Or not page a day...

I totally forgot about this blog. I'm terrible at blogging.

I got bored with the other story and have been working on Belmonte. Always Belmonte is there, nagging me to be written. I got to thinking though, about an ex friend of mine, Avril, who'd just split up with her boyfriend. One day in the car she said to me 'I wish that something happened to me, like I hurt myself seriously or that, so that he'd realise how much I mean to him.' Obviously, most women don't admit to thinking such mental things, but it got me thinking... I can see her point. It was irrational and needy but sometimes you think the only way to get through to someone is to disappear/get hurt/etc. So I ended up writing...

I'd hurt myself
if it hurt you

I kill myself
if it killed you

I'd cry
if I knew you'd cry too

But you wouldn't notice
You wouldn't care

Prick

So, okay crap, I know that. It was a simple freewrite with no feeling. That's sometimes what you get with a freewrite. If you keep going with it sometimes something good comes out, mostly not though.

I then thought more and changed it. Another one of my poems, Watching http://angelicbooks.blogspot.com/2008/06/watching.html , surrounds a woman who is stalking a man. I used this as inspiration to spur on the above.

Having still not worked on it properly, I have got the following half freewrite...

I'd hurt myself to hurt you

I'd kill myself if it made you cry

But you wouldn't notice
The shadow in your peripheral vision
Blazing at you

I'd inflame myself to burn you.

This needs a lot of work... maybe even a full rewrite. But, at least I've written *something* and at this moment in time, writing is the last thing I want to do. The idea is there. It will swim for a while, along with Belmonte, then either be consigned to the bin like the story I started here, or will develop. Who knows!

Now, off for Christmas and all that lark.

New blog...

Okay so, I'm fed up of not writing or doing ANYTHING at all. I'm doing this as a result.
A page a day. Fiction. It won't be good. It won't be anything that is worthy of a Booker prize and it certainly won't be anything that I'd want to show to a publisher.
But, it will get me writing and it'll stop me sitting round feeling useless and generally hating myself for doing nothing.

I have no idea what to call this but I started today.


When Aunt Beth turned up at the front of the lecture theatre, I couldn’t speak. Surely she didn’t think this was a good idea. Scanning the tiers of students, she spotted me.
“Lizzy!” she yelled, waving wildly up at me.
I slid down my seat and half waved at her. I couldn’t ignore her.
Bouncing up the stairs two at a time, lace scarves and dangly earrings flying, she drew attention. Amused glances from my classmates told me I’d be explaining Aunt Beth later that evening.
“I’ll come and sit with you.” She shouted across the remaining dozen seats she had to pass to get to me.
I tried to look happy to see her. The vision of purple and green apologised and shuffled past the already seated students and finally thumped herself down in the seat next to me.
“First day here, can you believe we’re in the same lecture?” she exclaimed digging in her bag.
“No,” I replied. “But you have taken the same class as me.”
Finding a pen, she triumphantly brandished it at me like a prized lucky dip item. “Are you okay, Lizzy? You look a bit upset.”
“I’m fine,” I felt bad for showing how I felt. It wasn’t her fault. She was just being Aunt Beth.