Oh God, not God…

This week I have mostly been ranting about God… A terrible and ill advised habit of mine. That reminds me of a book I was going to right for people addicted to nuns, ‘kicking the habit’… Anyway, I digress. It all started with me reading A prayer for Owen Meany, a book which I highly recommend. It deals with faith, friendship and errant baseballs.

I am not a religious man, but what this book made me think was that faith is it’s own reward, to understand that we are small, we are insignificant and yet we are part of something great and huge and full of wonder, well that’s pretty cool. There are many routes to this of course, science is one, to be fascinated by everything in our existence from small to huge, well that’s going to give you the view that there is something behind it all.

It’s mbar isn’t it? I am so affected by books or films… I watched Ironman and thought myself to be some multimillionaire genius… Which I’m not, despite the rumours. I read a book about friendship and faith and now I’m galavanting about making friends and blathering about God and what it is to believe… You should have seen me after I read The devil wears Prada

Aside from preaching at people about some invisible rubbish… I fell out of a sink… I’d like to elaborate, but I feel you may judge me harshly dear reader… The book cover is also coming along. I’m starting another project, I’ll let you know about it soon. Have a good weekend. O

Thirty-two and still afraid of meeting parents…

So hi everyone! I do realise that I have been a little erratic with my blogging, with eight posts in 43 seconds and then slow millennia pass while I am otherwise occupied. My declaration to you, my promise dear reader, is to attempt to possibly maybe write every Friday to fill you in with stupid events in my life, keep you up to date with work and generally wile away at least a few minutes where you would usually be watching the clock and thinking of the weekend.

I have been working hard on the bookInvisible Shores, working out a spectacular cover for you, writing blurbs and tag lines, discarding said blurbs and tag lines and rewriting them. I’ve also been looking at the marketing aspect of things, a far more daunting process than I first anticipated. The hope of any author who writes anything that they are proud of is that it’s pure genius will do all the marketing one needs, word of mouth, celebrity endorsements the pages of the book becoming enchanted with their own superiority and merrily flapping away and into expectant hands… Strangely enough, this is not the case, a lot of blood sweat tears and possibly other fluids have to be put in to get even the most pitiable ‘buzz’ going. In light of this I have been tossing a few ideas around with friend, thinking of photographs and blind people taking them. Possibly a pointless activity but could have hilarious results.
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This is me attempting to capture the sunrise… I hope… obviously me messing around with photographs could lead to some very awkward, very embarrassing results. For example, I thought it was hilarious to snap two female friends as they were deep in conversation and put it on Snapchat, only to discover afterwards that they were having a deep and meaningful conversation involving tears and many hugs. I wasn’t so popular. Still, it could be an interesting experiment to host on my Facebook page which you should like if you haven’t done so already.

It has been a strange week. I have a terrible tendency to watch box sets of series back to back, for example I watched the entirety of 24 in six hours… This week I finished the eighth and final season of Dexter, which was terribly disappointing. If you’ve not seen the series, do so, but don’t hold your breath for a good ending.

Utterly unrelated to being a serial killer with a conscience like Dexter, there are more people back in Polzeath now, mostly tourists from London. Myself and one of my best friends, Philippa, affectionately known as Hippo, found ourselves drinking with some London lawyers on Wednesday night and a very generous bunch of gentleman they were. This is one of the best things about this place, it brings all sorts of people together, a qualified teacher working in a restaurant, a well respected employment barrister and a writer with secret plans for world domination all sat at the bar, discussing learning, politics wisdom and that Philippa should probably be the face of this book… I’ve not got a photograph and wouldn’t want to put you off your mid afternoon snacks anyway… (shh, she’s pretty, but don’t tell her).

The fiery Nina, sleigher of drunks and handler of mad bitches, (she has a doggy) and the bar manager for the pub in which we were drinking had her parents down.

“Meet mi parents…” She instructed in her broad Essex accent.

“I’m not so sure that’s a good…” My arm was seized and I was dragged across the pub, she was surprisingly strong for a woman eight inches smaller than me and half my weight. I glanced over my shoulder attempting to make eye contact with Philippa but she was busy eating her twenty-fifth bag of crisps and blowing crumbs in a poor Australian’s face as she told him what she thought of Australians.

“Mum, Dad… This is Ollie.”

I smiled weakly and cursed the Lawyer for getting me so inebriated.

They introduced themselves. I shook their hands, forgot their names and slumped into a chair. There was an uncomfortable silence.

“Uh,” I tried. “Everyone likes Nina…” I cursed myself for starting off with a lie. “She’s always really nice to me…” Sod it, another one. “She’s polite.”

I may as well have told them I was blessed with super powers, never the less they smiled and seemed pleased.

“Do you like boat!” I suddenly burst out… “Boots… Boats I mean?”

They did.

“Fish!” I shouted. “You like fish!”

This time their response was a little more hesitant.

“You should buy fish, you should buy it with chips and fish…” They were silent now. “We call it fish and chips sorry I need a wee bye.”

And with that I sprang from my seat, bounced into the bar and hid in the bathroom, splashing cool water on my face… Despite being thirty-two, I still couldn’t speak to my friends parents? This was stupid but I had an overwhelming feeling that I was doing something wrong, I would be caught out and told off. It was like i had regressed to the age of six and nearly been caught clambering through the upper shelves of a friends parents wardrobe. I think I must have been caught a lot to create this overwhelming feeling of dread.

Probably my worst parent catch was after staying in a friends garden in a tent. I was seven, I was urinating on some flowers, they may or may not have been roses… I called to my friend:

“Oy Will, look how far I can wee!” Such things being a great badge of honour at the time.

Instead of my friends sleepy voice emerging from the open tent flaps a voice thundered from on high…

“What the bloody hell you doing you little sh*t! Stop pissing on my garden.”

So this is probably the reason I am still afraid of friends parents.

What about you? When have you been rumbled by friends parents? What were you doing?

Finally, a book title, drum roll please!

It is hard being a writer, learning to play tiny violins whilst pouring out self pitying lamentations to anyone who is unlucky enough to come across our blogs…

Okay, that was a bad start, there are far harder, far more noble callings than a person who sits down and writes about what is currently in their head. I suppose what I should have said was, ‘creativity is a hard tool to wheeled’. It is not something that can be summoned like a genie from a lamp, it must be teased out, stroked and cooed to.

I’ve been thinking about book titles… I’ve been thinking about a book title pretty much solidly for the last month and it’s really, really difficult… A few little words to grasp a potential readers attention, to reach out and seize something within their soul.

By Comparison writing a book is easy, it’s just typing a load of words one after the other. In a 70 k word book it is okay when some words, some sentences or even some passages are not up to scratch because the book is a dilution of an idea, a title is not.

The tile for, ‘the travel book’ that I have been so imaginatively calling it, had to express the main themes of the book, to boil down the ideas into a tough little nugget of emotion. Of course, I needed to include the fact that the book is about some guy who goes travelling across South America and it just so happens he can’t see, but I didn’t want to make a big deal of that because the book isn’t about me being blind, it’s about travel, friendship and a lot of rum. Saying that, I know people are interested in the fact that I can’t see and want to know what it’s like which, in a way was how the book came to be.

On friday, after a bathtub of coffee and a mental work out that left me bleeding coffee from the ears, it came to me. It was not in some revelation, it was no epiphany, an angel didn’t come to me… Personally I think I had thought of every other title and this was the only one left… I’ve changed my mind, creativity is not a hard tool to wheeled, she’s a bitch of a mistress…

Invisible Shores

South America

Coming soon….

Let me know what you think in the comments.

I still have, Flappy bird, on my iPhone. jel?

As I was poking through my lack of messages, emails, tweets, snapchats, whatsaps, audio boo and Facebook notifications… I found the recently demised game, flappy bird. Naturally, I can’t play it and it was utterly pointless in my downloading it. The only benefit I can see is to invite friends over for a big flappy bird party where they all squint at a tiny screen while I smile benevolently at my dear, bribed peers. Who’s keen?

As it’s Friday, I’ve made one of my stories free on kindle. Hit it up here. A little twisted piece about death and mini cheddars. As you will guess from the title, I just killed a man, it is about a man who just killed another man. You see how clever I am with these titles? In his final hours of freedom he worries that he won’t have mini shedders in prison. I’m not sure why I chose mini cheddars, I don’t particularly like them but I also don’t have a taste for killing people, currently.
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What would you miss most should your liberty be removed? A pet? Your space hopper? Flappy bird?

Drunk as a perraner…

Happy Saint Piran’s day to all my Cornish friends. Being the inquisitive sort, I decided to find out a little about this day…

Saint Piran is the patron saint of tin miners, who would sack off work on this day and get hammered. The term ‘drunk as a perraner’ was coined.

To be honest, I’d be pretty miffed if I was Saint Piran, having pancake tuesday the day before, everyone is going to be a bit partied out, but I’m not a saint after all… Not yet…

For any friends who are celebrating today, please drink responsibly, IE, not when running up the stairs or holding scissors. The same goes for scoffing pasties, those things can be deadly in the wrong hands.

It kinda got me thinking… What is the strangest pasty you’ve ever had? I know I’m probably going to be killed for saying this, but I’m not a huge pasty fan and, if encouraged, will probably go for the rather simple cheese and onion pasty. What is your choice? Leave me a comment below.

Tin can roulette… For the gamer who’s played everything

I have it! Bored office workers and flustered parents rejoice. Tin can roulette.

If I am honest with you, it isn’t a new invention of mine, rather a revisited thought as I sat on my sofa wondering about lunch, as I often do, unless it’s the afternoon when I am contemplating dinner.

The concept is simple, tare off the labels from your tinned goods, mix them up and select. By this method one can come up with such delights as peaches on toast, fish chips and soup, a pint of Frankfurters. If you are feeling a little devil may care, why not open two cans at once? The fun is endless.

As I sit here eating my way through a tin of chopped tomatoes, I chuckle with glee. I don’t need to write, I’ve invented a game that will make me millions.

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I as with most things in life, have a great advantage over you mere mortals. Being a face feeler, (blind), I can get straight to it, I don’t even have to remove the labels thereby creating instant fun.

Sunday afternoons will never be the same again.

Have you got any great household games? Obviously they might not be so high octane but you can still drop me a line in the comments. I won’t judge.

Now onto dessert… It’s… Oh, spaghetti hoops.

THE TRUTH? YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH!!!

Yo, pull up a beanbag, toadstool, space hopper or sleeping coworker. Jam with me… Jam with me about truth… Well, when I say ‘jam’, I actually mean sit there and listen… Comments come afterwards.

The thing is ‘truth’ is something that is instilled into us from a young age. tell the truth, the truth will out and other such instructions of high moral fibre. The problem is, for me at least, I learned those lessons and, worst of all, believed them and as a consequence felt a little short changed when I reached adulthood and that shield of ‘truth’ turned out to be made of nothing more than hopes and cobwebs.

The other consequence of this is that I am a truly dreadful liar, I mean I’m abysmal. I blush, I stutter and I know, to my core, that the target of my lie knows it to be what it is. You know what? I wish I could lie. I wish I could stand in front of a big crowd of people and tell a big fat porky pie and that they would all believe me.

Obviously I do lie. I tell stories for one thing, but they are truths draped in shadows, they tell a truth. Maybe, as in my next short story, vampires don’t drive night buses, and priests don’t carry around suitcases with bombs in them, but the things that drive these characters are real, desire, need, fear, wanting… They are all truths.

This leads me to wonder if there is such thing as a lie. everything must originate from a truth, a need and desire within us, so how, with truth as the source, can something become a lie? We can create a story to achieve what we want, but the truth is the core of that story, it has to be.

Obviously, as you will be thinking as you sip on your ambrosia, tea, pint or wizards pipe, the trouble arises with the recipient of the lie. They are induced to do something that they wouldn’t normal do. They have been manipulated, handled, guided to a conclusion that is, subjectively, not true. Is that always bad?

We lie to ourselves every day because our subjectivity changes, what was true yesterday may not be true today in which case the temporal lie is created. To say that it is raining, that you are hungry, that you love someone, could all be true, will be and have been, but they may also be non-truths, but for any of these things to be said they must have been true at least once, to know what rain is, to know the pang of hunger, to feel the abject wonder of love.

In a rambling and round about conclusion, dear reader, I put to you that truth, both subjectively and objectively, if that is indeed possible, is the father to tales. Lies, as nasty and ugly as they may be, do contain the DNA of truth buried deep in their repulsive hearts. The truth is what is and accepting that, well we’ll all be a lot happier, we can go home and eat ice cream.

I will finish with a quote. It is not by anyone famous, anyone wealthy or anyone holy. It is from a friend, and that is the truth too.

“It is what it is.” – Phil Dreadlocks Williams

He said he made it up… I don’t believe him.

The Polzeath winter is nearly over and news on the travel book

My first blog post, better make it profound… Maybe I’ve seen my last sunrise… Nah, that’s stupid…. Life is like (insert lack lister simile(.

So, as you can probably tell from the description and suggestive links, I’m a writer. It’s likely, if you have indeed found this page that you are either someone who knows me, or mi mum, don’t worry, I’ll keep it family friendly.

I recently released my first self published ebook which can be found here. It’s a short piece, a mere six pages or so but it delves into how someone might react after killing another human being. Some people have found it funny, some a little twisted. I was playing with the idea of putting the mundane along side the horrific, death and mini cheddars for example. If you get a chance, read it and let me know what you think.

In other news: The travel book, as yet untitled is coming along well. We are nearly there with ironing out any obscure humour and creative spellings. The next step is to get it ready for print but, of course, I’ll tell you all about that closer to the time. It is about myself and two friends travelling across South America. I never wanted the book to be focused on the fact that I can’t see though I do recognise that this will be a draw for some people, hell, it’s interesting. My ego contests that I am more interesting than a disability but I guess it will be down to you to decide that when you read it. I’ll put up some excerpts, run some competitions and other such shameless marketing ploys. I’ll probably put my dearest friends in sandwich boards.

I live in Polzeath, a great place during the summer, vibrant, exciting. during the winter it is cold and quiet and in great danger of being swept away by the atlantic sea. It is nearly spring, I feel that exciting things are in the air, can you feel it?
Until next time.

Olz X