Three hoodies save the world

Constant moaning and whinging about everything

There’s no excuse but I love it.

I’ve had the whole weekend to write. Almost twenty eight hours since I finished work, but I haven’t been writing. I’ve been playing computer games.What? I hear you say. Messing about doing nothing? For shame!!

Well, yes. I’ve burnt myself out writing and frankly I just don’t know where the novel is going. I know what I want to happen but my fingers just won’t type it. In fact I may have to begin all over again. But before I take that drastic step I’m having a few days off. I’ll have plenty of time to write on Wednesday cooped up in a tiny little airplane going to another country.

In fact, I know what the problem is. Ever since I got my spiffy new tablet I find it much easier to write on that instead of my computer. Hence the games. I also wanted to find out if this cheap and nasty PC I bought, instead of making it myself, has any power. I’ve been pleasantly surprised. It’s a good job I no longer have DOOM or my writing might never start again.

I have been working on the cover for said book. I don’t know whether I should show you since it’s a little rude. But since this won’t be a novel for young people but adults I don’t know why not. Clearly it’s nowhere near finished but when it is it will be a caricature. In fact I might not even keep this one at all. Something even more shocking has just entered my nasty little brain.

It’s a plot.

Almost three weeks on and I still haven’t got my new bike.
You’d think they would like to offload stock but nobody seems to be in the slightest bit concerned. I wish I could just go to another shop and get one from there, but the settlement of my finance on the first one they tried to steal and then destroy is contingent on my buying another there.

If it isn’t ready by Saturday I’m going to scream until I’m sick – and do it in the shop all over their brand new Harley Fat boy.

So there!

Gimme all your pepper!

Did you know that in the medieval days, (in England at any rate) pepper was so scarce that it was more valuable than money, and in fact substituted for money? The only reason that I bore you with this ephemera is that I’m broke, but I do have lots of pepper in the house. So presumably, if I steal all the pepper from every house in England, I’ll be rich since I have four tubs of black gold in my kitchen.

Two and a bit weeks on and I still haven’t got my new motorbike. How long does it take to order an ECU? I could have crawled to Japan and back by now with it in my pocket. But I have three days off so I’m going to the motorbike shop tomorrow and demand a test drive of all their bikes just to annoy them into pulling their collective fingers out. Although I suspect they’re pretty annoyed anyway since some people broke into the shop on Thursday and stole a motorbike. It was a supercharged Kawasaki with about a billion horse power and one of only about twenty in the known universe. £28,000 just for a bike!!!! My first house only cost £24,500- although that was a while ago admittedly.

Alright, I done whining and getting back to my novel. Only about fifty pages to go, and I’m trying to make the ending clever, and funny, and brutal. I might be able to do all of those things usually but I’ve never tried to do all three together.

Onwards.

The curse of the panster.

As I may have mentioned, I’m writing a new novel. I’m also a panster, which means that usually/sometimes the books trundle along in vaguely the direction I’m shepherding them. That doesn’t always happen of course and this time is one of them.

Sods Law was supposed to be a parody. Some suggestive language and (hopefully) funny parts dotted along the way.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, it’s taking on a life of its own. Usually I love this because I don’t mind the novel writing itself. But it looks as though, if I continue as is, then come the first edit, I’ll have to remove all the comedic elements I wrote earlier. For the people who’ve read any of my earlier books they’ll know that my (alleged) humour is highly juvenile, which is the way I like it. My wife always said I never grew up.

But as usual I’m going with the flow. There’s always time for childish humour in another book. If blood must flow then so be it.

Perhaps there’s a way of combining both. I’ll look into that as well.

I love writing.

I did have something really different but…

I was going to write a long blog entry today on a subject dear to my heart, which is something of a difference for me. However:
After spending hours yesterday mucking out the horses in a relatively temperate 30 degrees (that’s centigrade) I finally finished about eight o’clock and then fell into my bed from where I didn’t emerge until late this morning.

Great, I thought, lots of tea, lots of computering and lots of blogging.

Wrong. For reason I won’t go into, but for anyone with daughters will be pretty much self explanatory, I have to go back to those four ungrateful little sods and do it all again. Oh, the joys of shovelling horse excrement under a blazing sky. And the horseflies. Almost as big as ME 109’s but twice as nasty, they buzz around tearing pieces of flesh away that I’d rather keep. And even swearing at the little sods has no effect other than to annoy the the owner of the stables and amuse the horses who just swish their tails in delight.

I wish I had a tail sometimes.

I’d use it to flog those poo making machines into eating less, or at least do it in the same spot every day to make my work easier.

No photo credits. I drew this after poo-picking a field for an entire day once. That time under six inches of snow.

Us brits a re a strange lot.

Just in case you’re thinking that this is another of those weird net images, like the one of the dress last year that everyone thought was blue, or brown, and I thought was green, well it’s not.

In fact, even though it may look yellow, this is in actual fact, black. It’s a famous London black cab.

So, I hear you think, what colour would a really black, black cab be called.

Well black of course.

It’s Coming…And Updates — Readsalot

Originally posted on Amaranthine by Joleene Naylor: The first of the Year of Short Stories will be available everywhere shortly. It’s a Tales of the Executioners, staring Cyprus: Cant’s wait for it to hit Amazon, Barnes

via It’s Coming…And Updates — Readsalot

I was warned but as usual I didn’t listen.

Two months ago I bought a new(ish) scooter. I bought it on finance because after my daughter’s horsey accident she hasn’t been working and it’s costing me about twenty thousand pounds per month to pay all her bills.

It’s a great scooter. And fast; really fast.

Before I took it away I was warned that because it was so fast it was prone to be stolen. Apparently all the druggies like to take them because they know the police can’t catch them.

Nah, I said. Nah; it’ll be alright. I’ve got a cable thick enough to secure a fuel tanker. And I was right, until last Thursday.

Two lads with the worst invention available, cut through the cable with a portable angle grinder in about thirty seconds. A passing biker stopped their fun but ten minutes later returned only to find them smashing the steering lock. By that time a policeman had been called who very kindly wheeled it to a local police station.

Great I thought, not stolen. I’d only have to buy a new ignition barrel. Today I find that they may have damaged the frame and if that’s the case the insurance company will refuse to insure it anymore. And if that happens all the rest will probably follow suit unless I pay them a fortune. So I’ll have a scooter I’ve only just begun to pay for which I won’t be able to insure.

Not a happy bunny tonight.

Half way through – I think

When writing a novel I have this self-imposed rule that it shouldn’t be less than one hundred thousand words. I don’t know where that rule came from but I’ve pretty much stuck to it with the exception of Old Geezers 3, which fell woefully short.

I’ve reached about half way through my new one (for which I am going to use a pen name) but this time I’m just going to keep going until it feels right. That’s probably what I should have done with my previous fourteen novels.

If I’m still alive by the time it’s finished and been edited several hundred times I think I’m going to try for traditional publication for the first time. If nothing else it will be a challenge I’ve never faced before. And if that doesn’t work I’ll just self pub it and get onto the next book. Something tells me that my attitude is wrong but for the life of me I don’t know what it is. I love writing, and as I may have mentioned, I’d love to be rich – I think. But ultimately there’s always another book waiting to get out. My retirement is approaching with the acceleration that middle age brings. I should be able to knock off at least another dozen before the man with the scythe comes ‘a callin’.

With about ten pages done today, I think I’m going to start on the cover. I’ve found plenty of people who (for a fee naturally) will produce one for me, but I’m going to do it myself. I already know what it will look like so I think I’ll begin on it today.

I don’t believe I’ll be able to find a thong wearing middle age women in the stock photo libraries so I’ll have to let my strange imagination try to draw it myself. Just why there’s a thong wearing middle aged woman in the book is something you’ll have to wait to find out. I also doubt there’ll be much choice of nipple rings in said libraries, either. I hope GIMP and I are up to it.

Be careful what you wish for.

In England (that’s the dreary little island wedged between Ireland and France) we long for summer. All year round we long for it. And when it finally arrives it takes the average Briton two weeks in the blazing sun just for our skin to turn white.

Needless to say we don’t get summer very often, It sometimes happens about July, but we have to be careful, it’s usually about two o’clock on one unannounced day during that month, and that’s it, gone, back to the rain and snow.

So you can imagine how happy and thrilled we were, and just as quickly horrified now that we’ve beaten our own thirty years record and been blasted for nearly five days with 30+ degrees, and today it’s 34 C, that about 108 F in old money. That’s probably old hat for people living in the mid west or California, but for us it’s the end of the world.

No water in the taps, none in the shops, and all the air conditioners are sold. Most of those had cobwebs, hastily brushed off when the entire sun came out from behind the clouds last week. All the shops I went to said they’ll be restocking next week where presumably we’ll have to wade through feet of snow to get there.

You might sense a soupcon of cynicism here, but the last time I lived in heat like this was in the south of France, and that was over twenty five years ago. Now I’m old and can’t bear it. I was riding my motorbike home tonight and even opening the throttle to the stops wouldn’t generate enough wind to cool me down. It almost got me killed but that’s beside the point.

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