The Gentle Art Of Forcing Oneself To Write

I had actually forgotten about this place until quite recently, when I set up a Tumblr for myself and, after three days, found myself wondering “why have I committed myself to yet another blogging/social networking tool?’

I’m on Facebook, Twitter and Livejournal (shush). I blog for a group of superb feminist writers. I comment on Comment is Free. I also have this place, which I had intended to be less about the mundane workings of my life (that’s for Livejournal) and more about pseudo-philosophical ramblings.

And I’ve missed it, truth be told. Twitter is wonderful but brevity is most emphatically not my strong suit. I need a place like this to expand upon my tweetrants, to organise my brainfarts in such a manner that barely anyone will read them.

So I shall endeavour to post here once in a while.

At the moment, I am slogging my way through NaNoWriMo. I am enjoying it…although I am not the best in the world at sticking to targets, and being easily distracted to the point of ADD at times is certainly not on my side. Much less so when my other project, the X Factor Rants page, is taking up so much time.

I may post excerpts here at some point.

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The Etiquette Of Dealing With Neighbours

In a frantic bid to avoid dealing with the looming spectre of Israel and the frankly horrendous atrocities recently committed, I ask the following: How does one deal with neighbours having alarmingly loud sex?

It’s not an isolated incident; they have their windows open and the woman sounds like she’s having her legs sawn off with a blunt hacksaw. We live in a block of flats with paper-thin walls (I swear I can hear the man next door farting sometimes) I have a feeling these people are exhibitionists, or extraordinarily selfish, or both. Because although I’ve nothing against whatever it is they’re doing (sawing legs off excepted) it really is something they don’t need to share with the rest of the block. At 3am. Or indeed 9am. At ear-piercing volume.

Last night they were at it, and frankly it was putting me off my book. And that is no way to endear yourself to me. So I opened the window and yelled “Will you please keep it down, you noisy bastards! There are kids trying to sleep.” (There are actually kids in the flats too, although I can’t verify whether or not they were trying to sleep, but I feel sorry for their parents having to explain some of her noises to them…) I felt a little guilty, sure, but they shut up immediately. Maybe they shut the windows, or turned off the microphone. Either way, I got to read my book in peace, and that’s all that matters, right?

A Brief Introduction

There is nothing so self-indulgent as a blog of one’s own, and I’m under no illusion; I’m reasonably sure that nobody will stumble upon this blog and pronounce it a Pulitzer Prize winner. And, accordingly, that’s not the intention.

What will I write about, then? Mostly guff about what’s made me angry today (there’ll probably be a lot of that), snippets about my cats, the weather, British newspapers (which links in nicely with the ‘stuff that made me angry today’), the few TV shows I watch and possibly reviews of the multitude of hair dyes I use, because goodness knows I’d have found such a thing useful before I bought the bloody things.

So yes. Potentially an extraordinarily dull corner of the interweb, but sod it. I’ve got to have some outlet or I’ll implode messily.