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Long day. Long weekend. Mostly really good. The house is extremely tidy. It unsettles me. I still can't find my antler naalbinding needle; can't remember what I've done with it since finishing Barry's socks. Meh.
People came to see the house this morning - I hope they like it enough to want to buy it. I dunno. Ted from next door hopped over the wall with a petrol strimmer and cut down the burgeoning forest, apart from the grassy knoll. Because he could hear the frogs leaping around, and didn't want to kill them. He's a good man - he likes frogs. ;-) I cut the grass, pulled up some weeds, swept the patio. All after said folks had left, since, well, they came at 10am, and there's only so much you can get done by 10am, not including breakfast.
So, anyway, I headed off to Huddersfield and saw my folks, and put a bookcase together, and put a hook on the back of my Mum's bedroom door, and had fantastic home-made pizza, and brought back a car-full of children's books (timing - couldn't be better!). And my Dad went through my new story with me, line by line, phrase by phrase. This is stuff I need to know. I'm not too hot on revising my stuff, because I usually write a shit-hot first draft. Seriously. All ego aside, I have one heck of a talent for writing, but I'm idle. Or at least, I find other things to do. Such as, ooh, passing my dressmaking course. And putting my house on the market in a hurry.
Sigh.
And my Dad's really, really good at revising stuff. He's been teaching a creative writing course over at Huddersfield Tech for well over 10 years now, and having taken it for the best part of a year, I can vouch for it being bloody good. His students improve tremendously and actually get published in a good number of cases. He has a waiting list for the class, and on enrolment day, people turn up hours early to be sure of getting a place. So I appreciate his expertise, and with his help, some day I'll be a great writer, not just a bloody good one.
Only, going through my story with him, discussing it in such detail, that's one thing. But then, to be helpful, he put in the changes we'd agreed on his laptop while I was busy doing DIY. And somehow, that bugs me. Yes, it's helpful... It's also an imposition, a step too far. And now, it's late, and I'm struggling to re-input the changes, or go through and see what the heck they are, because I have a hard copy not an electronic copy, and I just want to say, oh, sod it. I've already annoyed![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ravenlas. I wanted to see that Dangerous School for Boys programme about the medieval-style boarding school(!), and I'm tired, and trying to concentrate on my story at the same time (oh, such a bad idea, not really possible). And the programme was making ravenlas rant on so much that I couldn't think and couldn't hear a bloody word of the programme. So I swore and changed the channel. And he headed off upstairs with his book.
Pah.
He'd just made me a cup of tea.
So now, I am annoyed, tired, headachey, and feeling as though I'm a real ingrate for harbouring a twinge of resentment at my Dad which has spilled over into my behaviour withravenlas, and now I'm getting even more narky.
I'm really hoping that the trains are stopped again tomorrow so I can have another day off. I need to box up this stack of kid's books and put them in storage. Which shuts at 6pm. About the same time I'm cycling vaguely near it on my way home. And I want some peaceful, quiet, uninterrupted time alone with my story to recapture the sparkle I felt when I wrote it. The first date was special, it really was! But now, I'm not sure I want to phone it up to arrange the second date. As it were.
I've never dated. You may be able to tell.
Anyway. It's late. I have to be up for work in the morning. I suppose I'll take it with me and work on the train. Just in case, you know, I can actually get into work. *fingers crossed for more rain* So there you go, my brain on writing, and just how up my own brainstem I can get when I'm obsessing over a story, and how I don't behave too well, or with thought and care for those around me. I'm rude. Many apologies. So. Goodnight.
People came to see the house this morning - I hope they like it enough to want to buy it. I dunno. Ted from next door hopped over the wall with a petrol strimmer and cut down the burgeoning forest, apart from the grassy knoll. Because he could hear the frogs leaping around, and didn't want to kill them. He's a good man - he likes frogs. ;-) I cut the grass, pulled up some weeds, swept the patio. All after said folks had left, since, well, they came at 10am, and there's only so much you can get done by 10am, not including breakfast.
So, anyway, I headed off to Huddersfield and saw my folks, and put a bookcase together, and put a hook on the back of my Mum's bedroom door, and had fantastic home-made pizza, and brought back a car-full of children's books (timing - couldn't be better!). And my Dad went through my new story with me, line by line, phrase by phrase. This is stuff I need to know. I'm not too hot on revising my stuff, because I usually write a shit-hot first draft. Seriously. All ego aside, I have one heck of a talent for writing, but I'm idle. Or at least, I find other things to do. Such as, ooh, passing my dressmaking course. And putting my house on the market in a hurry.
Sigh.
And my Dad's really, really good at revising stuff. He's been teaching a creative writing course over at Huddersfield Tech for well over 10 years now, and having taken it for the best part of a year, I can vouch for it being bloody good. His students improve tremendously and actually get published in a good number of cases. He has a waiting list for the class, and on enrolment day, people turn up hours early to be sure of getting a place. So I appreciate his expertise, and with his help, some day I'll be a great writer, not just a bloody good one.
Only, going through my story with him, discussing it in such detail, that's one thing. But then, to be helpful, he put in the changes we'd agreed on his laptop while I was busy doing DIY. And somehow, that bugs me. Yes, it's helpful... It's also an imposition, a step too far. And now, it's late, and I'm struggling to re-input the changes, or go through and see what the heck they are, because I have a hard copy not an electronic copy, and I just want to say, oh, sod it. I've already annoyed
ravenlas. I wanted to see that Dangerous School for Boys programme about the medieval-style boarding school(!), and I'm tired, and trying to concentrate on my story at the same time (oh, such a bad idea, not really possible). And the programme was making ravenlas rant on so much that I couldn't think and couldn't hear a bloody word of the programme. So I swore and changed the channel. And he headed off upstairs with his book.Pah.
He'd just made me a cup of tea.
So now, I am annoyed, tired, headachey, and feeling as though I'm a real ingrate for harbouring a twinge of resentment at my Dad which has spilled over into my behaviour with
ravenlas, and now I'm getting even more narky.I'm really hoping that the trains are stopped again tomorrow so I can have another day off. I need to box up this stack of kid's books and put them in storage. Which shuts at 6pm. About the same time I'm cycling vaguely near it on my way home. And I want some peaceful, quiet, uninterrupted time alone with my story to recapture the sparkle I felt when I wrote it. The first date was special, it really was! But now, I'm not sure I want to phone it up to arrange the second date. As it were.
I've never dated. You may be able to tell.
Anyway. It's late. I have to be up for work in the morning. I suppose I'll take it with me and work on the train. Just in case, you know, I can actually get into work. *fingers crossed for more rain* So there you go, my brain on writing, and just how up my own brainstem I can get when I'm obsessing over a story, and how I don't behave too well, or with thought and care for those around me. I'm rude. Many apologies. So. Goodnight.
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