...a host of golden telephone bills?

Interested to go in for any Poetry Competitions?

Yeeha for the Black Dog

I don’t suffer from depression. There; I’ve said it.

It is difficult to admit that I don’t suffer from depression because in the current climate so many people are struggling to cope with feeling low. It’s almost an epidemic. Day-to-day troubles can seem insurmountable and it takes just one nasty comment to send you spiralling into a black mood, from which you may not emerge for several days and by then you may have acted hastily, violently, even suicidally. I know this because I used to feel the same way.

So what changed?

I had a fantastic anchor throughout my teenage life – a person who was upbeat to be around, clearly appreciated my personal qualities and who set an example because she woke each day thrilled just to be here and have the chance to tackle whatever was thrown at her. I’m sure you’ll have guessed that it was my mum. But she wasn’t one of these ‘people-pleasing givers’ who act like a saint and just think of others. She was very self-centred - in a way that kept her happy. She lived in the present and took pleasure from every situation; whether it was coffee with friends, daft pranks with her nephew, racing up a hill as a cure for indigestion brought on by eating a plate of bustingly-hot hot cross buns, or odd jobs in DIY stores or Nissen huts filled with dank trays of mushrooms growing profusely in the dark. She laughed, drank, partied, worked. She did things that other people labelled crazy ; like jumping crevasses on a motorbike, touring Spain in a motor home and moving abroad on her own.

When she died in 2001, a friend told me it would take me at least ten years to come to terms with having lost her. She was right. Luckily I was pregnant with Mimi at the time so I didn’t have any chance to become maudlin or sit around. We moved to Spain 4 months later, and I have been hectically busy ever since, just earning a living and having fun with my three girls and Joe. And I have missed her every day, but now I can go through weeks without feeling the pain too intensely. And I know why. It’s because the transformation is complete. We all turn into our mothers eventually.

I am chuffed to bits if a friend rings me when they feel down. When my mate says she thinks she’s going crazy and fighting off depression I can’t wait to see her. If I can take a story of some craziness with me , so much the better. Some days the black dog arrives at my house and I welcome him in, have a rant and a cry while he’s around, and then politely show him the door. Too much going on here to be depressed for too long. And even though I’ve still not published my novel, haven’t found a buyer for our investment plot of land, and my Spanish isn’t as fluid as I’d like it to be, I honestly do get up each day with (as my nan used to say) a ‘shit-eating grin’. Joe can confirm this. It drives him crazy. Which is just how I like it.

As Vonnegut says

Vonnegut listed eight rules for writing a short story:

1. Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.
2. Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.
3. Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.
4. Every sentence must do one of two things—reveal character or advance the action.
5. Start as close to the end as possible.
6. Be a Sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them—in order that the reader may see what they are made of.
7. Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.
8. Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To hell with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.

But he also admitted that great writers tend to break all these rules. For those of us with no pretensions to greatness, you could do worse than follow his advice, and hope to progress...

Political Fever

Have you pinpointed your personal niche in the political spectrum? 

I’ve recently been involved in local politics in the village where I live. It’s okay, you don’t have to *sigh and stop reading now*, because I’m not about to court your vote or try to convince you that I’m right, you’re wrong. I was just going to observe some of the fascinating oddities that crop up whenever politics rears its charming, slickly-grinning head.

• Men and women may fall out when attempting to explain politics to children. This is because it is not really sufficient (or morally acceptable) to talk about the ‘Good Guys’ vs the ‘Bad Guys’, and kids really don’t understand ‘left-wing’ and ‘right-wing’ unless you are referring to dazed pigeons.
• Many voters who are female DO like to gossip/talk constructively and positively about their neighbours. But this does NOT mean that they know who votes which way, or the secret Achilles heel that might persuade Weird Bob to switch political parties.
• If any politician won’t look you in the eye, answer your question publically or give a Yes/No answer, they are seasoned professionals. And also, chances are, LYING SCUMBAGS.
• Even though YOU clearly are rational and level-headed and vote *correctly* there’s an outside chance that the other side believe this about themselves too.

Beyond this, anything goes. Some people will vote for the absurdest of reasons. Some people will believe the most outrageous promises if there’s a chance that they might get something for themselves, (a bit like forwarding a chain email on the slight chance that a REAL angel/leprechaun might just cause you to win the lottery. Even though you don’t REALLY believe in leprechauns. And would scoff at anyone else who did. *Scoffs*)

It’s a weird way to run a country. It would be weird if we could fill out a questionnaire about our opinions and be told exactly who offers a manifesto most in line with our viewpoint. Like a Political Compass. That would be cool, eh?

Maybe one day, we’ll advance to a situation where we won’t have to rely on individual whims and crazy trends affecting what happens at the polling booth, like some sort of political tsunami that rushes in at the last minute and derails the whole process. But instead will be canvassed properly and given a government that most closely resembles what most of us want. 

I’ve re-read that last statement and it’s not entirely preposterous. Is it?

Where Bees Dare

While dabbling with a poem about bees, I discovered the Schmidt Sting Pain Index and just had to share. This is is a pain scale rating the relative pain caused by different insect stings. With some delightful descriptions.

• 1.0 Sweat bee: Light, ephemeral, almost fruity. A tiny spark has singed a single hair on your arm.
• 1.2 Fire ant: Sharp, sudden, mildly alarming. Like walking across a shag carpet and reaching for the light switch
• 1.8 Bullhorn acacia ant: A rare, piercing, elevated sort of pain. Someone has fired a staple into your cheek.
• 2.0 Bald-faced hornet: Rich, hearty, slightly crunchy. Similar to getting your hand mashed in a revolving door
• 2.0 Yellowjacket: Hot and smoky, almost irreverent. Imagine W. C. Fields extinguishing a cigar on your tongue.
• 2.x Honey bee and European hornet: Like a matchhead that flips off and burns on your skin.
• 3.0 Red harvester ant: Bold and unrelenting. Somebody is using a drill to excavate your ingrown toenail.
• 3.0 Paper wasp: Caustic and burning. Distinctly bitter aftertaste. Like spilling a beaker of hydrochloric acid on a paper cut.
• 4.0 tarantula hawk: Blinding, fierce, shockingly electric. A running hair drier has been dropped into your bubble bath.
• 4.0+ Bullet ant: Pure, intense, brilliant pain. Like firewalking over flaming charcoal with a 3-inch rusty nail in your heel.

Anyone reaching for the paracetemol at the mere thought ?

A little plug for me

For those interested, check out this blog article that I wrote for Elance on the revolution going on in home-working and outsourcing for business.

http://www.elance.com/p/blog/2011/03/the-freedom-to-work-live-and-play.html

Post Sushi | Adbusters Culturejammer Headquarters

Post Sushi | Adbusters Culturejammer Headquarters

I recommend that readers of Singular Cake take a look at some of the extraordinarily insightful articles on Adbusters.

Come on in - the water's lovely!

I’ve been dabbling my toes in the eBook ocean this week. I have read erotic sci-fi (blimey!), YA fiction, motivational fiction (which if poorly written feels a bit like being lectured at) and some godawful wittering that was so bad I don’t think there is a label to encompass it.

But, what I discovered in the process is that people are getting really inventive with the whole process of publishing and reading.

I thoroughly enjoyed visiting Book View Café (http://www.bookviewcafe.com/) and I did actually brew a pot of tea and wander through its virtual bookstore, pulling out titles at random because of an interesting cover or curious title. Very satisfying, and I could foresee the pleasure of becoming an author’s collective and promoting your own eBooks. Vive la Révolucion!

Then I got enthralled by the gossip and insider tittle-tattle over at e-reads (http://ereads.com/) and pondered the meaning of Harper Collins new morality clause in which authors will sign away their earnings for future transgressions. Don’t just take my word for it. Go read what the esteemed Richard Curtis has to say about it - http://ereads.com/2011/01/are-you-a-moral-author.html and consider the implications. I think old publishers will just go the way of Betamax video players, ie they’ll still be loved and revered by many for the quaint way they operate,but more authors will move over to the eBook playground and keep it fast and loose.

Talking of fast and loose, here’s the link to the erotic sci-fi that I know most of you have only read this far to obtain. Naughty, you deserve a spanking! http://www.circlet.com/ If you’ve never tried it, don’t knock it. And if you think it might be your thing, why not have a go yourself. There’s a call for submissions this month : deadline May 15^th.

And besides all this fascinating surfing...I mean, RESEARCH...I have been reading some great extracts of novels posted on Elance. In fact, I’d better get off here and go edit some RIGHT NOW.

Under Day-Glo

Waking this morning unable to remember what day it was

And thinking that days are only sticky labels of names

For each blob of 24 hours, abstract and badly chosen

Since only when I wake or sleep is important.

Spaces of consciousness interspersed by darkened ramblings

In a small form of death could occur in any sort

Of pattern.

Days of sleep and stretched interludes of brightness,

Small sparks awake, when the world turns in shadow

I’ll be dancing under day-glo lights on wet boards by the coast

Or roam for more hours than light should give us

Across American plains of ropegrass and thirst, eyeballs burning out

From too much sky and not enough closing.

Days form junctions or are they joinless like the story

Of books in a sequence when you cannot remember if the character

Even paused while you put one down and took up the second?

Moments passing like missed trains tug me after

To move through time not in days of Gods’ names

Or coloured seasons or labelled pages

But in blind steps, too high to care, in bloody spurts from pain to joy

With the dips unnoticed in between.

Hippocratic Oath for Bankers?

You know how every story has already been told before? I thought I had invented a noteworthy concept this morning when I decided that bankers should have the same obligation as doctors to 'do no harm'. How did we get to the state of play where those responsible for helping us save money and preserve our fortunes are the ones who actually degrade and abuse it?

I came to my Blogger Dashboard all enthused to write a 'socks-knocking-off' piece about how to revolutionise the world, only to discover that some guy got there first, in fact a whole year before me. But still, its a point well made that bears REPEATING! So check the link in my header.

Bankers should swear a Hippocratic oath to not harm their clients finances, and should be held accountable if their poor advice causes financial ruin. I am not expecting the markets to be hung, drawn and quartered every time an investment goes south. But how about some leading bankers stepping up to the plate and returning our faith in the system. Before we all start buying shotguns to protect the money we're hiding under our mattresses?

Ideally a governing body (like the FSA, perhaps, or a newly created more stringent version of it) would ensure that the oath becomes part of a new ethos for banking, trading and money lending. I am so sick of hearing about more ways to get into debt for things that the average human doesn't need, solely because governments rely on us constantly pumping money into the system to keep bad business going. Let's use our heads, not lose 'em!

No-one NEEDS to be a home-owner - but we all need a safe, secure, clean home environment.
No-one NEEDS to own a car - but we all need safe, clean public transport or sensible car-sharing options in rural locations
No-one NEEDS expensive white goods, black goods and luxury items to amuse ourselves and our children - but we all need access to education, healthcare, entertainment and employment.

Can't we teach our kids about being Singular Cake? Taking only what we need? And appreciating life's little luxuries, without needing instant gratification, all the time?

Just a heartfelt plea.