Sunday 27 January 2013

Coming through the haze

I graduated this week. It was a good ceremony, and what made it more fun was hiding in the toilets for half of it with my friend Marian, and then trying to make our way back to our seats with no one noticing, which is difficult since we have curtain tassels hanging from our ridiculous hats. It was cold, so cold that peep toe shoes weren't the best footwear for the weather. Once my feet defrosted, it was a good day, we had lunch in a nice pub, had drinks and I went home rather tipsy.

The next day I was blessed with a mild case of tonsillitis and a bad cold. I was planning on cracking on with some writing, but bad colds just leave me feeling totally and utterly useless and brain dead. Lying on the sofa napping all of yesterday has helped a lot, and the haze seems to have lifted this morning, which is a good thing because I really do have to crack on with some copy writing!!

Sunday 20 January 2013

Time to Gamble

The writer looked nervous. She sat with her hands clasped together, thumbs and fingers wiggling and twitching like ugly worms. Her breathing was deep and even, as if she was making the conscious effort to appear normal. No sweat ran down her face, but she licked her lips several times.
    Opportunity grinned at her, tipped his hat forward to cover his eyes. With an air of bored grace, he stuck his hand in his pocket and with something clasped tight in his hand.
    'It's all a matter of getting the right combination,' Opportunity grinned. 'I know you don't really want to be here, but it seems life pushed you my way.'
    The writer shifted in her seat, as if trying to think of something witty to say. Opportunity grinned, then placed his hand flat down on the table. He did it smoothly and quietly, as if not to startle the writer and scare her away.
    'Everyone comes to see me eventually, whether they're ready or not,' Opportunity tapped each finger on the table. Then he placed his other hand on the table and spread out his fingers. His hands were surprisingly under-adorned, rings or ugly tattoos decorated his skin.
    'You, most definitely are not ready.'
    The writer mumbled something, not looking up from her clasped hands.
    'Pardon?' Opportunity laughed.
    'I'm ready,' the writer whispered. 
    'Good! Let's get this show on the road!'
    The writer looked grim faced and then nodded firmly.
    Opportunity lifted both his hands, then placed them behind his head and reclined on the seat, utterly as ease, like he was sunbathing on a scalding hot day.
    Nervously the writer reached out for the item. Her hand closed about the item.
    'All you have to do is roll them, and get a good score.'
    She nodded, and rolled the dice around in her hands.
    'Some prefer what I like to call the cocktail shaker method,' Opportunity shook his hands near his head like he was busy barman. 'Or the thinking too hard method.' Here he shook his clenched hand near his chin, like he was contemplating his place in the world.
    The writer shut her eyes, breathed in deeply, and then smiled. She produced a hammer from her pocket, and placed the dice on the table, still covering them with her hand.
    Opportunity lifted an eyebrow. 'Breaking your fingers for luck?' he laughed sharply.
    'Not exactly,' the writer replied with a sweet smile.
    And at that, the writer brought the hammer down on the dice several times. Opportunity let out a single strangled cry. He was quivering under the table when the writer knelt down to look him in the eye. She threw a handful of bits at his feet.
   'Thanks for the chance, but I'd rather not gamble this one away, I like to make my own opportunities, it isn't always a matter of luck,' she grinned, and patted him on the arm. 'But don't worry, you'll be back in business soon.'
   Opportunity quivered like a child under the table, and watched as the writer left through a different door.


Thursday 3 January 2013

Writing, writing, writing!

I'm currently sipping at a black coffee (new years resolution, skim a few calories off my diet!) and sat in a coffee shop being the sterotypical writer who has nothing better to do other than gaze out of the window thinking artistic thoughts.

Expect I'm thinking about how much I hate hub gears, even if I don't fully understand how they work. My luck has finally turned, and I now find myself with my first ever 'proper' writing job. To say I was pleased as punch until I got onto trying to describ a hub gear. Overall it's taught me a lot about deadlines, and that I MUST MUST keep in touch with the people I'm working for. It's a part of me, I can go quiet, even with the ease of sending an email. Strangely in person I'm chatty, probably far too chatty, but with the internet I like to keep quiet.

I have a new writing position on an online magazine, Heart of Glass. I found it through the NaNoWriMo website, a user had been a writer on there. So I thought why not. It keeps my writing in shape, and I get to share my opinion with the world, happy days! Just wait until the comments come in disagree with me though! 

I'm down to my last two pieces for the writing job. I can't quite call myself a copywriter yet, I think I need a little more experience, but I've got my foot in the door at least. And how my fingers are hurting a lot more these days, too much writing, but it's want I want to do. Maybe Apple will invent a robot to do it all for me, and something to put my socks on too. Those will be the days.