Sunday, December 31, 2006

Jan-Dec: a summary

With apologies to Helen Fielding. And Alysia.

Weight gained: About half a stone (bad)
Weight lost: About half a stone (v.g)
Alcohol units: 858,569. Ish. (v. poor)
Days without hangover: Approx 350
Cigarettes: 1 puff. See above re: alcohol.
Correct lottery numbers: 0 (how? HOW?)
Bets placed: 7
Bets won: 1
Valentines: 0 (bah)
Christmas cards: Um. About 12.
Parties attended: 6 (slightly poor)


Boyfriends: 0
Dates asked on: 2 (hurrah!)
Gigs attended: 2 (but both Rich's, so don't count)
Plays seen: 1 (well, musical-y thing)
Plane trips: 3 return, one single
Castles/palaces visited: 6



Holidays taken: 4 (excellent!)



Countries visited: 3 (v.g)
Murals painted: 1
Conferences attended: 1
Famous authors dined/partied with: At least a dozen



Books published: 8
Books contracted (not including those published): 4
Nominations for awards: 6
Percentage of tax-free allowance earned: 20 (poor)
Books bought: about a hundred (poor)
Pets died: 3



Pets acquired: 2




Website views: 361,608 (??? Must be including image requests)

Monday, December 25, 2006

On the first day of Christmas...

...no, not a promo post, but a genuine Happy Christmas to everyone out there. If you don't celebrate Christmas--do jump on the bandwagon, you get presents and shiny things and alcohol and everything. No, seriously, if you don't then have a fab whatever-you-celebrate, or just a nice Monday. Heh, don't get to say that very often.

I'll be posting this on my website later, but I have a very busy day of stuffing myself silly ahead, so might not get around to it today. The winner of the Twelve Lies contest is Cynthya Petzen of Indiana (er...I think, that's what IN stands for, right? I don't do states). Thanks everyone else for entering, especially those who commented how much they enjoyed the quiz. I live to entertain!

Will also be posting pictures at some point of Sugar and Spike, drugged up on catnip by their Auntie Amy's present. Also probably some smug photos of the huuuuge pile of books I got for Christmas.

Speaking of Christmas babies (well, sort of), congratulations to Julie Cohen who actually gave birth to one on Dec 23rd, a boy named Nathaniel (very festive name, as I recall it's from the root form meaning 'Christ-born'--is that right?).

Oh yes, and my big bro, who turns 27 today. No wonder he thinks he's God with a birthday like this...

Tuesday, December 19, 2006

The Twelve Lies of Christmas is released!

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Yepyep, you too can have your very own copy of The Twelve Lies of Christmas! And what's more, just because I'm lovely, I'm offering one free download to one lucky reader, along with a Samhain gift voucher! All you have to do is take my What Kind Of Liar Are You Anyway quiz, and email me the result. Easy as a very easy thing.

I shall choose a winner on Christmas Eve, so all you have to do is email your result to me by then. There's no right or wrong answer, it just is, as they told me at school, the taking part that counts!

That which is, and that which is not


Or, the extremely basic and probably incorrect things I remember from A level Philosophy, viz. that something which is, cannot be the same as something which is not. Knowledge is based upon something which is--you can't know for sure that something doesn't exist, for example. But what about opinion? Opinion and knowledge can't be the same thing; therefore, opinion cannot be based upon that which is. Opinion must, therefore, be based on ignorance.

That's what Plato said (at least, I think that's what he said). So, what about those people--and anyone who's ever read a blog or message forum knows who I'm talking about--who make an inflammatory comment and then back it up with, "I'm just stating my opinion." Sometimes they even use the word humble--which I think might apply to the opinion, but not the person stating it. When pressed, they usually mention free speech, and talk about 'speaking one's mind' as if it's the right and noble thing to do.

It's not. Of course, everyone is entitled to an opinion, and of course we should all express ourselves. But the intelligent and sane among us generally realise that expressing every thought is not always a wise idea. Everyone (except perhaps Ned Flanders) has secret thoughts about other people or places or things that they generally keep to themselves. You know, like when you don't tell your grandmother what a boring old biddy she is; or your best friend how you find her boyfriend incredibly ugly; or your neighbour that the hedge topiary they're so proud of looks like a penis.

But somehow on the internet, we forget ourselves. Somehow, the little switch inside the brain which usually says "SHUT UP" when a nasty thought occurs, fails to function when the fingers are doing the talking. And we broadcast our opinions all over the place. And then, when they offend someone, we defend ourselves with the apparently invincible, "I was only speaking my mind."

Well, look. Having recently been quite offended by someone whose posts I'd assumed to be purposefully inflammatory, I received the 'speaking my mind' reply. If I'd spoken mine in return, my post would be unprintable. If a post attacking my genre explicitly, and myself implicitly, is not intended to anger and provoke, then I can only assume the poster is just simple. Or doesn't care about offending others. It's what we called at school 'shit-stirring'.

It might be your opinion that erotica is disgusting and dirty. Fine. You can think what you want. But if you're going to start telling people about it, especially people who write erotica, don't pretend you're not trying to make trouble. Don't pretend you're not trying to offend someone. You are, and you know it. Free speech is a wonderful thing. It really is. But using it as a sheild against people whom you intend to offend is a perverted thing to do.

Speaking your mind is not a good thing. If you don't believe me, try this as an exercise. Walk into a school parents evening and declare loudly that all divorced parents are doing the very worst thing for their children. Then say, "I'm only speaking my mind," and tell me how many bruises that saves you.

Bet it's not many.

Saturday, December 16, 2006

Swank


Just thought I'd post a picture of me and the 'rents all gussied up for a Michaelmas dinner. Y'see, it was just too posh to be a plain old Christmas dinner. Ate far too much, drank even more, and am now feeling a little delicate. And I'm off out again tonight--it's all party party party--to Notting Hill for a friend's birthday. This time I will endeavour not to miss the last train and end up spending eighty quid on a taxi home. I know where the airport bus leaves from now.

Thursday, December 14, 2006

I'm It.

Kate Davies tagged me to write Six Strange Things about myself. Only six?

1. I've been a vegetarian since I was six years old. I was actually the last in my family to convert--my parents were veggie since about ten years before I was born, although they both eat meat now. In actual fact, I'm not a true veggie--because I eat fish, I'm a pescatarian, but try explaining that in the pub.

2. I can put my feet on the back of my head. No foolin'. Well, I have to warm up first. It's an extension of the Cobra pose in yoga (the only one I ever learned: my dad used to teach it and I used to do some exercises with him when I was little. I can remember that, and the Prayer to the Sun, but...um, actually, no, I can't).

3. I love cats. I know, no surprise, but when I say I love them I mean I've been fascinated with all things feline since I was given a pink fluffy cat for my first Christmas. I campaigned for a cat for years, and since I was six (big year for me, huh?) have never been without one. Since then, I've pretty much been in training to become Crazy Cat Lady, and my likes and dislikes of people have often been swayed by their tolerance or appreciation of cats. I love my furbabies like actual babies and have been known to just stare at them smiling like a fule.

4. I started writing when I was sixteen and therefore have no other marketable skills. I didn't go to university because I figured if I'm going to spend several hours a day working on something that's not writing, I might as well get paid for it. So, I've done a variety of mediocre-to-downright-crappy jobs to earn cash in the meantime, but if I truly can't manage to make a living from writing then I have to go work in a bun shop.

5. I was born at 9am on 17th of March. My brother was born at 11.45 on 25th December. This means that while he was born four days after the start of winter, I was born four days before the end of it; and if our birth times are displayed on an analogue clock, they're the same with the hands reversed. Just a little piece of trivia.

6. When Nicole Kidman got married I wasn't jealous of her dress, her husband or any of the celebrity trappings, but I desperately coveted her wedding singer. Pretty much my sole ambition in the area of famousness is to be just famous enough to persuade Neil Finn to sing at my wedding. Yeah, I know, I need a groom first...

And now I'm gonna tag...dammit, Kendra's already done this. Emma!

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

Christmas is icumen in

I dunno what's up with the 'icumen'. I just like silly words.

Anyway. Christmas. For something that happens every year, at the same time, and gives so much notice that it's possibly outstripped only by a pregnancy test--which, after all, never gives a firm date--it still manages to catch an overwhelming number of people out. Including me. All of a sudden, it's December, and then I realise I don't actually have a whole month left, just 25 days, and when you take out all the days spent travelling to see aged relatives and recovering from festive hangovers, that's not much time at all.

Still. According to the lists I've been making, I'm not terribly behind. Of course, I keep forgetting to put things on the lists, so I'll probably get to Christmas Eve and realise I haven't sent any cards yet, or bought anything for my brother--oh crap, actually I haven't. His birthday is Christmas Day, and once again it's something that catches me out every year. Every damn year! Well, no wonder he thinks he's God.


But look! Lo! I have wrapped presents! I'm actually ridiculously frivolous with present-wrapping. I actually enjoy it. I know a lot of people loathe it, and if you're on a budget (ha, the parents pay for my wrapping supplies, in return for not actually having to do any of it themselves) or short on time, I can see why. I spent two hours the other day wrapping about five presents. Maybe less. I can't remember.

Anyway, if you hate wrapping presents or find they always look a mess, here are my top three tips. Ready? 1. Use lots of tape. 2. Use lots of tape. 3. Use a box.

No, seriously. I wrapped a teapot the other day (don't ask). Have you ever tried to wrap a teapot? Quite apart from the fact that the paper tears every five seconds and it ends up being mostly sellotape, there's just no disguising the shape. I stuck it in a box, and wrapped that. Boxes are your friend. You can buy pretty ones you just have to assemble, or get them from the supermarket and wrap pretty paper over the top, or use the ones your internet shopping comes in. Or, get things giftwrapped by the internet shopping people.

And yes, that's another point. The internet. As Kate Monster points out on my mobile ringtone, the internet is really, really great. No parking hassle, no chavvy teenagers with prams, no hideous, soul-destroying Christmas music (I want to go back in time and remove Doris Day's larynx), no queues, no crowds. Have credit card, will shop.

I remember the dark old days when I used to have to take my dad shopping for my mum's presents. For a man who's been married 35 years, he still has no freaking clue what to buy his wife twice a year. Now I buy everything, wrap it beautifully, give him some tags to sign (with the words 'To B love K'; eight letters which he still never gets around to writing until Christmas Eve) and present him with a credit card bill. He pays it, perfectly happy that he hasn't had to do any of the work. Outsourcing. It really, really works.

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Hey, I'm cool!


Look, someone loves me. Sherri Kenyon loves me!

(and how has it been a week and a half since I blogged? Did I get a life or something? Clue: no; but Christmas is icumen, and I have been busy, 'cos in our house if I don't shop for it and wrap it, it don't get delivered by Santa. there will be a blog forthcoming about this soon: but right now, I have to go into town to buy a present I forgot about...)

Sunday, December 03, 2006

The Twelve Lies of Christmas...

...the movie!

Well, the book trailer, anyway. Yes, it's meant to be silent. Yes, it's meant to move. Thank you, come again.

Click for the full-size version.

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Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Cat's character types

With some inspiration from Joss Whedon (yes, again).

Okay, you know those character archetypes? The hero, princess, blah blah, all this stuff about Threshold Guardians. Apparently it's all represented in Star Wars, but since I was too young for the first three and too old (and cynical) for the last three, I've never really watched them and so couldn't rightly say. But I do remember reading a review of Serenity that compared it to the work of George Lucas. Flashy special effects, the review said, are no substitute for strong characters, smart writing and a good plot.

So. When I talk about character types, I'm going to use the Joss Whedon model. It's not a definitive list. I noticed when I started watching Firefly that some of the characters have a lot in common with characters from Buffy. There's a leader, and a joker, and a father figure--in these respects, it's fairly similar to the Star Wars model, whose archetypes seem to be (ironically) designed to drive the plot. That old Threshold Guardian, for instance, who is there to propel the Hero on his journey. They tend to relate to a story about a hero on his journey--a journey with a beginning and an end. JW's character models tend to be set up for the long run, stories that don't have neat beginnings, middles, and endings; but do have strong character dynamics.

Here are the character types as I see them. They apply to quite a few ensemble pieces, although it might not be immediately obvious. Not all types apply to all ensembles, and sometimes one character can be more than one character type at a time, or can change from one to the other.

(Note: I'm going to pick a pronoun and stick to it for each character type, but that doesn't at all mean that the type can't be the opposite sex).


The Leader Often eponymous, ie. Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Richard Sharpe, Robin Hood. This is the character we focus on. In books, he's often the one who tells most of the story. Sam Vimes from the Discworld series is a great example: big chunks of the City Watch books are in his POV; in fact Night Watch is almost exclusively so. The Leader isn't always the boss or the captain in the world as he sees it--like Sharpe, he might have layers and layers of commanders above him--but in the world we're looking at, and to his men, he's the man in charge.










The Faithful Sidekick Again, a pretty familiar character type. Zoe from Firefly is a prime example. Loyal to Captain Mal with every bone in her body, she has her own life, her own relationships and her own thoughts and feelings, but out of all the crew, she's the one who's going to do what Mal says with the least amount of questions. The Sidekick is the one the Leader trusts above everyone else. In the BBC's Robin Hood, Much the Miller's Son is the epitome of Sidekickness. For Richard Sharpe, it's Sergeant Harper. The Sidekick isn't interested in leading the crew by herself--in fact that's the last thing she wants. But if the Leader is having trouble, guess who steps into the breach?

The Sidekick is often a double role. In Buffy, the Sidekick is variously Xander, who is also the Joker, and Willow, who is also the Fixer.




The Fixer The one who gets things done. The one who finds things out. The one who answers the question, "So what are we up against?" The Fixer knows people. He knows how to make things, or break them. He's the one who hacks into the computer system or decodes the puzzle or devises the escape plan. In Buffy, the Fixer is Willow. Whether it's casting a spell, slogging through a demonology, or researching on the net, she's your gal. For Robin Hood, the Fixer is the resourceful Will Scarlett, who knows everything about everybody and can make anything from anything, so long as it's wood. In the BBC's Hustle it's Ash (they even introduce him as the Fixer). In Firefly, the Fixers are Kaylee and Simon--but in the film Serenity, it's Mr. Universe.

The Fixer can also be a fluid role, and sometimes coincides with the Joker or Sidekick.




The Wise Counsellor Like the Sidekick, this is usually an easy one to spot. The Wise Counsellor is usually, although not always, an older figure, a father figure. Buffy's watcher Giles is a prime example. But in Angel, the Counsellor is Wesley--similar in age to the rest of the crew (and much younger than Angel!). The Counsellor is often fairly close to the Fixer, and can sometimes be mistaken for him. The difference is that no one goes to the Fixer for emotional advice. Even the Leader sometimes needs to know they're on the right track, and it's the Counsellor who provides the reassurance. This is clearly seen in Firefly, with Shepherd Book.

In the sixth and seven seasons of Buffy, Giles was a part-time character. During his absence, the gang suffered the lack of a Counsellor. While Willow was able to provide the gang with the exposition, there wasn't anyone around to help and guide the gang, which showed in their bad decisions and unfortunate character arcs.



The Joker Easy to spot. The Joker often coincides with the Sidekick--for instance Xander in Buffy fulfills both roles. In Firefly, the Joker is Wash, who is married to Zoe, the Sidekick. The Joker might not have the smarts or the skill that the other members of the team have, but he does have wit, and he's not afraid to use it. He's one of the most likeable characters, who can lighten any dark and gloomy scene with a well-timed comic punch. Joss Whedon invariably writes a Joker into his ensembles, and says that these are the characters he most identifies with.





The Lover Can often be confused with other characters. For instance, I was pretty sure Spike was the Lover in the latter seasons of Buffy, but he stubbornly refused it. The Lover is usually the least useful member of the team, and a terrible distraction to the Leader (whose lover she usually is). She might not actually be his physical lover, like Inara in Firefly, but she's definitely tyhe object of his affection, even if he doesn't know it. But, like the Counsellor, she's the one the Leader goes to for emotional healing. Without the Lover, the Leader isn't half the man he could be.

The Lover can be another character type too, or can change from one to another: for instance Cordelia goes from Sidekick to Lover in Angel, and Spike from AntiHero to Lover in Buffy. The Lover should not, however, be confused with the Damsel.







The Damsel Probably the least PC of the character types, but pretty necessary. The Damsel is usually the youngest member of the team, like Buffy's sister Dawn. The Damsel is, rather obviously, the one who gets kidnapped, the one who needs rescuing. However, the problem with an ongoing series is that pretty soon, the Damsel gets tired of being tied to the train tracks and starts taking care of herself. Willow was an excellent Damsel until she became a wickedly powerful witch, so Dawn stepped in. And when Dawn grew up, the Potential Slayers arrived, confused and helpless and in constant need of rescuing. The Damsel needn't be totally clueless: Kaylee in Firefly makes an excellent Damsel, although she's also a decent Fixer. In Robin Hood, the Damsel is not Marian, but the collective villagers, always being rescued by Robin and the gang.





The Anti-hero Usually my favourite character, the Anti-hero is the one who doesn't really want to be a member of the team; and if he does, it's not for the same save-the-world, good-of-mankind reasons as the rest of them. He could be Firefly's Jayne, the hired muscle who doesn't always see eye-to-eye with Mal's humanitarian missions, but goes along with them because he gets paid to--and because Zoe would kick his ass if he didn't. Spike is my favourite Antihero: he doesn't want to be in the Scooby Gang at all, but since he can't hurt humans and he can kill demons, he tags along and stirs up trouble. The Anti-hero isn't always sure about the cause the team is fighting for, he's not really willing to die for it, and he's perfectly willing to argue the Leader to death about it. Quite often, he doesn't want to be part of the team at all, but he doesn't have much option.

The Anti-hero isn't the same as the villain (who, not being part of my warm-and-fuzzy family of a team, doesn't feature in the ensemble), although he may have been, at one point, like Spike. The Anti-hero is, at heart, selfish, and he's not likely to risk his own skin for anyone else's. But since he's become a member of the team, he can't help but feel a little softhearted towards various members every now and then, and might actually surprise himself by helping out occasionally. In some circumstances, like in Buffy, the Anti-hero can morph into someone else entirely: in this case, the Lover.



So there you have it, the Cat Marsters guide to character types. Try and analyse some of your favourite ensemble pieces, and see if the group dynamic fits.

Friday, November 24, 2006

How to lose ten years

Have a little...patience.

It's the weirdest thing. But you know, in 1996 or thereabouts, Oasis was in the charts, and there was this girlband called the All Saints who were pretty big. And of course Take That, still suffering the loss of dear Robbie.

And yet...

They're...uh...back.

Of course, you can use Madonna as your barometer, but if you did, you'd be stuck in the 1980s.

James Bond is making a comeback. That means it's 1995, right?

Well, uh, no. But, you know, I don't mind so much. Okay, so I haven't really listened to the Oasis track, but that's no real difference from 1995. Plus, now I can appreciate the Lowry vibe of their new video. All Saints do not, rather, spookily, appear to have aged very much.

Take That, however--the defining British boyband of the 90s--have changed. And you know? Back when I was fourteen, I didn't really see the point. Just a bunch of pretty boys with kind of decent songs. I was still into the Beatles then (yes, I was weird, deal with it). But now...well, these boys have got to be pushing thirty. Maybe past it (gasp!).

And you know, they look damn good on it. The one with the stubble and the curly hair? I think his name might be Jason, or possibly Howard. Yum. He looks good now. The band sounds good. Lyrics are kinda grown up. Poor Robbie sounds...like..um...he's lost the plot a bit. Looks like a Nucking Futter. Any minute he's going to be sponsoring the Ford Focus. The We Were Cutting Edge Ten Years Ago brigade.

Well, look. Ten years ago, I was the target demographic for this new brand of teenager. And I didn't give a fuck. But now I've grown up, maybe it's a second childhood. But I actually like Take That's song. Well, hell, it's called Patience.

And James Bond is looking really good.

Being 14 seems more and more attractive.


Oh, and,




You're Ulysses!

by James Joyce

Most people are convinced that you don't make any sense, but compared
to what else you could say, what you're saying now makes tons of sense. What people do
understand about you is your vulgarity, which has convinced people that you are at once
brilliant and repugnant. Meanwhile you are content to wander around aimlessly, taking in
the sights and sounds of the city. What you see is vast, almost limitless, and brings you
additional fame. When no one is looking, you dream of being a Greek folk hero.



Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

...apparently...

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

There's rosemary, that's for remembrance

There's an episode of Scrubs where the gang attend Carla's mother's funeral. Afterwards, standing around in the hospital lobby in their respectful black, Carla says to them all, "Thank you all for coming, I know you're busy." And they all turn away, fading as they do from black funeral clothes to ordinary hospital scrubs. JD explains, "The toughest part about working in a hospital is that, no matter what else is going on in your life, you have to dive right back into the middle of things."

Well, not just in a hospital. Today I went to Sheila Innes' funeral and the little church was packed with students both current and ex. Some of them paid a tribute with Shakespeare lines--Sheila was a big Shakespeare fan--and when they took their seats again, not one had dry eyes. A guy who had just left the school when I started played a few musical pieces for her. I saw two girls from my year--from my Theatre Studies class--and one said how hard it had been to convince her boss to let her come. She had to leave the reception afterwards to get back to work.

I left, went into town, visited the bank, got some shopping done, came home and had lunch. And now I'm here. And when I'm done writing this post, I'll be opening up the file with my latest story in it--the one due in at the end of the month--and trying to write some hot vampire sex. What I'd like to do is eat lots of food composed mostly of butter and sugar, listen to sad music, cuddle the cats and think some more about how bloody unfair it is that someone so smart, so kind, so enthusiastic, someone with a husband and children and grandchildren who loved her, someone who has touched and inspired students for longer than I've been alive, how bloody unfair it is that she's just not here any more, and that I can't tell her how much I appreciated her.

But life goes on. I wanted Sheila to be proud of me, and I don't think she'd be impressed if I missed a deadline because I just didn't feel like writing. And hey. I'm remembering her, and so is everyone else at that funeral. She goes on.

Monday, November 20, 2006

Christmas cards


My God, it comes around fast! I went into town on Saturday and it was manic. Christmas shopping, I thought, then realised it was 18th November. In a week or two's time it'll be impossible to park. Well, more impossible, that is: after tearing down the town's multi-storey car park last spring and building apartments there instead, there's hardly anywhere to park midweek in summer, let alone a Saturday near Christmas. Apparently there'll be a new car park in time for the festive season, but I have a feeling the Powers That Be think this starts around 20th Dec, not October as we all know.

Anyway. The purpose of this post was a random Christmas musing. I can't remember if I mentioned that a month or so ago I went to a Diamond Wedding Anniversary celebration. My dad's uncle and his wife--sixty years, isn't that something? And, like a 100th birthday, a 60th wedding merits a message from the Queen. A rather grand greetings card with her picture on the front, a congratulatory message inside, and--a feat in itself--timely delivery.

Which made me think. A card with your picture on the front! I have a vague recollection of some acquaintance who'd done some work for the Prince's Trust getting a card with a photo of ol' Charlie-boy on the front. What a fantastic idea, thinks I! Now, whenever anyone looks at your tasteful greeting, hanging above the mantel (I typed mental there, heh), they'll know instantly who it's from, and what's more, be reminded of who you are (for years my parents, whose names are Barbara and Keith, received cards addressed to Kath and Richard. Each year, the return card clearly stated their names, in my mother's neat schooteacher print, but of course, the senders never matched them up).

Of course, HM has the best photographers, makeup artists, couturiers, decorators etc. to make her seasonal greeting look all twinkly and nice. But with the best will in the world, I'm afraid her son's greetings cards will never be the prettiest of the bunch. Perhaps he ought to send photos of his boys, because then working for the Prince's Trust would mean you'd get a gratis picture of Prince William, and I bet he'd have hundreds of volunteers.

I digress (how unusual for me!). While I'll never be as photogenic as the lovely Wills, I could still send out tasteful, twinkly Christmas cards with my own mug on the front. Christmas tree in the background. Soft-focus glow of fairy lights. Seasons Greetings from Queen Kate. Corgi or two--okay, fluffy white cat on my lap. Mr Bond is being lasered to death in the other room.

Maybe not.