Edinburgh Literary Salon

A couple of months ago, a writing friend of mine persuaded me to go along to the Edinburgh Literary Salon. Although it’s been running for six whole years I’d never heard of it before, and probably if I had would have been too scared to go along on my own.

The salon is run by the Edinburgh UNESCO City of Literature and meets once a month in the Wash bar in Edinburgh. It’s a great chance for anyone involved in the world of writing and books to come along and meet other like-minded people… with the added incentive of free wine!

It was even voted in the top ten of best literary haunts in Edinburgh by The Guardian!

All sorts of people go, writers, publishers, librarians, graphic novelists, teachers, there’s even the odd celebrity that pops up such as Nicola Morgan or Ian Rankin.

I’ve been a few times now and, although it’s still quite scary talking to new people, it’s also really good fun. I’ve met some very nice people, had interesting conversations, discovered a lot of talented writers and have got better at the dreaded ‘networking' thing.

The rule of the salon is to speak to at least one new person each time. The hard part for me is the initial wandering up to a stranger and just joining in their conversation. I’ve discovered that the majority of people are just as apprehensive though, and once you get into a conversation it’s not as scary as you first thought. Now that I’ve been a few times I’m starting to get to know more people, so there’s the added safety of speaking to a new person then finding a group of people you know and catching up. In between (and during) salons people interact on Twitter, so I’ve discovered a literary community I didn’t know existed a few months ago.

It’s great to have something like the salon in the city where I live, so if you’re in Edinburgh and you’re interested, come along!

Inky Fingers Minifest

During August, I did my first public reading from my novel Trackman. I read as part of the Inky Fingers Minifest which ran from the 8^th – 13th August. Inky Fingers are from Edinburgh and focus on words and performance. They run a writers’ group as well as a monthly open mic night.
Despite being terrified, reading aloud is something I’m going to have to get used to if I want to be a writer, so I signed up for one of the five minute open mic slots at the Forest Cafe. I didn’t tell any of my friends in case I ballsed it up, as I figured it was easier reading to a bunch of people I didn’t know.
I chose an extract from quite near the end of the novel and then did a reading edit, cutting bits out which wouldn’t make sense to people hearing it for the first time and removing bits which work on the page but not so much being read aloud. My novel is about music and memories and is essentially about the healing power of music. It’s from the point of view of Davie and I’ve tried to show how his brain makes associations with people, places and pieces of music. A reading edit was required therefore, as Davie’s thoughts jump around in the text as his present makes associations with his past.
Once I’d chosen a bit, I timed myself reading it out to make sure I was within the five minute time slot. Then I just kept practising it aloud, over and over, so that I was comfortable with the piece.
I prepared myself for the expected dry mouth (bottle of water) and shaky hands (paper clipped to a hard piece of card to grip onto) but I wasn’t expecting the shaky leg syndrome which attacked me. As I read my left leg just wouldn’t stay still. I think this resulted in some jigging from leg to leg but thankfully I’d worn flares rather than skinny jeans. I was grateful to Nicola Morgan for her reassuring words on twitter once I’d revealed my surprise shock at the shaky leg syndrome. Apparently it happens to the most experienced writers out there.
I think the reading went okay for my first outing of Trackman. I felt a great sense of relief and excitement once I’d finished and was really glad that I’d done it. I’ve learnt from it and hopefully will take that onto the next reading. I even got a mention on the Inky Fingers blog which was cool.
One important and quite sad thing to report is that my reading may have been my first and last at the Forest Café at its Bristo Square venue. Due to some nonsensical decisions, the Forest Café has been asked to leave the premises there. There is currently a campaign to save it which I hope you will support.

Edinburgh International Book Festival

The Edinburgh International Book Festival is still going on, but unfortunately for me (due to work and other commitments) it is over for another year. I thought I’d give a few brief observations of the events I saw this year.

Ali Smith – Lady behind me in the queue said she’d seen Sarah Brown in the toilets, I had just been in the loos myself but had completely failed to notice Mrs Brown. Ali Smith a genuinely lovely person who has a real passion for words and language. Told an anecdote about the looters which was analogous to Marie Antoinette. Wished me good luck with my own writing when she signed my book.

Emerging writers reception – Spoke to lots of interesting and talented folks. Got free wine and chocolate!

Workshop with Iain Gale – Workshop about historical fiction (which I’ve never written before but want to try). Introductions from other attendees went on for a while (I am here to listen to Mr Gale and do not wish to hear a fifteen minute account of why you are pursuing your own historical novel) but Iain Gale was really helpful (when he eventually got to speak) and his step-daughter gave us all handouts. I liked his idea of immersing yourself in a time period using music and films.

Gutter unbound event – Handed a bag of drugs (okay, sherbet and tic tacs) on the way in. Got a £5 voucher for the festival bookshop which I used to buy Alan Bissett’s new novel which he read an extract from. He also performed an extract from Trainspotting which persuaded me that I have to go back and re-read that. I read it when I was 15/16 and I think I missed a lot of the humour and social commentary. Four writers reading their work who were all great. Alan Bissett and Chris Adrian my particular favourites of the night. Lady sitting opposite us turned out to be Andreea Kindryd. I wish I’d known at the time as she seems quite an amazing lady from the flyer she left us at the end of the night. Skulked past police on the way home with our drugs.

David Vann and Miriam Toews – Chaired by Doug Johnstone (whose novels and music I also enjoy). Went purely because of David Vann (who is an amazing writer) but found Miriam Toews equally fascinating. Talked of family suicides while the rain beat down on the Spiegeltent. Asked David Vann for his interpretation of Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian while he signed my book. His answer made much more sense than anything I’ve read to date so I will now also have to re-read Blood Meridian.

Neil Gaiman - Frank Skinner sat a few rows behind me in the audience. Neil Gaiman was fascinating and has an amazing imagination. Talked about fairy tales and Dr Who. He drew a little sketch in my book when I got it signed. Lots of die-hard fans in the queue (never seen such a long signing queue before) that made me feel slightly fraudulent (even though I am a fan and I forced myself to keep watching Dr Who until his episode came on, despite feeling that the new season has been dumbed down and I’m not keen on Amy Pond or Matt Smith as the Dr). The phrase that kept flashing through my head was ‘wow, he is supercool!’

City of Literature workshop – Entitled Get An Audience For Your Writing. Lots of helpful hints and interesting facts about e-books, social media and spoken word events. One of my former MA classmates, Allan Guthrie, on the panel. Hung around to say hi, but only managed a quick hi/bye as he was popular and I was meeting my other half after the event.

Daniel Swift and Christopher Ward – Saw lots of ex-Virgin Megastore (where me and my fiancé used to work) employees wandering around the festival while we queued. Shared a joke with the man standing next to me in the queue at the expense of some rude people trying to jump in front of us. Roy Hattersley was in the audience. Sheena McDonald was chair and her mobile went off in the middle of a reading. Incredibly moving, poignant event. Both writers eloquent and charming. Shocking anecdotes of how the class system was still in play when disposing of the bodies of those who died on the Titanic. Beautiful violin playing which brought a tear to my eye.

General observations – Book festival audiences ask long questions. My ‘books I want to read’ list is longer than it was.

Fan Fiction - I just don't get it

The release of the final Harry Potter film got me thinking about endings and how we deal with them. Endings are sad and most of the time we wish things could keep on going, but everything has to stop sometime.

I loved the Harry Potter books but I’d be worried if JK announced she really was going to write more. I could maybe get on board with a prequel but no sequels. I still haven’t gotten over the childhood disappointment of how The Animals of Farthing Wood books turned out. It’s hard to keep investing time and love into the less-interesting and less-original offspring of original characters.

I think with fiction, you have to go out on a high. No dragging it out, going over old plots lines, losing energy and heart until finally it fizzles to a halt. It’s great when something is popular and people like it, but that’s not a reason to keep re-hashing the same old rubbish. We need to be creative and come up with new ideas and projects. We need to use our imagination, not let ourselves become lazy. Down with the Hollywood remakes, with the pointless sequels (I say pointless here as not all sequels are bad).

All this got me thinking about fan fiction, which I’ve never really understood. I get that you can love a fictional world and the characters that inhabit it, but I don’t then get how you make the jump to fan fiction. To me it seems wrong, sacrilegious even. I remember in primary school my friend and I declaring we were going to be writers when we grew up. My friend then shocked me by announcing she was going to continue the What Katy Did series. Even then, something about this felt wrong. A simple google search however reveals that someone has written fan fiction about What Katy Did – maybe my friend fulfilled her childhood ambition after all?

As a kid, I was hoodwinked into buying a Famous Five book that hadn’t been written by Enid Blyton. The cover was particularly devious, as it had Enid Blyton’s famous signature on it but above it in tiny writing was the phrase ‘based on the original idea by.’ I realised when I started reading it that something wasn’t quite right. You can take someone else’s creation but capturing the original tone and voice is something much harder. In the end you’re left with only a shadow of what came before.

I never realised until I searched online just what a huge phenomenon fan fiction is. There’s the obvious ones - Harry Potter, Dr Who, Twilight, but there are also some really odd choices – Black Books, South Pacific, Sesame Street. Even real life people have it written about them – musicians, actors, politicians. Am I wrong in thinking that’s just a bit weird?

I understand when you’re growing up that writing teenage fantasies in your diary or in letters to your friends is a normal, healthy thing to do. But to me fan fiction goes beyond that. It feels wrong to read it, like you’re reading someone’s most personal and private confessions.

Maybe I’m being too critical, I certainly don’t want to diss anyone who takes part in fan fiction. I just don’t understand it. Is it a bit of fun? A form of writing which doesn’t hurt anyone. Is it gratification? The writer isn’t happy with the way things turned out in a fictional world so invents their own version.

Or is it something more sinister? A writer who can’t deal with the fact that the series has ended. An unhealthy obsession with a celebrity. A writer living out their own life through a fictional character?

If you love a book, just turn to the front and start again. Buy the film on DVD, put the album on repeat. It’s better to leave people wanting more, isn’t it?

Post-T in the Park musings

So, another T has been and gone and I’ve got those sad, melancholic post-T blues that always come with the return to reality. This year’s festival was slightly more eventful than normal with phone calls from the police at 3am and Sunday morning stop-offs at the CID compound, but there was the usual mix of great music and great company.

For a teenage music fan living in Kinross, having a music festival land on your doorstep was pretty unbelievable. Now a thirty-something music fan, I still love T in the Park.

I know it can sometimes be dismissed as a festival for drunk neds, but T in the Park is so much better than this and doesn’t deserve this tag. Regardless of whether they’ve spent their £180 to watch music, or to get drunk and hang about the funfair, everyone is there to have a good time and that’s what it should be about, right? The camaraderie at T is something special. Where else could you have a random conversation with a stranger in the queue for the toilets? Or a passionate, in depth music discussion with someone you’ve only just met.

For me T is all about the music and hanging out with friends and family. Discovering new bands, going to see bands you wouldn’t otherwise go and see, crushing your way to the front for a band you love and have already seen a hundred times before. Comparing with your friends who you’ve seen, who was great, who was shite, what crazy punters you’ve encountered, who’s seen the drunkest spectator, the least appropriately dressed, the person who seemed most out of it. Putting suncream on in the morning then wading through muddy quagmires at night.

What can be wrong about 85,000 people standing in a field, having a good time and singing along to their favourite songs? Nothing brings people closer together better than an anthemic singalong.

The Olympics ticket application process - a rant

I thought it was about time I had a proper rant on my blog, so here are my thoughts on the recent Olympics ticket application process.

As you may or may not know, my little sister is aiming to make the Olympics for the 400m hurdles. At this stage we still don’t know if she’s going to be there, although we are hoping for the best. Aside from achieving the time, she has to stay fit and injury free and in the top three for her event in GB.

Months and months ago, before the application process started, I emailed the ticketing people to ask them what the deal was for families of potential athletes. They said they’d let me know before the application process began, but something would be put in place for families. When they didn’t get back to me I contacted them again. I got the same answer and again nobody has been in touch.

Anyway, in the absence of an answer, I decided to apply for tickets for the 400m hurdles. A few things struck me when I was filling in the application.

• You could only pay with a visa card. I don’t have a visa credit card and I couldn’t afford to put everything on my debit card. Therefore I clicked the option ‘Don’t have a visa card.’ This took me to an option which allowed me to apply for a visa credit card. So, put yourself in even more debt than you already are, in order to pay for Olympics tickets.
• In one of the initial press statements, we were told that tickets would be affordable and for every event there would be a wide range of price options. The cheapest tickets available for the 400m hurdles days were £50, then it jumped steeply. This to me is not a price range which includes everyone.
• At the end of the application form, you were offered the chance to buy souvenirs. So, after potentially spending hundreds of pounds on tickets, they have the cheek to ask you to spend almost a tenner on a keyring!

As I have been unsuccessful in my application, you may just think this is sour grapes on my part. It’s really not. I would have had the same opinions even if I had managed to get my hands on some tickets. My main problem with the whole thing is the fact that it is clearly in favour of people with money. And for all Sebastian Coe etc want to go on about it being the only fair system, there must have been a better way.

I overheard one guy saying that he had applied for £11,000 worth of tickets and had got £9,000 worth. Then on the news, some guy said he had applied for £36,000 worth and had ended up with something like £12,000 worth of tickets. This is the man who really made me angry. When being interviewed he said ‘I don’t know why everyone just didn’t do what I did.’ As if we were all idiots who didn’t understand the process. Oh, yeah, of course, if I’d only applied for £36,000 worth, then I’d definitely have got some tickets. Thanks for pointing that out, you twat. Most people don’t have that sort of money, that’s why!

And how is it fair, that some people have ended up with £11,000 worth of tickets and some people have none. Could they not have managed it so that everyone got at least something? If you were lucky enough to be picked out of the ballot, then you should have gone straight to the back of the queue again, and left until everyone else got something before you were put back in?

My sister’s childhood athletic coach got nothing. This is someone who has dedicated his life to athletics, is president of an athletics club, is encouraging kids to take part in sport, is pretty much responsible for getting my sister to where she is today in athletics, yet won’t be going to watch the Olympics in his own country. How is this fair?

My sister’s event clashes with the men’s 100m final, which was one of the most popular and most expensive events. I paid 20 euros to watch my sister run at the European Athletics Championships in Barcelona, which also included the 100m final. I know that wasn’t the Olympics and it didn’t feature Mr Bolt, but only 20 euros to see a final which included Dwain Chambers and Christopher Le Maitre.

I just find the whole thing very, very sad. As usual it all comes down to money. I think the process has been a farce from start to finish and we have missed a great opportunity. With the state of the economy the way it is, with obesity levels rising and with all the other socioeconomic problems we are bombarded with on the news, why are we not using the Olympics to do something good. We should be encouraging people to watch it, to enjoy it, to become involved, not turning people off. The Olympics should include everyone.

Family Legends Part 2

I received an email from the Scottish Book trust recently which made me very happy. The Family Legend story I wrote about my granny in Dundee had been chosen for inclusion in the book!

Allan and I headed along to the launch night, which was held at the BBC Headquarters at Pacific Quay in Glasgow. A good choice of venue, even if we didn’t manage to see anyone famous or get to explore it much.

The evening started off with a few introductions and statistics, including the writer-affirming fact that over 700 people had submitted a story and, of those, 67 were picked for the book.

After that there were a few readings, including two published authors, a writer/comedian and one of the winners. Both of the two published authors had got into writing late in life and included Mae Stewart a writer from Dundee. She had originally self-published a book of stories about growing up in Dundee, but it had been so successful she’d been taken on by a publisher and now has two books available. I tried to speak to her during the event due to our Dundee connections, and the fact that I’d actually bought her books for my mum’s Christmas, but she was too popular and I didn’t get a chance. I did email her after the event and she said she’d been attracted to my story on the train home because she saw the word Dundee, so it felt good to be noticed!

The writer/comedian had a lot of good things to say about the book. She finished by reading out a story which she’d created using a line from the first paragraphs of everyone’s stories. It was really clever the way she’d merged the stories together and I enjoyed listening out for my line.

The last reader read out his poem, which had been used at the front of the book and had everyone laughing. What made it even more amazing was the fact that he told us he suffered from mental health problems and couldn’t even leave the house two years ago. He used writing as a way of trying to help with his problems. Throughout the course of the evening, I spoke to others who used writing as a means of therapy and it emphasised to me just how healing writing can be.

After the readings we were all presented with a free copy of the book and there was wine and pizza. We got our photos taken too. See if you can spot me (and my glassses glare!).

The Dundee appreciation society also continued as it seemed that there were a few Dundonian writers in the book. We all gravitated towards each other and ended up signing each other’s books. One lady had originally written a story which she’d deleted by mistake. She ended up writing another one about her son who has down syndrome. It turned out to be a flash of good fortune that she’d lost the first story, as it was the one about her son that got chosen. Her son was there looking very proud. It really was quite humbling.

It was a great event and I felt very privileged to be a part of it. Some of the writers were just starting out whereas others were more serious about their writing, but everyone was enthusiastic and appreciative of the stories included in the book.

The Lost Lamb

When I was a baby, my mum says that I reminded her of a lamb. I think she was possibly blinded by motherly love for her first born child, as I seem to have had the best animal allusion out of my siblings. My brother was a sparrow, my sisters a mole and a lizard.

I’ve always had a love of animals, and lambs are one of my favourites. I don’t think being compared to one as a baby has anything to do with this, but who knows? I especially love this time of the year because of all the lamb spotting I can do.

One of my earliest pieces of writing was about a lamb. I must have been about 7 or 8 when I wrote it, and I remember getting help with the 7^th line (it’s a bit back to front and was too advanced for me for come up with myself). 

I was clearly proud of myself as I seem to have then presented the poem as a gift to my granny and granddad. If I remember rightly, both sets of grandparents were the lucky recipients of my masterpiece.

This poem means a lot to me, not only because it’s the first thing I remember writing, but because it has survived all these years. It would have disappeared forever if it hadn’t been for my grandparents. They obviously cared enough about it to keep the scrap of paper I handed to them, until many years later when it ended up back with me. I think on a very simple level, this shows just how powerful the written word can be.

You can read The Lost Lamb. I’ve typed it out (complete with spelling mistake) and also posted a picture of the original work. It’s probably the only piece of poetry you will ever read by me, as I tend to focus on prose these days. I think my poetry peaked with The Lost Lamb!

The Lost Lamb                                                                    

In the meadow behind the tree

A little lamb scardly peeped

Faraway from his mother dear

In the meadow behind the hill

His mother dear looked worried ill

She looked and looked all through the wood

To see her child she thought she never would

At last she saw to her great joy

Peeping from behind the hill

A little face she recognised

She knew her child was with her still

In the Blink of An Eye

Recently I’ve started listening to Radio Scotland while I’m walking to work in the morning. It keeps me up to date with what’s going on in the world, and doesn’t have any radio adverts or chart trash to annoy me. I’m usually still a wee bit sleepy, and I like having the voices wash over me. I can tune in or tune out as I wish. Good music works in the same way, but I like the daily hit of news that I get from Radio Scotland.

The best days are when, hidden amongst the wars/failing economy/corrupt politicians, there’s a quirky or uplifting story. Something unusual that stands out.

Yesterday was a great example of this, with a report about Adam Bojelian. Adam is an eleven year old boy who writes poetry. He has won a Brit Writers’ Award and a Gold Blue Peter badge for his poems, which is amazing enough in itself. What makes it even more amazing though is the fact that Adam is blind and suffers from serious health problems.

He communicates by blinking and writes all his poems in this way. On his blog he says that it can take him days to write one line, and months to complete a full poem.

After listening to the report about him, I went online to look at his blog and read some of his poems. I was so impressed by them. They have a surreal, humorous edge to them, and reminded me a bit of Spike Milligan’s verse. He is very talented! I especially like his one about gibbons which you can read here.

He’s really inspired me, and made me feel quite humble. He faces a huge struggle everyday, but has managed to achieve so much and write so well. If I want to write, it’s easy. All I have to do is pick up a pen or turn on my laptop. It’s made me appreciate what I have all the more. Next time I’m lazing about on the sofa or looking up facebook when I should be writing, I’ll think of Adam and his poetry.

Northwords Now

I'm excited to say that I have just had a short story published in the magazine 'Northwords Now.' The magazine is a free literary magazine that you can view online or pick up a copy of at various places throughout Scotland (see page 23 of the online version for places to find a hard copy).
I sent my story, Schrödinger’s Cat, off in October then found out just after Christmas that it had been chosen for selection. I have been waiting for the magazine to come out before telling people, just in case I jinxed it!
I started writing the story ages ago, but didn't really know what to do with it. The original version was almost all dialogue and it seemed to be missing something. I toyed with the idea of turning it into a radio play or something but never got round to doing it. Then, during my MA, I began to look more closely at the issue of dialect. My tutor asked me to try writing something in dialect, in the way that Irvine Welsh or Anne Donovan writes. It turned out that dialect was the missing element that Schrödinger’s Cat needed, and I was amazed at how the original story came to life by just making that change. My main character suddenly seemed to find a personality and a voice.
Anyway, if you want to read it, you can do so online here (page 15): Schrödinger’s Cat.
Or you can try and pick up a hard copy.
Hope you enjoy it!

Family Legend

The Scottish Book Trust are currently collecting stories about family legends - relatives who have achieved legendary status within your family. I have written one about my Granny and thought I would share the link to it here - Family Legend
I remember speaking to my mum's cousin once about Granny. She said to me 'Gerry was a great Auntie, but she must have been a brilliant Granny.' I always think about that, how lucky I was to have her as my Granny. And that's not to say that I loved her more than anyone else. She just fits this subject.
The Book Trust are collecting stories until the 31st March, so I urge you to join in.

Dog Woes and the Perils of Gumtree

Allan and I want a dog, and this weekend we almost got one. We contacted a girl on Gumtree who was selling her dog and went to see him on Sunday evening. Everything seemed perfect. The kind of dog we've been looking for. Young, medium size, playful, mongrel - a bit cautious of men but the girl assured us that he was fine once he got used to strangers. The girl seemed genuine and honest, she even admitted that the reason she was getting rid of her dog was because she was only 19, and didn't think she was mature enough to handle the responsibility. She offered him to us for £40 there and then, so we said yes but asked to come back in a couple of days to collect him.
Neither of us wanted to get our hopes up, and I think deep down we both knew it was too good to be true. Instead of preparing ourselves for our new arrival, the most we did was pick up an Asda leaflet on pet insurance. We didn't even tell anyone what was happening. I really liked the dog, but somehow I couldn't visualise him coming home with us. To paraphrase Star Wars, I had a bad feeling about it.
I texted the girl twice on Monday to arrange the pick-up but she didn't reply. She'd been really quick to respond before so I thought this was a bit strange. Then when I woke on Tuesday morning and switched my phone on, there was a text from someone claiming to be her boyfriend. He said that she had put the dog for sale in order to get back at him, and he wasn't very happy with her. I was disappointed but I wasn't shocked. Somehow, I knew something like this was coming. I was pissed off that we'd been messed about but I was more sad for that poor dog. For a split second I actually contemplated phoning the SSPCA, but that would probably just distress the dog more than anyone. The dog could do with his nails clipped and his eyes bathed, but he seemed a happy, healthy dog and it would be a shame to upset him.
I sent both the girl and her 'boyfriend' texts, which were civil but pissed off. I told them that I didn't appreciate being messed around, and that this obviously proved that neither of them were mature enough to take care of a dog and their dog deserved better.
I don't even really know if I believe the story we've been given, but I keep thinking what if we'd taken the dog on Sunday? Would the boyfriend have demanded him back? That would have been really confusing for the dog and we would have been even more disappointed if we'd taken him home then had to give him away. And what sort of girl sells her boyfriend's dog without telling him? What did he do that warranted that? And what will become of her now? And the dog? I hope he'll be okay. The scary thing was that the girl seemed so genuine. We were totally taken in by her. Looking back there were a few things that were a bit odd, but these are things you only recognise with hindsight.
Getting a dog is harder than I thought it would be. Allan and I would love a dog and we would give one a home for life, yet idiots like those two get to keep a dog and we can't seem to find one. Sigh.
The search for Catriona and Allan's dog continues...

On Your Marks...

The other day an old man tried to race me along the pavement, and it released a whole set of emotions in me. He wasn't even a fit-looking old man. He was frail and had a stooped, almost hunch back. He was also dragging along one of those tartan shopping trolley things behind him. We were walking side by side to start off with, heading towards a pedestrian crossing. I could see the lights turn red and the green man appear, but it was too far away for me to contemplate running to try and make it. The old man however did make an attempt to catch it. My first emotion was scorn. A sort of 'if I can't make that, you're never going to make it' sort of feeling. He didn't make the green man, and I felt guilty for mocking his attempt and for feeling so superior. We both ended up at the edge of the pavement waiting for the next green man. When it came he took off across the road leaving me to eat his dust, his shopping trolley clattering behind him. As soon as he hit the opposite pavement he stopped dead and started walking very slowly again, which meant that I almost walked right into the back of him. So I side-stepped around him and started to overtake. He was having none of it and this was when the race started. He began to run again, refusing to let me get past. This irritated me, and I sped up too but then I felt silly for rising to the challenge so I let him go. So he slowed down again. So I attempted to overtake once more. So he sped up again. Unfortunately for him, he was blocked by someone coming in the opposite direction at this point, so he had to stop (basket and all) while I strode on to victory. At this point, I was all 'ha, in your face!' As I got closer and closer to our destination (shop), I could hear him struggling to catch me again, his footsteps on the pavement and his shopping trolley being dragged behind him. Then the whole situation suddenly made me feel sad. I thought about how in his head he probably still felt like a boy, and it must suck not to have your body be able to do things it used to be able to do. I walk everywhere, usually at quite a brisk pace. I worked as a postie for two summers during uni, and ever since then I don't seem to be able to walk slowly. I sometimes get walking rage on the way to work if I get stuck behind someone slower than me. Anyway, it made me think how one day I might be the one getting frustrated at being overtaken by someone in the street. That made me a little freaked out, and also reminded me of what my granny used to say about how quickly old age creeps up on you, so you should appreciate being young while you still can. For a five minute walk to the shop, it was an eventful journey.

Why is it so hard to blog?

Why is it so hard to post my first blog? I've had this site set up for months now. Spent ages messing about with style and colour and format and images. But, and this a crucial but, no content. No words. As a writer, this is a serious crime.
 So why no words? Do I feel under pressure to make it snappy and interesting because I've got my MA in Creative Writing now? Is it just because I'm quite a private person and putting myself out there freaks me out a little bit? Or is it just because I'm lazy?
Why have I decided to blog? These are the reasons I can think of off the top of my head.

• Now that I've finished my MA, I'm trying to become noticed as a writer. And I keep reading that a writer should have an online presence.
• Writing is a muscle and needs to be exercised, this is like going to the gym in writing terms.
• Since I hit my thirties, I've become a lot more ranty about issues. This is a good way for me to vent my feelings and save my boyfriend's ears.
• I used to keep a diary, and I miss the stream of consciousness that springs from just writing about your day and what's been happening in your life.

So here goes nothing, my first post.