Phew, two episodes in a row. Now my eyes are if not square, certainly slightly red around the edges. Which is also to do with yet again, lack of sleep. I went through a weird body clock shift when I was away, and woke up at 6am every morning, which is a time I usually have no knowledge of. Nor did I want to have knowledge of it. The only benefit was having plenty of time in the mornings to get ready and eat a leisurely breakfast before going into work. I did start pretty early, 8.30 most mornings, so finish time was 4.30. A long day, and again, I have gotten used to a different style of day, starting later and finishing later, with the chance to walk around, do chores. Here I was in an office, with very little time for wandering about.
I was very nervous the first morning: for one I didn’t know exactly where I was going, so I left really early, stopped my car in the vicinity of where I knew the place to be roughly, and phoned them. After a couple of calls, I found my way and was met at the door.
What I think I was most worried about was being a nuisance. I know that it’s difficult for the people you are going to, to find things for a work experience person to do. So I wanted to be as useful as possible. But everything went very well, the people were really nice and kind to me, made me drinks asked what course I was doing and helped me. Everywhere I go it seems, I rely on the kindness of strangers. And I have rarely been let down.
So I entered the world of publishing. Something I know not much about, but wanted to learn about. I was honest about that to begin with. I had done some research on the company first, but I wanted to ask things as well rather than go in pretending to know everything.
I was working with a company called Shire Publishing who have been in existence for over 40 years, they used to be an independent company, but have very recently been bought by a larger company called Osprey, who produce military history and war-gaming books - my friend Carlo would have loved it there, I’m still to tell him all about it. The range of books was astonishing: from incredibly esoteric titles on such mastermind subjects as the archaeology of rabbit warrens to broader non fiction on West Coast shipping and The Victorian Hospital. I wish I could have just sat and read the books, they were fascinating. I had no idea there was so much on such seemingly narrow subjects.
I found myself also editing, proofreading, and using InDesign, which was less daunting than I thought. So a good first day, and I was looking forward to the rest of the week.
Monday, 31 March 2008
Long journeys
Back to the Oxford story. I set out last Sunday, well, two weeks ago Sunday actually. It doesn’t seem that long ago. I knew where I was going to, and I knew vaguely how to get there - up the A30 as usual and then once more along the M5, after that I just had to follow the signs. Not that I want to boast, but I surprised myself by finding my way pretty well.
One wrong turn off the last road into Oxford (very badly signed, obviously) and then I made it to the city centre. I’d glanced at a city map before I left as a rough guide to where the road I needed was and somehow I’d memorised the shape of the route. Fortunately by the time I got there it was evening and the roads weren’t busy. I followed by instinct where I was going and after a few minutes thought about looking out for the road, and there it was! My sense of direction improves by the day. The family I was staying with were family of friends in Falmouth, who very kindly had let me stay in their basement flat for the two weeks I had in Oxford with a contribution to bills, which I was more than happy to give. I much prefer not to live free.
I liked them immediately, I’d spoken once on the phone to them, and they made me tea my first night, and had put a lovely vase of flowers in the flat. A little kindness which made me very happy.
And they made Cornish pasties for tea, brilliant. Even a special vegetarian one for me. On a side note, Cornish pasties seem to be ubiquitous everywhere I go - last time I was in Chester there was a stall, and in Oxford city centre there is one.
Coincidences. I keep noticing them, little synchronicities. I often do and forget to note them. Words sometimes that are echoed, things you see again. I had been reading a story called ‘Don’t go gently’, and I was sent a text message on my journey telling me to go gently; various things. Coincidences come in patterns too. None for the last few days, but they will appear again and I’ll try and note them.
Oh dear, another ramble away from the path I started. Must concentrate. When I have finished this, I’ve promised myself a CSI NY episode, having discovered that my laptop DOES play DVDs. I can see another distraction coming up. It’s either going to be CSI or Lord of the Rings, and the latter is rather long for a late evening viewing, so guess it has to be the former. Shame : )
I had thought that I might have to be away from the internet, and all it brings for the two weeks away from Falmouth. Not so though, for better or worse. I even had access to broadband. And a television! I indulged in The Simpsons, and Great British Menu - not the best fare, but I had been starved for along time.
Despite apprehension about the next day, my first full day working for a long time, and in a completely different place, I slept very well. Too much TV had exhausted me.
One wrong turn off the last road into Oxford (very badly signed, obviously) and then I made it to the city centre. I’d glanced at a city map before I left as a rough guide to where the road I needed was and somehow I’d memorised the shape of the route. Fortunately by the time I got there it was evening and the roads weren’t busy. I followed by instinct where I was going and after a few minutes thought about looking out for the road, and there it was! My sense of direction improves by the day. The family I was staying with were family of friends in Falmouth, who very kindly had let me stay in their basement flat for the two weeks I had in Oxford with a contribution to bills, which I was more than happy to give. I much prefer not to live free.
I liked them immediately, I’d spoken once on the phone to them, and they made me tea my first night, and had put a lovely vase of flowers in the flat. A little kindness which made me very happy.
And they made Cornish pasties for tea, brilliant. Even a special vegetarian one for me. On a side note, Cornish pasties seem to be ubiquitous everywhere I go - last time I was in Chester there was a stall, and in Oxford city centre there is one.
Coincidences. I keep noticing them, little synchronicities. I often do and forget to note them. Words sometimes that are echoed, things you see again. I had been reading a story called ‘Don’t go gently’, and I was sent a text message on my journey telling me to go gently; various things. Coincidences come in patterns too. None for the last few days, but they will appear again and I’ll try and note them.
Oh dear, another ramble away from the path I started. Must concentrate. When I have finished this, I’ve promised myself a CSI NY episode, having discovered that my laptop DOES play DVDs. I can see another distraction coming up. It’s either going to be CSI or Lord of the Rings, and the latter is rather long for a late evening viewing, so guess it has to be the former. Shame : )
I had thought that I might have to be away from the internet, and all it brings for the two weeks away from Falmouth. Not so though, for better or worse. I even had access to broadband. And a television! I indulged in The Simpsons, and Great British Menu - not the best fare, but I had been starved for along time.
Despite apprehension about the next day, my first full day working for a long time, and in a completely different place, I slept very well. Too much TV had exhausted me.
Beaches
Today. Okay, chronology is a little mixed up. I will return to where I began, but at least I can catch up. I feel out of writing this, even though I have been keeping a paper log, a ‘plog’ as one of my fellow students named it! It felt officially like my first day back here, even though I returned Saturday night. I got down to some work and organising, bank business for one, to check on my increasingly dwindling bank balance.
CD Loan has still not come through, nor has my new driving licence which I need to continue my application, so I beginning to worry about that. It’s something I could do without thinking about. There are so many other things I need to do, and because there are so many, or so it seems, I can’t concentrate on them. I need to sit down and do all the work I have to do for bloc, that I have neglected and feel very bad about as it does not affect just me. I need to some editing work for the college - that at least I have started. Then there is the coursework: script scenes (thankfully I now have Final Draft, brilliant, thanks Gareth); non fiction book chapters; industry analysis. For that I do have plenty of notes from Shire Publishing.
I’ve made a start on things today, a small start, and that helps. For the next two weeks I have the house almost to myself. The student part anyway. My two housemates are away for Easter, they have a holiday, we of course as we’ve been told in stringent terms do not.
I miss their company, but it is nice to have kitchen space. I can sit at the table with my laptop and be much warmer than in my room, and I can spread my small store of food (oh poor me) around in the fridge and the lump of ice that calls itself a freezer. And any mess is my own. Not that I have too many issues of course.
That’s the problem with kitchen-sharing. The sharing part. Having to share space and surfaces, and cleaning. Little things become big things if you’re not careful. Generally we get on, there’ve just been a few little snips, and mostly we haven’t said anything. I think we’ve been lucky that we all get on.
I was thinking about that as at this time of year, people start looking around for accommodation. I didn’t, thinking I knew better, I left finding somewhere to stay until the last minute and was very lucky. My sister was here until 2006, so I rang her landlady who fortunately still had a room spare, so that was sorted. Otherwise, at the time, I’m not sure I’d have known what to do. Made a trip down possibly, or rung lots of people after looking on the internet. There’s plenty up there, or at the Accommodation Office and in the union. It would probably have been wise to have started earlier.
Anyway. I’m incredibly good at wandering miles away from the point I began from. Monday. I confused myself for a few minutes whilst wandering down Church Street, convinced it was the 1st of April, and I’d left my banking too late. After a short panic, it sank in that it was still, just, March. Town was busy, busier than when I left, and everything seemed much more awake, more open, the season begins. The weather was beautiful, almost as nice as yesterday. Spring scents and sounds: grass cuttings; flowers; warm concrete. Lovely. I walked down to Castle beach after an intensive session in front of the laptop screen, and I was so happy to smell the sea again and walk on the sand. Perhaps I do belong here?
CD Loan has still not come through, nor has my new driving licence which I need to continue my application, so I beginning to worry about that. It’s something I could do without thinking about. There are so many other things I need to do, and because there are so many, or so it seems, I can’t concentrate on them. I need to sit down and do all the work I have to do for bloc, that I have neglected and feel very bad about as it does not affect just me. I need to some editing work for the college - that at least I have started. Then there is the coursework: script scenes (thankfully I now have Final Draft, brilliant, thanks Gareth); non fiction book chapters; industry analysis. For that I do have plenty of notes from Shire Publishing.
I’ve made a start on things today, a small start, and that helps. For the next two weeks I have the house almost to myself. The student part anyway. My two housemates are away for Easter, they have a holiday, we of course as we’ve been told in stringent terms do not.
I miss their company, but it is nice to have kitchen space. I can sit at the table with my laptop and be much warmer than in my room, and I can spread my small store of food (oh poor me) around in the fridge and the lump of ice that calls itself a freezer. And any mess is my own. Not that I have too many issues of course.
That’s the problem with kitchen-sharing. The sharing part. Having to share space and surfaces, and cleaning. Little things become big things if you’re not careful. Generally we get on, there’ve just been a few little snips, and mostly we haven’t said anything. I think we’ve been lucky that we all get on.
I was thinking about that as at this time of year, people start looking around for accommodation. I didn’t, thinking I knew better, I left finding somewhere to stay until the last minute and was very lucky. My sister was here until 2006, so I rang her landlady who fortunately still had a room spare, so that was sorted. Otherwise, at the time, I’m not sure I’d have known what to do. Made a trip down possibly, or rung lots of people after looking on the internet. There’s plenty up there, or at the Accommodation Office and in the union. It would probably have been wise to have started earlier.
Anyway. I’m incredibly good at wandering miles away from the point I began from. Monday. I confused myself for a few minutes whilst wandering down Church Street, convinced it was the 1st of April, and I’d left my banking too late. After a short panic, it sank in that it was still, just, March. Town was busy, busier than when I left, and everything seemed much more awake, more open, the season begins. The weather was beautiful, almost as nice as yesterday. Spring scents and sounds: grass cuttings; flowers; warm concrete. Lovely. I walked down to Castle beach after an intensive session in front of the laptop screen, and I was so happy to smell the sea again and walk on the sand. Perhaps I do belong here?
Going boldly
Well, I’ve been to the unknown and back again. Oxford was great, I’m really glad I went, and it was a completely different work experience than my previous stints. I think what I’ll do is go through each day at a time, there were so many new things to think about. So many different experiences. It’s strange to be back in Falmouth, feeling like I never left in some ways, but in others that I have changed again. I’m quite disorientated, mentally and physically.
What I realised whilst I was there was that I am now very unsure of my home, and where I belong. I thought I belonged in Wirral, but I’m not sure, nor am I sure that I belong in Falmouth. I found it very easy to settle into another new place, and get into a routine. I am used now to living out of bags and packing my car up and going. Maybe that’s a good thing, I’m not sure. I feel dislocated. I missed the coast, the sea. That was one certainty. I am drawn towards water, and that would be the difficulty if I moved somewhere like Oxford. That was one of the problems I had when I went to Wyoming, it was just too far from the sea, totally land-locked. Which seems strange, but it had an effect on me.
However. The trouble with not writing this for a couple of weeks is that I am now spilling words. It doesn’t help that my laptop has now a problem with the keypad: I can be merrily typing away, and suddenly a load of letters are missing, or the shift key has failed to work.
Feeling out of touch though. It hasn’t helped with the clocks changing either, that always throws me out. And losing an hour of sleep does not make me happy. I guess though that a longer evening makes up for it, and I still have time tonight to go for a walk in daylight.
Walking was one thing I really missed in Oxford; it just wasn’t the same. Partly because there was no seaside - I believe that Oxford is close to being the point in England which is farthest from the coast - and because I was more wary of walking round on my own than I am in Falmouth. That said, I took a few walks through the University parks and into the city. I was staying off Banbury road, which is not far from the centre. I felt safe, not as comfortable as here, but there was no danger. Mum though had other thoughts on this, and phoned me a few times to make sure I was okay and not walking about in the dark. I appreciated her thinking of me, but teased her about it. Then of course I started imagining bad things happening to me, and walked very quickly round the park, regarding everyone who passed me with suspicion. They of course were probably doing the same to me. I have a suspicious stare, a little like Paddington’s.
What I realised whilst I was there was that I am now very unsure of my home, and where I belong. I thought I belonged in Wirral, but I’m not sure, nor am I sure that I belong in Falmouth. I found it very easy to settle into another new place, and get into a routine. I am used now to living out of bags and packing my car up and going. Maybe that’s a good thing, I’m not sure. I feel dislocated. I missed the coast, the sea. That was one certainty. I am drawn towards water, and that would be the difficulty if I moved somewhere like Oxford. That was one of the problems I had when I went to Wyoming, it was just too far from the sea, totally land-locked. Which seems strange, but it had an effect on me.
However. The trouble with not writing this for a couple of weeks is that I am now spilling words. It doesn’t help that my laptop has now a problem with the keypad: I can be merrily typing away, and suddenly a load of letters are missing, or the shift key has failed to work.
Feeling out of touch though. It hasn’t helped with the clocks changing either, that always throws me out. And losing an hour of sleep does not make me happy. I guess though that a longer evening makes up for it, and I still have time tonight to go for a walk in daylight.
Walking was one thing I really missed in Oxford; it just wasn’t the same. Partly because there was no seaside - I believe that Oxford is close to being the point in England which is farthest from the coast - and because I was more wary of walking round on my own than I am in Falmouth. That said, I took a few walks through the University parks and into the city. I was staying off Banbury road, which is not far from the centre. I felt safe, not as comfortable as here, but there was no danger. Mum though had other thoughts on this, and phoned me a few times to make sure I was okay and not walking about in the dark. I appreciated her thinking of me, but teased her about it. Then of course I started imagining bad things happening to me, and walked very quickly round the park, regarding everyone who passed me with suspicion. They of course were probably doing the same to me. I have a suspicious stare, a little like Paddington’s.
Friday, 14 March 2008
New money
I know nobody in Oxford. And I am nervous about going there. I’m much more confident than I used to be, but now and again, bravery deserts me and I start thinking ‘I don’t want to go’. I do, I really do, but… I’ll just have to treat it as an adventure. Tomorrow my plan is to go to Truro and buy a few new clothes, having re-discovered my visa card. Maybe not a good thing. The clothes shops in Falmouth are not bad, but not as big or as varied as Truro. It is worth a trip there for the bigger stores. And it’s a lovely city. Saturday probably isn’t the best day for a look round as of course it’s pretty busy, but never mind.
I’ve been so careful with my money the last few months, I’ve bought almost nothing other than food and essentials, but I’ve become slightly more reckless the last few weeks. One reason is that, finally, my career development loan is coming through. As soon as I get my Falmouth address on my driving licence to prove I am who I say. This is despite the college writing a letter for me to say they’d seen my licence and it was me.
I would strongly recommend to apply for a CDL very early. I waited until December in the optimism that I could get by without one. I was wrong however, so applied. It’s been a long and frustrating process which is still not quite over. The problem has been that I don’t have enough forms of ID, and I have managed to be registered at three different addresses. So I’ve taken many trips to the finance office here and made a lot of phone calls to the CDL. They’re hopefully now satisfied that I am not going to be money laundering, and I can have the money. I guess I do need to bear in mind that it is not entirely my money, and I’ll have to start paying it back in November. I’m not thinking about that just yet though. I’m thinking about, finally, a pair of jeans that don’t fall off me.
I have new boots and shoes, at last! Mum has been very kind to me, and paid for a fantastically sturdy pair of doc marten boots. Not the classic Dms, but a really solid pair with rivets up the side. I also, this was the reckless part, bought two pairs of DM shoes with straps across and brilliant chunky wedge heels. I love them, and felt like a child again, trying them all on. I couldn’t help it, and bought a red and a black pair. Oh the decadence.
I’ve been so careful with my money the last few months, I’ve bought almost nothing other than food and essentials, but I’ve become slightly more reckless the last few weeks. One reason is that, finally, my career development loan is coming through. As soon as I get my Falmouth address on my driving licence to prove I am who I say. This is despite the college writing a letter for me to say they’d seen my licence and it was me.
I would strongly recommend to apply for a CDL very early. I waited until December in the optimism that I could get by without one. I was wrong however, so applied. It’s been a long and frustrating process which is still not quite over. The problem has been that I don’t have enough forms of ID, and I have managed to be registered at three different addresses. So I’ve taken many trips to the finance office here and made a lot of phone calls to the CDL. They’re hopefully now satisfied that I am not going to be money laundering, and I can have the money. I guess I do need to bear in mind that it is not entirely my money, and I’ll have to start paying it back in November. I’m not thinking about that just yet though. I’m thinking about, finally, a pair of jeans that don’t fall off me.
I have new boots and shoes, at last! Mum has been very kind to me, and paid for a fantastically sturdy pair of doc marten boots. Not the classic Dms, but a really solid pair with rivets up the side. I also, this was the reckless part, bought two pairs of DM shoes with straps across and brilliant chunky wedge heels. I love them, and felt like a child again, trying them all on. I couldn’t help it, and bought a red and a black pair. Oh the decadence.
Hospitals
On Sunday I’ll be taking another journey into the unknown. For the next two weeks I’ll be doing some work experience at a small publishing company in Oxford, which I’m really looking forward to, but an also very nervous about. The last time I did work experience was several years ago when I was in the lower Sixth at school. I was fascinated at the time by Casualty, and was utterly determined that I was going to be a nurse. So I found myself in the children’s outpatients department of Arrow Park Hospital. It was not what I was hoping it to be.
The only consolation was working there with one of my friends. There was really very little we could do, and I don’t think the nurses there had much use or need of us there. It was a ward for children who were having their tonsils or wisdom teeth out. They came in, then went out. We made a lot of pieces of toast for them. The smell of it almost drove us mad, as of course, we couldn’t have any. And we learned how to make a bed hospital style. I promptly forgot the moment our week finished. The best part of the time was going up to the playroom of the hospital school. So I think I’ve made a more thoughtful choice this time of what to do.
The point of this I seem to have wandered away from: what’s made me most nervous is arriving in a place where I know no one at all, again. Several times in my life I’ve done this, and actually each time it’s worked out well. Thinking back to the end of September, it struck me hard as I was driving down the M5 that I would arrive in Falmouth in a few hours time, and no one would know me. Who would I meet? Would anyone help me unpack the mountain of stuff I’d managed to cram into the back of my fiesta?
They did. I arrived at where I was staying, and found that people were kind, and I was soon feeling that I could get to know people. Josh, who was staying temporarily in the house took me out for a drink to the Waterman’s bar, and we watched the sun set over the harbour. I was reassured that I’d made the right move.
The only consolation was working there with one of my friends. There was really very little we could do, and I don’t think the nurses there had much use or need of us there. It was a ward for children who were having their tonsils or wisdom teeth out. They came in, then went out. We made a lot of pieces of toast for them. The smell of it almost drove us mad, as of course, we couldn’t have any. And we learned how to make a bed hospital style. I promptly forgot the moment our week finished. The best part of the time was going up to the playroom of the hospital school. So I think I’ve made a more thoughtful choice this time of what to do.
The point of this I seem to have wandered away from: what’s made me most nervous is arriving in a place where I know no one at all, again. Several times in my life I’ve done this, and actually each time it’s worked out well. Thinking back to the end of September, it struck me hard as I was driving down the M5 that I would arrive in Falmouth in a few hours time, and no one would know me. Who would I meet? Would anyone help me unpack the mountain of stuff I’d managed to cram into the back of my fiesta?
They did. I arrived at where I was staying, and found that people were kind, and I was soon feeling that I could get to know people. Josh, who was staying temporarily in the house took me out for a drink to the Waterman’s bar, and we watched the sun set over the harbour. I was reassured that I’d made the right move.
Sunday, 9 March 2008
Care of Mum
I just have to make one more excuse, and then that’s it for now. My mum has come down from Wirral to visit me, the first time since I’ve been here. I may have made her feel a little guilty, reminding her that she visited my sister many times in the three years she was here. I’m here for only one year, and that is almost half way through (oh my!) so here she is. After facing several motorways and two A roads, driving at low speeds - tankers have been known to overtake my mum on the motorway - she arrived safely on Friday evening. My room is very small so she is staying at a nice bed and breakfast on Melville Road. We spent Saturday walking through town getting very damp and windblown, and today getting extremely windblown, though not wet at Marazion and Mousehole.
We’d been expecting severe weather today, but it seemed to have blown itself out last night, with a few lashing rain showers and shrieks from the wind. Today has been beautiful on the whole. The sun was shining bright, and the sea was turquoise at Marazion. Luckily enough, we arrived as the tide was out enough for us to walk over the causeway. We almost were blown away, but persevered and were rewarded when we arrived on the island by a contingent of firemen strolling about and doing things with very long hoses. We watched for a little while, and then battled our way back along the beach against the wind.
Mousehole was also lovely. Cold, but bright, and the cold was entirely my own fault for not dressing adequately again. I did however get two new tops from New Look yesterday, care of mum, and I had them both on. I probably got chilled indulging yet again in ice cream at Jessie’s Dairy. I was powerless to resist this time Ginger Fairing and Fudge ice cream. Mum was weak also and had ginger with chocolate. It was a good day out, and as mum had never been there, I felt in a responsible position for taking her there. She even coped with me driving, which is not something she usually likes. I’m really not bad, although I must confess that at the moment I have no rear view mirror after it dropped off, and she only held onto the door handle a couple of times. Being driven makes her nervous. By anyone. Not just me. And she did say I pulled off a marvellous parallel parking feat.
We’d been expecting severe weather today, but it seemed to have blown itself out last night, with a few lashing rain showers and shrieks from the wind. Today has been beautiful on the whole. The sun was shining bright, and the sea was turquoise at Marazion. Luckily enough, we arrived as the tide was out enough for us to walk over the causeway. We almost were blown away, but persevered and were rewarded when we arrived on the island by a contingent of firemen strolling about and doing things with very long hoses. We watched for a little while, and then battled our way back along the beach against the wind.
Mousehole was also lovely. Cold, but bright, and the cold was entirely my own fault for not dressing adequately again. I did however get two new tops from New Look yesterday, care of mum, and I had them both on. I probably got chilled indulging yet again in ice cream at Jessie’s Dairy. I was powerless to resist this time Ginger Fairing and Fudge ice cream. Mum was weak also and had ginger with chocolate. It was a good day out, and as mum had never been there, I felt in a responsible position for taking her there. She even coped with me driving, which is not something she usually likes. I’m really not bad, although I must confess that at the moment I have no rear view mirror after it dropped off, and she only held onto the door handle a couple of times. Being driven makes her nervous. By anyone. Not just me. And she did say I pulled off a marvellous parallel parking feat.
Other Worlds
Okay, so it wasn’t only acting in a sell-out comedy sketch show that has prevented me from adding to my blog since February the 27th (oh dear, hadn’t realised it had been quite so long…) I’ve become totally hooked on fan fiction, again. It all began when I was twelve. I blame my mother. I’d started reading the Chalet School series by Elinor Brent Dyer after I’d inherited ’Mary Lou at the Chalet School’ from my Grandma. She’s listed as one of my favourite authors, and the series is in my favourite books - she wrote the first in 1925, and the last was published posthumously in 1970. 58 books altogether in hardback, 62 in paperback for reasons that are too longwinded to go into.
I became addicted to them (there’s a recurring theme here) and despite feeling relieved that there were a lot to get through after finishing all six Malory Towers books in just over a week, I wanted more. So mum suggested I wrote my own story. The result was one of the worst things I’ve ever written called ‘Murder at the Chalet School’. Nearly everyone died, and the ones that were left at the end consoled themselves with a nice cup of tea.
It was however the start of many more to come. And the stories I wrote did get better. I moved on to Casualty, then X Files, Star Trek Voyager and Homicide: Life on the Street. One of my best ever efforts is a cross over story between the latter three TV shows, written between myself and one of my best friends who was as obsessed as I was. In fact, if I’m going to be blaming people, I’ll blame her for getting me stuck on Homicide and Voyager in the first place. I’ll take responsibility for the X Files. David Duchovny was irresistible to a teenager.
And now after a few years gap, the urge to write fan fic is back. This time as I’ve mentioned before, it’s CSI New York.
One of the best things on TV, and with such great characters, I just had to borrow them and write about them. Now suddenly it’s become a little world in itself. There’s a great online community of people who feel the same and who share their stories. You post a story, people review. You read a story, you review. It’s great. I’ve had such wonderful and thoughtful comments from people. That alone is addictive, checking to see if you have any more reviews. Checking to see if another author has posted up a new chapter. I just have to keep a grip on Real Life which cannot be ignored.
I became addicted to them (there’s a recurring theme here) and despite feeling relieved that there were a lot to get through after finishing all six Malory Towers books in just over a week, I wanted more. So mum suggested I wrote my own story. The result was one of the worst things I’ve ever written called ‘Murder at the Chalet School’. Nearly everyone died, and the ones that were left at the end consoled themselves with a nice cup of tea.
It was however the start of many more to come. And the stories I wrote did get better. I moved on to Casualty, then X Files, Star Trek Voyager and Homicide: Life on the Street. One of my best ever efforts is a cross over story between the latter three TV shows, written between myself and one of my best friends who was as obsessed as I was. In fact, if I’m going to be blaming people, I’ll blame her for getting me stuck on Homicide and Voyager in the first place. I’ll take responsibility for the X Files. David Duchovny was irresistible to a teenager.
And now after a few years gap, the urge to write fan fic is back. This time as I’ve mentioned before, it’s CSI New York.
One of the best things on TV, and with such great characters, I just had to borrow them and write about them. Now suddenly it’s become a little world in itself. There’s a great online community of people who feel the same and who share their stories. You post a story, people review. You read a story, you review. It’s great. I’ve had such wonderful and thoughtful comments from people. That alone is addictive, checking to see if you have any more reviews. Checking to see if another author has posted up a new chapter. I just have to keep a grip on Real Life which cannot be ignored.
Time to Act
Another busy week. Busy and frustrating at times. I spent a good part of Friday afternoon (it would have been good to have been elsewhere) stuck in a very cold room in the basement of Tremough House fruitlessly trying to upload articles onto bloc online, particularly trying to update my profile, which at the moment is quite embarrassingly bad. What was I thinking when I wrote it? I thought people would be interested in how I started out writing stories for my toys about coal scuttles. I think I was wrong. So I’ve written a much more sophisticated version, emphasising my skills, and can’t get it up there. Damn. And I gave up a swimming in the sea session. Next week I'll be there, as long as the storms have died down.
Dumbfunded has also taken a chunk of time. Time well spent though. The performances have been and gone, and I can’t quite believe it’s now all finished. It was so much fun, and it turned out brilliantly. The guys did really well, and every night at Miss Peapod’s was sold out. It’s a really nice venue, big enough to hold nearly a hundred people, but small enough to be an intimate comedy venue which I think works best. Nerve wracking though, as you climb up onto the stage, trying to be gracefully in character, you look out and realise that the front row of the audience can practically see the pores on your skin. I wore more make up than I would in a year. Getting it off was a bugger, and now my skin feels very strange.
However, it was good, Very good. It’s addictive being up on stage, performing, and having people laugh at you when they’re meant to. People said some very nice things about my performance, which as an amateur actress is very nice to hear. I did want to be an actress when I was a child, and was seriously addicted to watching Casualty. It reared up again a few years ago after watching Lord of the Rings and I sent off for Drama School prospectuses. However, I decided otherwise, and went the writing route instead, and stuck with amateur theatre. I think I also surprised a lot of people who know me, and did not expect to see me doing something like this. Another of us from the course proved to be a very good actor in the very first thing he’s acted in. Greg, you were amazing.
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