Marathon, Handsworth and early Trick or Treaters

I am taking a couple of weeks off the novel now. It is getting to the point where I’m losing motivation because I’ve been doing the same thing for several months. I will get back to it, but only when I have a burning urge to write a novel again. For the mean time, I will spend my free time reading and becoming inspired. If there are any recommendations, feel free to comment.

I went to the EDF Half Marathon in Birmingham last Sunday. My brother (the one who has his own house) had been running by the local canal over the past couple of months in preparation for his run. I had expected him to tell us when to wake up the day before when he came to visit us. However he didn’t, which meant that he was not planning to have us watch him cross the finish line from the sideline, beaming with joy.

Nevertheless, my mum suggested that we go and surprise him, as well as to fulfil my expectation, as I had been looking forward to going all week. We walked all the way to Broad Street from the car park. We arrived there to find a forest of sweating men and women padding under the bridge, wrapped in silver foil, which flashed and glittered in the sunlight. I’m not sure why this is, but I think it’s supposed to be a symbol that screams, “I ran 13 miles and made it!”, as their medals are probably too small to catch other people’s attention. No disrespect of course, running a marathon for charity is worth being proud of and showing off.

After an hour or two of watching and waiting, we came to the realisation that my brother must have finished a long time ago, as we couldn’t see him anywhere. Moreover, we know that my brother isn’t a slow runner. So we went to the stalls and bought a cheese burger and some hot dogs, which were lovely by the way. Beacon Radio was hosting the live music that was playing on stage by the finishing line. According to the Radio DJ on stage a 77 year old man took part in the marathon. To be honest, it doesn’t surprise me, as I saw a man of a similar age climbing Snowdon back in 2006 and another a few months ago on Ben Nevis.

Apparently people from all over Europe had taken part, which probably explains the thousands and thousands of people we saw. It’s funny now, because at the time I was thinking, “Surely there can’t be that many Sports enthusiasts in the West Midlands?” But then, there could have been participants from other parts of England, as far away as Manchester and London. Actually, the latter might be a little unlikely, as London have their own Marathons.

We then went to Handsworth for some grocery shopping. It’s a district in Birmingham, which is heavily populated by Asians. No, Birmingham is not racist; in fact it is one of the most multicultural parts of England. But I suppose as there are so many shops to run independently and Asians are well know to set up their own businesses, it’s natural that this part of the Midlands would become a less exotic Bazaar. And a Bazzar it is.

The baskets at front of supermarkets are filled with fruits and vegetables; the shelves in some shops are lined with miniature Buddhas laughing as their stomachs slouched and others with CDs of Bollywood tracks and religious hymns. But what always catches my eyes are mannequins posing at shop windows, clad in jewel embellished saris and suits. That’s the best thing about this place. I can always fantasise about wearing things that are too expensive for me. And perhaps I will never wear.

Unfortunately that night, as I was sat messing with my phone and half listening to the Xtra Factor (nothing else was on!), I heard a knock on the door. My brother and my sister in law had visited a few hours earlier to show off the medal, so naturally I thought they had forgotten something. Much to my horror, I opened the door to find a pair of painted green faces and pointed hats. “Trick or Treat” said the girls.

I opened my mouth as some mumbled sounds came out of it. It wasn’t so much that I was nervous. It was more out of disbelief and being stuck in an awkward moment with two strangers who, to be honest, seemed too old to go trick or treating. I eventually uttered “I haven’t any money”, to which they drawled a lazy “OK”, before walking off.

And that was the first time I didn’t have to lie I order to get some people to go away ;)

Toy Story: Kinder Suprises in Battle

Over the first three days, I struggled to conjure the motivation to write the battle scene.
I think it was a combination of being burned out in the creativity department as well as being a typical girl. I know the latter sounds a little sexist, but I think it’s true. Jason and I were talking last week after my intern interview. Apparently, he would have no problem in writing a battle scene, but he would struggle in writing a love scene. With me, it’s the complete opposite, I know how to describe sensuality and bring romantic feelings to the page, but writing a scene that involves jabbing swords, blood spurting and raucous screaming is difficult without it boring me or coming across as boring to the reader.

I know this sounds weird, coming from someone who included a battle scene in her novel, but at the time I seriously thought I’d be able to write one and have fun with it. But when it came to the crunch, I guess I came to the realisation that I only have fun with writing when I’m dealing with strong characters interacting with one another, something I’ve been incessantly encouraged to do for three years by my lecturer. Damn you Candi Miller. Damn you.

Today, it got to the point where I could not stand being unmotivated. On Tuesday, I Googled ‘How to write a battle scene’ to kick start my brain and one source suggested that I get some pins and items and plan out the battlefield. The closest I have to pins are my Kinder Surprise toys, which have been left in a plastic bag for seven years now.

It was weird to look at and touch my toys. The Polly Pockets look like they’ve been drenched for a year in urine and my some of my toys (the ones you have to assemble together) are now limbless. But the better quality toys were still how I remembered them, although a little gnawed and white here and there from excessive use. Most of these were the ones I got from the Kinder Surprise chocolates, which I got addicted to collecting at the age of five after my cousin bought me one. Hawaiian turtles wore garlands flowers around their necks and heads and the crocodiles held books and bags in preparation for school. It’s a bloody shame the company doesn’t make them as bright and creative as they used to. I bought one two years ago, and left the flimsy plastic toy I had to assemble on the shop shelf. That is how horrid they are.

Anyways I digress. I split my toys in two opposing sides: the turtles and crocs played the part of the Asurs and the Disney characters played the part of the Devs. I’ve got to say, this method worked. I was able to visualise the scene and made notes on the various events that could happen. Funnily, while I was doing this, my sister-in-law dropped by for a visit. She pointed the tips of her rigid palm towards my toys (the way most Indians do) and mockingly asked me how old I was.

Now that I have the idea, I need some good battle scenes to read, just to see how such a chapter is organised and how it’s written. My friend Janet recommended The Final Battle by Greg Farshtey, which I will look for in the library…if not, then Amazon it is. In the mean time, I will be skim reading The Return of the King, just to get an idea of how events in a battle chapter are organised and shown in a narrative. To be honest, getting through Lord of the Rings without the over-written Medevil language putting me off is a bit of a challenge already. Plus, I’ve been severely told off my Candi for overwriting, most of which was down to being encouraged by my English teacher to use Tolkien as inspiration for my metaphors and similes.

Pricks and Friends

It has been a very long day. I have come back from Birmingham, where I was to have my “interview” with a nameless company. I say nameless because the bastard on the phone was careful not to mention it, in case I did a Google search.

It was on the bus back from my intern interview last week when I got his call. He made it out as though he was offering paid on-the-job training and that I was to attend a very informal interview. I should have known there was something very strange about all of this as I don’t remember applying for any admin work in Birmingham…but then, I very rarely remember the vacancies I applied to.

I was going to cancel it after I received an email from Vicky regarding my intern. That was the reason why I didn’t mention it in my last blog, as there was no point. But as he was not in his office, I thought it would be best to contact him on Monday morning.

But this morning, he called me to ask me if I was still going to make the meeting, to which I told him about the intern. He said I could still do it part-time, so I decided there was no harm in coming along, just to see what the office and people were like.

However, the unprofessional manner of this man and this Techworks company were all too apparent. He was 20 minutes late, as I sat on one of the plush chairs of the waiting area, reading a high-fashion glossy. He led me into a spacious office room, with leather cushioned stools and modern desks. Here, I filled in an application form, while he disappeared somewhere. When he came back, he explained that because of the competition in the IT and admin area, I would need some training. He handed me a sheet that listed all of the modules of this silly course. I can’t remember what he said as I wasn’t listening, all the time thinking, “mate, I left university five months ago, I need on-the-job experience, not another course”.

I looked down at the sheet and saw the price of it all. £1000. My mind was made up. I told him that I will get back to him when I have earned enough money, when really my intentions were to ignore him as though he was some loser I had drunkenly led on the night before. But to be honest, there was no way I was going to trust him anyways, as there was something very ‘cuntish’ about his stretched smile and sleazy aura. Yes, I do hate him; but only because he tricked me into travelling all the way to Birmingham and wasted 2 hours of my life. Prick.

For those who think I’m being too harsh, I actually Googled Techworks and yes, they are a scam. One disgruntled man had paid the money, only to receive poor services from the website where he had to do his online learning. Not only that, but he realized that he could have learned all that he knew from a book costing £20…or even £10 on Amazon. He is now trying to get his money back and so he should (see link below).

Now that I’ve ripped up the module sheet (which also included Prick McPrickson’s number), I’ll move on to the less depressing parts of my day. I saw Rupal on my way home. She looked glamorous as always with her Bridget Bardot hair and plum scarf that made her skin look even more opulent. She was all smiles as she had just returned from university. I didn’t tell her about the stupid man, but I did tell her about the internship, which she was really pleased for as she gave me a huge hug. We stood there talking for a good 15 minutes. That’s what I love about friends. You never tire of their company and when it’s time to go, you wish time would stop being such a jealous bastard.

On a more lighter note, I’m a little disheartened that Diva Fever were voted out yesterday on the X Factor. Yes, I did slate the show in a previous entry, but I’m a sucker for novelty acts that are so bad they’re good. Last year it was Jedward (the Ghostbusters performance was by far the most hilarious TV moment of 2009), this year, its Diva Fever and Wagner, the latter only lives 15 minutes away from my estate!

Oh well, Wagner’s still in, even though his last performance wasn’t as funny as the first. Perhaps Louis should give him a Ricky Martin number to further mutilate.

Oh and for your viewing pleasure, here's Jedward's ritous rendition of Ghostbusters



LINKS:

http://www.certforums.co.uk/forums/showthread.php?t=34343

Starting Placement in two weeks

I am pleased to inform that I am going to start my placement in two weeks.

My interview was last Thursday. I turned up to Wolverhampton University in my chiffon blouse and pinstriped trousers and was told by the receptionist to wait on the second floor. So there I was, sitting on a plastic chair against a large glossy window, wondering when the interviewer, Vicky Warren was to turn up.

Surprisingly a few minutes later, a young woman climbs down the stairs and walks towards me, showing off her perfectly white teeth. For some reason I had expected Vicky to be an older woman in her late to early thirties, which is silly as most older women with the same name would rather be called Victoria.

I led to the third floor…apparently; the receptionist had sent me to the wrong floor. I was led into a room filled with computers and people typing and drinking coffee. Think the office place in the film ‘500 days of Summer’ and you get the perfect picture. She then led me to a little room at the back, where Lisa, a woman from the Communication department, was sat waiting.

To my relief, the interview went amazingly well. I had been stressing over the few days, as I had let procrastination tempt me and I was forced to do a lot of last minute revision. But the interview only comprised of telling them what I wanted to get out of the placement and what my strengths were, before showing them some articles I had written during my time at university, both at UCE and Wolves. They seemed quite intrigued, commenting that they were very well written. They even asked if they could keep them.

I was given some homework, in which I had to turn a press release into a news article. I agreed to meet Jason at 4 o clock, as one of his team members moved the group meeting from 12 to 3. So, I spent the 2 hours I had to kill on writing up my article on one of the computers in the building.

I met up with Jason outside the main entrance, for the security guard would not let me in without an ID card. After three years of easy admittance, I forget that I’m no longer a student. As we had hot chocolate in the student café, Jason asked me if I miss student life. I looked around. Students in checked shirts, hoodies and River Island outfits bought from their Student Loans were sitting at tables, chatting and laughing. To be honest, I did not miss uni life in the slightest; perhaps because I feel like a large fish in a small pond. Although work life is never going to be easy to begin with, at least I will be doing something I enjoy, rather than working on assignments and getting drunk, the latter is now very boring to me.

The following day, I brushed up and proofread my article, before sending it off to Vicky. Two hours later, I received an email from her telling me that my article was very good and that she is offering me the intern. Yay times indeed! I will be starting at the beginning of November, so it will give me two weeks to go office garb shopping.

As for the novel, it will have to take a back seat for now. I have included a new chapter, which will add a little kick to the suspicions that arise in the later part of the novel. To be honest, I really do need a break from all of this. It’s getting to the point where I have done this for too long and I need to look at the whole thing with fresh eyes. I will plan the battle scene in the two weeks I will have free. Although, I feel a bloke would be better that this :(

A Promising Placement

I was meaning to write this entry yesterday, but alas didn’t because a) my brother spent most of yesterday evening on Youtube, comic book websites and Liverpool FC and b) I was working obsessively on my CV, the latter relating to this entry

I spent most of Monday applying for placements on Graduate Advantage and The Graduate Talent Pool. Surprisingly, I received an email from Ann Gough, a staff member of Wolverhampton College the following day, inviting me for a meeting. I wasn’t sure whether this was an interview or an informal meeting, but I decided to wear my pinstripe flares and chiffon blouse, just in case.

It was the first time I set foot in a college in four years. There were girls in Topshops outfits and plastered on makeup, Jocks in hoodies and Cool kids with layered hair and Indie- Tees. I’ve got to admit, being around 17 years olds was a little uncomfortable, despite the fact that I’m always mistaken for one. No, it was not because they make me feel old, far from that. You see, there are two types of teenagers. There are the reserved types, who are either dressed down, or take their fashion inspiration from NME and Kerrang. At school, they were too shy, quiet, swotty or non-conformist to be included in the in-crowd. These people I do not mind. However, then there are the arrogant hyperactive types, who without a doubt were the head of the school hierarchy, who spend too much time staring in a pocket mirror and talking about which girls or boys they want to shag, whilst listening to Justin Timberlake and Timberland. No, the populars at my school were never sneering towards me, in fact on the contrary they were very nice. However, that was Holly Hall. I am not sure if other schools around the West Midlands are quite the same.

Anyways I digress. I arrived at the college a few minutes late; as the 246 I catch to Dudley Bus station was ten minutes late and I had trouble finding the place. The hot blonde receptionist directed me to Ann’s room, coolly pointing at a corridor, as though he was showing off a gun. Luckily, Ann was finishing a phone call when I arrived, for I had worried that my slight lateness might have given a bad impression.

Much to my surprise, I find out that Ann was more like an agent to graduates, sending off their CVs to various different placements around the UK and abroad. I was under the impression that I was starting an internship at Wolverhampton College, but I’ve got to say, Ann was much more helpful than any agent I find at job centres, asking me what I was like as a person and what I wanted to get out of an internship. I told her about the novel I was working on and that I wanted to gain some much needed experience from my placement as applying for jobs on the net is pretty much fruitless. She made me feel better about my current situation, telling me that the last thing a graduate should do is sit at home applying for jobs, for employers will very rarely hire someone with little experience, regardless of how superior their degree is.

I went home that day with the intention of rewriting my CV, for Ann told me that although it highlighted what I have done in the past, it said very little about me and my personal and professional attributes. I agree, my CV does make me come across as one dimensional. However, despite that, Ann emailed me this morning telling me that Wolverhampton University want to see me for an interview next week for a PR internship.

I’m pretty excited about doing some professional writing work and delving in the media side of things. I intend to spend the next few days preparing for my interview and making sure I do not make a tit of myself, like I had done in the last interview.

Certificate, Cool Kids with Superhero Powers and (hopefully) an Interview

The last few days has been very hit and miss. In fact, I’ll start with the miss as the list of hits that will finish this blog will make me feel less sucky about my progress at the moment.

Ok, here it goes. I did not do much writing since completing the 21st chapter. Actually, telling a lie, I didn’t really complete it, as there still needs to be one or two more paragraphs that will lead up to the largest final battle scene. The ideas are there (vaguely), but it’s just the process of writing that is putting me off. I know this is very ironic as I am writing right now, but as I’ve explained in earlier blogs, writing in a journal is different to writing a chapter. In a journal, you can write whatever the hell you like without worrying what other people are going to think. For example, I could have one or two spelling errors in this blog and perhaps one or two of the sentences might not flow so well, but the people reading this blog will not judge this entry too harshly. Whereas, with a novel, a publisher (or a very picky reader) will judge it like the Strictly Come Dancing judges judging a ropey dancer. Yes, every detail counts. If there is one spelling error or a sentence is a bit meh, it will go straight in the reject pile.

Birmingham David tells me that I’m just burnt out from writing every single day. In fact, I would say it is very true. I have been writing for nine months (including uni work) non-stop. After university finished, I went straight into novel writing, as it was something I wanted to do. In the words of our Dave, “you need a holiday”. Yes, Dave I would happily jet off to Thailand or Goa for a week…if I had the cash.

On the Hit side…I finally received my certificate on Thursday! I wasn’t sure if it was going to arrive as we need to send a copy of our passport and a recent letter to Student Office confirm our identity and address. The only recent letter that is not a bank statement was one from Student Loans, sent last year. I panicked a little when a woman sent me an email telling me that I need to send a more recent letter. But I held my ground when I told her that it was the only letter that does not have my bank details. Annoyingly, there was no response for a few days and I was wondering if they were ever going to post my degree. Luckily, my next door neighbour dropped by and handed my mum a recorded parcel. I knew from the card board that it was my degree. My heart leapt as I ripped open the seal and saw the Times Roman print of “University of Wolverhampton”. I showed my dad that night, who told me it was the best present I could ever give him. Yes, a little cheesy, but when you’re a proud parent you can get away with sentimental cliques.

On Sunday, I took the day off from job hunting and writing by watching Scott Pilgrim with Birmingham David. Annoyingly I had to walk all the way from Argos (can never remember the street) to Corporation Street where I was to meet Dave, as most of the roads were blocked off to make way for David Cameron and his shiny black Limo. Apparently the conference was taking place in Birmingham this year. Luckily, Birmingham David seemingly wasn’t annoyed and we made our way to AMC on Broad Street. Thankfully, as I hate wasting money in this recession, Scott Pilgrim was amazing! It was a kaleidoscopic burst of Nintendo sounds, Comic book tags and bubble writing exploding with “K.O.”, “Vs” and “Smack”. The guys sport Indie hair-cut and scruffy Tees, the girls ooze a rocker-chick sexiness (or cuteness, depending on who you’re looking at) and in homage to Mario, the bad guys explode into coins when they’re killed. And not only that, but it is easily the most quotable film, with my favourites being:

1) “you cocky cock!”
2) “you punched me in the boob! Prepare to die obviously!”
3) “you made me swallow my gum, that’s going to be in my digestive tract for seven years!”

But be warned, it is one of those films that you’re either going to think is fantastically awesome, or hideously silly. So do not take my word for it.

On top of the certificate and the joy of witnessing cult classic brilliance, I have also been short listed for an interview. I know it’s not much to scream home about, but it is a much needed ray of hope after months of searching.

And on a finishing note, I will upload a video. Since yesterday, I could not stop listening to Scott Pilgrim’s Sex Bob-Omb’s songs, all of which have been written and composed by Beck. It was hard choosing a favourite between ‘Garbage Truck’, ‘We are Sex-Bob-Omb’ and ‘Threshold’, as they are all equally awesome. But this one beats the other two by just a millimetre. Enjoy!