Wednesday 14 October 2009

The day finally dawns...

No images today, maybe later.

The moment of departure has arrived. My dear old car traded in for a much younger model. I feel like a disloyal friend who has found someone new to play with, but the truth is I need something more reliable; this means the old friend will have to retire in the playground where old motors go to pasture. It is my romanticised notion that the car will live out it days in a field somewhere, housing nesting birds, or homing forlorn foxes from wind and rain during a night of foraging for fancies. I cannot bear to think of the reality... stripped and dumped like a hooker outside a Loveless Motel...

10.30 and the deed will be done, adoption papers to the new owner, a fond farewell glance and a final outstretched finger to trace along her once sleek lines, like a mother relinquishing her treasured offspring... these are the emotions that will act as the catalyst for understanding, if not in a lesser way, the wrench a mother may have felt at having to give up her child, seduced by the promise of a better life. A writers' toolkit of emotion, stored in a brownie tin for resurrection another day, a faded memory, an act of final separation.

Wednesday 7 October 2009

Unwrapped...

Two posts in one day...

After a visit to the doctors with the Duchess (my dear old Mum), I took her on a bit of a shopping spree to cheer her up. We sifted diligently through kitchenware, bedding, shoes, bags, foods and of course... books.

Lost in my own world I was browsing through the covers of 'Classic Cuisine' by Tamasin Day-Lewis (one of our course leaders on the Arvon Cookery Writing week in October last year - this very same week in fact), Xanthe Clay, Nigel Slater, James Martin and Willy the Chocolate man, when I came upon it. Two books in their seductive silver and chocolate coating, lurking on the shelves; Green and Black's 'Unwrapped'.

I was inwardly squealing with delight, for I was previously the runner up in the G & B's Country Living Competition, with my recipe for Swedish Chocolate and Coffee Lamb (page 86, 2nd edition) I cannot remember why I put the Swedish bit in the title... but here lies the complication.

Whilst at University, we had been advised to think long and hard about our writing names, persona and that all elusive 'voice'. I had thought I should want to specialise in writing for children, but after an Arvon course in Writing for Children, held in the darkest bowels of Invernesshire, I soon realised I neither possessed the talent or the drive to continue in this genre; 75k words later and with a full edit under my belt of my hormone induced characters, I was left in a quandary. Had I decided to write for children under my middle name, which I have used since pussy was a kitten, all would have been absolutely fine, but it wasn't deemed serious enough to carry the weight of a grown up Hollywood script; Yeah, I wish! So I decided to register with The Writers' Guild of GB, under the name of Rosie Jones. I had thought of changing my surname to one of our family names like Penaluna (which with hindsight might not have been such a bad move) or Watkins, Pratten, Jacobs or Glyndwr (pronounced Glendower) but the moment has long since gone and in a way I'm pleased I stuck to my guns and kept to good old Jones.

Now for some of you who know me as Rosie, this new revelation will probably leave you disinterested if not underwhelmed, but it is a fact and a long winded way of explaining why in the G & B book they make reference to Annette Jones; in the first edition it did say from Dorset but that has been omitted in the second edition. I originally entered the competition under my middle name of Annette, confident that the fame I would enjoy as a children's author, would link me to that Best Chocolate Book in the World, which won the Gourmand World Cookbook Awards... Hey ho!

I am of course still waiting for the fame, but my runner up prize of a years supply of G & B chocolate has long since applied itself with extreme affection and force to my hips... so I can officially say that my recipe (this will no doubt turn into the plural as I recount the claim to fame in the nursing home in a few years time), that I appear alongside Nigella and her Clementine Cake and Nigel Slater's White Cardamon chocolate mousse... I must retire to my bed, for it is awfully exhausting for a girl, all this fame in a lifetime and I haven't even turned a page of Walking on Alligators, remember she is the author of no less than two novels... (In joke for the Gathering Nuts in May tribe)...

Starvation and all things inbetween...


I have fallen foul of the first rule of the art of blogging... I am not worthy, since I notice my last post was indeed on 19th August and I am unable to provide you with a better photo than this rather dark and shady image!

Artist Rob Hughes and Model: Creatives from The Arts Poole:

Writing, networking, attending parties and meeting with friends has had to take a back seat as I have been busy seeing to domestic chores, like landscaping, decorating, pandering to my aching back and running my dear old Mum backwards and forwards to the doctors, as her serious ear infection took hold and refused to repair. However, today it was official, she is on the mend.

Finally, when I managed to sit down and focus on a script report that I needed to do from the excellent script reading course I took nearly three weeks ago lead by Lucy Vee, I also logged on to my email to catch up on non-essential messages that I had left for another day. One hundred and eight four messages later, I emerged for sustenance before tackling my SPAM mail. Trouble is, I cannot afford to just delete it, as occasionally I receive emails I really need or am waiting for... invariably they are cunningly wedged somewhere between my enlarged penis or Petrushka from the USSR and her request to show me a good time ;) With the additional numerous promises of Viagra as the cure all, and an offer to slice off my weight how did they know, I found an amusing caption asking me if I wanted an enlarged penis... to which I fondly responded, only if it is attached to a healthy and handsome thirty year old male! A girl can dream...

I have started returning to the local creative writing group again, as the lack of deadlines and the pressure to clean skirting boards, yet again, fights to distract my every spare waking minute. The scuffle for attention is scandalous and without shame as the easily distracted writer emerges from piles of faffing waiting to be either sorted, cleaned or moved 6 inches to another pile, in another attempt to wait for an opportunity of a good sort... if you get my drift.

The only upside is that although I say I haven't been networking, I did get along to the September meet of 'The Arts Poole', where we celebrated, if that is indeed the correct phrase, the life of Augustus John. It was a cracking night, meeting up with other creatives and friends, the music, live painting and conversation simply flowed effortlessly like honey.

I have also managed to host my usual Saturday breakfast for the lovely James, Jackie and Antoinette and my only regret was that Graham was working. These five hour breakfasts are a joy every time and sitting in the sunshine in the dying rays of early autumn discussing writing and the latest projects and texts and films, was an added bonus. Great and overly generous friends in every sense of the word, wonderful conversation and laughter and a generous helping of talking about the art of writing.

Plus my good friend and web-host prepared for me a memorable Sunday breakfast before another lesson in website techniques, a marathon of stamina and patience on his part.

Another spooky thing happened, in that I encountered an old friend... I say old friend but actually he was my Saturday boy years ago when I was a manager in retail. He was my strongest weapon... full of charm, style and an innate instinct to hone in on customers with spending power; although I have to attest he treated every person who came through the door with the same grace and charm, regardless of their budget; he is old money, not new, no hype just fine breeding.

We spent two hours on the phone catching up on what has been nearly 18 years news, no awkwardness, it was as if we'd seen each other last week! He reminded me he came seeking a job, a law student home for the holidays and taking a gap year out, before taking his final articles then ultimately switching careers and moving into sales... why was I not surprised. Whilst I appreciate it is vulgar to talk money, which I'm not, he did happen to bank with the bank of royalty... which just goes to show how easily impressed I was... He told me his current age and for one nano second, my life flashed before me as my bones creaked, spine bent and flesh fell from muscle; I felt ancient but in a Mr. Miyagi kinda way. Now he has settled and made the move from London and after attending an Arvon course in Shropshire, he has decided to write, he too found the Arvon week wonderful, uplifting and felt the same sense of bereavement on parting. I have yet to find anyone who has not felt empowered after attending one of these courses. Currently, it sounds as though he is living the dream.

Our conversation inevitably lead to writing and I find with increasing regularity that writers are like tangled balls of knitting, a fragile tumble of self-doubt difficult sometimes to unravel, knotted in places, often easily distracted if not kept under check, but always driven and passionate about their writing projects.

As the years roll on, I find myself drawn more and more to writers' and creatives' and although I have great mates who live in the 'normal' world, whatever that is, it is only truly another writer or creative who understands the Muse, the process, the angst, the self-doubt, the search for the Holy grail... others' will listen and hear you out as you try to explain the inner core, but only another writer can truly understand the sea of turmoil that co-exists alongside the parallel universe which inhabits the writers' mind, as it mingles and swims through the currents, the life-blood of daily existence...
Thank you for reading my blog... hopefully, the girl is back...