You know when you feel like you’ve blogged about everything you think possible? Yeah, I’ve reached that point. I no longer know what to talk about. As I’m typing this, I’m standing in some place in Camden, waiting for Marina & the Diamonds to start playing. I don’t remember why I bought a ticket for this show way back in May, but all I’m thinking is that she’d better be good. Well, at least good enough to warrant me travelling across to the other side of London for this. It’s cold, and at the moment, all I’m wishing for is to be back at home, wrapped up in a zillion blankets.
The war between the Inner Editors and Muses was still ongoing, with no end in sight. It’s sad to say that the Inner Editors were winning, as every sentence written by possible new writers was marred with self-doubt and frantic editing and re-editing. The recent economic recession had left Cassie, a poor Muse, sorely neglected, as her former authors had decided that it made more sense for them to try and find work during November instead of attempting to flog the novels they had written during NaNoWriMo at the end of the month (and failing, because most of what they wrote was of poor quality).
Cassie didn’t take rejection very well. She knew her authors missed the thrill of frantic novelling and letting their personal lives suffer in the process, but, most importantly, she missed the Muse accolades she would get from them at the end of the month. “If it wasn’t for my Muse, this novel would have never have been written” or “My Muse kept my evil Inner Editor at bay during the whole writing process, and for that I am unbelievably thankful.”
If only there was some way she could get someone – anyone – to notice her again.
This was originally posted on Tropical Fruit last year as part of a blog swap we did, but seeing as I don’t have anything else to talk about today, this is all you’re getting. Sorry.
I’ve ranted and raved during NaBloPoMo about random things like my laziness and my inability to give proper directions, and today seems to be no different. For some reason, I decided it would be a good idea to write about mummy bloggers… As if I didn’t need any more enemies.
I’ll admit it. It might be sort of a blogging faux-pas to do this, but I generally have an aversion to mummy/mommy bloggers. The phrase “married and babied” (or something similar) usually sends me running for the hills. Out of all the things a girl can say about herself, is her marriage and how she squeezed out a couple of kids really the most interesting thing she can say in all the years she’s been on the planet? Does she not have anything else to say than “I married [blah] and my kids are [blah] and [blah]?
A person’s hobbies, views on life, her relationships with her family and friends, all the things I like to read about in a blog… These seem to be lost in a sea of “Thomas just did his first poop today! I’m so proud of him!” I mean, besides being extremely TMI – for some people like to snack whilst they work at the computer, and this can be off-putting – of all the things in the world to read about, why would I care about someone’s son managing to do a basic human function that everyone needs to learn eventually? I would be worried if he *didn’t* poop! That being said, “My son is severely constipated” is a better blog title than “My son finally did it in the potty!!!111!!”
I wish these so called “mummy bloggers” would realise that no one apart from them (and possibly a few relatives) care about every single little bodily function that child has done. I, as a stranger on the internet, lose interest in this sort of thing quickly. I know, I know, if I don’t like it, I don’t have to read it, blah blah blah, but all of this being splashed all over the internet doesn’t help matters.
I guess the only thing that sells mummy blogs to me after all is that there is always something to blog about, whether or not the kids are being infuriating or angelic.
…I think you can tell by now that I don’t have any children.
Eee! Going to the Royal Albert Hall later today to see Imogen Heap. Apparently it’s going to be streamed live here from 7PM GMT, so you should come and watch it with me!
Yes, this is just a filler (with a rare picture of me so it looks like I’ve actually written something) so I don’t fail NaBloPoMo for a stupid reason like being down to the final 10% of my battery. What of it? Watch Immi with me!
P.S: Happy Guy Fawkes Day/Bonfire Night!
It’s not charging. And I don’t know if it’s the computer, the battery blowing up, or if it’s the charger (although I only bought the charger a few months ago).
All I know is that it’ll probably end up with me shelling out money I don’t have to fix the damn thing.
Sorry for the short blog post, but, well, that’s what happens when you only have 30% of battery left to last you until your Genius Bar appointment on Saturday. And 30%, because I’ve charged this thing so many times, is about 20 minutes max. Damn batteries.
Oh shit. It’s 29% now. Crap crap crap, need to make a backup. AARGH.
Recent Comments