"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times"

...and I'm not even a Dickens fan.

This somewhat dramatic turn for quoting springs from my present state of affairs: I am trapped somewhere between far too many things to do, far too many things to wait for, and far too many other things to be stressed out about. This is what comes from trying to sort out doctor's appointments, enjoy your last (hectic) week of university life, and move into a new house at the very end of that last (hectic) week (with all the innumerable exciting and stressful things moving house involves) - all at the same time.

As a result of which, I'm very sad to say that blogging is going to have to take a backseat for a couple weeks, until I can find some breathing space and hunt down my elusive creativity again.

It really hit me this weekend how much time blogging really involves. I love to do it, so I didn't really notice it before. But when you're swamped, it's so much easier to tweet from your phone, browse the internet for something quick, or send someone an email, than it is to sit down at a laptop for over an hour and enter the alternate reality of the blogosphere.

I'm hoping to be able to write up a couple of posts over the next fortnight (but let's face it, I'll probably be too immersed in packing to even think), and I really hope I can pop in to all the wonderful blogs I follow now and then. Reading a blog post isn't too hard to do from your phone - it's just commenting that's nearly impossible!

Still, mustn't knock the marvels of technology.

So, I hope you all have a fantastic week(s), and do try not to forget me because I will be back, a la the Terminator!

Bad Boy Blogfest (Sorry!)

So today I'm supposed to be participating in Tina Lynn's Bad Boy Blogfest. I have to apologize profusely, but I'm going to have to back out. I have been way too swamped to write anything for it and I don't think I could whip something good up right this very moment. Sorry, everybody!

Do click on the link and check out all the other entries, though, I'm sure they're marvellous and I'm sorry to not be able to read through them all!

And now I'm off again, back to the Real World where there's just far too many things to sort out and do...

Tagged: What's in my Bag?

Well. A different kind of post for me, which is probably a good thing because I daresay my writing-related posts can get a bit repetitive, even for fellow writers! And as I can't resist the urge to talk about clothes, shoes or accessories sometimes, this is a perfect time for me to indulge myself.

Earlier this week, the fabulous Vix tagged me, asking me to tell all about the contents of my bag. Alas, I wish my bag were more exciting, but here goes, anyway.
 

The bag in question. I'm sort of in love with this bag, it feels so summery and its colours are brighter than they look in this photo!

And what's in the bag? Well, starting from the top left (about nine o' clock) and working clockwise: there's a tissue, a package that I tried to post today but couldn't, my wallet/purse, my sunglasses, my passport, a scarf (it was chilly today!), Georgette Heyer's A Civil Contract, a scrap of paper on which I've written everything I needed to buy in town today, a stick of lip gloss that you can't see because I seem to have placed it badly, and a bunch of postcards from the art exhibit I went to on Tuesday. Sadly, nothing scintillating to be found in my bag today!

Now I'm going to tag:

Alesa
Talli
and 
Elizabeth

But I'm also going to throw it out as an open question because I'm generally nosy, and I love how sometimes the most unexpected and random answers come up! So, what's in your bag right now? 

A post from Steve: Just a couple of links

Hi, everyone!

I'm just popping in to do what Sangu refuses to do, which is shamelessly plug some other bits of her writing that have made their way onto the internet! Long time followers may remember that Sangu occasionally lends her skills to Spitefulcritic.com, and (in my humble opinion) makes excellent contributions to the site. 

Here are her two latest articles that popped up on there this week:

20 Movie Quotes that really caught on

The (only) 5 types of Michael Bay character

(Ignore the occasional lack of punctuation; apparently it sometimes gets lost in the editing process) 

Enjoy!

Breaking the Rules Blogfest

Well, this is pretty embarrassing. Mostly because the excerpt I'm about to paste in below comes from a novel I wrote six years ago, which, quite frankly, sucks.

But I shall bare myself to humiliation (and resist the urge to edit and fix mistakes, typos and general horror), because this is for the lovely Elizabeth Mueller's Breaking the Rules Blogfest! Do click on the link, check out her entry, and mosey over to the sidebar for all the other entries. Thank you for hosting this, Elizabeth!

The following is from the prologue of an epic fantasy involving a wicked emperor (shock, horror) and a force of good who want to fight him using standard fantasy tactics. Oh, and there's a young boy who obviously becomes the Hero (goodness me, how original I was).

----------
The last scarlet splash of light in the west faded, and they were bathed entirely in the shadows.

A lone horse sped desperately across the rough, undulating terrain. A sharp wind blew from the south, and the smell of rain and blood hung thickly in the air. The horse bled from a foreleg, and there was something stilted in its gallop, but it persevered on, under the urgency and encouragement of its rider. The man in the saddle looked terrible; he appeared caked in dirt and blood, his own and others’. A stained sword was clutched in his right hand, while the left held onto the reins for dear life.

Sweat and rain dripped down his face, deathly pale. He wiped both out of his eyes with the back of his hand. He pushed his horse on, feeling its pain beneath him. His own he felt acutely, almost as strongly as he felt his fear. But he plunged on, knowing that there was no other way for him to go.

And then a shadow fell over him.

The man felt as if his bones had been frozen. He lifted his head, terrified, and saw the sight he had most feared. He jerked right, but it was too late. He heard his screams echo out through the night as the fierce talons of the beast lunged out of the sky and seized his horse. A pitiful animal’s cry pierced the air, along with the screams, a terrible symphony.

The horse, torn by the talons, was dead before it was flung to the ground. But as the man saw land and sky spin wildly before him, he knew that he hadn’t been granted the mercy of death yet. His mind still screamed, and his body too, as the talons held him in their vicious grip. Then, the terrible wings flapping close beside him, he saw the ground loom closer, and in a flash, they were on the ground. Something cracked in him as he bounced over hard rock and dirt, and he let out an involuntary scream. His sword went flying into the mud. The shadow of the wings swayed nearby, ominous and deadly, and even had he had the will to move, he couldn’t have. His body was damaged beyond any repair. The man saw death hovering softly above him, waiting to claim him, eternally hungry for more. A different vision flashed before his eyes… and he felt something tighten in his throat, squeezing the very breath out of him. If only…

If only. Those two words were by far the most empty and the saddest that any person could use, and regret by far the most destructive emotion.

The sound of soft footsteps in the mud made him turn his head. Rain fell into his eyes, but he blinked the drops away and looked up as a tall figure crouched down beside him. A hood had fallen back, and the man in the mud could look into cold, pale brown eyes. A faint, bitter smile twisted his mouth.

“Has it come to this?” he asked sadly.

The figure shook its head. “It needn’t have,” it said coldly, “You ought to have learned by now that we bring our suffering upon ourselves. You brought yourself here.”

“Because of you.” It was hard to breathe, let alone speak. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Yes,” hissed the figure, “Are you afraid?”

The man choked out a laugh, blood trickling out of his mouth. He saw the blade of the sword hover above him through a film of water and sweat and blood and tears. Was he afraid? Yes, he was afraid. But it was too late to dwell on fears and pain. He blinked and his eyes were able to focus upon the cool brown ones again. As if unable to break the eye contact, the figure lifted the sword… and struck.

“Brave even in death,” murmured the figure coolly, a smile playing along thin lips, “I’ll confess to admiration. It isn’t pleasant, is it, when you’re killed by an enemy.”

There was a pause as the man choked blood, trying to say something, to speak for the last time. “It’s worse,” spluttered the man, barely audibly, meeting the figure’s eyes, “When you’re murdered by a friend.”

Silence. And then the figure stood up, and strode away into the shadows.

Another Blog Award!

Over the last few days, I've been lucky enough to be given the award below four times! Thank you so much, Suzie, Clara, Zoe and Bryan!

(Bryan, I can't seem to comment on your blog - something about a proxy - so sorry for not thanking you there!) 

Rules:
1. Thank and link back to the person who gave you this award.
2. Share 7 things about yourself.
3. Pass the award to 15 bloggers who you have recently discovered and who think you are fantastic for whatever reason! (In no particular order...)
4. Contact the bloggers you've picked and let them know about the award.

So, the

7 Things

1. I'm engaged. (Yep, sorry, had to say it! Still so excited!)

2. My little brother was quite badly bitten by a dog when he was a toddler. Ever since, I have the odd bad dream of him in some kind of life-threatening situation. Yuck.

3. I often stumble across gorgeous pink shoes, but can never wear them because my skin colour's all wrong for the colour pink.

4. To follow on from the above: yes, I love shoes. Absurdly. No, I wouldn't spend five hundred dollars on them like the women in Sex and the City do. (Mostly because I don't have five hundred dollars, but also because I'd rather buy food. Sorry.)

5. I'm about to graduate from university, and am half-sad half-happy to be rid of the student life forever.

6. I've been chased by an elephant three times. While I've been in a car, of course. I don't think I could outrun them on foot. They're very, very fast.

7. I love tigers.

I assume you can't pass the award back to the people who gave it to you? I'd have liked to, but as I suspect that's against the rules, here are the other bloggers and blogs I'm going to pass this award on to (this time) -

Mary McDonald

Talli Roland

Tessa Conte

Elizabeth Mueller

Jane

Saumya

Amy

Bridge Marie

Vix

Roland Yeomans

Carrie Bradshaw: a Rant

Another character post today, largely triggered off by this post by Saumya, about Sex and the City. While it's a great post, it got me thinking about Sex and the City in general.

I'm not a big fan of the movies, but I like the show. I like the shoes, I like laughing at and half-admiring the lifestyle portrayed, and I like Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte (i.e. the heroine Carrie's best friends). In fact, when I watch an episode of Sex and the City, I always check the episode description first - and I find myself looking for phrases like 'Meanwhile, Samantha...' or 'Charlotte realizes that...' or 'But Miranda thinks...' or generally any combination of those names and some sort of similar phrase involving them.

Fact? If an episode seems to revolve almost entirely around Carrie alone, I skip it.

Why? Carrie Bradshaw sucks.

This is the Main Character. The Heroine of the Tale. The Narrator whose voice we have to listen to right through the episode. The Writer of Rhetorical Questions about Men. We're supposed to love her (and I'm sure many SATC fans do). Most of the show's characters are flawed in some way, but their flaws come across with such honesty, humour and sympathy that you can't help liking them anyway. Carrie, on the other hand...

I find that 90% of the time I can't stand her and 10% of the time I feel a little bit sorry for her. That's about it. As a character, she so utterly does not work for me that I often want to beat her on the head with a broomstick.

For one thing, she's unimaginably selfish. I've lost count of the number of times one of the other women has had a genuine crisis (Miranda finding out she's pregnant, Charlotte being unable to get pregnant, Samantha and breast cancer), and Carrie, most of those times, can't do anything but whine about her boy problems. Seriously. Ninety-nine per cent of the time, Carrie is whining to her friends about the most insignificant little details and completely overlooking their (bigger) problems. Occasionally, they'll call her on it (usually it's Miranda), at which point she'll say 'oh. Saw-ree' and then go straight back to whining.

This just makes me think, she's a crap friend and I wouldn't want to know her, let alone be her friend. And the thing about characters (the protagonists, anyway) is that for them to work, you have to either want to be them, or want to be their friend. Otherwise, why would you care to watch or read about them?

(Yes, antagonists are an exception. Plenty of books have made successes out of antagonist-Main Characters. But this isn't one of those situations. Protagonists can be as flawed as anything, but should still be likable. Carrie just... isn't.)

Then there's the way she treats men, notably Aiden. Aiden, for those of you who don't know it, is a flawed, lovely, wonderful guy and one of Carrie's Great Loves. He wasn't perfect, but he loved her and forgave her and he was just nice. But she treats him horribly and eventually 'chooses' Big, who, by the way, I've never understood the attraction of. 

That just made me think you're an idiot. And not a very nice person.

I really should apologize for the rant, but I think it's got such a significant point at the heart of it. Basically, that I like Sex and the City. But I'll never buy the DVDs. I'll never love it. And that makes such an enormous difference. 

And the reason I'll never love it is Carrie Bradshaw. Were she a small bit part, I could overlook her. But how can you overlook someone who is constantly whining and in your face? 

Main characters should not suck.

"I've got a feeling, oooooo"

That tonight's going to be a good night?

Well, I think it will, because I'm determined to get to bed early, curl up, and read one of the new books Steve bought me last week. I've been meaning to do this for three nights now, but I've instead ended up staying at the laptop late into the night trying to sort out things like houses, moving in, finances, and other exciting, stressful and dismal things (respectively).

This is where I am! In the heart of that maze!
 

I've always been a compulsive bookworm, but there was a time when I never let a Wednesday go by without going to the Carleton, a cheesy but weirdly fun club that Lancaster University students love (or hate). 

Having out-Carletoned myself in my second year, though, I've spent this year behaving steadily more non-student-like as the months have gone by, which includes sometimes staying in and trying to sort things out/treating myself with a new book.


In fact, last night I did a most un-student-y thing: I went to an art exhibition. Okay, so the exhibition was meant to showcase the third-year art students' work, one of whom happens to be my friend Katy. But you should have seen it: it didn't feel like a student gallery at all. With free wine, stunning clothes and that kind of pure bright light you only ever find in shiny art galleries, I felt like a Sophisticated Woman of Culture.

Oh, yes. My friend Lindsey and I even managed to look thoughtfully at certain pieces of art and say things like well, what do you think this empty space represents, darling? in voices borrowed straight off Jennifer Saunders.

Flippancy aside, it was a really lovely gallery with some amazing stuff in there. Katy's was my favourite. Obviously.


But forget the nights! What about the days?

Today is absolutely gorgeous. I haven't been outside yet, but it looks spectacular from my window. Sunny, bright, possibly even - gasp, dare I say it? - warm. 

To those of you who live in the UK, you'll know what a rare treat this is!

Now I don't want to start counting my chickens and all that, but could this be - could it possibly, maybe, really be - the start of summer? Should I be decking myself out in a floaty little dress and my favourite new sandals and breeze down the campus path with the wind in my hair and my sunglasses firmly in place? Should I be dragging my flatmates down to the green with ice-cold drinks?

Maybe I will.

So what do you like to do on a gorgeous day?

The Character Interview Blogfest is here! Yay!

It's here! At last! The character interview blogfest, in which we, as writers of various forms of story, sit down/stand up and attempt to interview our intrepid characters. While picking a character was unbelievably hard, because I love them all so much, I eventually settled on - wouldn't you know it - the most difficult, exasperating (and almost the most beloved) one of all. 

I thought I'd post my interview now, in the wee hours, then get some sleep, tackle the mayhem of my day, and then come back and treat myself with everyone else's entries.

Before I go on, I want to thank everyone who's signed up and been so enthusiastic about this blogfest. You're all wonderful, and I hope you enjoyed doing this as much as I have!

And so, on with the show...

---------- 
The other day, with the blogfest very firmly in mind, I invited one of my characters, Sir Matthew Mercer, to tea. He turned me down somewhat impolitely, which made for an inauspicious start. I asked him why, and he said he didn't 'feel like it'. Thanks, Matthew. Eventually, I think his curiosity got the better of him, because he turned up at my door at the precise hour, decked out in his usual vest of light chain mail over shirt and trousers.

To those who aren't in the know, Sir Matthew is a Weaver. He makes echoes. He wears his chain mail because, he claims, 'knife crime is a tragic thing'. I suspect the real reason is because he's afraid of being exterminated by a hunter. But I can't be sure of this. With Matthew, as my protagonist Echo will tell you, you can't be sure of anything.

SANGU(S): So, ahem, Matthew. Thank you for coming, even if you did refuse my invitation, show up unannounced, and surprise me in my pyjamas.

MATTHEW(M): They're not even very nice pyjamas, are they?

S: *blushes* Well... you're not here to talk about pyjamas, so let's -

M: Why not?

S: Excuse me?

M: Why can't we talk about pyjamas? I happen to own the most glorious pair. Silver. I gleam like a suit of armour, it's delightful.

S: A nugget of knowledge I'm most happy to add to my notes, but I'd rather talk about more important things.

M: I can't imagine there are more important things than pyjamas.

S [exasperated]: Well, I can, so please shut up about the bloody pyjamas and let me ask you a decent question. I have blog readers, you know! They expect exciting things! They don't want to hear about your stupid silver pyjamas! In fact, I'm banning the word pyjamas. Anyone who says it gets killed in the next book.

M [with a voice like a tiger on the prowl]: Just how do you envision finishing this saga of a tale without me, my dear? Where do you hope to find another Weaver as handsome, ambiguous and interesting as I? I hope you don't mean to use Elsa or Adrian. They'd be awful at playing the ambiguous, handsome and mysterious figure.

S: Handsome and mysterious? Don't make me laugh, Matthew!

M: Sir Matthew.

S: I gave you your stupid title, I can take it away too!

M: Oh, tut, do resist the urge to exercise your authorial powers. It would make for a very poor story if you were in charge of everything.

[SANGU takes a deep breath and counts to ten]

M: Have you got any biscuits?

S: In the cupboard.

M: They're not the right kind.

S: Well, you can **** right off then.

M: Egad! My ears have been positively scorched. Come, come, let's not go into a sulk. Ask me anything you like. I shall answer them. I won't promise to answer them well, but I'll offer a response. Or two.

S: One's more than enough, thanks. Could you stop spilling crumbs all over the carpet? I thought you didn't like those biscuits. Anyway, on to the first question: what first put you on to the idea of Weaving? 

M: It was Adrian who first put us on to it. You may have noticed that he has a slight desire to cheat death.

S: Ah, yes. A slight desire. Hmm. But echoes don't really cheat death...

M: But they were supposed to, my dear. Haven't you worked that out yet? They were supposed to cheat death. And I can't imagine why they won't, in a few years' time, once we've worked out the kinks in the system. Soon, we'll solve death.

S: You seem very sure.

M: I know everything.

S: Well, you don't, actually -

M: I think you'll find I do. 

S [sighs]: So that was the idea all along, then? To fix these 'kinks', as you call them, so that echoes are more... complete. So that they're more than just echoes? You're giving me that look, so I'll take that as a yes. Is that what you really want?

M: I have whims. They change so often, as is the nature of whims. How can one ever be certain of what one wants?

S: Matthew...

M: Oh, do refrain from scowling. Why wouldn't I want to fix the kinks?

S: You'd rather have Amarra instead of Echo? You'd rather have the girl who died instead of the one you stitched into being?

M: Oh, look! A sparrow! Isn't it just darling?

----------

As you can see, I suffer enormously. 

Do scroll down the list in the sidebar to check out everyone else's entries! And once again, thanks for reading and for participating!

Flip a Coin

Chance. Luck. Destiny. Whatever you want to call it. Whether or not you believe in fate, I don't think most of us can deny that chance plays an enormous role in our lives. Sometimes, the element of chance is downright ridiculous.

For instance, Steve and me. We're together because that's who we are, it's how we wanted it, we made moves, etc etc. But we wouldn't even have met if it hadn't been for a ridiculously long and convoluted string of coincidences and twists of fate. For instance, what if either of us had decided not to go to Lancaster University? What if we had ended up in different colleges/flats? I only met Steve, properly, because he and I ended up, coincidentally, living together in my second year of university. And this only happened because he happened to be friends with Lindsey, who was my friend too.

What if, gasp, Lindsey had gone somewhere else? Picked a different college to live in? Not happened to meet me at someone else's party? Not happened to end up living, coincidentally, in a flat where several of Steve's friends lived (which is how she met him in our first year, leading to us living together in our second)?

It's a mess, isn't it? And it's also slightly unnerving to think of how easily we could have missed one another.

I think the same holds true for writing. Sure, it's about hard work and talent. But the element of luck is so strong in writing. What if you didn't happen to see that bird that sparked off the idea behind your bestseller? What if you didn't bump into that woman with the hooked nose who inspired your award-winning villain? I always feel that almost all ideas and stories are inspired by luck, by circumstances. Even ones that are retold.

And on the publishing front, what if you catch an agent on a really bad day, and a query that he/she would otherwise have loved, simply goes rejected?

It makes me reel ever so slightly, thinking about luck.

So how has the random, pure, ridiculous element of chance irrevocably changed your life or writing?