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Girl Meets Deadline

If by ‘Deadline’ we mean ‘arbitrary date several weeks after the proper deadline’, and by ‘Meets’ we mean ‘constructs vaguely comprehensible draft that is embarrassingly shoddy in places and needs to be at least 36% more funny’.  Come to think of it, ‘Girl’ is pushing it too.  Writer Writes Writing?

In any case, Girl Meets Cake has graduated from Floaty Amorphous Headstuffs to Actual Legible Existence, which as any writer will tell you is a rather important stage of the process, so woo, yay, etc.  It’s still rather a long way from what will actually appear on a shelf next year, but definitely closer than it was before I’d written any of it.  Well, hopefully.  Now to find out if my epic mountain of notes on Bits That Desperately Need Rewriting And/Or Throwing Away Completely matches up with my editors’.  It’s a bit like waiting for your exam results to arrive, while knowing in advance that you’ll have to resit.  If they were voluntary exams which you got paid to sit, and the questions mostly asked you to write jokes, and you were positively encouraged to cheat and look the answers up on the internet.  Erm.  Still, anything above a C is a passing grade, right?

book_mini  Mr Big by Ed Vere, in which a nice but huge gorilla discovers music may be the way to acceptance.  Lovely artwork, and it prompted Small Person (aged 2 and a half) to ask the eternal question ‘Where is the jazz?’, which made me laugh for about a day.  (Rarg, any suggestions?)  Also finally finished Douglas Coupland’s JPod, which is even less plot-driven than Microserfs, but still larky fun.  You’ll never look at Ronald McDonald the same way again (and I’m guessing the way you were looking at him before wasn’t exactly replete with the cosy warmth reserved for puppies, Stephen Fry, etc).

pencil_mini  A book!  A whole book!

rocrastination_mini  Post-deadline celebration has included acquainting myself with Smallest Person (babies! they’re so brilliant), building sandcastles on Barry Island beach, watching Starsky & Hutch, and having whole conversations with people who are a) not fictional and b) don’t work at Co-Op.  Oh, and I made some really good pea soup earlier.  Never let it be said I don’t know how to let my hair down. 😀


15 thoughts on “Girl Meets Deadline”

  1. It took me about an hour to work out what you were on about then. I had lovely visions of the newly-discovered OTHER banned episode. A typo < nekkid Starsky, alas…

  2. I want to see the naked version – where is it? where is it? Don’t give me that typo excuse – you two know something I don’t….

  3. Frankly they could’ve crowbarred in some undercover work as strippers a lot more easily than hairdressers/comedians/country music stars etc. Or Starsky could’ve had his own spin-off like Baywatch Nights, where he secretly was naked a lot without Hutch knowing. Or Hutch could’ve been naked too. They could’ve fought crime together, nakedly.

    I’ve thought about this a bit too much now. 😦

  4. Girl is pushing it – hey you’re still younger than me so stop that now!

    Naked Starsky, ew. Wasn’t it you that had a goldfish called Starsky? Remember our collaborating story where all our characters were named for pets – yours was Starsky and mine was Fluffy.

    Congrats on the meeting the deadline thing. I keep pushing my deadline but hopefully now can imagine a giant beating stick. I have finished the World Tour (if Wales is the World, lol) and am now being tabloided to the brink of my patience. Sandcastles on Barry Island! Did you manage to be here during the one sunny day?

  5. I did indeed have a goldfish called Starsky. There was a Hutch and Huggy too (though I think Hutch died about 24 hours after I got him: very tragic). My sister had ones called Oojamaflip and Wotsit when I was little, too. Goldfish get all the best names.

    Hope the giant beating stick only very gently nudges you to deadline heaven! Congrats on completing the cross-Wales promo-marathon too – do hope it brings you more tabloid gems (lI’ve got a ovely mental image of you and Alys fleeing An Unnamed Village pursued by pitchfork-wielding peasants: very accurate, I’m sure). And it was sunny down Barry Island, I swear! Well, ish. 🙂

  6. Susie if ever you went up the valleys with your Penarth x Oxford accent I’m sure you’d be pursued by pitchfork wielding peasants too! There will be more tabloiding! Look out for the Wales on Sunday this week. The village will even be named. Tis exhausting, all this fame.

    btw, have seen a new review on amazon by someone who has also reviewed SM and MH’s books. That wouldn’t be you would it?

  7. Where’s the jazz?

    Three answers:

    1) It’s in my pa… NO! Far too filthy. And anyway, I’m married now. Ladies, you had 31 years, and you blew it.

    2) Where you left it

    3) Rather boringly, it’s in the Jazz/Classical/Folk ghetto of one of the larger music shops. And disgustingly, instead of packing in classic albums like Kind of Blue, Black Saint and the Sinner Lady and A Love Supreme, they filled it full of Cowell-approved lite-jazz that would appeal to men who want to appear a little smoooooth, and women who normally buy Dido and want to appear sophisticated (which in the 80s meant putting your glasses on the top of your head). Ubiquitous tracks: The perennial My Baby Just Cares for Me (and not Nina Simone’s superior version of I Loves You Porgy), Billie Holiday doing God Bless the Child for the umpteenth bloody time and not her chillingly evoking lynchings on Strange Fruit, and that awful hip-hop remix of Cantaloupe Island, which to be honest wasn’t that much better than the Herbie Hancock original. I hate jazz compilations. Put together by dimwits and braying obnoxiobores.

    *wipes spittle from chin*

    That’s far too detailed an answer, isn’t it? Sorry, got carried away. Sorry.

  8. I think there is a big, horrible hairy deadline which has trapped Susie in her room and isn’t letting her play.

    In the meantime Rarg, your explanation of ‘where is the jazz’ gave me and Other Half a good giggle – we will see if SP is satisfied with that. Could you help out with ‘What’s in a stone?’, ‘Where is space?’ and ‘Where is my luck?’

  9. Do you remember that joke about the boy called Manners? Someone asked his friend ‘where’s your manners?’ and he replied, ‘up the tree picking apples’. I think that might be where your luck is, perhaps. I did have an email from Susie recently so I know she’s still alive. If she’s held down by a giant deadline with lots of hairy legs that crawled up the drainpipe and caught her unawares, then maybe we should all go around with baseball bats to sort it out?

  10. Right, I’m taking a cricket bat round to Susie’s. We’ll beat that deadline into a bloody pulp, dagnammit. And then drag it into the gutter. And maybe slam my car door into its head. I’ll go ‘Raging Bull’ on its ass.

    Jess, I like your questions. Give me a day or two and I’ll come up with answers.

    In other news, I’d like to pick some apples. Oh yeah. I’m not being crude, it’s just that at the moment I’m really into fresh apples. There’s a farmer’s market tomorrow in Bristol and I have the morning off. I’m gonna get me some hardcore Somerset apples. Maybe some cider apples that are also good eaters. There’s an apple day in Much Marcle in Herefordshire on October 11th. Me and Mrs Rarg are going. There are going to be rare varieties for buying at the applefest. Incidentally, did you know who also came from Much Marcle? Fred West.

  11. There’s somewhere called Much Marcle? It sounds like a place from Harry Potter.

    Hope the apples live up to expectations rarg – you sound worryingly overexcited about them!

    Think SP is saving challenging questions for her very clever Mum and Dad – I get asked ‘what is charlie’s name?’. Do you think she is being kind and asking me questions she thinks I can manage?

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