I Make This Stuff Up

A lovely review

2011-08-27T14:21:00.001-07:00

The Escape Velocity Anthology got a great review on Amazon. And I particularly liked what she said about my story.

"Scream Quietly" by Sheila Crosby was one of my favorite stories. Told by way of letters from the perspective of a young woman in 1849 England. This story depicts the intricacies of alien contact and space/ time travel. It's a wonderfully heartwarming tale with a great twist at the end.

A new web site

2011-08-06T12:58:00.000-07:00

Galaxy M 83

I haven't been making much stuff up lately. I've been writing non-fiction instead. Want to learn about amateur astronomy on La Palma? Well, at last, my new website is open for business. Star Island is designed to be a window on the universe, and a show case for astrotourism on La Palma.

In future, I hope to sell advertising on the site, but for now, it's just for people to enjoy.

And now, back to work on my non-fiction book about the astronomical observatory here.

The Cat's Eye nebula

Sales!

2011-08-01T12:56:00.000-07:00

My story, "A Face Worse than Death" is out in the anthology Probing Uranus from the Library of Science Fiction and Fantasy

As you might guess from the cover, it's humourous SF.

And another of my stories, "Muddy Holes" will be in "People's Friend Fiction Special No. 49 " on sale July 14, 2011. As you might guess, that's a gentle, mainstream story about archaeology in the Orkney Islands.

Paw Prints in the Sand

2011-06-16T10:32:00.000-07:00

"I'm going to get rich," announced my boyfriend. "I'm going to learn wordpress, and start a webpage about dogs on the beach. It's the perfect subject."

"Why?" I asked.

He stared at me, and then spoke very slowly. "Freedom. No responsibilites. Playing with your dog on the beach is the very opposite of nine-to-five in a suit and tie."

I thought about it. He hated his job in a bank. I hated my job in an advertising agency. "So the idea is that we start the website, and when it makes enough money, we dump the day job and write the posts from the beach?"

"Any beach! Anywhere in the world."

It sounded good to me. As it turned out, it sounded good to plenty of other people. We wrote for hours every week, and soon we hit 10,000 subscribers.

The trouble was, dog-on-the-beach people are happy, but not rich, so advertisers aren't interested. We had 10,000 subscribers and no money.

One evening I showed my boyfriend the statistics. "Stuff this," I said. "Let's dump the webpage and go down the beach with the dog."

Right?

2011-03-05T14:25:00.000-08:00

A wheelwright makes wheels, and a shipwright makes ships. So obviously a person who creates ceremonies would be a ritewright.

And the best person to create a ceremony for producing literature would be the right write ritewright.

Right?

Muddy Holes

2011-02-19T05:31:00.000-08:00

People's Friend are buying my story "Muddy Holes". I don't know when it'll be published, but obviously I'm chuffed.

A Dotty Ditty

2011-02-19T02:05:00.001-08:00

To the tune of "Mud, Mud, Glorious Mud" by Flanders and Swan.

Life, life, glorious life!
It would be boring without all the strife.
So laugh at your trouble,
Fight through the muddle,
And you'll enjoy double
Your glorious life.

Yippee!

2010-04-08T12:37:00.001-07:00

Untied Shoelaces of the Mind just bought my story "The Circle Line" for their next issue. So that's me doing the happy dance.

Scraps

2010-03-14T15:15:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time there was a writer who lost all her money. She couldn't even afford to buy paper, so she had to write on the backs of envelopes and odd scraps of cardboard. That forced her to write haikus and flash fiction. But in a world where everyone seemd to have attention deficit disorder, that made her famous and rich.

Or at least rich enough to buy lots of paper.

"Loathsome Alyce" is on the web

2010-02-15T11:00:00.000-08:00

"Loathsome Alyce" is up at Wily Writers. [WARNING: mature subject matter]

A Great Start to the Year

2010-01-30T14:21:00.000-08:00

So far I love 2010.

My story "Screamcatcher" is up at Untied Shoelaces of the Mind

And "Thrice upon a Time" is up at Afterburn SF

Oh no! Not the comfy sofa.

2010-01-09T02:56:00.000-08:00

Sheila's nose was bunged up. Sheila's ears were bunged up. Her eyes watered and her joints ached.

“I don't know why people say they've got flu,” she muttered. “The blasted flu's got me.”

She set the washing machine going, and sat down for a bit. She herded stray mugs into the dishwasher and turned it on, and sat down for a bit. She washed up the few pans that wouldn't fit in the dishwasher, put them away, and sat down again.

At least the new sofa was really comfy. So comfy that she didn't want to get up again. Really it would be much more sensible to go back to bed and have a proper rest.

When her eyes opened, her throat was as dry as the Sahara and the shadows had moved. Water, she thought muzzily. Or a hot drink would be better. Water and then a hot drink.

She tried to stand, but sagged back onto the sofa. Curious. It felt as though her behind were glued down. She tried again, with the same result.

Goodness, she needed a drink. The kettle was only ten metres away, in the kitchen. Three, two, one, GO!

Sheila heard something rip half a second before pain flashed across her rear end. She staggered to her feet and cautiously touched her bum. It was covered in something spiky, like Velcro on steroids. What on earth?

She turned to look behind her, and forgot to breathe. The seat cushion of her nice new sofa was riddled with a ball of broken roots.

Cecil

2009-08-28T07:37:00.000-07:00

Cecil scratched his armpits and trouser snake while the van was stopped at the traffic lights. He farted as the light turned green, put the van into gear, and drove off.

He was sweating again. At the next traffic light he opened the window: cool air in, stink out. The petunias on the roundabout wilted.

At the next red light he absent-mindedly popped one of the spots on his chin, then burped.

He'd arrived. He parked on a double-yellow line and went into the charm school for his 20^th lesson.

New Laptop

2009-08-12T14:27:00.000-07:00

Once there was a writer who got a nice new laptop which she could take everywhere. This meant that she could finally write in all those odd little moments which previously got wasted. Since she had very little free time, the odd moments soon became at least half of her writing time. So did her output double?

Oh no, it was much better than that. She finally got some momentum going, and her productivity soared. She finally finished her novel and became rich and famous and bought laptops for all her friends.

What's a Few Tentacles Between Friends?

2009-08-08T02:04:00.000-07:00


UK		USA

And we interupt our usual service with some breaking news. Volume 2 of Cthulhu Unbound is now on sale, featuring my story "What's a Few Tentacles Between Friends?"

Bonfires: part 2

2009-07-23T08:56:00.000-07:00

"WHAT?" he yelled at the top of his lungs. "You must be joking!"

Janet took an involuntary step backwards.

He grabbed her sleeve. "Come here. I want to show you something."

And he dragged her along the side of the house to the back garden.

"Look! Look!" he yelled, pointing at the bonfire, which belched choking smoke. "I do all this work -- the weeding and the raking and the planting -- and all you can do is complain."

"Mr. Docherty I --"

"Do you think I do it for the good of my health? Do you?"

Janet thought he did it because he was a control freak who needed the garden to stand to attention, but she wasn't reckless enough to say so.

He went on, "And none of you help. Ever."

Janet took a deep breath, and promptly choked on the smoke. At last she gasped, "I tried to help and you said I --"

"Don't interrupt me!" he wagged a finger an inch under her nose.

Before she could say anything, he went on, "And what about that stinking dog?"

"It was only here overnight." Months ago, Summer had brought home a stray dog, and taken it to the shelter in the morning.

"DON'T SHOUT AT ME!" he roared. "THAT BLASTED DOG. CRAPPING OVER HERE --" and he actually dipped his rear towards the ground in a mini squat "-- CRAPPING OVER THERE--" another mini-squat "--THAT'S NOT CLEAN--" wagging his finger under her nose again. "IN FACT, IT'S FILTHY."

The smell of smoke was very strong now.

Gareth Docherty's eyes began to bug out and his face turned a fiery red. "YOU FILTHY PEOPLE HAVE GOT NOTHING TO COMPLAIN ABOUT!"

Janet could have sworn she saw wisps of smoke coming out of his ears. But that would just be his grey hair, wouldn't it?

"NOTHING AT ALL!"

With a soft whump the smoke turned to flame, and Gareth Docherty spontaneously combusted.

He burned out in less than a minute, before Janet could believe her eyes enough to scream for help. She was left staring at a new patch of burned grass on the manicured lawn.

Bonfires

2009-07-22T03:08:00.000-07:00

Janet stared at the half match in her hand with a sinking heart. Her flatmates, Summer and Dee, stood with whole matches, looking relieved and guilty.

Janet forced a smile, even though she felt sick. "The sooner I get it over with, the better, right?" Because if she stopped to think about it, her legs would refuse to carry her.

Summer and Dee's faces scrunched as they tried to think of something to say. But the plain fact was, it had to be done, they were all equally scared, and Janet got the short match.

Janet walked out before the other two found any words. Moments later, she stood outside the door of the downstairs flat.

She'd rather have poked a rattlesnake with a short stick than touched the door bell. She clenched and unclenched her fists several times, shut her eyes, took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and rang it.

All too soon the door opened. Gareth Docherty smiled his most charming smile. “How lovely to see you, Janet.”

Oh no! He was feeling flirty. OK, so he looked after himself and his eyes were still blue, but he must be over sixty, for goodness' sake. Janet was nineteen, and she didn't want to know.

Stick to the point, she thought. “Um, Mr. Docherty. We were wondering if you could possibly cut down on the smoky bonfires so close to the house on Saturdays?” Damn, it was coming out in a pathetic little squeak. But she'd promised to deliver the message. “With us being at work all week, it's when we like to hang out the washing, you see.”

Gareth's smile switched off to be replaced by wide open eyes and mouth, as though she'd put on a chicken suit and laid an egg.

To be continued...

2009-06-24T12:32:00.000-07:00

"I never get time for writing," moaned Sheila. "I spend all my time picking up after you. My life is so boring!"

"Huh," said Gareth. "Swap your problems for mine. I can't see them going away, ever. Sometimes I wish I was dead."

"That can be arranged," said Sheila. "All your problems are inside your head. So all I have to do is remove your head, right?" And she picked up a large, kitchen knife.

Luckily, Gareth managed to run away.

They were very kind at the secure mental hospital, and she had lots of time to write.

Reincarnation

2009-06-06T10:22:00.000-07:00

"I want to be reincarnated as a cat," said Carlos, stroking the one on his knee. "One with properly trained humans, of course." Then he gently moved the cat to the chair beside him, and got on with mending his elderly neighbour's TV.

Somebody must have heard him. Perhaps the gods were pleased with his kindness to his neighbour. More likely, they just have a warped sense of humour.

Anyway, Carlos had a heart attack in his sleep, and died. He woke up as a kitten.

He slept and played, played and slept. The milk was delicious.

It would have been great if only he hadn't remembered being human. Oh how he missed electronics! But when the TV broke (and he remembered perfectly how to repair it) he couldn't get the cover off with his paws.

When the human came to fix it, Carlos tried to help, but the human kept pushing him away. Over and over, Carlos tried to make the stupid human see that the power supply was singed. Look! There! That's the bit you need to replace.

And over and over again, the human grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dumped him as far away as his arms would reach.

Then Carlos's human - the owner of the TV - left the room, and the repair man threw Carlos across the room.

He landed on his feet, of course, and ran under the sofa.

"I want to be human again!" he wailed.

But all the gods heard was, "Meow."

Reasons to be Maungy, Part 3.

2009-05-21T11:12:00.000-07:00

For those who haven't come across the word before, "maungy" is West Yorkshire dialect for depressed and bad tempered.

After a rather bad day, I started writing my own lyrics to Ian Dury's "Reasons to be Cheerful, Part 3".

Dirty, greasy dishes,
Rooms that smell of fishes,
Never get my wishes
It seems.

Floors in need of mopping,
Food in need of shopping,
A lifestyle that keeps dropping
My dreams.

My blogs don't earn money,
My jokes aren't funny,
And now the crummy cat's
Got fleas.

Rotten old translation
might as well be Croatian,
I wanna vacation
Please!

Reasons to be maungy, Part 3.
Reasons to be maungy, Part 1, 2, 3.

Cooking Cabage: Part 2

2009-05-18T04:34:00.000-07:00

(see previous post for part 1)

As I watched the pearl hatch, my imagination went wild. Clearly this was no ordinary egg, and it wasn't likely to hatch an ordinary bird or reptile. Perhaps I was about to see a dragon or a fairy. Maybe even a demon or an angel. This might be even better than a pearl.

The edges of the crack reached around the pearl and joined. The two halves fell down. And there stood a tiny penguin.

Well, I say a penguin. Certainly it was penguin-shaped, But instead of the usual black and white marking like a tuxedo, this one wore a Hawaiian shirt, mostly electric blue and fuchsia.

I stared, with my mouth open.

The penguin put the tip of his wing to his beak and wiggled it at me while he blew a long, loud raspberry.

Then he flew out of the window. That's right. He flew.

And I didn't even have time to grab my camera. Just my luck.

Cooking Cabbage: Part 1

2009-05-17T11:48:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I enjoy cooking, but this wasn't one of those times. I was chopping up a cabbage for lunch. (I fry cabbage with a little bit of bacon and garlic - very good) And I was bored, bored, bored.

The knife hit something hard. There, in the very centre of the cabbage, gleamed a massive pearl, almost the size of a sprout.

I stared, entranced. It must be worth millions! I pictured myself lying on a coral-pink beach in the Bahamas, while a fit, young waiter, wearing very little, brought me cocktails. No washing up, no laundry, no cooking.

But the pearl began to crack, like an eggshell.

To be continued... (probably)

Fetching pizza

2009-05-16T12:37:00.000-07:00

There I was, waiting for my take-away pizza in the local bar when George Clooney walked in, looking far sexier in real life than he does on screen. His Spanish was pretty limited, so I helped him with his order, and we got chatting. He was staying at the Parador for a few days' break, because he'd been told that La Palma was the most beautiful of the Canary Islands.

So I recommended the Roque and Cumbrecita and El Tablado. And he offered me 100€ to be his tour guide for a day.

WOW!

Of course I agreed. Stuff translating.

So the limo will pick me up at 10 am tomorrow.

Kidnapped by Aliens

2009-05-15T06:29:00.000-07:00

The aliens kidnapped me while I was unloading knickers from the washing machine.

The big window snapped wide open, and I felt the gentlest tug as I was lifted off my feet. I floated up to their space ship, which looked like a flying teacup. Presumably the saucer was off elsewhere. A door opened in the base, and I was sucked inside.

The interior was all squidgy pink. Little girl pink at that. I'd have loved it when I was seven. Now it made me come over all feminist.

The outside door shut. An inside door opened, and a stalk of electric-blue celery walked in and threw some pink powder at me.

Then I woke up lying on the floor in front of the utility room, on a pile of wet knickers.

And now I'm so traumatised that I can't bear to go anywhere near the washing machine.

So you'll have to do the laundry, darling.