Addicted to authonomy

Well, I have now been on 'authonomy' for several months, though it seems like forever. It is definitely an addiction.

For those who don't know (though since I talk about nothing else these days, you all should) authonomy is the Harper Collins run website where authors post their books and critique each others. Your book (hopefully) goes up in the ranking as more people 'shelve' it and you end up (hopefully) in the top five, at which point HC will read your book and (hopefully) publish it! DaDa.

Now, you might think that sounds quite easy, but you're wrong. It's actually as demanding as suckling a voracious infant.

For a start, you have to spend at least five, headache inducing hours a day, reading endless books, some of which you might not choose to read, but have to, in hopes of getting shelved by the author.

Then you have to think of positive things to say, rather than the (sometimes) truth, which is, 'This book is crap. You have no future in writing whatsoever.' I have only actually felt this about 3 times. There is an awful lot of good stuff on here, some of it, very very good. (buggar)

Nice comments, sooth ones ego; negative ones destroy it. Luckily, most people are quite nice.

So, on my 'holiday' in Dubai, I spent a large portion of my time, logging onto authonomy, in hopes of keeping my book going up, which it has been doing, (though slower than watching paint dry).

Then, this morning, after only ONE day when I was unable to get onto it due to a long flight/bus ride home, panic set in.

The usual green arrow which indicates that it is still climbing, was replaced by an ominous yellow bar, which tells everyone that it is now staying put. This will shortly be followed by: the dreaded red (down) arrow.

This spells the end, because people tend to stop backing books which are going down, since it doesn't do their kudos as a 'critique' any good to back unpopular books. You are, officially, a 'loser'.

Since I only had very faint fantasies about ending up in the top five, I am not overly disappointed, though having only reached 150, I feel a bit deflated.

So, I am looking for the positives (most unlike me).

1. I have come out with a much better, tighter book. I have taken most of the editing advice and changed much of the narrative into dialogue and really tried to 'show', rather than 'tell' - a concept I found very difficult to get my head round, and don't think I have, entirely.
2. I have also made some 'friends', people I have clicked with, and seen some of them reach the top, which is very gratifying. Even though I do feel just a tiny pin prick of jealousy.
3. I have seen some stuff which makes my book look like the work of a genuis (though I know I shouldn't need to compare myself to anybody, because I should just have belief in my book for its own merits. But, I don't, and I can't help comparing it).

By the way, if you want to see my book (or others) you can look on www.authonomy.com and register to read. If you want to comment, I think you have to sign up and pay a small amount.

I'm tempted to pay people to comment on mine, but think that may be cheating.

Am I mad?

Can someone please help me? I need my dream interpreted so I can figure out what is going on in my crazy head.

The dream:
There were a lot of people staying at our house, including someone in our bedroom (though not sharing our bed). Children were milling around (it was evening) with their parents, many of whom I didn't know, but they all seemed very friendly - and excited.

Suddenly, one of my children asked where their stockings were, and it dawned on me with an indescribable panic, that it was actually Christmas Eve. And I was totally unprepared. No one seemed to have pointed out the lack of a tree; but when I confessed that there would be no stockings this year, because I had forgotten to organise them, there was much sulkiness and distress. The main distress was felt by myself. How could I do this?

Not only had I forgotten stocking presents, but there would be no presents under the tree either (not that there was a tree, but had I got presents, we could have pretended). I sobbed around the place, and word quickly spread of our family crisis. Lots of the children (who I didn't recognise) came up and kindly offered to sacrifice one of their presents so that my children would have, at least something, to open. I was overwhelmed by their kindness, yet found myself having to accept things like a quite hideous floral jump suit, which, aside from its obvious fashion reject qualifications, would be far too small for Zoe. With a smile on my face, I gratefully accepted, knowing Zoe would be horrified (and would not be able to hide this fact).

I discovered a craft market which was operating late on Christmas Eve, and wandered round it aimlessly, trying to find suitable things to fill a stocking. I did buy a couple of necklaces, which had glass giraffes on them, but the only other thing which I thought would appeal were some gorilla suits, which a group of children were modelling.

I was still dissatisfied, but had at least got something to ease the pain of 'no Christmas presents this year folks', and assuage my own guilt at forgetting. When I returned home, everyone was still milling around, although it was very late. I was getting quite annoyed, as I wanted to sleep. When I got into bed, I was horrified to find some dog shit lying between Rob and I.

The question is: do I need psychiatric help?

Pilates

I lied on my last blog when I said I hadn't achieved any of my New Year's resolutions. I forgot that I started a Pilates class on Friday. Pat on the back, Sandra, and a hearty 'well done!' The idea of Pilates appeals to me on several fronts. Firstly, I understood there was no jumping about, which always sets alarm bells ringing for me, on account of my little 'problem'. Jumping is not the only thing which sets it off, an unexpected cough, a choking fit, or a violent sneeze will also bring it on, but I can normally control those by crossing my legs in time. But nothing can stop it when doing star jumps.



Secondly, I like the idea of lying down for these sessions. Lying down is so much more relaxing than standing up, and it makes my stomach look quite flat.



Thirdly, I felt I should support the lovely lady who takes the class. She sorted out the trapped nerve in my neck,which had defied every other variety of medical expertise, from conventional medicine (they told me I had carpal tunnel syndrome) to Bowen (plain weird) and a chiropractor, who quite simply gave me the creeps. Everytime he 'manipulated' my neck, I thought he was going to kill me. Plus, he spent an inordinate amount of time analysing the sole of my trainers, which I thought a bit bizarre. He said they could tell the story of my posture. But he also told me that if I put frozen peas on my neck and then refroze them, I could die. He was South African.



Pilates's main message seems to be 'core stability', which involves lifting your pelvic floor muscle and pulling in your tummy from your belly button. Strengthening these muscles will apparently benefit your body in every way, by protecting your spine, and thus your nerve endings. Sounds good to me, plus, if I can ever actually locate my pelvic floor muscles, and therefore strengthen them, that will help with my little problem. Unfortunately, and rather dishearteningly, when the teacher said 'imagine the lift going up, now it's on the second, third, fourth..... all the way up to the eighth floor. Now hold it there', my lift had stopped at the first floor and plummeted back down to the ground floor before she had even mentioned the second, let alone the eighth floor.



Anne (my new found friend, who suffers a similar problem) and I commiserated with each other, but both of us left with the optimistic feeling that somehow this would be the miracle cure we had been searching for since the birth of our babies and the deterioration of our bodies. A shame there's nothing to be done about the stretch marks. At least we know that Greek men find them attractive.

A New Year

New year didn't seem complete this year, we didn't sing 'Auld Langs Ine', or whatever it's called and however you spell it, but you know what I mean. We stood outside watching an immensely expensive fireworks display (or at least that's what Richard, the pub landlord where we were, told us) which lasted all of 2 minutes, and I couldn'thelp thinking our wages for the next two months were now floating around in the sky. As I swigged on my third large glass of wine (which cost me over two hours work) I made my usual resolutions, which are beginning to sound a bit like a stuck record: 'get fit and drink less' (for my body) and 'be less judgemental' (for my spirit).

The former hasn't actually kicked in yet, but it's still only just the new year, so I'm not beating myself up about it (no point in being unrealistic or setting myself impossible goals), and the latter went out the window yesterday when I started an evening class again and immediately decided I hated this woman who I barely know (replacing my last target of hate, whom I also barely knew) because she never shuts up when our teacher is trying to teach us. I happen to know that she's a teacher and therefore should know better. Mind you, teachers are notoriously rowdy in these situations. I tried to counterbalance my lapse by telling myself to be tolerant, she's probably a really nice person and the fact she has to show off is just because she is insecure and I ought to pity her rather than finding myself wanting to hit her, but this all rang rather hollow as I continued to hate her.

Now, next year I am going to think of something I really can achieve. Perhaps it will be:
drink excessively, refrain from any physical exercise and make an instant judgement about someone (preferably negative) and stick by it. Then I can end up feeling really good about myself for having 'stickability'.

Happy New Year everybody.

Christmas

I always do get stupidly excited about Christmas and this year is no exception, though I am a bit disappointed that it has gone all mild and silly. I was, literally, dreaming of a white Christmas. I have forced everyone in my family to listen to endless renditions of all the old traditional carols and they moan a bit, but tolerate it because they know it won't last long. The one bad thing about giving up teaching is that I have to work up until Christmas Eve. How unreasonable is that? Still, it should be fairly relaxed and I'll be feeling no pain once Justin has force fed me the amazing cocktails he produces. Normally I am remarkably strong about refusing them, but I think I'll let my guard down tomorrow. The tapas may be a bit wonky though.

My writing...?

I keep forgetting that this started its life as a 'writer's blog'. I seem to have gone off onto all sorts of tangents and really these are just my random thoughts. 'Random' being the operative word.



Well, perhaps that's because my writing is going, but only very very slowly. I flit from editing my original book (new title, now called 'God's Away on Business') to my 'memoirs', which are very nearly finished, at least ready to edit. Then there is my really (terrifyingly) serious book, but I need to get to Brighton to do some research, something I find rather daunting (research, not Brighton!).


I actually seem to spend more time on this website called 'authonomy', which is run by Harper and Collins, and is a forum for writers. It is unbelievably difficult for someone like me, but you basically have to persuade people to read and comment on your book, and hopefully put it on their 'bookshelf' (ie support it) so that the publishers will start to take notice of it. Since I tend to tell everyone how bad and rubbish my books are, I haven't made any huge steps forward yet! I have tried to be pushy, and contacted a few people whose books I really like, hoping they will like mine too. It's a sort of 'you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours' type scenario. The complication comes in the form of being the most successful talent spotter - I don't understand this bit, but think it's rather like supporting someone in Strictly Come Dancing and almost 'betting' on their novel being really popular. I have read some dross, which is encouraging as it makes my book look so much better, but then I got some quite negative comments, which hurt, even though I know they shouldn't.


I am feeling disheartened. It feels like nothing will ever happen at the moment. No matter how many times I tell myself that my book is good enough to be published, the nagging little monster of self doubt rears its ugly head and says, spitefully, 'No it isn't'. This voice tends to win.



So, I am desperately trying to be 'positive', to tell myself that all this agony will give birth to even more creativity. Meanwhile, I continue to wash up at the pub - my hands look even more ancient than Madonna's, which is depressing. Although some kind soul from the 'authonomy' website told me you can get gel nails, so I may look into that. Also, my bank account is worryingly empty.

One piece of good news. I entered a 'Christmas Chillers' competition and was on the short list! Hooray. Sadly, they put my name down as 'Robert Stopford'. Typical.

Strictly Addicted

Okay, look, I'm sorry, but I have to do this. John Sargeant. You all know who I mean (dad, I'll phone you about it). In our unbelievably high brow, intellectual household, it's been all we've talked about for weeks. I even turn down all Saturday shifts (when the tips can double your wages) because of my shameful addiction.

I started off loving John Sargeant (JS from now on). For his cheeky face (strangely attractive), his hilarious take on ballroom and latin dancing and, most importantly, for his self deprecating humour. A quality sadly diminishing in our 'big yourself up' world.

More than JS, I loved Christina, whose care and reverance for her partner was touching. Whilst knowing he was basically hopeless, she choreographed dances to suit his bumbling, 'teddy bear marching' style to accentuate the humour. She even protected him by covering his ears from the judges vitriolic criticisms. So sweet!

But it was time for him to go. True, it is entertainment, but it is also about dance and when Cherie Lunghi, who could have won - holding a torch for the 'older woman' - was voted off for JS to stay, it had gone a bit too far.

I found myself arguing with my 17 year old nephew, virtually imploring him to stop supporting JS so that more deserving dancers could win. How pathetic is that? And why should I care?

I think because, ultimately, the entertainment is about the improvement of the dancers. This gives the show its edge. To watch people like Jodie Kidd, transform from 'ugly' duckling to graceful swan (she by the way, is also very funny and self deprecating, which is why I love her). If everyone simply minced around like JS, it would be a great comedy show, but not a dance show. Perhaps the BBC should run a 'worst of' series, with the Julian Clary's and John Sargeant's competing against each other. I would definitely watch that.