NaShoStoMo,

Any of you that have been anywhere near me in the month of November will probably remember that I turn into a coffee fuelled, pizza loving nutjob with essentially bi-polar levels of energy. For those of you who don't know why, it's because of the beautiful thing which is NaNoWriMo. Unfortunately/thankfully the calendar of writing competitions is not complete, i.e. there's not something going on every month, which is good because I could quite easily die of heart failure within six months if it did, but these are the ones I know.

January - NaNoEdMo (National Novel Editing Month)

April - NaShoStoMo (National Short Story Month) + ScriptFrenzy (Dear Grant Falkner, you cannot kill that which we keep alive!)

June - Camp NaNoWriMo 1

August - Camp NaNoWriMo 2

November - NaNoWriMo!! (National Novel Writing Month)

December - NaNoFiMo (National Novel Finishing Month)


A few years ago, I made an attempt at Script Frenzy, but since I favour description more than dialogue, it didn't really work out overly well (I still keep the spirit of it alive though and believe that the competition should be continued for those who wish to participate.)

When NaShoStoMo was mentioned, I shyed away from it, thinking I didn't have enough ideas for short stories to complete one a day for a month, but since it's only 200 words (min.) per story, why not give it a try, hey?

So, instead of editing my novel today, I'm going to attempt to catch up with NaShoStoMo. 17 short stories in one day. Possible? I think so. :P

Manchester Part 3,

I was just in the bath thinking: "This has been a great trip home. I've had the chance to hang out with my friends a lot and there haven't been any sightings of..." and then one of the eight legged fiends ran across my bathroom floor. Naturally, I dealt with this like any adult: I screamed for my dad, who made sure that the five legged beastie went for a rather long swim down the toilet. Yes, five legged, because three of them came off when my dad bitch slapped it into the bath mat. (Washing that tomorrow.) Anyway, there was no way I was touching that, so my brother had the joys of doing that one. I really don't deal well with insects...

Other than that, today has been PHENOMINAL! After I don't even remember how long, I got to see one of my favourite girls in the entire world: Alice. :D

Most people would ask me if my brain had been scrambled when they got the text I sent her to arrange today, but she's on my wavelength, so calling her Dawkins and singning off the text as Hume - after admitting to becoming increasing sceptical of her continuing existence - was something pretty normal, so naturally I got an equally odd reply. The only tragedy of the day came in that she didn't trust her stomach enough to contain itself, and her excitment while we went on the big (technical terminology coming up) spinny, lifty merry go round style thingymagig which currently is taking up half of Piccadilly Gardens and ruining the grass, but thankfully, it appeared to be as much fun to watch me nearly poop my pants when I realised it went higher than I had anticipated. 

Anyway, as much as the social side of this trip home has been amazing, I have done little else other than procrastinate with some of the best mates on the planet. 

I will point out however that future posts of the blog/novel will be containing the label/hashtag blovel. :)

P.s. I love you guys!

Manchester Part 2,

Now that Craptop is behaving itself I can finally get this written, but first, a couple of moans:

1. The transport system in Manchester is a pile of ___________ (insert favourite profanity)
2. I think I need a children's Snuggie, since the sleeves are too far apart in mine 
3. My laptop sucks 

Anyway...since I've been back in Manchester, I've been meeting up with a lot of my old friends, and also running into people I haven't seen in years, which has been pretty odd, but ultimately interesting. Yesterday, I saw one of my old friends who essentially looks like he has a whole new face (it has been AT LEAST a year and a half, probably more like two years, since I've seen him though) and it was like, oh, hello beautiful. Interestingly though, I feel like nothing has changed. We still play video games together, I still suck at them, and they still - very accommodatingly might I add - set up the game in a different way so that it's almost impossible for me to lose. By the way, I love you guys! 

Today then brought about my very geeky side. Since the destruction of the blanket I have been OBSESSIVELY knitting to try and replace the patches that were essentially mashed and had to go in the bin, but that does mean I do things like knitting on the bus to town or in the cinema or watching the TV (or all of the above....guilty) I also hang around comic book stores and spend too much money on graphic novels, but if you've ever seen how beautiful The Watchmen and Kingdom Come are, you'll have to understand. 

Even better, Josh and I both proved our age (in our heads, somewhere between 62 and 90~) by sitting through another film, verbally tearing it apart and then admitting to having thoroughly enjoyed it. Jack the Giant Slayer and Warm Bodies (it's really odd that both films we've chosen to see recently have the same male lead) have both received the same treatment, but as I said, we really enjoyed them. 

Now if only I could find some time to edit that blasted novel!!!

P.s. CELEBRATING THE 1500 views!!! :) 

Camomile Tea,

So, currently I'm sat in my bed with a cup of camomile tea, half a blanket and a tub full of patches of wool. Am I constructing a blanket? No, I'm taking one apart.

I started making this "thing" when I was fourteen, which I always think of as not very long ago until I realise that I am in fact now twenty and no longer able to class myself as a teenager. Anyway. The bottom half is a bit scraggly to say the least, since I wasn't overly dexterous at that age, and I was pathetically bad at knitting. My short attention span is also evident since the patches are teeny tiny. Fast forward six years and they are all large beautiful, if not oddly shaped, patches.

So what was the problem?

My blanket was almost a fricking triangle. Seriously, the top was AT LEAST six inches wider than the bottom, sothe natural OCD like thing to do is take the whole thing apart.

Now, you may wonder why I'm telling you this.

I'm telling you this to describe the frame of mind that I'm currently in, because I feel that is more constructive than once again apologising for the lack of another of my novels on amazon. For those who care, okay, I'm sorry, but I'm getting on it. Honestly.

Can You Spare a Room?

So, as of next month, the current administration is introducing a bedroom tax to council properties, which means that those considered to have a spare bedroom will have to pay an extra tax for the priviledge of. If haven't already read the guidelines, they're just HERE for you.

Now, the theory of this tax, I do completely agree with. I would use personal examples, but I'm not sure how certain people in my family would feel about that, so let's go with a hypothetical. If you have a couple living in a three bedroom or four bedroom home which is provided by the council, with council waiting lists so long, is it really acceptable for them to be wasting space that could house a whole family.

What I don't agree with is the government essentially prescribing to people where their children ought to sleep. I freely admit that I'm pretty priviledged, but at no point in my life - living at home anyway - have my brother and I had to share a bedroom. Under the rules of this tax, until the age of 10, my brother and I would have had to share a bedroom. If that had happened, only one of us would have reached age 10... The same rules state that until the age of 16, children of the same gender would have to share. I can't imagine anything worse than that really.

I remember what I was like in my early teenage years. I was a pain in the arse and I spent a long time in my room, on my own. At that age, being able to have time on your own, being able to have somewhere to go to that is private and that is your own can be very important, and yet we're essentially saying that's only okay if you're parents have the money to pay for it.

Before I start sounding a bit too left wing - come on, I don't want to mislead anyone around here - I would like to say that I do believe that if it's because parents are just on job seekers and always have been, then that's a little bit more understandable, but the issue I have is HERE. Cases like that of the Egglestone's.

It's just something to think about...

The Paperboy

I went to see a film this weekend, purely and simply because it had three actors in it that – quite frankly – I wouldn't kick out of bed for keeping their socks on. (Guys, this is a real, serious offence). Anyway, on occasion, such things go really well and I really enjoy the film, but this one was just difficult to watch and there was a point when I very nearly puked.

We read the synopsis, and were expecting something a bit more light hearted and jovial. It was really difficult to watch however, and I don't think I will ever be able to watch Magic Mike in the same way again (this film has given me a different view on the beautiful Matthew McConaghhgfhglsh), or Serendipity (because who wants to think of that beautiful man welding a machete while attempting to find that girl that got away – changes the entire concept me thinks) or High School… I'm not evening going to finish that sentence because, much as I do love Zac Efron (go watch Charlie St Cloud if you don't and then tell me that he's not a gorgeous little bambi) I still hate those films.

Maybe it's because I'm just SO sensitive – and I have a Waldo Pancake notebook that proves it! – but films like The Paperboy, Water for Elephants and all that sort of thing REALLY GET ME. I was watching a show where they trained fathers to be the perfect birthing partner the other night and I was blubbering at the end of it because it was how sweet how much they loved their children and… yeah, I know, get a grip of yourself.

Being very cynical about it, everything is just to do with a rush of chemicals and our body's reaction to those chemicals. In the film, I was hopped up on adrenaline, making me scared and anxious and the other night it was all serotonin and whatever the lady hormones that make you instantly love all babies are, but whatever. I like my chemical reactions.

If however, you are sensitive like me, I would strongly advise either not going to see that film or taking a big box of Kleenex man sized…

~For the benefit of Miss Sophie Greene,

My most sincere apologies go out to all those (aka Sophie) who waited up all night searching Amazon for the release of the new novel. As people (aka Sophie) may already be aware, I'VE BEEN A LITTLE BIT BUSY and I BEYOND HATE editting, so I haven't quite got it finished yet.

I will however prescribe you an almighty dose of DWI (Deal With It - for those who aren't fluent in Sophie Greene's mottos) and remind you that the damn thing will be free for the first five days after it's release so stop being so ungrateful.

Much love to everyone else :)

Dear BBC,

This is just going to be a quick blog because I found this really funny. 

So, BBC news is the homepage on my college computers. The first thing I saw when I connected to the internet today was the headline "Does the Modern Childhood End at 12?" followed by an article offering PARENTING ADVICE FROM THE BBC. BBC, are you serious? 

It feels like only weeks ago that the Jimmy Saville scandal broke into the public eye - and if you believe the Daily Mail then there is still news to be printed about this scandal (article linked to was published three day ago) - and now the BBC wants to give out parenting advice. I don't think so. 

Even still, I'd love a definition of what is the modern childhood. The age at which childhood ends has always been somewhat ambiguous and I think it fluctuates over time, dependent upon geography and actually varies person to person. 

During the times of the industrial revolution, childhood ended when the child was around five and could be put to work cleaning machines - because of their conveniently tiny little fingers - or up chimneys, because they were small enough to climb up them. 

After the passing of the Elementary Education Act 1880, the age at which childhood ends could be classed at age 10, when a child leaves compulsory education.  

Obviously from then there has been a progression into the modern era, where we seem to deem childhood as over by either 16 or 18, or even at 21 in America, depending on how you would determine the end of childhood, but considering we allow things such as the sexualisation of children through fashion trends and beauty pageants, as well as making children essentially adults in training by bringing in all the technological advancements we have in the working world - netbooks, iPads, iPhones etc - into the classroom, we can argue as to whether a pure form of childhood really exists. I really miss the days when I'd do stupid things like go on a bike ride for the whole day or go outside skipping or just general make-believe games that I remember as framing my childhood. Now, when I go home, most of the kids are on motorised scooters, sat on the corners of our street playing on the Nintendo DS or whatever the latest handheld games console is. 

The real issue that I'm having a moan about isn't whether or not the above paragraph is a destruction of what childhood should be in my view, it's that we're even complaining about things like this at all when some cultures actually believe that when a girl gets her first period which can be anywhere between the ages of 10 and 15, although the average is 12, that a girl has become a woman and it's time to have her married and having her own family. 

The adverts are all over the underground, and let's face it, there is barely more of an end to childhood than having your own child. This has ended up being a bit of a rant-gent (ranting tangent) from the original BBC parenting advice LOL but the point I'm making is Okay BBC, maybe we're pressuring kids to grow up too quickly and maybe a return to the days of playing hula hoop in the yard and then coming in for a bag of Hula Hoops when you've got home from school would be nice, but at least our 12 year olds aren't starting to raise their own families.

Childhood: When is it meant to end?