Wednesday, October 11, 2006
No Longer A Baby
Got an email from someone trying to start up a Writer's Group in Edinburgh. I'm definitely getting involved. It would only be one Wednesday per month but I want to continue meeting other writers and getting out there actively. It can only be a good thing.
I've begun clearing the decks for NaNoWriMo. The aim is to have as little on as possible that could detract, but I must have something on, because working on the one project all month could seriously do my head in. I'll keep the poetry stuff going, and maybe leave myself with a few stories written, but unedited. Then there's the marketing of Poolside Poetry - that can't be forgotten.
My aim is to write an average of 2,000 words per day. There are 30 days, so that would equate to 60,000 words of a novel. Knowing my writing pattern and other commitments, I can see my writing 2k for a few days, nothing for a couple of days, then 5k the next day, and so on. It's definitely do-able, and I'll give it my best shot. I've got a good foundation with all the planning I've undertaken both in schedule and plot.
I got soaked on the way home from work from sheets of heavy, hard rain under a dark grey sky. It was glorious.
Cue the song: Girl, You'll Be a Woman Soon, by Urge Overkill (as head in Pulp Fiction).
Pippin, my grey/white rabbit, is still suffering huge chunks of hair fall-out. Apparently it's just her adult coat coming in. All the scratching, nipping and digging was her puberty phase, as her hormone levels soared. Now, with the advent of her shedding her skin and being replaced by a new coat, she has moved into the next phase of her life.
Now, she is a woman.
I'll need to watch though because if they get any hair balls they could be in trouble so extra care over the next few days. Soon be time to get her and Mopsy sprayed, anyway. It's for their own health and well being apart from the obvious protection.
Got more trouble with animals elsewhere, too, this time with the wet and slippery variety. My catfish has turned predator. (I think it's him, though I can't prove it). Over the past week I have lost about 6 or 7 fish. No illness, no poor water and no signs of anything wrong, other than him tearing chunks out of them overnight. I pulled three dead fish out tonight alone and he's moved from the cheap/flashy fish to the quality ones larger than him. It's either him or the fast-maturing Angelfish.
I'm going to play the odds. Tomorrow, Mr Euthanasia will visit upon the Catfish for the good of the other inhabitants. If that doesn't do it, the Angelfish goes too.
I badly needed the Guinness and whisky I consumed while at the snooker this evening. Sometimes a little drop of alcohol helps to sweep away the gloom and get you back on a relatively even keel. Or at least set you on the path.
One of my best mates who had a second child a few weeks ago is celebrating it this weekend with the traditional "Wetting the baby's head" this Sunday night. It will mean a lot of lads out in Glasgow city centre doing what we do best. Drinking and laughing. I cannae wait.