well, but somehow that either didn't take the same level of time or the same level of emotional and physical capacity to deal with as full-time work. I think the monotony of it upsets my brain a little bit. 

The point is that I'm not as free to spend days working on novels and editing and formatting etc. anymore, and it can be quite frustrating, but this weekend has been very productive, and I'm euphoric with that. Working towards a publishing date, but can't set a date yet, because there's still a lot of work to do. Yay. 

So essentially, watch this space.

Sorry,

This is going to be another of those left field things that just kind of happened like an accidental chemical reaction in my brain because two things converged and I had a mini-Einstein moment. (Otherwise referred to as an 'ek' because it's not a Eureka moment.)

This afternoon I was speaking to a lovely lady that I have been friends with for over 6 years and who I, shamefully, haven't spoken to properly for a good portion of the last, maybe 4, of those. At the same time, I was listening to the song Sorry by Justin Beiber. 

Now, Sorry is actually about apologising for being a crappy boyfriend, but it made me think about the times that I've kind of been a crappy friend and, again, shamefully, there have been a lot of those times. 

In terms of friends, I can go months without speaking to people and years without seeing them and my friendships with them are fine because I'm a bit flighty to say the least. There was a point, embarrassingly that I responded to a friend saying happy birthday to me the following birthday. Granted, at the time I did not realise that was what I was doing, but I do it none the less. 

I know that one of the reasons that I do this is because I am connected to my friends through Facebook or whatever and so I know a bit/a lot, depending how much they overshare on Facebook, about what's going on in their lives, therefore, forgo the conversations about it. It's really bad and I'm really having to try to stop. There are people who mean the world to me that I haven't spoken to in so long and there is no real reason for it, and one of them I will probably never find again because he doesn't do the social media thing. 

Anyway, if you're reading this and I haven't spoken to you in a while, it's not because I don't love you, and from this point forward I am going to make more of a conscious effort, however I suck at this so if I fail, please don't hold it against me.

Hello, And Welcome to Another Episode of How My Weird Brain Works,

Walked into a shop the other day and they have their pancake day stuff out. I mean, that's a fairly normal practice, let's face it, because they also have Valentine's day everywhere and bits of Easter, however, my brain says to me, don't we normally get Valentine's day out of the way before the whole pancakes then Lent then Easter thing? Well, yeah, we do, but this year is super funky for a particular reason and that reason is this. Valentine's Day is in the middle of Lent. 

Suddenly, that typical charming thing of dinner and wine with presents of flowers and chocolates doesn't work, because a lot of people give up alcohol, or certain food (like meat, and we're not going to get into why that winds me up) or chocolate and sweets. So suddenly everyone's go-to Valentine's presents are looking a little bit rocky. I am genuinely tickled and amused by this. 

Anyway, as things do, this got me thinking about what I am going to do for Lent this year. Generally, I suck at lent. I'm really good at making my way through my Easter eggs, but Lent, nope, never been very good at it. Instead of giving up something this year, or rather attempting to and then forgetting what I actually was meant to be giving up, I'm going to be - I guess it's kind of giving something up, but not really. Basically instead of doing my usual lazy thing of living in sweat pants and jeans and work pants, I'm essentially banning myself from wearing pants (as in trousers, not underwear, just so we're clear) and I'm going to force myself to wear my dresses (of which I have around 70, though not all in London with me) and also my skirts (which I have not counted - sorry.) At the moment, the weather forecasts don't looks too bad, and don't misunderstand me, I will be wearing tights (probably thermal ones judging by current temperatures) but yes, that is the plan. If you know me quite well, you'll realise it is a bit out of the ordinary for me to say bye to my jeans for that long, and if not, well, just trust me, it is out of the ordinary. 

Roll on Pancake day then...

Okay, This Might Get a Bit Political,

This is probably going to seem a little bit odd after my earlier post, but ah well, these things happen. My brain just goes off in its own little directions sometimes and I have to just follow it. Its first little tangent happened because of the amount of Christmas trees I saw waiting to be disposed of today.

Now, I get that plastic trees are cumbersome, particularly in London where space for storing the bloody things is at all all-time premium, and they never look quite as good as the real ones, and there's the last of the pine smell, but they're a tree. Unlike the average house plant they survive more than a month in the average person's home, but as soon as Christmas is over people break up with their tree and cast it into the garden to be taken by nature or the bin man. And they do this year after year. 

I don't know what exactly it is that bothers me about it; I can't put my finger on it. It's not just the fact that when it's thrown away, the tree is still technically alive, or that people don't bother to compost it or anything, and then a year later they just get a whole new tree, because the whole thing kind of bothers me. My parents managed to make Christmas this year awesome. My presents were all practical, I got clothes and notebooks and other funky things; even our Christmas crackers had good stuff in them. I have a whole set of Christmas cookie cutters including an angel that looks like Yoda, but most of the stuff that comes out of them is disposable nonsense. I'm glad that Sainsbury's allowed you to recycle cards and wrapping paper, but the whole thing just feels like a rubbish factory as soon as it's over...

Which brings me to the bit where I'll be mentioning politics...

This all came from my walk this morning whilst I was getting my graduation photographs from the Post Office. When I got back I realised that I needed to pick up a couple of things from the little Sainsbury's on the corner. Now, whenever that happens I always end up seeing things I want that I didn't go in for, like Pink Lemonade and Brita filters. 

When I got to the tills the assistant asked me, as they do these days, do you need a bag? 

Ask a normal person, you get a normal answer. This is my proof that I'm not normal. The assistant asked me that and rather than answering like a normal person I thought about an article I read the other day about how many people are stealing plastic bags, instead of just paying the 5p charge. The point of it is not actually making money for charities by charging everyone 5p for something that they used to get for free and then throw away. 

I was carrying my handbag and a large envelope containing my graduation photos, so did I need a bag? I could have had one, but I didn't need one. I got everything except the Brita filters into my bag and carried the filters. Before the charge, I, like others, would have just taken a bag without really thinking about it and then used it for rubbish or to put my lunch in before throwing it away. When I ended up with a large quantity I took a bunch to the recycling and that was that. So instead of moaning about the charge, or stealing something that costs less than a Freddo used to, what we need to do is just think 'Do I 'Need' this, or am I just being a bit lazy?

Move Along, Move Along,

I wrote a blog post two days ago about how Bowie was the first great loss of my generation. I stand by that, even though someone reminded me that I had forgotten Michael Jackson. Very sad as well, but I guess, like Freddie Mercury, people were expecting it because he had not looked well for a long time. 

Today shocked the hell out of me because I didn't realise that Alan Rickman was sixty-nine. My main idea of him was as Snape and Snape did not look sixty-nine - not even close. And now he's gone. 

I don't think that anyone who saw Bowie as an idol had even started getting over him, and I know that many were his fans and fans of the Potter franchise as well. I really wouldn't want to be one of those people right now. 

It's strange to think of how many horrible things happen in the world and then we manage to just find a way past it. We have to. Everyone takes everything differently, I spent the rest of the day in bed when I finished The Fault in Our Stars because it made my heart hurt that the fictional character died. 

As humans we have a strange and beautiful ability to adapt and live on through some pretty awful things, and we need it, but we also need to be sad. For a little bit. And when you see any little piece of happiness, or see any chance to put some happiness in the world, we need to take it. Especially at the moment, we need to take it. Things like random acts of kindness have never been so necessary as they are at the moment, because there is far too much sadness and crap in the world at the moment...

Why I Don't Write About Politics (Well, Not Very Often Anyway),

I've seemed to have the writing bug all day today and it seems such a shame to waste it. 

Recently I've written a couple of things about sharing and over-sharing and how I know that my opinions will be made obvious even if I don't want them to because the space between the lines in my books is very readable. It's not an issue, per se, but there's a good reason that I don't explicitly write about my political opinion or large pieces about controversial current affairs and that is quite simply because I don't need the hassle.

If someone doesn't like my novels, there's not much I can do about that and it's each to their own. I don't understand people's love of certain writers, big one being George Orwell - I mean, yes, 1984 is an amazing novel for what it predicts but it's a bit of a dull read and if I ever think about reading Down and Out in Paris and London again I have friends that know I will need to be sectioned post haste because once was truly bad enough - but when you start weighing in on these issues, and it can be anything and I'm not going to provide examples because even that would get me into trouble, people start throwing around words like it's their right to label you and tell you your opinion is wrong because it doesn't match with theirs. I like to point out, if I ever get into these conversations face to face, we're not playing a game of snap. You can't just announce you're right and expect to mount some ivory pedestal and not have to defend your arguments, and by that same logic, I would have to defend my views. 

I'm not saying that I can't defend my views - far from it actually, I have a degree in being argumentative (no, really, it's Philosophy and Ethics...) - I just know the internet. Everything gets distorted and there are always sides and, oh, I just can't be bothered with it. So, for now, at least, anyway, I'm keeping out of it. I will write what I write influenced by life, but I'm not getting involved with the drama. Or rather, see if I can get away from it.

Maybe They're Not Gone,

Once a year, I get a little bit emotional. Okay, maybe a couple of times.

There are specific days within a year that I kind of forget how to cope with my life. There are three bigs ones, and two of them are really close together, which means I have a week of dark moods. Those days are the anniversaries of my nana and grandpa dying and the birthday of a friend who is no longer around.

I get quite badly affected by some things that happen in the world, and sometimes it doesn't make sense. Yesterday I woke up, as did most people, to the news that Bowie was dead. Bowie is dead, and it was more than a shock.

It's really strange because it feels like the first time my generation has experienced such a loss. I was born a couple of years after the world lost Freddie and almost a couple of decades after the death of Elvis. The only person that as a generation we lost on this scale was Princess Diana, and most of us were still just little people then. 

Chris Moyles reaction, most noticeable his statement that people like Bowie should not die, was the thing that got me. The thing is, they do, and they don't. 

Seeing the reactions of people across social media, speaking to people, everything yesterday proved that David Bowie is not dead. Everything that he created still exists, he can still be an inspiration as he has been, just as Freddie and Elvis still are. It's not the same, it can't be, but they are not gone. Not really. Not in the way that matters. They're still here like Salinger and Austen and Dickens. They will always matter.

Indicate the Way to My Abode,

I have this really strange memory of being tipsy with my dad in Greece and him singing the 'Officer's Version' of show me the way to go home. He nearly fell over into a bush so the memory always tickles me a little. 

I woke up this morning to a child screaming outside my flat, and as it was neither ill, injured or in peril (except waking me up) I was more than a little bit peeved and have wanted to go back to bed ever since, but I had this horrendous mountain of laundry to get to and, even more, job applications. I feel like all I do at the moment is fill in my references, qualifications and experience and I'm a bit cheesed off with it all. 

The last time I was properly looking for a job you picked up an application for from everywhere with a sign in the window, you filled them in, you took them back. Simple. Now, I feel like I'm writing a short story with every application as I have to tell each and every company why I want to work for them. Seriously? You'd advertising a vacancy, I want a new job - how are we not a match made in heaven? No, it's all about I have lived and breathed *insert field name* and had a *insert company name* mobile above my cot as a baby. ARE YOU PEOPLE SERIOUS? You're a company! You do not need an ego boost! Oh, you want to make sure I'm researching the company and the job? How about you ask me to do a test based on your job description or company values instead of this verbal and numerical reasoning. I'm not kidding - one job I applied for made me play 20 minutes of spot the frigging difference. I mean, come on. 

Hey, I get it. Technically at the moment, we're in an employers market because jobs are more scarce than the amount of people qualified for them. The recession and all that meant that suddenly people are aiming at jobs that they're overqualified for. Here's a question - if companies know that they're overqualified and that has previously been a reason to reject people (that's what one of my rejections for a Saturday job once said - I was pretty proud, except the whole unemployed thing) tell them that! Instead of saying, wow, you have way too much experience for this and are probably going to just use it to get back on the ladder within a more stable company, you're hired, why can we not get to a stage where employers realise that employing someone who was previously a manager into an admin role, they'll probably stay for maybe six months, someone like me who's trying to get off the bottom rung of the ladder is going to be there longer, because you have to build your experience. 

It physically winds me up that I get rejected from jobs for having less experience than other people, partly because it's a fact of life that people that are older than me exist and there's nothing I can do about that, but also partly because I have worked my ass off to have the experience that I have now. 

I started admin work with the companies my parents work for from my early teens. I worked part time whilst I was at college, I worked through the summer before university and I had, at least, one job the whole way through university. Every time a holiday came around, I was signing up for extra hours and not just for the money. I was doing it so I could leave university not just with a fancy piece of paper, but also with a pretty decent base of experience behind me. 

To put this very simply, I'm 22, have a  2:1 degree, four years of solid work experience, and I self-published a novel, and yet 90% of the companies I apply for don't actually get back to me. I get that I'm often 1 in 100 or more applying, so it's not so much that I'm mad at the companies for not responding, but it is just a thing of asking what the hell more can I do? I was even applying for jobs on Christmas day because it meant I had time to do a bulk of applications. 

I've been for some pretty cool interviews. I got to go up to the 33rd Floor of 1 Canada Square in Canary Wharf and I had two interviews in Buckingham Palace, but even getting that far through the process drives me mad, because I am more than capable of doing those jobs, and more than willing to throw everything I have at them, but 'lack of experience' is getting in my way. 

Ah well. I was brought up believing that everything happens for a reason, so I'm sure that the right thing will find its way into my life. I just wish it would put its bloody skates on and get here. 

Where Is The Line?,

Sometimes (Yeah, I'm just launching into this like I always do. Hadn't really realised this before writing a post that I'm still deciding whether or not to put up, but yeah, it's a bit peculiar) I wonder where the line is on what to say and what not to say. 

The fact is that everything that goes onto the internet could be everyone, and I know that, but I also know that reading between the lines can get you pretty far, too. 

The fairies novel was influenced by my life, but for the most part, you wouldn't be able to differentiate between fiction and influence unless you know me. The more things I write, or more to the point, publish, the more of myself I expose in my novels. Okay, I'm not going to reveal my deep, dark secrets (if I have them, maybe I don't) but there are a lot of personal things like my political views, my philosophy, my thoughts on a lot of things actually can be made obvious through my novels. So, my question is, with that in mind, how much do I really want to say on here?

There are some times when I just want to pour out a lot all over this thing just to have an outlet. I have fears and anxieties and other assorted issues regarding my writing, and life in general, but does that ruin the magic? 

The fact of the matter is I don't know the answer to the question of how much is enough/too much, but I do write posts sometimes and save them, but not post them because I think that they're crossing that line. I'm sure I'll figure it out eventually. 

Hello Sunday,

I'm well aware of the fact that I had said I was going to take this year as it comes and three days in I am still committed to doing that, but I'm also committing myself to a couple of other things. Thankfully it's too late for me to commit to dry January, but I've realised recently that the amount I drink is not really a problem; I just need to remember train times when I'm out and that, when I don't drink for a while,  have a very low tolerance for alcohol, but that's not too much of a big deal. I'm not the sort of person who has to drink to have fun or to relax, I am by no means a person who comes home and opens a bottle of whatever before they unwind for the evening, I just really really like cocktails, and I figure that in the grand scheme of things, it's not such a bad thing.

The big one I'm committing to is I'm going to be submitting chapters to a publisher this year. I have already started them, I know where I'm going with them and I'm just trying to plod along and get it done. It's kind of terrifying because I don't have any clue as to whether or not they will be accepted, and I don't know how I will take it if they're not, but I don't try I'm never going to know. I don't want to spend the next few years thinking about how things could be if I actually did it, so I'm going to try and just do it. It's a terrifying thought, though. 

The second biggest one is I'm committing myself to one blog a week, every week, until the start of 2017. I'm going to aim for doing on a Sunday, and I'm not putting a word limit on it, but I know from experience that the act of sitting down and focusing my mind on writing something is a good thing. It is what National Novel Writing Month teaches me every year, and yet every year I seem to be able to kid myself into thinking that there's a Writing Fairy who hibernates for 11 months and then pops out in November, screams da-dah! and suddenly a novel pops out of my ridiculous little hands as if by magic. It's not magic; it's hard work. Come on. 

The last thing is I am going to spend time reading this year and thank the gods it is because I want to be reading and not because I have essays and exams to write, and that's a beautiful feeling. It's so easily possible to get addicted to reading when it is a good book or story or poem or anything really. If van Houten wrote a shopping list, I would probably be inclined to read that to. The fact is I have a love for so many authors and I read very, very little in 2015. I watched all of the films, but books didn't go so well. Especially not finishing books. My God, I started 1984 again, but then stopped past halfway through to pick up To Kill a Mockingbird so that I could finish that before reading Go Set a Watchman, and then didn't finish that because it's no To Kill a Mockingbird. I also started countless philosophy books for exams and thought, oh, this is very interesting I shall have to read more when I graduate. Well, Charlie, your diploma is in the drawer and those books are still gathering dust. 

Anyway, I'm probably just spouting the same New Year idealisms as most people right now, because apparently the changing of one calendar to a new one, a night of fireworks and the changing of the last number in the date make us feel like we ought to be wildly different than we were just a day or a week earlier. For some, New Year holds a lot of meaning. I know of a person who seems to wait until New Year when we fall out to try and fix things because New Year was important to us 9 years ago, but for me, it is not special, it is not magical, and it's only real significance is that it marks a passing of a lot of times since everyone last got hysterically reflective over their lives. I can't hide away from these reflections and I can't stop myself looking at the good and bad things that have happened between one loud, drunken celebration and the next (even though I have only celebrated one New Year in such a way and the rest of them I have been in my pyjamas). What I do think though is that New Years Eve makes an excellent bookmark. People ask me when I became a vegetarian - when did I make this Massive decision which really impacts my life and I do my best impression of a goldfish, attempt to remember how old I am and subtract 13. If I ever get the opportunity to be asked he question, when did you decide that you were serious about a career in writing, I want to know that answer almost to the minute. This is not a whimsical decision. This has been a part of my life for a long time, but now it's more than that. 

Also, if you want to see one of my favourite photos from graduation, check out my Twitter profile. @charlieswrite