Positivity for breakfast

It may be because the sun is beating down on my hometown, it may be that I've just got back from an equal parts restful and active holiday in Europe, or it may be that I've come to terms with a terrible haircut - but I am feeling super positive and energised at the moment.

I'm listening to a lot of Peace, Sleeper and any number of early-to-mid 2000s bands most people have forgotten about.

I can't promise to lend you a fiver right now - I can when I'm less skint, if you need it - but I can give you my time, home cooked food (it will be dip, I'm currently obsessed with dips) or company. If you wanna hang out, let me know.

Making soup while the sun shines

"Soup?" I hear you cry, "in SUMMER?"

Yes. Spicy sweet potato and lentil soup, no less.

I'm souper, thanks for asking

This is my completely unrelated foray into food posts, because I really like food.
I invented it/cobbled together from some delicious bits and bobs, so please forgive the vague measures. FYI, I don't really use salt so add yours to taste, and this is an unintentionally vegan and gluten-free recipe. Serendipity soup!

The ingredients listed below will make 6 generous bowls of homemade, fresh soup.

You will need:

THE STUFF
1x Quite Big Saucepan with a lid
1x Wooden spoon
1x Measuring cups of various proportions - I use my Matryoshka cups because they're super cute and go from 1 cup to a 1/4 cup
1x Teaspoon
1x Chopping board
1x Sharp knife
1x Grater
1x Vegetable peeler
1x Hand blender - I use a 'stick' style one, you can use a 'jug' style blender but let the mixture cool right down first

Matryoshka cups for added cuteness

THE INGREDIENTS
6x Small sweet potatoes - I used the red kind, but you could use the white variety if you like
4x Big carrots
1/2 cup x Red lentils
1x Red onion
4x Garlic cloves - adjust if you want more or less, I personally love garlic and there is no such thing as too much
1 and a 1/2 litre Vegetable stock made with boiling water - I use Kallo brand low sodium stock cubes
1x Glug of vegetable oil
1x Large chili - You can de-seed it if you like, I leave mine whole
1x Teaspoon of cumin
Lots of black pepper
Pinch of dried chili flakes


THE PREP
Peel and chop the red onion, garlic cloves, sweet potatoes and chili. Wash your hands after doing the chili; that stuff is not what you want in your eyes. Trust me.

Top and tail the carrots, peel them and grate them roughly with the grater. They cook so much better grated, as I've found diced carrots take approximately eight years to cook.

Measure out your red lentils, I use dried ones and don't soak them first as you don't need to! If you're using a different variety, follow the soaking/prep instructions for those ones as they might need a specific technique.

Sweep up the lentils your spilt everywhere, fill the kettle and do the prep wash. Do it now.


THE COOKING BIT
Sweat the onions and garlic in the vegetable oil over a medium heat. Leave the lid on the Quite Big Saucepan and they'll sweat faster in their own little sauna.

Boil the kettle. Make a cuppa at the same time, you deserve one.

Once sufficiently sweaty, (the onions, not you) add the chopped sweet potatoes, chili and grated carrot and stir that business around pretty quickly. You want everything to mingle, like vegetable speed dating.

Crumble the stock cube over your veggie mix, add the cumin, the dried chili flakes, black pepper and the boiled water. Stir until everything looks well mixed.

Pop the lid on, bring it to the boil and drink your tea. Let it boil hard for 3 minutes, then reduce to a simmer. Wait for about 5 minutes. Check your emails.

After 5 minutes, stir in the red lentils and replace the lid. Allow the mix to simmer for another 15 minutes, or until the lentils are cooked through - you can test them by squeezing one between your fingernails (scrub under them first!)

When the lentils and sweet potatoes are cooked through, remove from the heat and allow the mixture to cool. Allow extra cooling time if you're using a 'jug' style blender as I've seen them crack with hot liquids going in them! No-one wants a cracked jug.

It's cool! Hurrah! Take your blender of choice and blend until it's reasonably smooth. It's a fairly grainy soup thanks to the lentils so it won't go creamy but you'll get a good, hearty texture.

Ta-dah - you've got yourself some tasty homemade soup! Warm it back up, cover it in black pepper and more chili flakes if you like it super spicy and scoff with abandon.

Brexit, Exits and the Nextsits.

Hi there. Yes, it’s me; the one looking sheepish and in distinct need of a haircut. (NB Sheepishness and haircut are not synonymous. I mean, they could be, but I’m not great at metaphors).

This is going to be a long one, in three distinct chapters, so settle down with a cuppa and I’ll begin. At the beginning, which is only correct.

Your chapters are appropriately titled Then, Now and Next. Don’t tell me I’m unimaginative.

WARNING: Contains politics with which you may not agree. I’m not asking you to agree with me, just listen, read and make your own mind up. Insert that quote about opinions being like private parts here and so on.


THEN
“I was looking for a job, then I found a job…” The Smiths, Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now

The beginning stage needs some more explaining due to my profound radio silence in the last two months. Since we last met, I have been working at an education provider start-up. I did the marketing and quality assurance, and – I’m missing a huge step here. I’m sorry.

I was unemployed following a massive leap of faith and began a work experience placement in February which took 8 weeks to complete. I was taken on full time in April and did a little bit of everything. Flyers, press releases, internal comms; you name it. The people working there are fantastic and dedicated to their work. I have been able to move into a flat with my boyfriend and we can live like normal humans. There are fat pigeons that sit on our windowsills. We are well domestic.

Then last week, the UK voted to leave the EU. Just in case you’ve been living under a rock.

At work, we were understandably concerned by the outcome; after all, the company relies heavily on money that filters down from the Government through educational sources.

The first week was the worst. Everyone had an opinion; everyone had a voice desperate to be heard. We drank our tea in silence. We tagged each other in funny Facebook videos, kept our heads down and hoped for the best.

We thought we’d be okay. I thought I’d be okay. And then I was made redundant.


NOW
“Gorgeous poverty of created needs…” Manic Street Preachers, Slash N’ Burn

I cleared my desk, which took a pathetically short amount of time. It’s difficult to accumulate that much stuff in two months, and that’s coming from me; the hoarding queen. The shoes under my desk; some peppermint teabags, a few Biros and knackered notebooks later and I was on the bus home.

ENORMOUS AND HOPEFULLY OBVIOUS DISCLAIMER: I can’t state strongly enough that my former employers are excellent people. They did everything they could to try and keep me. This is not a slight on them and I would hate it to be interpreted as so. This is the fault of something greater than them; larger than any one person or small group. I hope that’s clear.

And now I have come full circle back to job hunting. Hello Darkness my old friend, etc. Except, no, actually; that’s not fair. I am now more determined than ever to succeed. This is the second time I have lost a job due to Government funding cuts, and I no longer accept it.

I had a phase of being extremely angry last week at the UK population en masse. Or at least at the 52%. Angry like I was at 14 when politics was a closed door of the 6 o’clock news and a vague idea of one group being wrong and one being left. Ahem. And while I can’t profess to know as much as I could or should, I now firmly know a few fundamental things I believe in. And while it may be tempting to blast out this on repeat, 29-year-old me knows anarchy is no longer the solution (although the movement does have the benefit of a cool logo).

Activism is a powerful statement, and one that will bring people back together to common good. No promises should be made on half-truths. People must be treated as humans with hearts and minds. We are not tin men or cowardly lions. For me, the clumsy statements on Generation Terrorists are never more relevant than they are now. The UK in the early 1990s doesn’t seem so different to the confused and suppressed era we are entering now. (Yes, I am old enough to have ‘been there’, but I was a small child oblivious to anything other than snack time and books – how little changes.)


NEXT
“If memory serves - then why am I still waiting for it to return?” The Futureheads – The Beginning of the Twist

Personally I am sick of the word Brexit. It sounds like an awful healthy cereal, or rubbish brand of biscuits, and I hate what it has come to stand for. I hate the negative things that seem to have happened under its watch and most of all, I hate feeling powerless to stop it. And as for the campaign itself - David Hare has written a beautiful opinion piece here about the snake swallowing its own tail.

Plan? What plan? A lot of things seem to have gone into overdrive, or meltdown, or have snowballed, or any other metaphor (see, told you I wasn’t good at those) and the future is extremely unclear. In the 90s we had Mystic Meg, and now all we’ve got is a race to the bottom for Twitter trolls both online and in the real, horrible, cold and damp real world. Yeah, it’s summer now. But I think this really could be the winter of our disco tent, or whatever it was that local car park attendant said, and I don't think he was talking about Glastonbury.

No one really has a clue what’s going on, and for as long as this confusion lasts, I’ll be blogging more regularly, cooking up a (culinary) storm and generally keeping my head up. 

Oh, and I’ve started going to the gym. Vive la révolution!

Down the rabbit hole

"As close to being inside a reader's head as possible"

On Friday 15th April I had the pleasure of being invited to the wonderful live event Are You Sitting Comfortably, hosted by White Rabbit, and heard my flash fiction read aloud.

Seven other writers had the same experience of being read, and falling down the rabbit hole into the funny, creepy and sometimes nightmarish world of other people's dreams.

You can read an extract here of the piece read, and I have no current plans to upload the full version as I have a project in mind!

I know White Rabbit will be publishing a new podcast soon to feature the other writers chosen. You can hear my work featured on this one at 31.00 minutes.

The next theme is Monsters, so I'm constantly on the look out for more inspiration.

What are your monsters?

Bunnies only

Live fiction performance

Exciting news - my fiction is being featured once again by the excellent and admirable White Rabbit.

You may have read an extract here, and the full story is being read aloud at Toynbee Studios, London, on Friday April 15th, from 7.30pm onwards.

All stories are told by the lovely Gareth and Bernadette, which is best as I am crap at reading out loud. I've never figured out why but I find it really difficult!

The evening also features lots of other independent authors who have written about Dreams. This is my third time with White Rabbit, who are a wonderfully inclusive and creative group. There's a bar at the venue and there are rumours of chips. Possibly.

Tickets are available here and I'd love you to come!

If you don't already, then follow me here on Twitter for more up to date information.

What's on my clipboard #4 - Flash fiction extract

The following is an extract from a flash fiction piece I have submitted to White Rabbit under the theme of Dreams. The full story is based on my fear and experiences of sleep paralysis.

The sounds start to get louder. Bones crack, joints creak, a papery, leathery noise of dry skin rubbing against itself. My bedroom is sinewy and dank, like a cave with the tide coming in. The waves crash closer towards me; small watery creatures rush away, spooked; gulls scream and wheel overhead. The sun plummets behind the very edge of the ocean, leaving me alone and cold. The tide is around my waist now, choking me, smothering me. On dry land, something climbs onto my bed.
My body is a hundred-weight, immovable and leaden. Concrete boots on an outlaw swimmer. The mattress squashes here and there as the creature makes itself comfortable. My heart hammers against my ribs in an awful tattoo. A shadow towers above me and it watches. And it waits.

 This piece was written by me, Ruth Sedar, and I claim all copyright and author's rights. Please contact me for further information.

Celebrity crushes - in defence of daydreaming.

We've all been there; the moment you spot an actor, musician or artist and your stomach unexpectedly turns over, you break into an terribly embarrassing blush and you suddenly realise you're 13 years old all over again. You have a crush, and there's nothing you can do about it.

You can be happily coupled and have a celebrity crush. You can be single and have a celebrity crush. You can be anyone, in any situation, and still wake up to discover you fancy Daniel Radcliffe (who is 26 years old, by the way, and did that naked Equus thing among other things that aren't Harry Potter).

I reckon you think about crushes the way you think about cake or desserts you know you shouldn't have, but you do want, and eat anyway - maybe this is a bad analogy - and then you feel sickly and sugary but still rave to your friends and defend that fudge cake to the last...

Daydreaming is fine. It's not like I know where Daniel Kessler or Daniel Radcliffe live (although I'm pretty sure they're both in New York, but that's beside the point). Crushes provide a harmless moment of nonsense in an all-too serious world. They'll never replace the people you love.

For Tom

What's on my clipboard #3 - first draft fiction

The following is an extract from my current fiction work in progress.
I've not written in the first person before, so this is really an experiment for me! The extract is a rough first draft, written in sprints, and totally unedited - so please forgive the wild leaping between tenses.

“Let’s take the stairs, it’ll be quicker,” Mum said. She was unusually quiet. We hefted the stuff up the first flight of stairs. I slammed the heavy suitcase down on the landing, panting for breath. I am horrendously unfit. I’m not fat; just feeble.
“This is, essentially, awful.” I said.
Mum glared at me. “Just get on with it, please, Katie. It’s not that bad.”
I looked at the small shoebox in her hands as scornfully as I could. We carried on up the stairs, getting increasingly sweaty and agitated until we reached the fourth floor. 

The door to the flat swung open, and standing there was a short girl with untidy hair.
“Hi!” she said. “Come on in! I’m Becky!” I rolled my eyes back and sighed.
“I’m Katie, and these are my parents.” I waved in the general direction of the only adults in the room. My Dad looked at Becky’s legs for a beat too long and then held out a sweaty hand.“Mike, pleased to meet you, Becca.”
“Becky,” she smiled widely, and held out her hand to Mum.
“Karen,” Mum said, distracted by the sunshine pouring in through the kitchen window, “Look at the light in here! Have you seen it, Katie?”
I’m getting impatient to see my room. “Yeah, lovely. What number was mine, Dad?”
Dad wrestled with the box and dug in his pocket for the keys.
“Two,” he said, looking at the keyring.
“Great!” Becky piped up, “You’re next door to me!”
“Oh good.” My will to live was being sapped away by my embarrassing parents and this relentlessly cheery teenager. “Shall we?” I gestured towards the corridor.

This piece was written by me, Ruth Sedar, and I claim all copyright and author's rights. Please contact me for further information.

Magical Lantern Illuminations - Gung Hay Fat Choy

At the end of February I was very lucky to visit the beautiful Magical Lantern Illuminations at Chiswick House and Gardens, in London.

The gorgeous annual light show celebrates Chinese New Year - gung hay fat choy!

Here's a small collection of photos from the event - all photos were taken on a Motorola Moto G 1st gen, and only cropped for size. No filters. If you want to use any of these, email me for permission. Some have previously appeared on my Instagram account @paintnothingnow.

Never Forget: Just Write

After a long drought and two languishing fiction works sitting quietly twiddled their metaphorical thumbs in the hard-drive, I have finally been inspired to write fiction this weekend. Maybe the Spring time flowers are helping, or the extra hours of daylight, but I am at long last ready to write again.

It all started on Saturday afternoon by binge-listening to some of my favourite music from University, and it got me to thinking how few accurate representations there are of being a student in fiction. Everything I've ever read has leant so heavily on the side of cliché that it becomes tedious and predictable. I want to write something accurate, funny, and (hopefully) heart-warming enough for at least one student, somewhere, to read it and say "This is me."

My major "This is me" moment happened last year when I read Caitlin Moran's How to Build a Girl, and wept with laughter at a plage in central France. In her main character, Johanna, I saw huge amounts of my teenage self in uncomfortably accurate HD. I want to give someone that same feeling of familiarity, of toe-curling embarrassment and of wanting to defend that person to the last. So I #amwriting.

This bad-ass elephant from the Magical Lantern Illuminations in London never forgets to write. If I could drink liquids by pouring them into my mouth through my nose, I wouldn't forget either. Elephants are ACE.

Why Inspirational Quotes Don't Work

We’ve all seen these quotes, often wrongly attributed to some poor, dead philosopher who can’t argue back. There’s whole Twitter accounts dedicated to trying to make the digital population feel energised, motivated and generally better about their lives. But does it work? Are these supposedly meaningful timeline messages just the online equivalent of graffiti on the toilet wall? Let’s assess the statement.

Beautiful things happen in your life when you distance yourself from negativity. Apparently.

Beautiful things happen

They do, yes. However, your definition of ‘beautiful things’ will undoubtedly differ from mine. A short, but not exhaustive list of things I think are beautiful:
Puppies; having the correct change; perfectly crisp toast smothered in butter; love, I guess; peeling the foil lid off the toothpaste in one piece; stars, probably?

To use an actual proverb, beauty lies in the eye of the beholder. In terms of your beautiful things, you do you.

In your life

What does this actually mean? Is it suggesting the aforementioned beautiful things will happen to me, or just in my life? This could easily mean things will happen to other people, or inanimate objects in my life. In your life. My skin is part of my life. So is catching the bus. This part is too vague, and not worthy of further assessment.

When you distance yourself from negativity

Okay, let’s have a go on this bit. If for some reason I was in the vicinity of someone prejudiced or bigoted, I would consider that negative. As such I would distance myself from that person by either leaving the immediate area, or ensuring I never speak to them again. Would something beautiful happen? I’d be far, far away from an idiot, so that is a tick in the box for me.

If you consider something like climate change, would you distance yourself from that? No. You would stay. Either to help improve the world through encouraging renewable energy, for example, or stay, because leaving planet Earth is yet to become an option. You can’t distance yourself from a negative environmental certainty. If you did, would something beautiful happen? You’d be ignoring the future of the planet in favour of running around, fingers in ears, going “la-la-la I’m not listening”. No tick.

Nope, this quote doesn’t work; it’s all wonky. Beautiful things don’t happen as a direct result of experiencing no or fewer negative things. People are moulded by their experiences of the world, both good and bad. “Distancing” yourself is not enough, and running away or hiding from negativity won’t make it go away. We must face the monsters under our bed and care about each other. No amount of inspirational quotes will activate change; only the actions of willing people can do that.

To sum it up, I suggest a small, almost imperceptible edit: 

Be positive.

February round-up

How was your shortest month? Here's my February highlights.

Feb 1st - 7th
I kicked off the month with my good friend Jess, setting the world to rights and drinking medicinal amounts of wine in Firebug, Leicester. I hadn’t seen her in far too long and a thorough catch up was needed. We covered most topics including mutual friends who were now married (frightening) or had kids (more frightening - how are any of us from school possibly old enough to deal with this?), horror films, general life and her new Doctorate. She is super clever and I am very proud of her.

My family of cacti have been spruced up and after many years in their own pots, have moved in together. They all came from the Eden Project at various times, and moved home with me in December last year. I like my succulents to be well-travelled. Their new residence is a not-terribly-old casserole dish from Whitemoors Antiques Centre which was the princely sum of £2.00.

Top left - Brian, Lord Bucketon. Top right - Gary. Bottom right - Rufus.

 Feb 7th - 14th
The month brought lots of video games and pizza with my boyfriend – he lives in London so we are roughly 100 miles apart most of the time. It hasn’t always been this way, but we are currently doing the long distance thing which means jaunts to London or Leicester, and trawling the shops for decade-old PS2 games and treats from the old fashioned sweetie shop.

I finally found a record which had been hiding in a safe place for a long time – it’s one of my treasures and I’m super pleased to have rediscovered it. For the benefit of the tape, it's a 12" vinyl copy of Manic Street Preachers single You Love Us, released on Heavenly in 1991. I've probably played it twice, and I mostly Gollum over it. It's reminded me I have tickets coming for a gig in May and I think it's close enough now to get officially excited.

My preciousss.

Feb 14th - 21st
I’ve walked a lot in February – at the time of writing, my Fitbit One says 84.34 miles (135.73 km), and this is a bit below my normal monthly average. I’m not a huge exercise fan, but I would walk 500 miles. Ahem. I've taken photos from my walks before, which you can see here. Bonus features from walks this month include discovering some brilliant road names, finding beautiful spring flowers and hearing a skylark singing just outside the city.

What's your favourite Leicestershire street name?

Feb 21st - 29th
The month is rounded off with a trip to the capital to spend the weekend doing fun stuff. We’re visiting the Magical Lantern illuminations at Chiswick House and I am SO EXCITED for it. I absolutely love gardens and ones filled with beautiful Chinese lanterns in the dark sounds amazing.

It's a leap year! I love leap years. This one is especially brilliant because it means I am one extra day away from turning 30 next year. Thirty has always sounded worryingly grown up, but as I fully endorse the Peter Pan message, I won't grow up; it's a trap.

Sunshine, lollipops and rainbows - or maybe not.

Here is a little known fact for the day – you don’t have to be okay, all the time.
Surprised? Don’t worry, all will become clear. Put down that fake smile and come with me.

Lifestyle and beauty bloggers, to name but two kinds, often present an image of jovial perfection; a glossy haired, toothsome happiness surrounded by kittens and muffins and must-have eyeshadow palettes.

My presented image is the wonky thing we all see each day. I choose to talk about things that happen to me, or things I question, or just simply have the odd moan. You can still be productive in this way, but for this, I’ve come under fire from some people for being a misery. Or rather, sounding like a misery. I can absolutely assure you I’m quite alright, for the most part, and a lot of my angst is worn like an old overcoat; something I can slip on when the mood takes me.

Here is a short list of things I categorically love:

• My boyfriend, family and friends. These are my favourite people. I think people are ace and my people are especially brilliant.
• Toast. Yeah. Toast is incredible. Toast with jam, toast with almond butter, toast with coffee. All the baked goods, all the time.
• Being healthy. Generally speaking, and touch wood, I am in rude health.
• Puppies. Like WHOA. Hell yes, puppies. If there are cocker spaniel puppies near me, I’ll basically have a cute overload and melt.

I’m not going to tell you about the things I hate, because it would take too long, and frankly it would depress the hell out of all of us. But what I am saying is it’s okay to hate things, to question things, and it’s fine to be sad sometimes. You don’t need to face the world with a plastered on grin or have it all together. You can be covered in mud, trailing bits of twig in your laddered tights, sobbing deliriously into a Thermos flask filled with your own tears (if you like, or soup is good). Being alright isn’t mandatory, but it can be a small beam of sunlight into what can be a dreadful day. What I’m really saying is be you. Always.

Thursday: benefits, squirrels and fruit bowl politics.

Today I gritted my teeth, swallowed my tea and walked two miles into town to register for unemployment benefits. This isn’t the first time I’ve signed on, and I doubt it’ll be the last dealings I have with the DWP. The last time I was officially titled 'Jobseeker' was thanks to "education, education, education". Like a lot of people my age, we were fed the ideal of education being your liberator, your passport to the world of work, so I went to university.

I graduated with my degree, followed it up with relevant work experience and then took a post-graduate diploma course to further my prospects as a modern, urban human. Education³ soon became

"employable, experienced, quite good at application forms". That excitement soon paled into nine months of unemployment, six spent on benefits. It ended well when I finally got a job. One I enjoyed, and one that led to my first career.

Writer, GSOH, WLTM new employers for meaningful employment. Contact me on Twitter for promotional posts, cute animals, and the occasional old-man-shouting-at-clouds observations.

The UK is keen to paint a picture of employment bliss. Figures from the Office of National Statistics released yesterday (17/02/16) sing the praises of the final quarter of 2015. According to the ONS, unemployment fell by 60,000 to 1.69 million in the last three months of 2015, and pay increased by 2.0%. Wowzers! It’s worth noting Christmas temporary jobs are often well underway by October, and paid hourly bonuses – let alone monstrous bankers’ bonuses – are paid out at the end of the year. Funny, that.

What I want to know is this: How many of these extra people in work are still in their jobs? I know in my old company the UK workforce would increase by roughly 2,500 to care for the extra business Christmas would bring. You only need 24 companies to recruit similar quantities of staff to quickly find the 60,000 people suddenly in temporary work.

These tiny daffodils are growing valiantly on a scrubby patch of ground beside a very busy road. Hope springs. 

This time, I’m out of work. I have several years of NI contributions on my side, but hell, do they make it complicated. Regulations are there to stop people from screwing the system, we all know that, but I just need some money. I need a haircut, for a start. There are so many options and clauses it makes your head spin.
“You can have this apple only if you don’t already have some bananas. If someone you live with has seven apples, you can’t have any. Have you been sourcing your own apples? What variety? Have you eaten them? Have you ever given one to a passing squirrel?” Incidentally, I am well up for being paid in apples. I like braeburns best.

Hopefully my adventures in unemployment will be short lived. I hope the people represented by numbers are still in work. If not, I’ll see them in the queue. But only after I’ve juggled with fruit, claim codes, and reimbursed my squirrel friends.

Walking with words

On these long winter afternoons, I normally go out for a walk in what sunshine there is, and see what I can see. I find walking really helps inspiration, and as I've said before I really enjoy getting much-needed oxygen to my brain to get the synapses firing again.

I live in an urban sprawl of a village - it's really just a suburb of the nearest town - but some things here are pretty and I've captured a few of my favourites from today (12/2/16.)

A tiny rainforest

Seasonal yarn bombs on the church

Park grass and gloomy sky

Pitted tarmac and wannabe beach huts

Tough urban chicks

Lost time

All photos were taken on a Motorola Moto G 1st gen, and only cropped for size. No filters. If you want to use any of these, email me for permission.

Is a 25% response rate to applications acceptable?

Imagine walking into a crowded room, introducing yourself and only a quarter of the people there bother to look up and say hello. It would instantly put you on edge; is there something on your face? Is your dress tucked into your tights? Have you in fact turned invisible?

Sending job applications in the digital world is, to use a lovely and vulgar phrase, much like pissing in the wind. You research the company and think “these look like the sort of humans I would enjoy working with”. You write a detailed letter full of shining examples of your brilliance, you apply, and you wait. And wait. And then – nothing. Radio silence. Have they even received it? Sometimes companies will grace you with the automated reply email, which is greatly appreciated. But more often than not, you will receive nothing back whatsoever, and I don’t think that’s okay.

Out of the 16 most recent jobs I have applied for, a mere four people bothered to respond with what I call the “Thanks, but get stuffed” email.
They often go a bit like this: ‘Unfortunately, your application has not been successful because we’d actually already decided who was being internally promoted, but we had to advertise the role externally anyway. Sorry about that.’

Or this: ‘Unfortunately, your application has not been successful because Geoff has retired, and no-one has ever been entirely sure what his job role was, but he did at least 54 different tasks and we basically just need him back. If you are Geoff, please apply below.’

Sometimes: ‘Unfortunately, your application has not been successful because you do not have the precise degree we require for this extremely general role.’

But most regularly: ‘Unfortunately, your application has not been successful because you don’t have the necessary experience, and we won’t help to provide that by offering you employment, you totally useless oxygen thief.’ You get the picture.

The flicker of hope soon fades each morning – somewhere between the fifth cup of tea and the second dramatic sigh. You’ll sit and refresh your inbox like a dog waiting for the postman. To only receive a response, not even feedback, from a mere 25% of recruitment teams and HR departments is not enough. I need to at least know they are listening. To paraphrase wildly, despondency is the thing without feathers, that sits on your head and eats your motivation. If you don’t know the status of an application, it breeds false hope.

Communication isn’t just one of my “skill set” or something in which I have “extensive experience” – the buzzwords don’t apply. I talk. I listen. I learn. Communication requires more than one person, so recruiters and potential employers: just send a response. Interact with your fellow humans, and you never know what might happen next.

Five years’ time? I don’t even know what I want for dinner.

Where do you see yourself in five years’ time?

Ah, old friend. We meet again.

For anyone who has recently attended an interview, this question should be all too familiar. I think the idea behind it is to evaluate your career goals; to see whether you are gutsy enough to say “doing your job” or if you just shrug violently with a panicked expression.

Fortunately, the question seems to crop up less frequently as you get older; I imagine because in five years’ time you are supposed to be an Adult, or at least a bit more adulty than you currently are.

(By the way, “in space”, “older but cooler”, “in a tree”, “eating more cake” and “I don’t have a clue” are apparently not deemed valid answers.)

How can anyone know what they want in the near future? I struggle to choose which socks to wear in the morning: I can’t be trusted with life goals.

No, there has been some sort of mistake. A paperwork error. I am not an adult, and I am opting out of ever having to be one. I don’t want to make boring decisions about mortgages, careers or other people. I want to live in a world where half curly fries and half chips is still a pressing issue.

Other things I find frightening in interview situations, ranked for your reading pleasure:

1.       Desk etiquette.

I am a leaner. I lean on things. You know the expression “if there’s time to lean, there’s time to clean”? Yeah, well that’s me. Not content with sitting upright like normal homo sapiens, I tend to lean forward on the table, resting a combination of my elbows, bust and forearms – or sometimes all of the above – in what can be deemed either an aggressive, lazy, or possibly bad-backed manner. Should you lean first, or wait for the interviewer to lean? Why won’t I stop wildly gesturing? Why are my palms sweating? Is that boob sweat? Oh, god.

2.       The drinks question.

Yes, I would love a drink. I’d really like a cup of tea, so I can clutch it to my chest and partially hide behind the steam. They only have coffee, and I am an over-oiled machine after drinking coffee. A hyperactive chihuahua; a gremlin fed after midnight. For everyone’s sake, don’t give me coffee. There’s water? Excellent. We can all watch my sweaty hands steam up the glass and pretend not to see it happening.

3.       Where do you put your stuff?

I have a lot of stuff. Normally my stuff is contained in one sensible bag (but not a sensible bag, like sensible shoes, just a spacious bag) but occasionally interviews call for me to take my laptop along. Does it go on the desk in front of me? Too presumptuous. Does it go under my chair, ready to be trodden on? Absolutely not. Should I just switch it on and offer everyone a go on Tetris? And don’t get me started on coats; coats are a special nightmare accessory. The hider of sweat patches, the hugger of shoulders, left stranded on the back of my chair, where it will invariably slither off and land in a soft crumple on the piebald carpet to join lonely crumbs and old map pins.

4.       Talking.

Don’t misunderstand me here: under normal circumstances, I am brilliant at talking. I remember to not drop my H’s in polite company, I say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and ‘yes I am fine’. I even do quite a good Alan Bennett impression. But at soon as it comes to the talky bit of interviews – the whys, hows and whens, I lose a lot of my words. They evaporate. I vote to conduct all future interviews through interpretive dance – the kind I do in supermarkets to the muzak – via a decent game of charades and finally, crucially, through the tea test. Can this employer make good tea? Never mind me telling you about a time I planned ahead through both proactive and reactive methods, has anyone got a dog? I love dogs; all dogs, dogs in neckerchiefs, dogs that look like bears, dogs with overbites. Let’s talk about them instead.

Rest assured I am a reasonably ordinary human. I have flashes of bastardry, such as pressing the pedestrian crossing button a bit too early and walking across without the green man, causing angry traffic to wait – what a wag I am – but usually I live a simple and amusing life. It’s worth noting, among all the interview angst, that I am actually looking for a job. If you are reading this and wondering if you should call me, go on. It’ll be fun, I promise.

10 Crazy Tips for Tackling Writer’s Block

When Clive has stolen all your words and is holding them to ransom for biscuit crumbs, writing anything at all can be a labour of love. Confused? Don’t be.
Not knowing what to write but feeling a desperate need to creative can be a real struggle. Here are 10 of the best tried and tested ways to defeat the beast of burden.

1.       Try to write something each day.

Don’t worry if it’s rubbish; in fact, you should expect the first few sentences to be complete nonsense. Write about your view out of the window, or your cup of tea, or the guy who does that thing at the bus stop all the time. Sitting around simply talking about writing without doing anything will never shift the block, however satisfying it may feel to wallow in your creative self-pity. See Tip 7.

2.       Give it a name.

My writer’s block is called Clive – and he is a real idiot. Clive steals all the words from my head and hides them behind the settee. Like a small, yappy dog, Clive won’t let you have any of the words until you follow Tip 1 and just try to write something. He then releases the words in small batches, and sometimes I’m even allowed adjectives. Brilliant.

3.       Don’t let it win.

Writer’s block comes from many different places, and from my own experience it comes from a point of insecurity: if I don’t write anything, then it won’t be shit. But by not writing anything at all, you let Clive win his tug o’ war with your words. Just try a little bit, even a to-do list is enough some days.

4.       Drink a lot.

By this I mean drink a lot of liquids – this can be tea, coffee, water, juice, soup, wine, beer, rum, the list goes on. If you keep your brain hydrated, you stand more of a chance of getting the creative (not orange) juices flowing. If you choose to drink alcohol, you may find you come over a bit Hunter S. Thompson and your writing will get weird, very rapidly. But you do you.

5.       Get outside.

Remember the outside world? Nah, me neither. So get your boots on and go for a walk in the fresh air. Take your canine companion (if you have one) or borrow a dog, or relative, or friend and get those lactic-acid filled limbs swinging. An oxygenated brain is a creative brain.

6.       Or get in the pool/on your bike.

It turns out physical exercise is actually quite useful. Sorry, anyone who ever tried to teach me PE at school. That six-week long menstrual cycle with a twisted ankle has cleared up now, thanks.

7.       Talk about it.

Find a writing group to talk about your concerns. I’ve been assured everyone gets an attack of the Clives every now and then. Also by talking about your current work, you might even inspire yourself to revisit that frustrating chapter or unruly character.

8.       Do something else.

Yep, you read it correctly: do something else. It doesn’t have to be writing, or a creative endeavour at all. Pair up your socks, or learn a new skill. Sometimes I find clearing out a clothes drawer, knitting, practising shorthand, reading or playing video games helps to take my mind off not-writing.

9.       Research, research, research.

Where do your characters live? What do they eat? Are they even alive? Whether you are crafting a dystopian zombie love story or an historical compilation of lampshades, you can never do enough research on your topic. So bust out your library card and notebook and go forth!* Learn all there is to know about the language preferences of the undead. With snacks.

*Or you can use the internet, but you will get distracted by cats and less interesting listicles. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

10.   JUST WRITE.

The eagle-eyed among you will have noticed the similarity of this tip to number 1. That’s because it’s the best remedy to not knowing what to write. The longer you allow yourself to do nothing, your brain will curl up and hibernate, taking all your inspiration and ideas with it. Clive will make a castle out of your unused verbs, and you’ll be stuck. If you were stuck down a hole, and the only way to get out was to call for help, you would, wouldn’t you? So the only way to get out of a writing rut is to write.

What's on my clipboard #1

Because I am thinking at a million miles a minute, I've got quite a lot of jobs on right now so I wanted to let you know them all!

I outlined my fiction in progress on a previous post, and my other irons in the fire are:

1. A post on 'fandom' - why people love what they love and if there are common uniting themes; is there a universal application for obsessive people? For example - are obsessive people also creative people? People who work in media or arts? Or express themselves in another way?

This fascination stemmed from an obsessive teenage me - music and specific bands I will detail in future were more important than 'real' people or situations. I want to investigate how these obsessions mould us into who we are, and whether the obsessions have influence over the rest of our lives. Do they make us more or less orderly? More or less ordinary?

Some orderly and organised oranges from Leicester market. Just because.

2. A post on 'possession' movies from a feminist perspective - why must the possession theme be an almost exclusively female issue? Is this only a rape/birth allegory? Or something darker?

I'm a major horror film fan - I love huge areas of the genre and I find myself coming back to the feminist perspective - here's a great blog on the trope of the Final Girl - but it's not final girls I want to particularly focus on. As a woman, I find it increasingly frustrating to see characters portrayed only as "strong women" once they have defeated the demon/entity/whatever is infesting their bodies. It could just be a simple pregnancy allegory, or the Hollywood patriarchy controlling women through fiction, but I want to find out more.

Gorgeous dahlias from the Eden Project - because we need colour to distract demons.

"What's on my clipboard" is going to be an ongoing theme - please bear in mind the clipboard is purely imaginary. I can't use physical clipboards or I'll lose the plot entirely.
Stayed tuned for these future posts - the horror/women one may end up being more of an essay but it's one I've been keen to write for ages.

New Year, new submissions

Hello to 2016 - you've snuck up from nowhere, haven't you?

The New Year has brought but one resolution for me - write more. I have neglected my fiction for a long time due to various time constraints and work commitments, but this is now the time to strike and tap away at the keyboard like a caffeinated, tap-dancing mouse.


NB: Blog post edited 21/1/16.

I'm working on a few pieces currently, a series of shorts for the lovely Mslexia - for all women who write. Choices at the moment include poetry, fiction, non-fiction and confessions. My other current work is a new piece on Dreams for the wonderful and much-lauded Are You Sitting Comfortably? by White Rabbit and a few other bits and bobs. I may even dig out my novel this year - not my first work in progress, which is now more of a harddrive entity than a novel - but my second and main WIP.

With my CV landing in the inboxes of various agencies as we speak, I have to find something engaging to do in the long, unemployed winter afternoons. So I dance. Like Mickey.