The plot thickens...

I blogged last month about my 'secret admirer' Valentine.

I still have no idea who it is, but another gift and letter appeared in the library last week addressed to me. Well-written, witty, with poetic interludes, the letter doesn't give much away except that he may read this blog, has seen my writing online and, oh yes, he wants me to meet him.

He names a time and a public place... nothing sinister. But if he has the confidence and covert skills to deliver two red packages in a public place entirely un-witnessed, along with the words and chocolates, is there a cloak and dagger?

How to take this depends very much whether your fictional leanings are romantic (think: Cyrano de Bergerac, Milk Tray man, You've Got Mail) or something darker (think: Scream, One Hour Photo, Phantom of the Opera). I have mixed feelings. The idea of being whisked away to an underground lair by a mysterious devotee is romantic in fantasy but not something you would necessarily wish to really happen.

If I don't show up, he says he may 'declare himself' to me in the library. Awkward - especially if he is a regular borrower. My mystery packages have generated interest amongst co-workers who have taken to looking at everyone I talk to funny. Also, being approached at work when we're very busy (we've been short staffed and hard-pressed lately) could be tricky. 8-/

But anyway, I won't be showing up at the time and place suggested - it clashes with a rare visit from my brother who is taking the family to lunch in New Brighton that day to celebrate Easter and my Dad's birthday. But I have no way of telling my secret admirer that I have another engagement...

...except, perhaps, this.

A mysterious package

Romance and mystery are in the air at the library where I work. Last Thursday - Valentine's Day - a gift bag was found on the returned fiction trolley with my name on it. I only work Mondays and Tuesdays so I didn't get it until yesterday.

Inside was a box of choccies and a poem. No name, no clue.

I have no idea who it is from! I assume they wrote the poem, and it's rather good, so that narrows it down somewhat, but I do know a LOT of poets! But some of the Borrowers could be secret poets!

If they copied the poem from somewhere, that opens it right up again. I am eyeing everyone who comes in with suspicious eyes, looking for sign. I have considered going through all the membership forms comparing handwriting or getting forensics to brush the paper for prints...

But at the same time I am quite enjoying not knowing!

A foot in both camps

For years the only two poetry books I owned were my dad's old 'Penguin Book of Comic and Curious Verse' and Palgrave's Golden Treasury. I still have them - look!

I can't remember a time when I didn't want to write. We are an erudite family and I learned early the rewards (laughter, approval) of saying something clever or funny.  But I've always vacillated from one end of the poetry (and fiction) spectrum:  'Henry, Who Chewed Bits of String...' to 'On the Tombs of Westminster Abbey' at the other and often find myself uncomfortable straddling the two.

Perhaps this is where creativity is found... in the awkward middle ground between the comic and curious, between documented history and imagined future, between madness and sanity, knowledge and mystery, confusion and certainty, conscious thought and dream state?

When I perform a poetry set, I mix it up, offering - I hope - something for every taste, varying the pace, and this seems to go down well. I'm currently trying to put a poetry collection together and it's proving tricky to pull off that blend on paper. People ask me whether I have a collection, whether they prefer the comic or the serious and I don't want to disappoint, so I'm ploughing on because I think at the end you have to be yourself.

What do you think? Does anyone else have this problem - is it even a problem?

The 70's called - they want their Noddy back

Noddy Holder, the famous cow top and me

After a lengthy hiatus, I seem to be back in circulation. For the last few months (years?) I have talked myself out of various soirees, forays, sorties and shindigs, but this week I have raised my head over the parapet that is my own settee, not once but twice!

Last night I was invited to the opening of Tate Liverpool's new 'Glam' exhibition*. In my 'what will I wear?' frenzy I discovered that my white, gold-studded 'Elvis' pants now fit me (they never have before!) but, in a nod to middle age, eschewed them for something more demur... my cow top. The arty types of Merseyside had gathered to peruse Bowie memorabilia, stroke their chins at images of androgyny and generally mingle under the lights of the glitter ball. It was great to see some poetry chums of yore (oh alright, of mine) but the highlight was meeting the very personable Noddy Holder of Slade! Groovy!

This was hot on the heals of a return to the Dead Good Poets Society open floor the previous night. I was prompted by seeing the lovely mini-documentary in last week's Guardian travel section about Marcel Theroux writing and performing his first poem at the Dead Goods - it made me miss going there, and the people involved. Having said that, my new poem about dancing in the library (replete with tongue twisters and many actions required) was a DISAAAAAASTER darlings!

*Careful of that Tate link by the way - one of the three scrolling pictures on the front page is full frontal male nude! I didn't know where to put my face.

I call it 'research'

Fran has been writing in Being Me about looking up how to pick a lock (for plotting purposes!).

For the book I've just written I had to research how to vandalise a building site (scary but interesting), spells for bringing back the dead (and one for making them be dead again - which fyi are much harder to find) and the de-composure rate of corpses.  I have been building myself up to approaching a local undertaker and planning officer - and I don't know which one is the scarier prospect!

And this doesn't include all the stuff that you click on by accident ("...officer"). A friend of mine was looking doing some research about land contaminated with heavy metals. She was quite surprised to be faced with Slipknot and Black Sabbath.

I suppose we must all be keeping 'the authorities' busy - they must have us under surveillance by now. *whistles innocently*.

What's the weirdest thing you've ever found yourself Googling?

[insert title here]

I need your help!

Over the last couple of years I've had a dozen or so very short stories published here and there (oh, and this one yesterday on 1000 words) and I'm hoping to bring out a collection of short fiction as an ebook. Trouble is, I'm really struggling to come up with a title.

Along with mistaken identity and a couple of domestic stories where somebody's earth shifts - or fails to - there are a couple of supernatural stories.  Common themes to them all are shifting reality, things or people seeming one thing but being another, uncertain ground, misconceptions.

My options are:

1. Come up with a title that encapsulates common themes but doesn't refer to a particular story. 'None of the above' seemed to fit
2. Choose a representative story's title as the collection title. 'Brother - killed by radiator' is the most intriguing title in the collection.
3. Think of a good, quirky title for it and write a brief story using that title

      

Other possible story titles I could use are: Kitchen Sink, Parallel Conservatory, Birdsong Tinitus, Prosthetic Granny...

Your thoughts, as ever would be welcome... any bright ideas, any of the covers or titles mentioned leap out as great or shite?

When page layouts go bad

Two stories that shouldn't share a page.
More headline & pic combos at Funny or Die.

Having worked on a newspaper and edited a good few newsletters (and, ok a bad few too), I aim to pay attention re what's next to what in a layout.

I've gathered for your delectation some examples of what happens when you don't - here are my favourite headline faux pas.

Unfortunate choice of pic from www.happyplace.com

Awkward placing of an advert

Awkward placing of advert #2