BEST WISHES TO READERS AND WRITERS EVERYWHERE.
THANKS TO FELLOW BLOGGERS FOR SHARING EVERYTHING FROM DOMESTIC DISASTERS TO GLOBAL TRAVELS AND WRITING TRAVAILS.
THANKS FOR ALL THE ADVICE, SHARING AND OF COURSE THE JOKES.
JANET
blogging
Silly Saturday – Baz the Bad Blogger Reblogged
Baz at his Best – helping the Baffled
Baz the Bad Blogger offers us his tips on tackling WordPress changes.
Are you baffled by the new ‘improvements’ to WordPress? So am I, if you think I can help you, bad luck, I was hoping you could all help ME. I just posted that heading to get you to read my blog.
What’s all this Gutenberg thing about anyway? All I know is those bits at the side all changed, then the Publish button faded and no little hand appeared so I couldn’t press publish, then my pictures disappeared. Another blogger suggested go back to Classic Edit, how on earth to do that? Accidentally is the answer.
Anyway, how’s your week been? December already, my most detested month, all that cheerfulness. Right that’s the polite bit done with, now for some moans.
Sales of my new novel ‘I Zomboid’ aren’t going too well. I’ve only sold one on Amazon.UK and that was bought by me. I have bought four books by other authors, yes you know who you are and you didn’t buy mine. Look out for the two star reviews…
One month on and I’ve only got two followers and one LIKE. Changing my profile picture hasn’t helped. I have been reading lots of other blogs and commenting, mostly helpful advice such as how to improve their blogs, but I think it will be a long time before anyone sends me ‘HUGs’. I’ll leave you with some cuddly animals, not sure if these ones are alive.
Don’t read original post no more words
Youtube Nativity
Last century, in a previous incarnation, I went to mother and toddler groups; no doubt they have to be called something else now, Kids and Karers? We did have one granny, a few child minders and a couple of fathers. It was one of these fathers who brought his video camera along, no one else possessed such equipment. We thought he was showing off and hovering over his poor child. The ethos of the club was to ignore the little ones while indulging in a good gossip. These days he would probably have to have a background check before even being allowed into the church hall, let alone with a video camera. I wonder where that little boy is now, perhaps hot housed into a world leader, his whole life recorded for posterity.
How would we all have fared, how different would our lives have been if we had grown up in the digital world, our pathetic appearance in the school nativity recorded and watched by grandchildren. I never got to be Mary or even an angel; in top infants I was merely the innkeeper’s wife with the line ‘Come this way.’ Would anyone want to see themselves coming last on sports day or dancing round the maypole in junior school? We did not get the ribbons tangled during our school’s centenary celebrations, but whether we looked elegant is another matter.
Our lives did not go completely unrecorded, Dad got a reel to reel tape recorder and secretly recorded Mum and the aunties, nobody could believe how awful their own voice sounded. When we had our school holiday in top juniors, several mothers went along as helpers, not mine thank goodness. One of these ladies had a cine camera, we were all going to be film stars. When it came time for the showing of the film, I did not appear at all.
There are families who have wonderful silent records of every Christmas, cine cameras were around for a long time before being superseded by videos, but most people took only photographs. Now every moment of a life can be recorded instantly, film or photo and broadcast to the world. Granddad on the other side of the world can see the new grandson having his umbilical cord cut. Great grandparents can see pretty in pink little miss precocious doing her first ballet exam at the age of two.
But I feel more than a twinge of regret when I think of all the missed Instagrams I could have taken, pictures shared on Facebook and blogs written of my pre digital life. We have many photo albums, but camera film could not be wasted taking pictures of weird things; night scenes through rain splattered bus windows or the ubiquitous snaps of meals out or in.
Perhaps the more obsessed bloggers would have started much earlier if they had had the opportunity.
Baby Blogger…
Day One; with a bit of help from Mummy and Daddy I am starting this blog to record my whole life. Today was a bit of a milestone as I said my first words… blog, post and WordPress. Of course I know lots more words than that, but my lips and tongue aren’t working properly yet, just one of the challenges of being a baby.
Day Two; I have my first two followers, Mummy and Daddy… Sam the cat isn’t on WordPress so he can’t Like me, but here is a picture of him.
Day Three; We went to Wriggle and Rhyme Story Time at the library, I gave it four out of five stars…
My novel Quarter Acre Block is inspired by my early years.
Silly Saturday – Baz the Bad Blogger
In the first and last of my series of author interviews my guest is Baz the Bad Blogger who was happy to answer my questions as nobody else wanted him on their blog.
Welcome Baz, thanks for coming along.
It was a hell of a journey, I hope I’m going to get lots of book sales out of this.
Er, well it’s more a case of meeting lots of other interesting readers and writers. How did you come to start blogging?
THEY said it was a good way to sell my book.
What do you like to write about in your blogs?
ME.
Tell us about your new novel.
It is a dystopian fantasy set in an unnamed capital city. The government has been taken over by zombies and androids, but no one can tell the difference as none of them have any personality.
That must have made character development rather difficult.
I decided not to bother with character development.
So do you consider the plot line to be important?
I guess so, I just go for dead straight…
Moving on, what advice would you give to other bloggers?
When I started I wrote very long blogs so everyone would think I was highly intelligent.
And did they?
I don’t know, I never had any comments, so I decided to make my posts brief. I recommend two sentences at most, as no one reads past the first two lines anyway…
My second piece of advice is to have lots of pictures of fluffy kittens or cute puppies. I haven’t got any pets, but I found a dead rat in the back yard one rainy morning and he looked quite photogenic once he had been blow dried.
Your blog certainly has a unique style. How many followers do you have now?
Umm… one, Tidetables something or other.
We had to cut the interview short as Baz had somewhere more interesting to be, but you can find out more about him and his novel ‘I Zomboid’ at his author page.
Baz has changed his cover photo…
The Dark Web
Today I have a guest who has just started blogging on the dark web. Because of his situation he prefers to remain annonymous, but is looking forward to posting about the problems faced by minority groups. As an appropriate introduction he describes a typical experience on his favourite night of the year.
Treat or Trick
Time for my annual visit home; weather’s taken a cold turn, that’s good, everyone’s wrapped up so I don’t look out of place. Busy down my road. Couple of new families moved in, children whizzing around on wheels of various sorts, new people at number 53 and here we are. Oh, new front door, hmm, doesn’t really suit the lovely old house. No car parked out the front, hope they are not all out. Big poster by the front door… NO TRICK OR TREATERS That’s a bit mean, too stingy to buy a few sweets. I’ll take it down.
There’s nobody at home anyway; everything locked up as if they had gone on holiday. Still, after the reception I got last year perhaps they have decided to avoid me.
Getting dark, shouldn’t be long till the Trick and Treaters come round, five groups last year. The final group were hardly children, all ghastly teenagers, reckon they were dared to come by their younger siblings. Hang on, I can hear the front door being unlocked, it’s Rory, must have decided not to go away with his parents and sisters.
‘Hi Rory, you’ve grown since last year.’
That’s strange, he’s rushed back out again. All on my own, well I’m used to that. At least I can watch what I like on television. All these channels they have now, you’d think there would be something on worth watching.
There goes the doorbell, visitors at last, I’ll have a peek out the window. Little kids, rubbish costumes, anxious parent hovering on the pavement. Right, time to open the front door, slowly, keep them in suspense. They are very sweet, I’ll lower my hood gently.
‘Hello children, treat or TRICK… no don’t run away.’
That was fun, pity they didn’t stay, but hopefully the new families will be out and about. I can see a few strangely attired short people across the road. Here we go, they’re coming up the driveway. No need for them to ring the doorbell…
‘Good Evening, you gave me quite a fright, are you ghosts or ghouls… hey, come back, you’ve dropped your bucket with all the money.’
This is boring, no callers for half an hour … oh at last. Peep out of the window, let them see the curtain moving, their costumes are brilliant… they’re ringing the door bell again.
‘Hello Vampires, I’ve got some nice fresh blood for you… don’t go next door yet, you haven’t shown me your trick…’
Blue lights flashing and sirens, must be something going on outside, might as well have a look. Police officer coming up the path, close the door pronto. Ringing and knocking.
Can you open the door please Sir?
Me a Sir, that’s a laugh.
‘I don’t open the door to strangers, especially at night.’
I’m a police officer, can I just have a word?
‘About what, haven’t you any criminals to arrest?’
We had a suspected on going burglary call from neighbours, concerned because the owners of the house are away. If you could open the door so we can confirm your identity.
Better open the door, perhaps he is a Trick or Treater.
Can I have your name and date of birth Sir… umm perhaps it would be easier to talk if you uncovered your face.
‘I have a medical condition, I need to keep covered up.’
We’ll need a doctor to confirm that at the station, we’ll need proper ID.
He’s whispering into his radio now, calling for back up, possible terrorist situation!
Now, if I could have your name, address and date of birth.
‘Certainly, Anthony John Worsley, 29th February, 1873. Now constable, it really is time I was leaving, I need to go and get a good year’s sleep.’
Silly Saturday – Digital Dithers
Typing at school is not for me,
A secretary I’ll never be.
A home computer, whatever for?
A Commodore 64?
For that we are too poor.
Who has the patience to dial,
Peering at screens is such a trial.
Internet we do not need,
Goodness knows where that would lead.
You don’t have e-mail..
How will we keep in touch?
Amazon, that is a river,
Blue hieroglyphics in your e-mail,
Links are what you get in chains.
I only wanted to know
What you’d like for Christmas.
Join Facebook? No thanks,
What, you’ve put me on already
And my date of birth…
Hey come and look at this picture,
You’re not on Facebook, how come?
How do you keep in touch?
Kindle, what’s that?
Self publish, what a dream,
But I don’t DO technology.
You’ve got your book on Kindle,
Tell us how…
Yes, it’s live now.
Artists and Writers’ Year book thrown out,
I’m an Indie Author now.
How many novels have I sold?
Two or is it three,
One for my sister and one for me…
Websites, domains, Goodreads, Twitter,
Google, Pinterest, Linked In, Tumbler
Too much trouble
Just a muddle,
Two domains by error.
My picture’s gone sideways on Goodreads,
I’m only Linked In to three people,
I’ve lost my Twitter account.
Only four friends have Liked
My Facebook Author Page.
Blogs, no time to read or write,
My novel I must complete.
On WordPress there’s a pattern,
Where my photograph should be,
I don’t know how to schedule
Or understand the Stats.
My website is sunshine yellow,
My blog is sea green,
But neither flash or move
And I wish I could be seen
As a jolly cartoon
For my Author Persona.
I have an identity crisis
How do I become an Avatar?
Help! I’m Living with a Blogger
You are sitting watching the football cup final you’ve been looking forward to all week, or catching up with your favourite soap and a voice keeps disturbing your enjoyment with remarks such as the following.
Fifteen Likes
I’ve been reblogged in German
My first Hugs
Oh, another new follower
Seven flags, the map’s looking good this evening, Palestinian Territories, Thailand…
You are living with a blogger and need to get help.
If you are both concentrating on a Scandi Noir drama your beloved blogger will still sneak a look at their phone or iPad and ruin the tension by missing the sub titles and asking what they just said.
Kindly ask them if they would like a cup of coffee before the news comes on and there will be no immediate response.
Oh sorry, I was just making an intelligent comment on someone’s blog.
It’s important to try and draw your blogger back into reality and engage in conversation. ‘When shall we invite Debs and Dave round for dinner?’
What? Hang on, I’ve got to reply to this comment.
To check if they are listening to you at all try some test remarks. ‘I’ve ordered that £4,000 pound camera / designer handbag, Amazon are delivering it tomorrow, will you be in?’
Okay.
Or be more drastic. ‘I’m leaving you.’
If they remain glued to their screen or start laughing it’s likely they have not listened to you for at least a week.
A get away from it all holiday may be a good idea. But tell Blogger the taxi / train / plane will be two hours earlier than it actually is, because they will not pack until the last moment, too busy scheduling blogs so their ten followers won’t miss them.
At last you will be sitting looking out over a beautiful lake or more adventurously climbing a mountain pass. Look behind to see if Blogger is still following you; there is no sign of them. They have to keep stopping to take photos for the blog series they are planning on mountain walking.
Later, when you are sipping your cocktails and warming up in front of a roaring fire or cooling off on a tropical veranda, you will hear a cry of anguish, they can’t get any wifi. You remind them their blogs are scheduled, but they still want to check if the blogs have gone on, if they have any Likes or comments. They also have to read the blogs of the two thousand people they follow.
In the luxury hotel room you can’t afford, because your other half has given up their job to write full time, you hope for romance, but the starry look in Blogger’s eyes is due to the brilliant idea they have just had for a totally original blog.
The only way to survive living with a blogger is to join them. If you only go on line to order your Tesco shop or book concert tickets you need to expand your horizons. Join Facebook and make friends with hundreds of strangers, then regale details of their boring lives to your other half when they are trying to write their next blog. Or you could go on Instagram, that’s very addictive; soon you will be obsessed with taking photographs and getting Likes and followers and you won’t be talking to each other at all except on line.
But maybe such drastic action won’t be necessary. Either the novelty will wear off and Blogger will be feeling bloggered and unblogged, or they will gain thousands of followers from all around the world, including North Korea and will be so busy answering clever comments with intelligent answers, they won’t have time to give you a running commentary.
From News Book to New Blogs
Long before the existence of Blogs, long before I had heard the term, I had Writer’s Block. Every morning in my Church of England junior school we had to write in our news books, dinky little notebooks with lined and plain pages; one side for script, the other to draw a picture. One Monday morning I said to my teacher ‘I can’t think what to write.’
Did you spend all weekend in a cardboard box? Was his reply.
Sometimes it was easy, one morning at assembly there was an incident. One boy wrote for his news Tony was sick in assembly. There was a lurid picture, the puddle of vomit had become a lake.
Parents’ evening was the only chance mothers and fathers had to see what their little darlings had written. Apparently I wrote regularly that Mum and Dad had moved the furniture around at the weekend. My mother claimed the teachers were nosy and wanted to know what went on in our homes; she was amused to meet another mother who was mortified. Her child had written Mummy went out dancing with John’s Daddy, her explanation was that their respective spouses did not like dancing…
If we finished our news book we could not be idle, we had to quietly get on with a dictionary exercise, but I enjoyed doing that. Only when that was finished could you do free reading. One time my friend had a new plan. On my unescorted one and a half mile walk to school I would call for her on the way. Her mother would wave us off, once out of sight we would slow down. If we were late for assembly we had to go straight to the classroom and get on with writing our news; thus having an advantage over the rest of the class. I did feel guilty about this, our parents didn’t know, the teacher perhaps guessed we did it deliberately, but God, being Omnipotent, was sure to know we were absent from hymns and prayers.
Scripture lesson was a better opportunity for creative writing. We had a similar little exercise book, but horizontal. We would write that morning’s bible story in our own words on one page and draw a picture on the other. Illustrations were easy, flat roofed houses and people in long robes were simple to draw. I can’t remember how much I elaborated the story, but even then I felt there was not enough back story and character development in The Bible. Maybe if the disciples had kept a news book there would have been more detail in the Gospels.
The first part of my novel Quarter Acre Block is inspired by my four years at junior school.
Ask The Author
‘Meet The Author’ on the BBC 24 Hour News Channel is usually the cue for Cyberspouse to sigh and reach for the remote control; we’ve caught up with the news, watched tomorrow’s newspapers being discussed, seen Film Review and ‘Click’ featuring the latest technology. No one actually wants to watch news 24 hours a day, hence the interesting filler programmes repeated at intervals.
Meet The Author is a simple formula, a presenter and author chatting. In the unlikely event of me being invited to participate, the interview might not go well. It is pleasing when anybody is interested enough to ask questions, but we Indie Authors must remember that in the real world life does not revolve around our current novel and connecting with other writers on the internet. When someone you haven’t seen for a while, or who has just been introduced, asks if you are still writing, do not reply with heavy sarcasm ‘Does the earth still revolve around the sun?’ Smile and say ‘Oh yes, still writing all the time’ and refrain from adding ‘You obviously haven’t looked at my website lately.’
Another common question is ‘How long does it take to write a book?’ perhaps many authors do know, but I have no idea. I lose track of when I first typed the title, let alone when the original ideas or characters popped into my head. Toby my camper van detective started as an exercise we were given for writing group, he first took an active role in a short story, ‘The Ambassadors’, in An Eclectic Mix Volume One published by AudioArcadia.com 2015. He also features in my two novellas published last year. He must be wondering when I am going to finish his novel; this year I hope. It is nearly three years since I had the idea for an opening chapter of a novel, when we went to the cliff top at high tide the morning after the Valentine’s night storm of 2014, inspiring the title ‘At The Seaside Nobody Hears You Scream.’
The follow on question is ‘How much time do you spend writing?’ Every available opportunity is the simple answer. When I first started with a second hand lap top on the dining table, connected to nothing except electricity, I wondered what authors in writing magazines were talking about; time wasting on social media? Even after acquiring sole use of a desk top it was a while before I realised you could have more than one page open at a time. Now writing my blog or novel is interspersed with messaging friends and relatives, looking at the latest family photos from (depending on the time of day) Australia or USA. And of course chatting with writers from all over the world. Dashing downstairs when the doorbell rings, the washing machine beeps or the oven timer goes off are all ways of avoiding deep vein thrombosis, but can seriously disturb the creative flow. Breaks to hang the washing out or put the chicken in the oven are ideal if you are editing; your brain and eyes need a break from the screen.
‘What sort of books do you write?’ A fair enough question, but ‘all sorts’ would be the best answer. ‘Quarter Acre Block’ is my only novel that could fit a genre, family drama. My trilogy encompasses family drama, love stories, crime, medicine and music; as strange things happen it is also science fiction. The real answer is I enjoy writing about ordinary people; especially when extraordinary things happen to them.
You can read the stories featuring Tobias Elliot Channing, private investigator specialising in missing persons, operating from a camper van, in Someone Somewhere.
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 