You know the swine flu paranoia has gone too far when you can't visit the doctor to get a cough checked out, despite the fact that your only symptom of swine flu is the fact you have been coughing, solidly, for three weeks. Not even when you have a rash on your face which is definately <i>not</i> one of the symptoms for swine flu, but could point to several other things which, really, should get looked at. I suppose I'll have to wait to stop coughing before I get my chest & face checked. It seems somewhat counterproductive...

Want to wake up early in the mornings?

Why not try dislocating/locking your jaw by coughing in your sleep!

I trhink I scared the cat...

A very quick update to explain that I haven't accidentally driven off a cliff in my haste to return to Cardiff. My computer just refuses to acknowledge that the internet exists. At this rate I may be alarmingly quiet all year...

Thank you all for your friendship/support/company over the summer and course of my life.  Please presume I am alive unless you hear otherwise...

You know what there hasn't been in ages? That's right... An Anon Meme. And maybe I've been spending too much time on fandom secrets lately, but I sort of really want one. So if you could humour me and play along, I'd be very grateful. You never know - you might even learn something good...

Okay?

Cool.

[cue lights... camera... action...] 


Edit
(Sorry everybody: I fixed it...)

At least, that is how it appears. Mostly because I seem incapble - still - of editting without having a major confidence crisis in the middle. Which I then divert by hiding on the internet. And it's stupid - I know it's stupid and I'm trying to fight it back - but it still means I've spent more time doing very little online & getting irritated by myself than I have working on the Book of Doom over the last few days. It's not too much of a problem because it feels like essay time, which means I will get it done, and to a reasonable standard, but it's still irritating. And my own stupid fault.

Anyway, the real point of this post is that while I may be failing (mostly at my secret plans for video domination, in all honesty. Apparently I am doomed before I begin by lack of mac. Perhaps if I had a mac I would be less hopeless. But I digress...) Maggie Stiefvater, Future Queen Of America, most definitely IS NOT. Ballad, the sequel to Lament which I exploded in blissful anticipation of last year is fast approaching. October 1st - the same day I get given financial reprive by Cardiff (coincidentally because I pull out the stops & write apparently intelligent stuff) will be the release date for Ballad, another novel about homicidal faeries featuring sarcastic piper James of Lament fame, who I have been somewhat very in love with since reading Lament. Needless to say, I am excited. The musical appropriation will probably begin soon, but right now I have the trailer for the book, drawn by Maggie herself. Are you understanding why she is the Future Queen Of America yet?

If not, read Lament .

And Shiver, which I don't have a copy of yet but cannot wait to get my financially-challenged lycanthropic hands on.

And watch the pretty, pretty video...

Once upon a time there was a little girl who loved her music very much. She believed in magic and romance and poetry, and fell in love far too easily. And when a bamd showed up with their hearts where their sleeves would be (if they were wearing any - they never were) then they might as well have hung the stars in the sky. The girl was young, and raised on harmonies, and fell in love with the bittersweet before she even realised what was happening. It could have been the Romantics, but it was the Libertines instead. The band crumbled to swirling dustmotes, and she couldn't look away...

Well, the internet is a bautiful place. The girl found friends who shared her ways, and they wrote and sang and spazzed and dreamed on happy endings until the sun came up and found them waiting in the garden by the cherry blossom tree (whereupon he made them some tea, since everybody knows that Graham Coxon is the sun, and this is clearly what he would do). And life progressed beautifully. The band was still broken, of course, becuse nothing's perfect, but their antics fuelled our dreams.

Then it got painful to watch, and I looked away. I went to uni, which made it easier, and the world spun madly on without me.

But I'm still myself and the world is still the same, and sometimes I need to revisit places in where I have been happy and loved.

So sit down. Pour yourself some gin, get a record player and tell me what's been happening in your corner of the world. I do still care, I've just been... sailing. And besides, I have plenty of gin to share

Disclaimer: I am about to break one of the unwritten rules*, and post about religion, because I've been stewing these thoughts for2/3 weeks now. And, before I start, I want to make it very clear that I have no answers. If I was less confused, this might be less necessary, but I am not, and so it is. If I offend anyone with this, then I am sorry. It's not intended to be offensive but rather to work out all the nooks and crannies of confusion in my head. Any generalisations are based on my experiences with extremists.

So, let the games begin.

( I have been thinking a lot about religion lately )

 

*other than in select areas, at least.

The chances are that, if you know me relatively well, you’ll also know I’m not too good with money. It’s hard not to imagine the hole in the wall linked up to some great, elaborate system, working in mysterious ways which are beyond comprehension, and it has certainly been known to confuse me on more than one occasion.

Take this time last week, for example.

Lucinda is on her way to see Blur, on one of the hottest days of summer, so wrapped up in excitement she can barely think straight. Realising that she’ll need tube money, she pulls into the nearest supermarket (which just happens to be the Cirencester Waitrose. Yes, I know.). I’d probably better check my balance first, she thinks sensibly. It might be getting quite low. Waitrose disagrees, telling her she has £467 in her account and that she can access £30. It all seems a little strange, so our heroine (who at this point, one should note, is almost incoherent with excitement) checks the screen for a minus, or any other sign of having somehow slid into her overdraft. She sees none. And, after all, perhaps the machine only has £30 left in it.

Blur are amazing. So amazing that they warrant a post of their own, which will be written once photographs have been uploaded by the lovely Hannah. Lucinda is over the moon. She is on the moon. She’s gone round the bend and jumped off Land’s End. Well, here’s her lucky day, after all. And so on. Reunions make her soul sing, and reunions with Nell (even an ill Nell) ice the cake quite beautifully.

All is heaven until, driving home, she stops to fill up with petrol and discovers that she can’t. Discovers that no one will let her use her other account either (why I cannot tell you. To stop me high-tailing it out of the country?) and that, essentially, she is at the top end of her overdraft.
Lucinda, while quite capable of getting a first, is also completely capable of spending £500 odd quid without even knowing how. Which tends to upset her a little. It also reminds me of a wonderful drunk comment made once outside just such a cash machine.

“Do I want an advice slip? Yes! One that will tell me what to do with my life or say things like “No Chloe, you don’t need more shoes” and “You’ve already drunk enough darling.”

Personally I think they should tell you when you reach the minuses, even if the little slip that scrolled out only read “Quit while you’re ahead - your account is now empty”, or, like my mum’s car, it flashed up on screen

“Warning
FuelCash Level
Too Low”

If I could of course, I would have a pirate cashpoint, giving me warnings like "Avast ye scurvy blaggert! There be no booty in this water", possibly also offering the option of hunting treasure, but I fear it may take a while before these delightful invetions occur.

So I’m thoroughly bankrupt, and stranded at home. I can’t get a job because my summer is too “bitty” and agencies all seem to want temps on days I’m already far too busy on. And, you know, probably because of the economy. In fact, I’ve decided that I’m such an idiot with money I’d be better off having none and scraping by on a day to day basis. It seems to have worked for the last five days, during which I’ve written approximately a third of the predicted word-count of the Book of Doom, cooked a lot of family food and buzzed as though on drugs. Which has nothing to do with money really, but probably quite a lot to do with me.

So, if you’re bored, come and see me. Apart from a crazy two weeks coming up in July (the next two) I’m pretty stationary. I will tell you tall stories and cook you meals. Though I might need petrol money to successfully drive you anywhere

Just a quick update, for those of you who haven't seen my facebook exclamations or heard from me in person. Yesterday we got our university results for this term, and for the entirity of our degrees. And


I GOT A FIRST!!!


I remember driving home at Christmas my first year in Cardiff, bundled up in the back of a volvo with all my worldly possesions piled on top of me. I'd just discovered that research and academia could be fun and after a few sessions with a rather wonderful PhD student and seminar tutor (who, years on, is my personal tutor and one of my favourite people in the department) I thought that I might be good enough to do okay. My genius* brother was sitting in the front, and it was perhaps because of him that I loudly announced my intentions of getting a first. My mother was rather worried, and spent the next few weeks grilling me about my social life and reminding me to have a good time.

I've had an amazing time in Cardiff filled with wonderful experiences and an overwhelming sense of belonging. I've met some people I know I'll keep for the rest of my life. I've been involved in so much stuff sometimes I never seemed to come home at all. And, as well as all that, I've got my first.

It's been an amazing three years. Just as well there's more to come...

xxx

*a family genius, not a real one

I'm working on a post about growing up, and about how our attitudes to relationships change. I was going to wait amd put this at the end, but aforementioned post already covers a lot of ground and I dont want it getting too confused. Instead, therefore, I present to you When Buffy Met Edward (clip created by Rebellious Pixels)

Well, we know the best laid plans of mice and men most aft gang agley. They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. And I feel I should develop a permanent blogging status that reads: Missing, Presumed Busy.
I didn’t mean to be so busy.
Term ended, you see, and I had a mini Lucinda crisis. But, deciding that was a waste of time, I took to the library and bent my head towards essays and research. I pretty much lived in the stacks until Friday, whereupon I returned home via all kinds of celebratory seasonal hi-jinks. But I expected to be reasonably free, to do more work & reinforce my existence, by Monday.
My internet at home is sporadic, at best. And there was that small problem of my & my younger brother’s stockings having been binned.
I’ve been occupied, to say the least. Perhaps the best description is
( Christmas in the Blue Peter House )
(warning: photo heavy)

I also made a mix of the moments and songs that mattered most to me this last year. I was planning a pre-christmas post with uploads, song and pretty scans, but its become a post-Christmas post instead. (unfortunately this is uploading for the second time, so it may take a while. On the third day of Christmas...

Congratulations to rebecca_star  for winning the CD competition, which was another point when life climbed on top of me and demanded attention. Everything is ready to be sent off, but I’m afraid I need your address again, as I’m the most rubbish person this side of London…

I was also wondering what makes Christmas happen (if indeed anything does) for you. Living in a vaguely traditrional family (at least around this time of year) the thing we missed most in Charlton Kings and the thing which made Christmas most real for us this year was having a fire. What pushes your seasonal buttons? I hope they were pushed, and that your Christmasses were all, if not white, then at least vaguely authentic and Christmas-like.

Love to you all, though I’m not sure I deserve any in return. I’m off to write some essays now! Take care (I think its still quite icy outside!)
xxxxxxxxx
Lucinda
</lj>

My life has, recently, been full of discoveries. Like how to force a front door open and how long I can dance in heels for.* Or that Emmy the Great has a blog. And not just any blog either, no - a blog where she talks about music and Graham Coxon and Diane Cluck. Its a very cool thing to have discovered, and one I would have imagined indie kids the world over to be in a state of some excitement about. But here’s the thing: if they are, they're being incredibly discreet. For someone as popular as Emmy is, her blog has remarkably few comments.

There could, of course, be several reasons for this. To begin with, her blog is only updated sporadically, so people never know when to check back. And her blogging style sets her up as a critic of her own “scene”, which possibly confuses people as well. But even so, I would have expected a few droves of fans. And, in light of the supreme lack of interest in my mix CD, I’m thinking a lot about what it means to be popular.

( POPULAR )

(from a T-shirt found at cafe press.)

( But do mixtapes = love? )

Someone over at fangs_fur_fey started a discussion on self-promotion with a link to a discussion on Good Reads. Now, Good Reads isn’t a site I normally visit (mostly because my bank balance is already looking a little like a deflated balloon), but the conversation was getting very interesting and tense in a way that only internet conversations really seem to. It was looking into authors self-promoting, when was too much and what people particularly hated. Some resented long signatures, others authors reviewing themselves with 5*, while other people either hated both, none, or were generally indifferent. But, about halfway down, someone asked “Whatever happened to humility?”

Later on, when texting a friend of mine, I was struck by the realisation that I am incapable of claiming to be good at anything. In actual fact I am probably [Lucinda takes a deep breath and crosses her fingers] quite good at a lot of things. I’m highest in our year at uni for English and creative writing, I can start choir three weeks before a concert and support the soprano line, I made most of the costumes for Wyrd Sisters last year, I have a good sense of style and I’m organising a Shakespeare festival. And, if my friends reports are anything to go by, I can also act. But saying I’m any good at them is impossible, and I’m often struck by the knowledge (especially at moments like this) that I might not be as good at them as I imagine.
Part of this, of course, is insecurity. I know I have some issues there, but that’s such old news that its barely worth commenting on. But what about the rest? When did blowing one’s own trumpet become the norm, making modesty a hindrance? If, indeed, it has. The English faculty in Cardiff is a particularly good example of this – one lady in incredibly intelligent, but so modest she makes you feel as though you’re on her level, even when she’s several intellectual steps up. But when I was discussing this with one of the lady’s PHD. students, a few weeks back, it sounded almost as though the girl believed this was a waste. To her, modesty was simultaneously lovely and an insecurity that should be overcome.
So what do you think? Is modesty another form of insecurity, or is it good manners? Is humility outdated, replaced by the needs to assert yourself in the fast-paced, easily distracted modern world? Is self-promotion embarrassing for all involved? Is there a happy medium? Or could you not care less?
Xxxxx

p.s. On a completely unrelated note, Dawn Metcalf and I spent some time discussing dressing up in my last post. And I thought one of the best things ever would be a day where you dress up as one of your characters and spend it writing from their perspectives. Is anyone up for that? It would have to be a day most people were free, which now probably means after Christmas, but I think it would be great fun. What do you reckon? (Pictures, of course, would be essential.)



(this was a strange Puck/Princess Mononoke combo, but you get the gist. Personally, I would find facepaint essential.)

An inordinate amount of my flist are doing Nanowrimo. Unfortunately I am writing a dissertation and the two seem somewhat incompatible. I usually end up doing my own personal June nano anyway (two years running, ever since uni sucked me in) so its not a big thing, but it makes me feel somewhat miserable. So, yeah. There are three reasons why I might vanish without trace fron here to December

1. Third year & work levels giving me a lot to do

2. a very dodgy internet connection

3. Lack of word-counts to offer to the general population. It should make me feel like a second class citizen, but somehow it does

But, you know, I do love you all. Have an utterly narcisistic picture as proof! xxxx

I like dragons. Not just scaly ones, but anyone that roars and breathes fire. Dragons are a hugely under-appreciated segment of society, and I feel this should be remedied. A large proportion of favourite teachers have been dragons.

 

This is relevant now because I have just learned that my personal tutor (a dragon of the highest calibre who I picked last Autumn because she terrified me and I knew she would make me work) is my dissertation tutor for the year. She’s writing a book this semester, and I was terrified that – even though she said she actually wanted to be my tutor – I wouldn’t be allowed to have her. But the email has arrived and now my brain is spurting fireworks.

 

In the best possible way.

 

After all, when being tutored by a dragon, fireworks are essential.

It must be America, or nothing at all...

Dear Americans: Lucinda needs YOU.

Or one of you, at least. One of you who will be prepared to order Lament for me, then ship it across. I will pay you, in internet moneies, but I am an impatient child unwilling to wait until November for something officially released at the start of October and actually already flying out from Amazon and Flux across the states. Indeed, I will be so deeply indebted to you that you will probably be showered with gifts. And I will be happy with my homicidal faeries. And all will be well!

Please?

EDIT:
America saved me. I no longer require a rescue. But I am leaving this up in tribute to stormarrow (lj is being idiotic again) and so that everyone can see how wonderful she is.
When she has CD's? We shall buy them!