The girl poured a double measure of whisky - or brandy - into her coffee while no-one was looking.
I saw.
She saw me see her. I'm not saying anything.
I'm out quite late this afternoon to research any websites or publications taking open submissions this Spring - I tend to work better to a brief so I enjoy finding open ideas and having a think about what it means to me and how I can pull the story out.
Stories are always there - for me, it's like the Michelangelo thing: the statue is always there, in the piece of stone, and it's just up to the artist to uncover it. To paraphrase badly, that is.
Coffee holds my thoughts together and lets them string apart like mad bunting. This week I'm going to be working on my secondary WIP (work in progress) as my primary is sitting ignored on my external hard drive and there it shall remain until one day I gain the knowledge to be able to finish it.
My WIP is maybe a third through - it's a short story which is a dark comedy about what happens when you get what you really want. There's a goth, a doctor with sketchy morals and an elderly lady stuck in the middle. I'm not posting any snippets yet!
Sunday 15 March 2015
Thursday 12 March 2015
If you're listening?
I wanted to write about something personal today.
If you know me in person - and know me well - you will know I am fully deaf in my right ear.
I am either genetically half deaf or it's as a result of having mumps as a baby; doctors had no way of knowing when I was diagnosed as a kid. The proper term is unilateral hearing, because 'half deaf' is suggestive of 'half hearing', which really isn't the same thing.
My hearing doesn't affect my speech. It does affect my balance, meaning I walk like Bambi on ice when walking in heels, and it also means I can't ride a bike (a life-long annoyance as I would have loved a Pashley). It also means I have little to no directional hearing, so if you are behind me and call my name - I won't have a clue where you are. If I smile and nod, or say "Yeah!" to an open question, you'll know.
I lip read almost constantly. In busy places I need to sit by a wall to use it as a sounding board to bounce your voice. I have a habit of relentlessly tucking my hair behind my ears. I will always walk on your right. I zone out a lot of the time; simply because I have stopped listening. Actively concentrating is exhausting. I have awful tinnitus, probably from years of standing at the front at gigs as a teenager.
What has this got to do with writing? Not a lot, to be honest.
I just wanted to share something to clear up any misconceptions about deafness.
1) It isn't funny. No disability is funny. Saying "What?" or "Pardon?" to someone after they have told you they have partial hearing is about as funny as making rude gestures at someone who is partially blind.
2) Shouting really doesn't help. Just enunciate properly.
3) Active listening has lead me into different career paths. As a journalist, I had to constantly listen for the main point. As a retail manager, I listen to my staff, my customers and people passing outside. It also makes me an excellent eavesdropper.
4) Extremely busy environments are a nightmare. Crowds, pubs, the underground. Trying to pinpoint the voice of who I'm speaking to while trying to ignore everything else is really hard.
5) You don't instantly get another freakishly strong sense when one is weaker - I have normal vision and I don't have a wolf-like sense of smell. People with partial senses are not the X-Men.
6) It's an invisible disability. I'm not registered disabled as there is no point; it doesn't affect my life to the extent of it being noticeable.
The next time someone tells you they are deaf, or have partial hearing, don't say "What?" with a grin. You don't have to say anything at all. Just smile and nod. "Yeah!"
If you know me in person - and know me well - you will know I am fully deaf in my right ear.
I am either genetically half deaf or it's as a result of having mumps as a baby; doctors had no way of knowing when I was diagnosed as a kid. The proper term is unilateral hearing, because 'half deaf' is suggestive of 'half hearing', which really isn't the same thing.
My hearing doesn't affect my speech. It does affect my balance, meaning I walk like Bambi on ice when walking in heels, and it also means I can't ride a bike (a life-long annoyance as I would have loved a Pashley). It also means I have little to no directional hearing, so if you are behind me and call my name - I won't have a clue where you are. If I smile and nod, or say "Yeah!" to an open question, you'll know.
I lip read almost constantly. In busy places I need to sit by a wall to use it as a sounding board to bounce your voice. I have a habit of relentlessly tucking my hair behind my ears. I will always walk on your right. I zone out a lot of the time; simply because I have stopped listening. Actively concentrating is exhausting. I have awful tinnitus, probably from years of standing at the front at gigs as a teenager.
What has this got to do with writing? Not a lot, to be honest.
I just wanted to share something to clear up any misconceptions about deafness.
1) It isn't funny. No disability is funny. Saying "What?" or "Pardon?" to someone after they have told you they have partial hearing is about as funny as making rude gestures at someone who is partially blind.
2) Shouting really doesn't help. Just enunciate properly.
3) Active listening has lead me into different career paths. As a journalist, I had to constantly listen for the main point. As a retail manager, I listen to my staff, my customers and people passing outside. It also makes me an excellent eavesdropper.
4) Extremely busy environments are a nightmare. Crowds, pubs, the underground. Trying to pinpoint the voice of who I'm speaking to while trying to ignore everything else is really hard.
5) You don't instantly get another freakishly strong sense when one is weaker - I have normal vision and I don't have a wolf-like sense of smell. People with partial senses are not the X-Men.
6) It's an invisible disability. I'm not registered disabled as there is no point; it doesn't affect my life to the extent of it being noticeable.
The next time someone tells you they are deaf, or have partial hearing, don't say "What?" with a grin. You don't have to say anything at all. Just smile and nod. "Yeah!"
Wednesday 4 March 2015
Spring cleanin'...gettin' ready to write.
After returning from the magical event at White Rabbit, my brain has been filled with excited noise and new ideas buzzing around.
I am, by nature, an extremely untidy person. Shoes remain where I kicked them off; papers go without filing for months; clothes are unceremoniously shoved in drawers and become a crumpled mess. Basically, I am a tidiness slut - in the original sense of the word, of course.
The only things in any order in my house are my books, films and music - a fact my boyfriend finds equally frustrating and hilarious. As a naturally tidy person, my incapability drives him up the wall. But my books, films and so on; those are perfectly arranged. Alphabetical and chronological to the last detail.
With this is mind, I've been trying to tidy my life up. I've put things away properly, thrown things away and recycled to my heart's content. Items without a home or purpose have been removed from the house, and I've tried to consider each item I am bringing in - even down to the last tin of tomatoes. I've found there's more room for ideas to sweep around in a tidy home. The ideas don't get clogged up in tangled cables, or jumbled up in laundry to be put away. They can flow about and imprint themselves on keyboards and in notebooks.
Spring cleaning is something I never thought I would enjoy. But here we are. The days are getting lighter, more sunshine is pouring through the windows and my brain is pouring onto the page.
I am, by nature, an extremely untidy person. Shoes remain where I kicked them off; papers go without filing for months; clothes are unceremoniously shoved in drawers and become a crumpled mess. Basically, I am a tidiness slut - in the original sense of the word, of course.
The only things in any order in my house are my books, films and music - a fact my boyfriend finds equally frustrating and hilarious. As a naturally tidy person, my incapability drives him up the wall. But my books, films and so on; those are perfectly arranged. Alphabetical and chronological to the last detail.
With this is mind, I've been trying to tidy my life up. I've put things away properly, thrown things away and recycled to my heart's content. Items without a home or purpose have been removed from the house, and I've tried to consider each item I am bringing in - even down to the last tin of tomatoes. I've found there's more room for ideas to sweep around in a tidy home. The ideas don't get clogged up in tangled cables, or jumbled up in laundry to be put away. They can flow about and imprint themselves on keyboards and in notebooks.
Spring cleaning is something I never thought I would enjoy. But here we are. The days are getting lighter, more sunshine is pouring through the windows and my brain is pouring onto the page.
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