Sunday, 31 July 2011

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...

Bloody hell, Dickens had a point.

Why does the human brain have to be so changeable? Why can't it just settle on a feeling or emotion and stick there? Drives me loopy.

To explain, I've had the best few days. Well, Thursday was the best as it was when Dos and I went to see the mighty Iron Maiden. I broke down I admit. Just like those crying Brazilian fans from the Flight 666 movie. Weddings don't make me cry, funerals don't make me cry (if I have it's from sheer discomfort rather than sadness), new babies don't make me cry but a sweaty bunch of fifty-somethings (or sixty?) singing about the Devil and I'm blubbing like Gazza at the 1990 World Cup. I'm not even going to address with myself the reason why - I'm too scared to open that can of worms - but suffice to say, it was a happy moment for Emma.

This weekend also saw me finish the Motley Crue Autobiography, The Dirt, which had me hooked for the last couple of weeks. Without doubt the best biography I've ever read - hands down. The first half of the book had me laughing so hard I couldn't breathe but the second half was...well, a bit depressing really. It unfolded into a story about a bunch of spoilt has-been rockers that couldn't accept they weren't the coolest mother-f*ckers on earth anymore and proceeded to fire each other and their loyal staff, all the while falling in and out of love with money grabbing whores. The story takes the reader up to 2001 and everything is still unresolved between the band. However, I went to see them a few years back at Manchester Apollo (Tommy Lee had injured his arm and couldn't drum but still hung around the stage like a bad smell, passing a bottle of jaiger round the audience) so I know the story does ultimately have a happy ending - even if the The Dirt doesn't chronicle it.

Other highlights of the weekend included, walking into a tattoo parlour for the first time in my life to get a quote for the tattoo I want (£120 if you're interested) and developing a rather wicked taste for Jack Daniels and coke (you're to blame for that, Crue). I watched the Lemmy movie another couple of times as well (he's another reason for the current JD obsession), just to round off my rock and roll weekend.

Great stuff.

Enough inspiration and material to pick up my laptop and do the last read through of Driving Exile. Except there's been something wrong. I've just not been in the mood to read it. Every sentence I've written doesn't flow and I found myself frowning at it today over a cup of coffee and struggling to stop myself from getting distracted by every little thing.

It's supposed to be going to the printers tomorrow for me to get a number of copies printed for the mail-out to agents but I'm only a third of the way through it so far. I'll hammer it again tonight but I just don't feel like my heart is in it at the moment. I don't get why, I mean, shouldn't this weekend of all weekends have been the ultimate kick up the ass I needed? It was full of inspiration and a hint of the exciting times to come now that I've made the vow to embrace rock music in the way I should have done years ago but it's left me feeling ancy and blah towards my book.

My dream on Friday night didn't help where my ultimate literary agent actually turned up at my door demanding to read the rest of the manuscript. In the dream, I'd furiously searched the flat to find him a copy and all the while I couldn't wipe the silly smile off my face at the realisation I'd done it. I'd written something that other people wanted to read and that may one day be on book shelves or downloaded on iPads and Kindle's. As you can imagine, I was pretty bummed out to wake up in the morning to the sight of my dog-eared manuscript covered in notes and my laptop practically beaming that it'd be spending even more time on my lap.

The saving grace of the day was the sight of Dos sans chest hair after a waxing incident on his latest night out. As I sat glaring at my computer screen this morning after a restless nights sleep, he shuffled into the room yawning, with mascara under his eyes and a patchy bald chest (the mascara was pirate-related I'm told). Overnight, my ex has actually turned into Nikki Sixx and I love it. One of us should be out tearing up the town and as I'm getting more and more bogged down in the land of Exile (seriously, I'm actually getting mad at my own characters for the stupid things they do and say in the book these days - I just want to reach into the pages and throttle them a lot of the time), the lovely Liverpool is seeing less and less of me.

That said, the staff in Coffee Republic, Caffe Nero and Costa are getting used to the sight of me. (By the way, David, I didn't appreciate you mocking me for ordering two peppermint teas today. And yes, they do settle your stomach, you should try one). Rock on, baristas!

Right, I'm off to carry on reading. Wish me luck.

Oh, and I know there's not an awful lot of you reading this blog (put it this way, no advertisers are knocking on my door) but I really do appreciate people taking to time to read my ramblings. It means a lot.

Keep rocking.

Em

x



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