Wednesday, 30 December 2009

Movies or Books?

I don't know about any of you, but when I hear about a book I really love being adapted into a movie...I can't help but grimace.   I don't like my favourite books being crammed into a two hour whirlwind where we can't understand the motives behind the characters action, or who they even are.  Books allow for beautiful descriptions and lets the reader get inside their minds.  You just don't get that with movies.  Saying that - there also things you can do with movies that you can't do with books.  So who wins?  What's better - the book or the movie?  Is there any clear winner?

If I have really enjoyed a book, chances are I'm not going to enjoy the movie as much.  As any avid reader or writer will tell you, the characters become real for you.  You hear their voice in your head, you see their smiles and secret looks - you know them.  The actor that plays said character is never what you expect.  For an example I will use The Time Travellers Wife.  Eric Bana,  whilst insanely gorgeous, just wasn't Henry for me.  He was too...I don't know, good-looking for me.  I always imagined Henry to be on the skinny side and rough round the edges.  But saying that, I liked the movie.  Why?  In my mind  I made them two completely different things.  If I can separate the two from each other, I can appreciate each on their own.  If I stop comparing every little thing, I enjoyed the experience much more.

Having said that, sometimes the movie really nails the tone of the book.  The characters are perfectly casted, the plot runs smoothly and no major developments are left out.  Yesterday I finished reading The Boy in the Stripped Pyjamas.  I saw the movie awhile ago, and perhaps because I saw it first, I really enjoyed it.  But more than that, I thought it was a great adaptation of the book.  Rupert Friend who played Lt. Kotler, in my opinion, did an excellent job with the part and was able to put across the desperation to please his superior and disgusting hatred in a way that really did the book justice.

So what do you guys prefer?  The movies or the books?  How about both?  Or is the general opinion a sharp hiss when the word 'adaptation' is mentioned?


Saturday, 26 December 2009

My Favourite Shelf

In my bookcase, I have a favourite shelf dedicated to books I have still to read.  I love it because it holds so many many possibilities.  I love books the way I love music and seriously don't understand people who only read within one genre.  The awesome thing about books is it takes you to another world.  You delve into someone else's mind and sympathise with someone else's problems and fall in love with the guy you would so never meet in the real world.

I read a little bit of everything.  Okay...probably not.  My husband is a computer nerd and has loads of books on Ruby Rails (whatever the hell that is) but I do like a varied selection of books.  I adore historical books, whether they are true accounts or novels, I just can't get enough - especially if they are about strong female icons.  Helen of Troy and The Memoirs of Cleopatra by Margaret George are probably my all time favourites.  But I also young adult, romance, literary fiction and best of all, real gory horror or crime books.  Jeffrey Deaver and Stephen King are like gods to me.  I prefer King's earlier work and haven't gotten round to reading a lot of his recent stuff.  Gerald's Game, Misery and Pet Sematary  - wow.  I once did a book report in high school on Pet Sematary.  I failed for spelling the title wrong.  I dumped the book on teacher's desk the next day.  Ass.

So, back to my favourite shelf.   Despite being a constant reader and always having a book on the go...the numbers never seem to dwindle.  Especially with Christmas, the numbers seem to have doubled.  I'll never stop buying books, it's my heroin after all and I can't live without them. And it isn't just recent books I still have to read.  I love vintage classics and have a stack of old school stuff I've been meaning to get around to - like Herman Wouk - I read Marjorie Moringstar and wanted to gobble up everything else he has written.

Will I ever get through them all?  Will I ever run out?  God, I hope  not.


Friday, 6 November 2009

Pride and Prejudice and Zombies

I just finished Pride and Prejudice and Zombies by Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith, and wow. Thought it was absolutely amazing.
At first I was a little sceptical about it and thought it would take away from Austen's original masterpiece, but all it did was make me fall even more in love with the story as before. With action, gore, humour and blatant innuendos it is a compelling read from start to finish.

There will, of course, be those who frown upon and look down their nose at this book, saying it is sacrilege and is defiling Ms. Austen's dear classic, but too those people I say: DON'T READ IT! The same to all those who criticise Dan Brown and Stephenie Meyer. We get it, not everyone is a fan. Instead of being an arse about it, just don't friggen read it! No one is holding a gun to your head and force you to enjoy it. So lay aside your vicious tongue and stick to your own tastes. a little off point there. So, yeah, check out the book. It rocks.


Saturday, 10 October 2009

Rejection, rejection, rejection

Well, it's happened. I got my first rejection letter.  

Exactly two weeks ago I sent off my crisp submission packet to the agent of my dreams. We all have that list don't we. We trawl through the Writers Yearbook looking through all the tasty agents on offer, and compile lists on who likes what, who our absolute fantasy agent is, and what they like in a submission. Normally this list is made sometime during either writers block, editing, or when we are just plain procrastinating! For me it as editing. Don't ask. I can't stand to even hear that word sometimes.  

Okay, so back to my topic at hand. Maybe I ought to say it wasn't even a letter, it was an email. What I do really like though (and I'm hoping/wishing/praying I don't sound like one of those 'yeah, but they didn't want it, but they said this, this and this!) was that it was a very personal email and gave loads of sound advice. She said that while it was very readable, and another person at the agency thought so too, it just wasn't 'big' enough for them. (We are talking about like the no. 1 agency in the country, so you know, can somehow bring myself to understand!) There were a few other points where I could amend and if I wished, I was to resubmit to her in the future and to address it personally to her. Yeah, was fairly chuffed about that! Because for all the reasons why it wasn't picked up, I love the fact that I didn't just get a bog-standard rejection letter, which lets face it, is all we normally get.  

So what's the plan for me now? Editing and amendments and....resubmission!


Tuesday, 6 October 2009

The Fear

Show of hands please, for those of you who have seen He's Just Not That Into You.  For all you guys, you are such liars!  Lol I'm willing to bet a fair amount of money lots and lots of you have seen it.  Anyway, that's not my point.  The reason I'm referring to the movie is for a little thing Mr Justin Long said.  His character was talking to this girl and was saying how we all have a little part of ourselves that wait just that bit longer to pay a bill, too meet a deadline, just for the thrill of the risk.  We like it.  We love it.  It's scary.  It's fun.  IT'S SHIT!

Okay so yeah, scary and fun, whatever, but what happens when reality sets in, and you realise, actually, hang on a minute, you're fucked!  This is exactly what I'm feeling right now.  FUCKED.  And not in a good way, trust me.

I did a really stupid thing.  Really really stupid.  Or maybe not all that stupid.  Rambling again...apologies.  So my stupid thing?  I approached an agent without perfecting my manuscript.  (Thump head off desk in sheer annoyance at self).  So it's not that bad, honest!  In my opinion, it's only the very. very, very, very last proofread away from being perfect.  But I'm feeling a bit of a dick now, and wishing I hadn't been such an eager twat!

My first three chapters were gleaming so much a partially sighted person could see themselves as easy as a...em...fully sighted person. (WTF?) I just didn't bother with the rest of it.  I just really struggle to get motivated by edits!  I hate them!  More than I hate bananas or that twat off Channel 4 on the weekends that annoys me so much his face actually offends me.

So now I guess my panic is...what if the agent wants more of said manuscript?  Well, I dunno.  I'm trying not to be negative and think that they probably won't want a full copy, but hey, we all know the chances...I guess the bigger question is WHY THE FRIGGEN HECK AM I WRITING TO MY BLOG INSTEAD OF EDITING?!?!?!?!!? Can't help it.  Even in my state of bewildered panic I'm still managing to procrastinate.


Dumped or Dumpee

So my mother came to visit me earlier this week and mentioned something interesting she had heard on the radio. It was a discussion on what you would rather be; the Dumped or the Dumpee. My automatic response was 'chuh! Dumpee, defo,' as I think many of you guys would be too.  

But in the early hours of this morning, before it is a sane enough time to get up but too late to really attempt getting back in REM mode, it suddenly flashed back into my mind. I lay there thinking about it for probably longer than was really necessary. And the more I thought about it, I couldn't really decide what I would prefer; being the Dumped or the Dumpee. Because really, at the end of the day, both are just varying degrees of awful anyway.  

Now, I've hardly ever been Dumped, I'm usually the Dumpee. The few times I have been Dumped, I haven't really given two shits to be honest. I've just gone out with my girlies and celebrated the awesomeness that is single life. Preferably with a cute guy to maul at the end of the night.  

I can imagine for those in serious relationships, being the Dumped would be truly awful. And what is worse? Having the object of your affection own up to some adulterous crime or have them tell you that they just don't love you anymore. Because both suck and must hurt like fuck. I also imagine it must be REALLY hard to move on. It would be hard to get closure, especially if you don't see the Dumping coming. But is being the Dumpee any easier? I don't think so. I mean sure, sometimes it's real easy, especially if what you are going out with is just a glorified fuck-buddy who doesn't realise they are a fuck-buddy, and the sleepovers are just getting too much. But when you are in long term, serious relationship, it is really hard to get the courage to tell that other person you don't want to be with them anymore. The first time I broke up with someone it was awful. I met him when I was seventeen, my first serious boyfriend. I moved in with him really quickly and had a massive falling out with my family, most of them I didn't even speak to until things were all over with him. Once he had me right where he wanted me (ie shut off from everyone incl. friends and family) and just when I was head over heels madly in love with the boy, he started to show his true colours. The drink he enjoyed after work, during the football, on a Sunday morning, it became clear he had a drinking problem. After one of his bouts of drinking (Super Tenants - gad) he normally turned nasty. He would rape me, shout abuse at me, accuse me of cheating on him and anything else he could think that would hurt me. I got heavily into drugs for a while, believing his assurances that was 'no big deal' and it took me a really long time to bounce back from it all.  

I can hear you all now; so WHY was it a hardship to break up with him? Easy. I thought I was stuck, I thought I didn't have a choice. But the worst bit of all? Because I loved him. When he didn't drink, he was my best friend and I saw the man I fell in love with. But somewhere down the line, the fog cleared and I could see my way again. It did break his heart when I left him and I'm just glad I did it when I did. After I broke up with him, he started fooling around with a fifteen year old (he was twenty-two) and proceeded to get four different girls pregnant. I see him from time to time. He looks like shit.  

The second boy after that, was just a boy to me. He was a few years younger than me, but still acted like a kid. It was nearly two years after I broke up with my first boyfriend before I felt secure and happy enough in myself to allow myself to be with someone again. He was way more into the relationship than I was and he pretty much suffocated me. I invited him to stay over one night. He didn't leave for eight months. THAT break-up took all night.  

So let me ask you the question. What is better; to be the Dumped or the Dumpee. Guess it depends on who you are asking. What's my answer? I haven't figured that one out yet.



I've never really given much thought to the baggage we carry around. Some people may be lucky and have very little in the way of emotional crap, but what about those that do? I bet a lot of people would think, 'oh, I don't have that much,'. Take a closer look. It's more than you think.  

So what sparked this train of thought off in me? As I walked into town the other week I paused at the crossing (you know, not a big fan of getting run over by twats and really big buses) and couldn't help overhearing a conversation behind me. I would be a bare-faced liar if I said I didn't like eaves dropping. As a writer I get my inspiration from everywhere and I find the lives of other people fascinating. (I HATE reality TV - go figure) So anyway, there I was about to cross the road when another couple mosy on into hearing distance. A girl was saying something I didn't quite catch, but then the guy came out with a doozy: "My ex pulled a knife on me." Girl: "...oh?" Man: (chuckle) "It's why we're not together anymore." YA THINK?  

Pretty much the rest of the afternoon all I could think about was that couple. My first initial reaction was to turn around and catch the girl's reaction. But being in Britain and all, didn't think I would get away with it. Plus didn't fancy my chances, who the hell know's what the guy was like? Maybe to know a psycho you gotta be one, ya know?

Anyhoo, I started feeling really sorry for the girl. In the beginning of most relationships the Ex File is a big deal. No one really wants to open it, but at the end of the day we are either too damn nosy for out own good, or closet masochists and just can't help ourselves. We gotta know where our current partner has been. Just gotta be done. My very first boyfriend (or the Asshole, as I fondly think of him) had a Hell Bitch Demon as an ex-girlfriend who had been known to - ahem - assert her violent side on frequent occasions. I'm not vain or anything, but I kinda like my face the shape it's in, thanks. (And girls, you know it, I know it, everyone know's it, we all hate the New Girlfriend. Almost as much as the Old Girlfriend) So I very much feared for my face when she found out I was dating her Ex. In the end, she was actually pretty cool and I started to really like her. Until I found out she was still fucking him...then she went down in my estimations ever so slightly.  

So, yes, way off track now!  

All I could think about was that poor girl. She probably was all happy in that beautiful new excited way a spanking new relationship is and oh, what's that? A big thunderous cloud to piss all over your happy feeling? Shit. Nothing like a knife-wielding Ex to take a piss on your parade. If I had been that girl, I'd have been terrified. What kind of guy was he? Surely he couldn't have been all that stable himself to go with such a girl. But then...the more I thought about it, I felt pretty sorry for him, too. He had done nothing wrong (that I knew of, anyway) so surely it isn't far to be judged fairly harshly on the acts of another person. He HAD to know that kind of statement would send a girl scampering off in the distance to search for a guy with less baggage. So here is my question: How much does baggage matter, and how much are we willing to take? A suitcase? Carry-on? Little clutch purse?  

I think we all need to take a breather and stop judging people so harshly. Not easily done, It's not unusual for me to bail ship if I think something is gonna be too hard. What makes me think now is, it could be me. I have a fair amount of emotional baggage that I carted around for a LONG time before accepting things and setting it free. Don't get me wrong, I still have some issues but now they are manageable and more importantly, they don't show in my relationship. If I met a really nice guy that I thought I could fall for, it would really hurt for him to ditch me all because of things that have happened in the past. (I should mention here that I am married and in no way do I constitute affairs, this is all just hypothetical). Plus, if one day down the line I find myself a single mother, hello! Huge child-shape baggage! I find that things aren't as easy as they once were. Relationships are getting harder and baggage is becoming heavier. Maybe this is all part of growing up. Who can honestly say they have gotten to the end of their twenties and have no baggage? Slim few, I reckon.  

So, again, guys. How much is too much and what does it matter?


Thursday, 24 September 2009

Let it Begin

I will always remember the 24th of September for one very simple reason.  It is the day I sent out my very first submission for my manuscript.  I have sent it to Darley Anderson in London, one of the most reputable agencies in the country, in my opinion.  Not to rain on my parade or be a Moaning Myrtle, but I'm not really expecting anything to come of it.

I mean, do I want published?  Absolutely.  Do I think I will be published? Hmm...tough call.  If I'm being perfectly honest, I think I tell good stories.  I have a voice, I love creating new characters  and there is no better feeling when a story sweeps you away.  Any other writer will tell you how agonising it can be, but you very rarely hear of the plus side of writing.  I can remember writing when I was like, fifteen.  I would sit at my little word processor for hours on end, just getting lost in the words.  Time would pass with little or no meaning, and it would only be when I stepped back for a moment that I would realise just how much time has passed.  I would be suddenly starving and busting on a wee, realising I had sat down before dinner time and it was no the tiny hours of the morning.  I have a one year old little boy now, so I try not to do things like that anymore.  The only thing worse than being knackered the next day, is being knackered and have to look after a kid.  Actually, the only thing worse than being knackered and looking after a kid is all that AND being hungover, but that's a whole other story...

Anyhoo, oh right, submission!  So yeah, my very first submission went out today.  For those of you who aren't familiar with Darley Anderson, go check out their website, they rock, seriously.  They represent such authors as Martina Cole and Lesley Pearse.  So why, you ask, if I don't expect them to offer me a fabulous wonderful jaw-droppingly perfect contract, did I bother in the first place?  Cause I would rather try and fail than not bother and always wonder.  They are at the very top of my agent wish-list, and I figured if I was gonna do this thing, may as well do it right.  Right?

Guess I'll have to wait my 4-6 weeks to find out what they think.


Sunday, 14 June 2009

No Faith

Okay, so in need of a little ramble at the moment.

As I have said in previous posts, I am working on my first manuscript. I have very nearly finished editing it (very painstakingly!) and is about ready for printing before I send it off to be proof read.

So why the need for a rant? Because someone close to me, who should be supportive, has the sensitivety of a knat. Not even a knat. A molecule. Bugger me, no sensitivety, how's that?

I was talking about the whole process of trying to find an agent and thent trying to get published. His response? Basically why bother? Honestly, I am so (I am going to make up a word. That word shall be....kcifing!) kcifing angry right now. Stupid kcifing fat tears are rolling down my kcifing fat face because I am feeling so kcifing miserable.

If I'm being honest with myself, I haven't really felt okay for a while now. Everything feels forced and nothing feels natural. Like I'm putting on a one woman show and the world is my audience, unaware of the performance. When I started writing again, it was like coming up for fresh air. I had a non-forced spring in my step and always made me smile whenever I thought about what I was working on.

My book that is about finished I am absolutely whole heartedly in love with. I have posted it on a website, and so kcifing chuffed that people are enjoying it! As I have said before, if one person likes my writing, that's good enough for me. But...I want to prove to myself I have what it takes. If I don't pursue this I will only wonder forever what might have been. Worse than that, I will resent the twat who made me give up on my dream.

I was six years old when I wrote my first book. Six. About a little girl who wakes up on Christmas morning to go out to the shed and finds a pony. I don't even like horses, so shows how much imaginiation I had, even then! Writing is in my blood. It courses through my viens powerful and unyielding.

I have supported him in whatever he has wanted to do...half filled dreams always left unfished. Why should I be the same? Why can't he just say, good for you darling, I'm proud of you. What DID he say? You will only get your hopes up. KCIFING LHEL!

But do you know what, bugger it. I LOVE my work, bigheaded as that sounds, and I am not going to let a KCIFING WAZZOCK deter me from trying. So what if I don't make it? Big deal. Everyone know's you have a more likely chance at failing than succeeding in the world of publishing. But someone has to make it. Why can't that someone be me?

I'm not really sure why I am bothering with this blog. I have no followers and this post like no doubt go off in cyber space never to be read by anyone. Never mind though. It has made me feel better and even more determined.


Sunday, 31 May 2009

Invaluable Blogger

Okay, so yet again am I doing anything in my power to put off my never ending editing.  Doesn't help that stupid laptop is now playing funny beggars, and freezing every fricken second!!!!

On a plus side, today is a beautiful day, sunshine, birds singing, stupid wasps flying around all over the shop.  Bugger off!!!!  Why do they feel the need to chase you??!?!?!?!

Rambling again....

So yes, a lovely sunny day.  Yesterday was proper roasting.  Well, to me it was, but then I am Scottish and redheaded, so to a normal person it was probably only a few degrees above cold.

On another happy note, I received All Time Best status on FanStory!! I got 30+ reviews on my chapter Special Delivery, most of which were glowing, really made my day!

I am coming to the end of my book now, only one chapter remains left unwritten and it is my hardest chapter yet.  The wrapping up of the book!!! Arg!!!  I am still stuck in edit hell, trying desperately to see the light at the end of the tunnel but I can't see because I have now gone blind staring at the stupid screen of the stupid laptop that keeps freezing!!! Phew.  Deep breath in and out.  All better now.

I'm getting to the point now where I am researching agents and whatnot.  Ack!  Agent!  The very word makes my blood run cold.  I suppose it is the fear of failing I most afraid of.  At school I sucked at story telling, or so my fat and balding teacher told me.  From then I have been plagued by self doubt, and not sure if I could handle the disappointment of being told I was unworthy and haven't written anything of consequence.

There is a charming fellow on Blogger who has cheered me up some.  He goes by the name of Nathan Bransford, and his blog is well worth a read if you are a tortured writer in seek of guidance from a well established agent.  I'm new to Blogger, and only just started posting myself, so I haven't been following any blogs for long, but have read a few previous posts of his and found them invaluable.  Providing a terrific inside look to the realm of writers, agents, publishers (or hell, to some) and what these kind of people are looking for.  Thanks to his advice and tips, one of these days I may find the courage to approach an agent and submit a query. of these days lol.

The thing I keep telling myself, is I never started out with a aim to shoot to fame.  I have written since I was six years old, and have only very recently started letting people read my stuff.  Mainly because most of it is drivel, but hey.  I write for myself.  I write tales that I myself would read and dream about.  A lot of my stuff comes from dreams it is amazing the things in the world that provide inspiration.  But anyway, yes, I originally started writing for myself.  When I got the courage to post on FanStory,  I told myself that it didn't matter if nobody liked my stuff because I did.  But, if one other person read it and enjoyed it, then that would be fan daby dosy!  So far I have about ten fans.  Not many compared to the likes of Stephen King and Stephenie Meyer, but we all start somewhere, and I wouldn't trade those ten fans for anything.  They have provided me with invaluable support and they are rockstars to me. 

I've never been in it for the money either, an have no aspirations of shooting straight for the bestseller list and raking in the mega bucks.  Like I said, if one person besides myself enjoys it, that is all the reward I need.  Now, I just have to repeat this about twenty million times and pluck up the courage to send my baby out into the world where failure is more common than success.

Sigh...back to edits.


Friday, 29 May 2009


Feel like I am stuck in hell.  Actually, stuck in something much worse than hell.  Stuck in EDITLAND!!!

I always start with great enthusiasm, ready to find all the little nits that managed to hide the last time I proof read a certain chapter, but somehow editing never fails to dimish my moral.  

I recently let my BF read my book, which to her is finished, to me slightly resembles the Colosseum.  You get the jist of what it is meant to look like - but boy does it need a lot of work!

If it is ever ready for agent/publisher/a non-relation to read, it will be a miracle!  I discovered Fanstory about a million years ago, and is only in the last few months that I have had the courage to post on it.  The rewards of this website are awesome, you get to meet some really cool characters.  

Along my way, I have developed a fanbase.  Small, but there none the least.  Without them. I doubt I would have gotten anywhere with my book.  It isn't only because of the feedback that I have received that makes me grateful for this site, but also because of the opportunity to see other writers and their work.  I have discovered a few jems, and truly hope this career takes off for them.

Sigh...have prcrastinated long enough I suppose.  Someone save me a seat to hell...


Wednesday, 20 May 2009


Okay, you know what is really annoying about getting myself out there and known in the writing community and venturing down unknown paths?  Everyone is freakin American!  Not a problem - love the American's - it's the time zones I hate!

On Fanstory, everyone who reads my work is on the other side of the world, and can never chat cause I'm always sleeping when they are awake...sob...I miss my fav blogs on here...and twitter...takes me ages to catch up...may have to move the other side of the pond...

Anyhoo, new posts are up on Fanstory.  I know I have no followers yet - but if I do eventually get any - go check out Fanstory.  It really is an awesome community, full of wondrful people who help encourage you on your (hopefully) way to greatness.


I'm Back...

Okay, so I am finally getting back into this thing. Husband relinquished control to me ha ha, so have lots of little bits and pieces of me all over the web. Gross, that sounded rank there. Okay, anyway, getting down to it now. It has been a very long time since my last post (about 7 months shock horror). The last I wrote was about my gruesome birth, which upon reflection, no one really wants to know about! My son is now 7.5 months old and getting bigger every second. My most exciting news, is I have finally fought my fear of letting anyone read me writing, and have started posting on I am loving this new development, and loving the feedback even more. I really had no idea such a community existed for would-be writers. It is a beautiful thing, to read the works of others and see the success stories. I don't write with the hopes of success. When I posted my first chapter on FS, I said to myself, I write for myself, and for my tastes. If one other person likes my work, then that will be me happy. Well, colour me surprised, now a fair few people have added my work to their bookshelves so they don't miss a thing. Well, my bath is now run so best be off before I flood the house. Ciao for now


New Day

Well folks, it has been a while since I've been at my site and a lot has happened in the quiet period. Fax and I moved too the house we wanted, and I could not love it any more. It really is awesome and has a fab feel about it. It is out in the sticks a little and everyone seems to worry that I am going to feel isolated with Fax being at work, but I grew up in a place like this, so not bothering me in the slightest. So I was pretty much dubbed as clinically insane for moving when I only had two weeks of my pregnancy left! It was easy going though, we had two fab helpers in the shape of future father and brother in law, and all I had to do was sit back and tell them what went where! Even my psychotic pussy cat seems more at home here. Probably because he has much more room to exercise his crazyness. We bought him one of those scratch post tower house play area things and he loves it, he sits in the little house at the top (only just fits mind you) and pokes his head and front paws out so he can keep an eye on whats going on. Slightly resembles those creepy cuckoo clocks that pop out every hour, but is happy enough in his own little crazy planet. Now for the really big stuff. At 1.14pm on 30th September 2008, my bump decided to be less bump like and more baby like. It was an excruiciatingly long labour, contractions started on the Sunday, and baby was born on the Tuesday! The midwifes I had were excellent and was very lucky to have such nice ones. I plan to send something too them as a way of thanks for their hard work (and probably very damaged ears!) but things have a tendancy to stay in my mind for about 40 seconds then are lost into the black void which is growing bigger every day. Weighing in 7.2 pounds, my beautiful baby boy was everything I imagined and more. I couldn't believe it when he was finally here, my brain still being in that partial denial stage where I wasn't fully convinced a baby was the end result in all this! Strange how the brain works, I'm sure they trick you into not believing things, especially how I felt during my pregnancy as I have been told by other mum's their train of thoughts were relatively the same. But I think your brain does this, because if you could fully comprehend what it is too become a parent and bring a living thing into this scary place we call the world, we would crack up. I was still coming off the drugs when he was born, so can't remember a whole lot about the actual birth, although I can remember the midwife calling me an enigma because it only took one push for him to come into the world and meet us, and the midwife was convinced it would still be at least another forty five minutes before he would even be born. It was as though my son thought "alright, enough of this, here I come!" and boy, was I ever grateful! Even though I can remember thinking that it was agony, and was positive that dying wouldn't even be this painful (depending of course of how I die!), it is comepletely true when they tell you that it isn't a pain you can remember. By the next day, it was all a complete blur, and again I am sure this is your brain taking over, because if we women could remember exactly how painful it is, I'm sure there would be a population problem on the planet Earth. So at long last, nine months and three days later, I got too meet the little person I had been sharing my body with. He was amazing in every single way. During the long process of labour, I became certain that he would be a boy. Fax and I decided not too find out the sex of our baby, wanting it to be an old fashioned surprise. So as he was placed on my tummy and cleaned up slightly, I managed to catch a glimpse of what sex he was. I didn't think I had a preference, but was so happy when I learned he was a boy. Or maybe I was just so happy to see him. Fax cut the cord but I didn't look, was scared what it would look like, and didn't want to be sick! Once I was all patched up, had been fed the most awesome portion of tea and toast I have ever had in my entire life (seriously, tasted better than a slap up meal at the most expensive restaurant), it was time for a little mummy and baby cuddle. I couldn't believe the rush of emotions I felt when I was holding him in my arms. I felt like I knew a million of his secrets, and no one knew him like I did. It was as though the nine months (and three days) we spent together in the womb, we had been bonding the entire time, getting to know each other slowly and reaching an understanding on how the other worked. He was breastfeeding within forty minutes of being born, which I am assured is very good, and seemed a perfect way for us to establish our mother and son relationship. It was around this time that my own mother came in. She knew what a terrible time I had been having with trying to get him out, and him not wanting to budge an inch, so she was coming to see me, not realising that by the time she actually got too the hospital, her grandson had been born. The first day, or rather, afternoon and evening passed in a sureal kind of blur. My visitors came and went and then it was time for Fax to go home for the night, and leave me in charge of our child. I have never felt fear like this before in my life, and honestly do not know how I did not make myself physically sick with worry. Even though I knew my midwife who had looked after me the night before was working on my ward and was there if I needed her, it still didn't get rid of any fear. I hated that I was on a ward, sharing it with two other mothers and their newborn children. So, needless to say, I had a fairly restless night. What with my worry for my baby, the baby in the next bed crying all night long, and the woman across from me snoring like a freight train, I'm shocked I managed what sleep I did. Finally it was time to go home. My little family had one more member, and it was time to get home and live our lives. And after a very quick trip Tescos, we were on our way. It was a very strange feeling sitting in our living room and settling him down to sleep, but it also felt right. Fax and I both felt fairly useless at first. We had grown this little person, and now we had too look after it. I had never been around babies before and was slighly nervous that the first one I would be set loose on would be my own. After the first few days, and few visits from my community midwife, I felt a little more established in my role as Mum. My midwife is fab, and assured me I was doing very well and beamed with joy as she told me I was a natural, and Fax said how proud of my he was. I said once before I would like a few more children, but at this moment, I can't imagine sharing myself with anyone but him. I want him too have whatever he wants whenever he wants it, and to be by my side forever and ever. And yes, I am fully aware that this could result in a demon child later on in life, but right now, I don't care. I am so in love with my child, I had no idea the bond would be this strong. I feel like I could cry sometimes, but not because I am depressed and unhappy, for the exact opposite reasons. I am bursting with pride for my little man, and can't believe that I managed to make something so perfect. Life is settling down here for the moment as we are nine days in to this parenting lark, and getting the hang of things now. Welll, my son beckons and so I must go. More mummy thoughts to follow.



Okay, so first of all, what is the correct spelling of that word? The version I just used doesn't quite look right, but 'sleepyness' doesn't feel right either. Hmm...Okay, so if any intelligent people happen to stumble upon my little site, please feel free to correct me. Seriously, i could use the help.... Anyway, I did not sign on this morning to ponder the spelling of a word, but it does actually prove my point. I can't quite remember when the sleeplessness set in during this pregnancy, but I can assure you that it is now a very prominent role in my life. It's that time of the night when there is bugger all on TV and then your mind starts to get slightly dazed and confused...



The worst thing about missing someone, is the feeling of abandonment and isolation. I have never been a needy or dependant girl, so colour me suprised when I started pinning for a certain someone...... I've lived alone for years and been incredibly independant from probably too early an age, so it did come as a suprise when I found myself missing the dude. I have never been the type to let my guard down enough to be that dependant on someone, and was shocked to find myself a lil bit scared when he went away. Now, I have gotten used to being left somewhat frequently, but have never resented him for it. I know some people who would blame them for leaving, but that just isn't me. I understand it has to be done and it is in our best interests that he does it. Of course, he enjoys his work so that doesn't hurt matters. A certain sense of dread washes over me as I watch him pack his bag, or make up his lunch box for the day of travelling ahead, parts of me wanting to scream out for him not too leave, to stay here with me, but I am a good girl and remain quiet as I would not want him to feel guilty. I have often considered flushing the car keys down the toilet or hiding his clothes so that he doesn't have an option, but I am a terrible liar and would be found guilty almost immediately. It is much better these days when he ups and leaves lil ol me, as I know he is at least in this country! I felt terrible when he would go abroad, longing for him to call me, growing agitated if we couldn't spend long enough on the phone, then spend a good chunk of the evening crying (a trait very unfamiliar to me!) The hormones have a huge part to play in my melodrama and make me feel even worse. I think that is why I feel so out of control most of the time. I have all these feelings tearing me in a million different directions, and a part of my brain would tell me how I would normally react, so it was fairly frightening to be reacting in a completely different manner. Worrying is also another factor when he leaves me, and I have no idea why. I think possibly because I know he is just that little bit further away from me than he normally is, and I cannot see what he is doing (on the other hand, thank God for that, as he has a terrible habit of scratching his bottom just that little bit too deeply)and therefore convinced that some freak accident is going to take him away from me. I was warned about the doom and gloom I would feel whilst pregnant, others telling me I would become a tearful and others telling me I would become convinced my whole family would die in a flaming inferno. And let me tell you, neither is much fun. I get terrible nightmares about awful things happening to those around me, so much so it would keep awake for the rest of the night. I hate it if he isn't in frequent contact me with me when he is travelling, even though I shout at him for using his phone whilst driving (that frigging iPhone. I swear, he would set a plate for it at dinner time if he could...) What I am grateful for, is he bought me a gift to compensate for his lack of being at home sometimes. The previously mentioned critter of the furry variety. Aptly named after Indiana Jones, as this thing has no idea he is a cat and tends to explore everything. From the freezer to the full bath, he goes in everything. Having this little guy has made a world of difference when I am home alone, and stops me from going stir crazy, and even has little conversations with me (yes he does, ok?). What does keep me going in these dark times of loneliness, is that even when he is not here in person, I still feel him with me every second of the day. Whether I am reminded of him by a passing text checking if I am okay, or whether I see a photo of the two of us, or even if I am washing his stinky socks, he stays in my heart. And even better? I know that I am right there in his.


Good Evening


Okay, so this is my first attempt at blogging, so my apologies in advance! I guess I have been interested in this sort of thing for a while, but it just took a while to get my butt into gear! I find I have so many thoughts going through my head, I would sincerely benefit either from therapy or from having somewhere to come and jot them down, so I took the latter approach. Since this is my first blog, i guess I will start with a little bit about me. I am a twenty-something gal about to embark upon a brand new adventure in her life, quite possibly one of the biggest you can, yup, thats right, I am about to venture down the path of parenthood. A huge part of me is really excited and can’t wait to meet the little critter currently taking up what feels about 95% of my body, but another is slightly anxious and terrified. I have an amazing partner who I love so much I could spend hours and hours just gushing about, but I won’t, and genuinely feel really lucky to have found him. We also share our life with another little critter, this time of the furry variety! We got him at the beginning of my pregnancy, and feel like he has been sent from God to prepare me for the troubles and tasks of parenthood! Just this morning I had to rescue him down from the door that he had climbed and had chickened out of attempting to get back down….sigh….. We live in Cumbria at the moment, but hopefully are going to be moving (providing the bank get off their sweet behind and sort out their part!) in the very near future, and just need the go ahead. Yes, moving at this late date in my pregnancy, I am, you guessed it, most likely clinically insane. I am no longer working (not the woo hoo I thought it would be!), dedicating myself to being a full time oven, and having to fill my days with tv and books. On that subject, I really could go on and on. I love books, I love the smell of them, the way they look before they have been read, I just downright luv em! Having read my way through my bookcases more than a few times in recent weeks, there is no better feeling than getting a brand new book and opening up to page one. I get a sense of achievement once finished (who know’s why?!) and love the thrill of finding out what happens. I am also this way when it comes to movies. I would go the movies every single day if my bank balance permitted it. Sadly, this does not happen, so once in a blue moon and other half and I venture out for a date night (normally resulting in me eating way to much and him sleeping beside me in the darkened cinema.) When I was a lot younger, I developed a new thirst. That being, wanting to write something for myself. I loved books and reading them, but would be frustrated as I would have all these ideas in my head for stories and plotlines, but no-one would write them! So, I would write them myself. I wrote a heck of a lot in my early teens, but as a young adult I shied away, terrified of rejection and humiliation. As a victim of bullying at the evil known as High School, a huge part of that stays with me into my adulthood. That part of the saga can be left for another day, as I am sure it would side track me and lead me down the dark routes of nearly forgotten, yet all to painful, past. So, I shall leave off here with the threat of returning. It may be in an hour, possibly a week or two, who know’s!

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