Life, On Writing

jobs, batman, and public transport

I’m dividing my attention between writing this and watching Batman: Under The Red Hood. This is my reward, because today … today I started a new job.

Yes, it is at another supermarket. Yes, it isn’t the most flashy of jobs. But it’s a job. It’s not a bad one and – apart from the French which I’m frantically scrambling to learn (!!!) – it’s a job that I’m mostly familiar with.

Mostly‘ because I’m now on a different continent and not everything is the same. Heck, even the traffic lights are different.

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Which I discovered. To my cost. And pride. But I refuse to go over that particular story yet again.

WRITING

I haven’t done much, I’m afraid. I’ve been consumed with …

  1. realising that my French is incredibly rusty and also: terrible
  2. panicking
  3. trying to relearn and learn French
  4. panicking
  5. realising that French in Québec? Yeah. It sounds different to Metropolitan French.
  6. panicking
  7. immersing myself in French
  8. panicking some more
  9. Saying ‘to heck with that’

But the panic is over now (OR IS IT?!!!) and my pen shall be put to paper once more.

THE LIBRARY

One short bus ride away from me (I know! I’m using public transport. My faithful Rusty is at home. In a different country. On a different continent. So.) is a glorious, glorious library.

I just feel like I should put that here.

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Unfortunately, it isn’t this library (via Pinterest)

LIFE, IN GENERAL

(I had to give up writing this post until I’d finished the Batman movie. My poor old heart-strings. *heavy sigh*)

  • I still don’t have a Canadian mobile number
  • it’s been unusually warm (TMI translation: I have sweated)
  • there have been butterflies everywhere
  • it started raining this afternoon
  • I can understand … something … of the sermons on Sunday

Whilst lately, Montreal has been full of blue skies and butterflies, I can’t ignore the often ominous warnings of …

just you wait ’til winter

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me, in the future
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Books, Life, On Writing

Life, On A Different Continent

So. I’ve quit my job and left England. I’ve been planning it for a while, but quite frankly I’m stunned that I’m actually here in Montreal, Canada. This is happening.

I’ve been working for the greater part of a year to able to afford it, jamming in as many shifts as I possibly could, and neglecting my writing horribly.

But, no more. No more, I say.

ERM, WHY?!

Just why did you leave your own country? and WHY ON EARTH WOULD YOU ABANDON ALL YOUR BELOVED BOOKS?!!! are perfectly legitimate questions to ask.

And I have answers:

  • I want to spot a lumberjack in its natural habitat. (The border official was like: ‘in Montreal?? Yeah. No.’ But you know what? I live in hope. Desperate, terrible hope.)
  • It’s time for me to speak fluent French. (Why didn’t you just go to France? I hear you ask. WELL EXCUSE ME FOR TAKING THE LONG WAY ROUND! THIS COUNTRY HAS MAPLE SYRUP!!! MAPLE. SYRUP.)
  • It was time to live on a different continent.
  • Why not?
  • I have a kindle. It was – and I am being perfectly serious right now – very hard to leave my books behind. But at least I have SOME books with me. Even if they are ebooks. Even if I can’t sniff ’em.

WHAT NOW?

I write. I write as hard as I can. This is the time to catch up on all the projects I haven’t finished.

And yes, I can hear select members of my family sniggering a continent away. My writing is a bit of running joke, you see. The joke being that I never finish a novel and have at least ten books on the go.

I would like to point out that a) Rome wasn’t built in a day, b) genius takes time, and c) there is nothing wrong with elongated multitasking. Nothing.

WHAT ABOUT THIS BLOG?

My aim is to go back to posting once a week – recountings of books, detailing what I’ve been up to (so far, I’ve set a house alarm off, explored some of Montreal, and have heard a report THAT THERE IS A LIBRARY NEARBY! WOOP!) and perhaps attempting to keep you enthralled with updates on my SO TOTALLY GOING TO BE FINISHED projects.

adieu for now!

Books

how to bookworm when you’re busy

Recently, it’s been taking me much longer to finish a book. I’m claiming ‘Being Busy’ as my reason. However, I am still reading. And here’s how.

OLD FAVOURITES

I may not be finishing new books, but I am reading scenes and passages and chapters from some old favourites. And yes, this isn’t adding any extra stats to my goodreads account, but I don’t mind. I find it comforting, and enjoy revisiting past adventures.

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DON’T BE NEKKED

Out to the dentist? Take a book. Working? You have a lunch break. Take a book. Traveling? Take a book. Take THREE books! (No. FOUR!)

Quite frankly, without access to a book, I feel rather naked. I don’t like feeling naked in public. So I take a book. Logic.

(This advice is followed by: and then read the book you brought with you.)

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PFFT. WHO NEEDS SLEEP?

Sleep is important. Very important. Don’t skimp on it. Or read. That’s good too. In my experience, the two don’t go together very well.

It’s like an equation:

Read a lot = sleep little.

Sleep a lot = read little.

As a bookworm, I’ve read into the wee hours countless times. I’m not too proud of it – I wouldn’t have to wear so much concealer if I got a proper eight-hour hibernation session in. But, what can you do? Sacrifices have to be made.

… and I’ve been making them since I was a wee teen and read G A Henty into the small hours. Followed by countless other books, including the Patty Series? (I can’t remember. It’s been awhile and there was a love triangle and she chose Bill. I approved. But then there was a paragraph where she regretted her choice. Bam! Such betrayal. Pfft, Bill. You could have done better. Me, for instance.)

It’s a habit. A bad one. But when you’re gripped by a book, what’s to be done? Go to sleep? No. Nope. You have to finish it. Or at least, you have to try.

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(There’s a balance somewhere; I’m attempting to find it.)

To read more, you have to make time for it. But I’m sure you’ll be surprised at how much reading you can fit in. Even when you’re busy. Take a book. Don’t be naked.

Happy reading!

I think I just rambled, Life

THINGS. ALL THE THINGS.

I haven’t posted for a while. BUT I HAVE MY REASONS. In the last few weeks of non-posting, I’ve:

  1. worked
  2. gone to London
  3. seen Wonder Woman

DISCHUFFED WITH WORK

I’m using the word ‘dischuffed’ from now on. Recently at work, a darling Joanna Lumley lookalike used it, and I’m in love. That is all. (And I’m not dischuffed with work; I just wanted to fit the word in somewhere.)

As September looms and an uncertain certain future shines, not on the horizon, but straight into my eyes. (IT BURNS!) I’ve been taking as many shifts as work can throw at me. Consequently, it’s hard to find time to do things. When you get home from a long shift, you don’t think:

MY GOSH LET ME HAVE MOOOOORE THINGS TO DO RIGHT THIS MOMENT!

You want to wind down. You want to relax. You don’t want to plunge into other things. AND THAT’S MY EXCUSE. And I’m sticking to it.

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I GO TO LONDON. BECOME METROPOLITAN. TRY TO BREAK INTO M&S.

I travelled down to London via train. I’ve learned a lot about trains since my first solo trip on one – apparently, it’s not enough to get the right platform, you also have to wait for the right train. All trains arriving at platform 6A, for example will not go to the same place. This was quite the surprise.

In London, I …

  • worked out how to navigate the Underground (occasionally by accident)
  • found Grosvenor Square (definitely by accident)
  • did not locate any Heyer heroes (a grave disappointment)
  • was mistaken as a businesswoman by a banker #dubiouslyproud

Also in London, I strode jauntily down Oxford St, a spring to my step. I was a queen in a beautiful flowy dress. I was in London. Red buses were going past. Life was good. I strode up to the steps to M&S (opposite Selfridges? Or was it …?!). I reached the doors. I attempted to open the doors. The doors did not open.

I forgot that there are such things as opening times and slunk off like a shamed hedgehog to the side doors which were suddenly open because I … had arrived at 8:59 and … and then it was 9:00am and … *heavy sigh*

But as a side note, the M&S staff are lovely and I wanted to hug them and squeeze their London out of their cheeks.

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THE WONDER OF THE WOMAN

One day, I was fed up with scrimping and saving. So, in rebellion against saving sprees, work, and denying myself books (FOUR WEEKS WITHOUT BUYING A BOOK. THIS CANNOT KEEP UP MUCH LONGER!!), I went to watch Wonder Woman. It’s got some epic moments. Some hilarious moments. Some touching moments. I enjoyed it.

BUT I HAVE AN OBJECTION.

The mustache.

It was terrible.

Honestly, I like facial hair. If I was a man, I’d have a glorious, glorious beard. However … the mustache? No. No. A thousand times, no.

Kill it with fire.

TO END

Today is my day off. This is a good thing, for sometimes a bone deep tiredness takes hold; the sort that almost makes you finish a tannoy at work with:

Goooood evening, ladies and gentlemen,

blah blah blah. blah blah blah, blah blah blah.

Thank you for shopping at such and such.

Amen.

 

Books, Life

films swooning (and Wodehouse)

I’ve just finished a long week of work. My brain is a little frazzled and glitchy, but that’s okay. I’m sure I’ll survive. (BUT WILL EVERYONE ELSE? HUH? HUH?!)

musick

My place of work is less than ten minutes away, and on the way there, I find myself listening to a few songs of Imagine Dragons – chiefly, Bleeding Out.

I’ve got the lyrics mostly memorised. Which means I can sing every other line. I’m dreadfully pleased with myself.

(I’m not entirely sure what the song is about – someone bleeding out? Probably. Maybe?)

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reading

I’ve finished Ukridge (NOT pronounced Uk-bridge. Learn to read, Ness) by P.G Wodehouse. I have to say three things about this book:

  1. Ukridge is infuriating in that you want to hate him, you know you ought to hate him … but you can’t quite bring yourself to say that he is the most loathesomely selfish character in the history of ever.
  2. He has little redeeming qualities, other than being a creation of Wodehouse, and so therefore, inherently funny.
  3. Corky needed a romance, and a medal for being such a good friend – for valiantly attempting to intercede with Ukridge’s aunt on his behalf, for putting up with Cecil, and yes – even and especially Ukridge himself.

Cecil, by the way, is a young boy who wants to see the sites of London. And by ‘sites’ I mean ‘the sites where all the gory murders have taken place’.

Then, again, Cecil’s was not one of those personalities which become more attractive with familiarity. I should say at a venture that those who liked him best were those who saw the least of him.

Wodehouse always comes out with these one liners that catch you off guard and induce great merriment:

“”I’m not saying that Cecil doesn’t take a bit of knowing. He’s the sort of boy you have to be patient with and bring out, if you know what I mean. I think he grows on you.”

“If he ever grows on me, I’ll have him amputated.”

watching

Recently, I watched Last Knights and honestly … this movie. Why? Why was it made? When was it set? What was its point?

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“Why’d you put us in this film?!!”

I just … they took all the cultures and put them in a blender, added tons of epic high fantasy stills from DeviantArt, grabbed Morgan Freeman and gave him Wise Man Dialogue and *boom!* a movie. And then – just to make it that more interesting, they shoved in so many fade to blacks, it’s like the movie is constantly swooning.

Oh, and the hero? No reason to like him. No reason to sympathise with him. GIVE ME REASONS TO CARE MOVIE! But they gave me none. Zilch. Nada. They made him irredeemable and then *haha* just pretending.

But no. OOOHHH NOOOO!! THAT IS NOT HOW YOU DO IT MOVIE! THAT IS NOT HOW YOU DO IT! No. There is a line, movie. You just nuked it. It’s glass now. GLASS!

And the final shot? THE FINAL SHOT?!! He closes his eyes … and everyone sighs with relief. The movie is over. The ending wasn’t so-

BUT THEN!! His eyes flash open and it’s like the character is like:

OH SHOOT! THE OVEN! I FORGOT TO TURN IT OFF!

BAM!

*fade to black*