Jo Robinson's Blog, page 116

You’re Invited!

I’m going to be hosting a guest on my site, hopefully once a week, so I’m inviting all my friends here to join me too. You don’t have to be a writer and your post can contain pretty much anything other than writings meant for adults only or hate speech. I’ll even fix any typos for you.

If you’d like to introduce us to yourself, your world, career, book, painting, poem, hobby, or whatever else it is that you do, contact me – my email address is jorobinson176@gmail.com. Also if you’d like to share an article about something you’re knowledgeable about, or care deeply about, that would be great too.

Come on over guys!

Bad To The Bone

You’re unlikely to go through life without meeting a really horrible person or two. I’ve come across a couple with no redeeming qualities at all. It’s true that some people really are not nice in any way. I find them just as fascinating as anyone else though – you never know when you can use them in a future storyline. I think writers are many things. We gather all sorts of knowledge in our quests to fill our worlds, and make them real. We research and learn about things that most people wouldn’t give a moment’s thought to. We’re also just as likely as psychologists to say, “And how does that make you feel?”, to a stranger, or listen raptly to the big-mouthed fellow that everyone avoids at a party.

This is the way of the scribbler though. We have to know what makes people tick if we want to write books about them. I’ve always been fascinated with the darker side of the human psyche. I wonder how people get to be the way they sometimes end up. Life hurts some people so badly that they break and stay broken. Some fight their way out of horrendous situations, and emerge as beacons of love and kindness. Then there are others that go the evil route, and become sadists and killers. It’s the ones in between all these things that I find most interesting.

I have two characters in African Me that are just downright bad. I’ve been trying to find ways to give them positive traits to balance out the awful, because I read somewhere that all bad people must have some good in them. So that got me thinking that they might be too bad to be believable. Then it occurred to me that this isn’t actually true. There really are some people rotten to the core. I’ve come across many as I’ve trawled the web looking for insights into human nature. So that’s one editing chore out the way. My baddies will stay just as bad as they are. If what you write feels right to you, then that’s the way you should write it.

Till next time friends. xxx

Loony Toons

Monday. That word would probably make a brilliant stand-alone blog post, and attract loads of really cool comments too. It’s the day that I park my posterior on the couch for a half hour or so to schedule recording of any programmes coming up during the week that I want to watch. I seldom find time to watch any of them, but I like to have the option. Then I download books that I want – again, mainly wanting to have the option of reading, likely or not.

This is normally a pleasurable thing, but today, not so much. The first thing I spotted was the news on TV. There was some dilly woman, doing a good impression of the head spinning kid on The Exorcist, belting eggs at Simon Cowell on Britains Got Talent. The fact that she later stated that they were organic eggs didn’t make the whole thing any less insane. Organic means it’s OK to chuck them at people? Granted, the man’s a tool, but that’s no reason to throw eggs at him. This Natalie Holt woman has just proved herself the bigger tool, and deserves whatever she has coming to her. Not a good career move, I’m thinking.

Then I zoomed through a few reviews of a book I was about to download, and spotted a one star where a woman said she had stopped reading it because she has zero tolerance of swearing, and came across the F word. Really? She further stated her relief at stopping at this point, thereby missing any s-x scenes (that’s how she spelt it by the way – s-x). Given that her moniker is “Mother of Eight”, I’m guessing that she’s not a nun. Fair enough dearie. Don’t read further, or go buy a boxed set of Wind In The Willows to read, but please DON’T leave an author a one star review because of swearing or sex scenes – just don’t read books that clearly let you know before you open the first page that this is what you’re likely going to come across. There are probably a lot of people who really won’t like what you do, but they’re not going to tell the world about it.

We all do silly things, and sometimes rant at the wrong time, but direct frontal or physical attacks for really pathetic reasons are really a lot more pathetic than the reasons at the end of the day. If you absolutely have to get all steamed up about something, make it worthy. There are thousands of things out there – abuses – killings – you name it – that you could get your p-nties in a bunch about if you really have to. Simon Cowell and the F word in books aren’t two of them.

Now. I’m off to see how many eggs I have. Thinking of lurking in a bush, and egging some fool for walking by and breathing in an offensive way.

Till next time friends. Xxx

A Walk on The Wild Side

I’m all buckled and bent from painting all day. I’m not an artist by any stretch of the imagination – I think pre-school was the last time anyone tried to show me how to draw. I’m determined to give this cover art my best shot though, no matter how doubtful I’m feeling right now. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as my dear old mother used to say. I’m doing a stand alone painting for African Me, but for Shadow People I had a bit of a brainwave. It could also be my unfortunate desire for instant gratification. Apparently people who desire instant gratification are actually lazy, and lack self-control. So…

Because it will be a series, it occurred to me that I could get more than one cover from one painting, linking one to the other, and creating a sense of continuity. Lovely idea you say? Well. Even though going from stick figures to the Sistine Chapel was obviously not what I was aiming for, it’s really not as easy as I thought it would be. Regardless, bent muscles notwithstanding, I’m still a bit hopeful that this might work in conjunction with the photo shopping thing.

So, right now I’ve got a humungous piece of hardboard with key scenes from the Shadow People series plopped around and about on a background that needs work – to put it mildly. I’m revamping the first book in the series for release at the same time as African Me. Being the secretive soul that I am, I’ll just share the very first really rough pencil doodle of my vision of what the Voxavi look like (just a tiny part of the total painting). Yes I know I haven’t even rubbed out lines that shouldn’t be there, and he does acquire some really cool spikes in the painting, but… As with the poem for African Me, I’m going to save the final for the actual book. My theory being that if you don’t find the doodle rotten and offensive, and curse me forever for offending your delicate eyeballs, you may not hate the final cover pictures. I’m praying here that ridicule and laughter aren’t lurking in my future.

I will say though, that regardless of whether my attempts are toolish or not, I don’t think that I’ve ever had so much fun. Scribbling is my favourite thing to do, but letting loose, and immersing yourself in art and poetry for a while is really an amazing thing to do. I totally recommend leaping wildly from your comfort zone now and then, and doing something you never imagined that you could. What have you got to lose?

Till next time friends. xxx

Pro Choice

Here’s a weekend quickie – not quite a rant. I have been rapped over delicate hand parts for not reading my blog reader – but. Like every other indie scribbler, I’m a bit all over the place, just trying to keep up. Also, I have a terribly dodgy internet signal, so I have to choose the quickest routes. By the time I’ve caught up on all my social networks (sort of), opening my reader always slips my mind – so – I ask the question. I know some people get a bit iffy with emails, and then righteously angry for reasons unknown – considering they signed up for what they’re getting – but I’m not one of them. Bring on the “Follow by email” widgets! Really – give us the choice.

Till next time friends. xxx

Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme

Apparently this time of year is a bit of a burn-out time for everyone – especially Indie writers. That’s cool though. I don’t think it’s possible to zoom through life this fast without a bit of down time. I’m feeling a little slooshy about my fellow Indies today. So, all you scribblers – just have a day of relaxation, close your eyes, and listen to some calming tunes – I hope I’ve got the right buggers with my lovely internet signal! Anyway…

Personally, I do admit to feeling just a little tired. I’ve resorted to taking two whole cloves of fresh garlic (pill-wise with water), and eating tons of live yoghurt. It’s working too. We never trust a humble leaf more than a powerful chemical. Bring on the antibiotics we say.

But… Garlic will cure all sorts of ills. Parsley will get rid of water retention. Sage casts out demons. Rosemary stabilises blood pressure. And a nice mug of Thyme tea is the best anti-viral, antibiotic you could hope for. It’s used to tread Aids holistically in many places. So….

Have a lovely weekend friends. xxx

Hello’s and Goodbye’s

It’s been a bit of an up and down week for me, reader wise. A while ago, I was looking at Free Book Dude. I love his daily lists of freebies on Amazon because they are all author submitted, and sometimes a little out of the box. I like out of the box. He really is a cool dude too, by the way, for those indie friends who would like another cool place to announce their freebies. Contact him a couple of days in advance, and he’ll add you with pleasure – a really lovely man all in all. Anyway.

I spotted a competition for a book giveaway. I’ve never entered any before – if I want a book, I generally just buy it. I haven’t been all that keen on standing in the queue at the bank lately to top up my pay as you go Visa card though, and I’m too much of a coward to see if there’s still anything in it after my latest epic Amazon shops. But I read the author’s bio Taona Dumisani Chiveneko’s Author Page on Amazon – read it – seriously – I bet you you’ll really want to buy the book afterwards. I had to have it, so I entered the competition, knowing that I wouldn’t get the book. Competitions never work for me. And then!

This week I got an email from the author telling me that I’d won! Starstruck – a bit! And there was another lovely guy. Not only do I now have the e-book nestled on my Kindle, he’s sending me the paperback all the way from Canada. It’s as brilliant as it looks, by the way, expect my review soon.

http://www.amazon.com/The-Hangmans-Replacement-Disruption-ebook/dp/B00B1KMM2C/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1370532395&sr=1-1&keywords=the+hangmans+replacement+-+sprout+of+disruption

And now I see that my beloved Tom Sharpe has died. This is indeed a huge blow. He was the first really, tears down your face and have to try and cross your legs as you run down the passage to pee author that I’ve read. (Interesting sentence – I know). Thing is – I was pretty serious and radical when I was young. I hated apartheid and the terrible things I saw every day, growing up in South Africa. And being who I was, I had quite a lot to say about it. It really is a miracle that I wasn’t ever arrested by the regime. Then I read Indecent Exposure. It’s rude, offensive, hilarious, and brilliant. But at a deeper level, it helped me to see both sides of what was going on around me. It taught me to shut up, and just quietly do what I could. It’s a grand view of the loony that somehow takes you to the real. I know it’s a bit pricey, but still, if you like irreverent, funny, and yet still somehow real – buy it. Cheers Tom Sharpe – I’ll miss you.

Till next time friends. Xxx

Indecent Exposure

Beware The Feathered Horde

We had a car-load of unexpected visitors arrive today, so all that got done was loads of chatting and eating. The feathered horde always love guests. New innocents, not expecting a parrot to suddenly fly by, as they really do, and swipe the choice morsel they were saving for last, off their plate. It’s amazing people are still brave enough to visit us at all really. The baby weaver is still a tiny bit shy of people, so he mainly lurked today, but judging by the glint in his eye it won’t last. Jelly the big weaver bird is currently furious with the world in general, so earlobes were abused, eyeballs were rudely eyeballed, and scowled and screeched at too.

I can’t say no to him though. He’s so small and cute. And the bravest little fellow in the world. He really did have a very rough start. Besides, I find it seriously hilarious when he’s quivering with rage, and I can never do more than laugh at him, then give him what he’s yelling for. So he’s not aware of being anything but in charge of the entire universe. Right now he’s tired out, fast asleep, and looking more like angelic LB, the character who was based on him.

Some of my friends who’ve read Fly Birdie will know that little LB was inspired by my very own crazy Jelly. This isn’t a ploy to get anyone to rush out and buy it, by the way. In fact, when African Me & Satellite TV goes live, all my other scribbles will be free for a couple of days – so I suggest you wait till then if you fancy reading it. How’s that for great marketing skills?! Hahaa!

Anyway. The poor little guy’s been moulting for a few weeks now, changing from his baby beige feathers, and turning into a proper adult male weaver, with a shiny black head and bright yellow body. Also all his “special” white feathers have fallen out, and normal black ones are growing in their place. He’s finding this a bit depressing and spending quite a lot of his time zooming to the bathroom, all on his lonesome, and staring gloomily at his reflection. I’m not even going to argue the point here that only dolphins recognise their own reflections – he knows exactly who he’s looking at. It pains me that he’s itchy and not liking his new look. Jelly’s a special little fellow.

Obviously Fly Birdie is ninety nine percent fiction, but caring for him when he was just a little lump, made me think about the effect animals have on people – even deeply damaged people – hence the short story. I’m planning on adding a bit about the guy who inspired LB in the revamped little book, but for now, I’ll just tell you.

A tree didn’t fall and start a crazy sequence of events. We did have a very dangerous Mahogany tree that was about to though. They have very spongy bark, and this one was huge, waterlogged, and already cracking. So we brought in tree fellers to chop it down. The feller was a bit of an artist, and really cool in his own right, so it wasn’t his fault when one single tiny branch zoomed across the wrong way and fell into a Palm full of nesting weavers.

A few hours later I noticed the dog picking something up and dropping it again – he looked a bit confused as to whether to eat it or throw it. That was Jelly’s first trip after being knocked out of his tree. I picked him up, wiped him down a bit, and took him inside, not thinking for a minute that he’d survive the day. He did though – the minute he was dry, he was cheeping like crazy, and didn’t hesitate when a spoonful of porridge came his way.

It was a couple of days later. He was sitting on his basket in the kitchen, got a fright, and made an unbelievable leap across the room into a pan of simmering water. I know now how dumb it was to have him in the room at all – but that only helps for the future. I fished him out and held him under running, cold water. He really looked like a tiny goner lying on my palm. He keeled over and stayed that way. Thinking he was dead I quietly lay him in his basket and put him in another room, while I tried to get over the guilt and shock.

When I went back in, he was not only up and trying to clean himself, he was trying to sing at the same time. Long story short – he had third degree burns, his leg really did get horribly infected, and I really did keep him with me every second of every day for weeks, bathing his wounds with antibiotics and pushing it down his beak when he eventually did give up, and try to close his eyes forever. That wasn’t going to be allowed though. Finally one little toe blackened and fell off. And quite a few feathers on one of his wings did grow out white as snow – from the trauma, I would imagine. But he got better, and hasn’t looked back since.

So his life didn’t go as LB’s did. It took too long for him to heal to ever be released back into the wild, but it’s clear that Jelly enjoys his life with us, zooming around, singing his songs, and being a very busy guy all day long. I can’t imagine life without him now anyway. It’s amazing how sometimes, one very special creature will be sent our way, and without the extra effort that’s sometimes required to let them live, we could be missing out on meeting the most gorgeous of little souls. I’m glad I never gave up on him, and my friends can’t mind him munching their earlobes – he’s the only one that gets huge packets of marshmallows brought for him every time after all. Or maybe that’s a ploy to try and keep him busy?

Till next time friends. xxx

So Little Time

Thinking that I would just pop my next short story up today, I started the day off transferring more of my scribbles from memory sticks to my new computer. Then I got sidetracked and spent a couple of hours opening links that I’d emailed to myself to bookmark, and reading ALL of them. Then I got the placement for things for one of my covers lobbed into my frontal cortex by my painting muse (she’s a bit rough around the edges that one), so I had to zoom off and sketch it straight away (looks a bit like a deranged lizard gazing out over a field of mushrooms). Then I did a lot more unproductive things, had a mini panic attack because I hadn’t checked out all my emails yet, came up for air, heard a loud bang in the kitchen (feathered horde flinging a tea cup to the floor), jumped up too fast, and ran into a chair. So… All back to normal then.

My problem is that I want to do too much. And I want it all done immediately. So I have three books on the go, as well as five paintings that I want all finished at the same time to use for my covers. My personally inflicted deadline is looming now. It’s probably crazy to think this will all be done when I expect it to be, but then again, you never know. I remember once when I first started driving, I got my car into a spot that it couldn’t get out of without something being horribly scratched, as you do, so I asked four guys I spotted wandering down the road to just pick it up and straighten it out. They looked a bit startled, then each of them grabbed a corner, and did just that. Didn’t look overly hard either. I’ve since been told that this would be absolutely impossible to do, and that I must be stretching the truth by a very long way indeed. The look that accompanied this sentence definitely suggested that I was the biggest talker of crap on the planet also. I’m not though. Could be they were just really strong guys, or maybe the confidence of my expectation left no room for self-doubt. Who knows? I suppose that if you really believe you can do something, you can. That would work both ways too.

If you think that you can’t do something, even subconsciously, then you can rest assured that you won’t get it done. You might not realise that that’s the reason though. You’ll blame it on social networking, cooking for the demanding swine who live in your house and insist on eating all the time, or any number of time-consuming things that keep you from finishing your projects. I have the opposite problem to that. I think I can do anything at all. Then I end up running into walls and chairs, and realising that I actually can’t. Well. I still think I can. Now I just have to figure out a way to manipulate time itself. Probably doable too. I’ll have to see if I can squeeze finding out more about that in-between scribbling and flinging paint around.

Which reminds me – I bought a book on fantasy art techniques, and tried to copy a bit of one of the paintings in there for practice. I’m not using this for anything, calling it my own, or trying to sell it, so I’m hoping it’s not grand theft art! My covers will be 100% original – this is just to figure out how to paint in general. Anyway – it’s coming along so I’ll share it with you here. It’s a nude too! Then you can tell me to to stop buggering about and just buy stuff from Dreamstime instead.

Till next time friends. Xxx

A Story A Day 4 – Shawna

I’m back in business with my new computer all set up, and me more or less able to stop just playing with the gorgeous thing. My short stories and bits and pieces are lurking around on memory sticks right now, and I’ve been too busy playing with my new toy to sort them out, so, for my Story A Day number four, I thought I’d have a go at zapping out a little horror. My first. Here goes.

Shawna



Shawna screamed.

Could mommy not hear when she screamed?

The woman floated beside the bed. Red hair fell in a swathe across the alabaster face. Shawna didn’t want to see that face. She couldn’t scream any more. Mommy should have been here by now. Why wasn’t she here?

The woman slowly revolved. Shawna focused on the gap between the bottom of the woman’s skirt and the floor. Where were her feet? Did she not have feet? Her gaze moved slowly upwards. Red eyes pierced the blackness of the room. She lunged for the bedside light switch. Briefly, bright light overcame the dark. The terror. The bulb shattered, piercing her cheek with the violence of its explosive end.

“Mommy,” she whispered.

She couldn’t move. The woman spun. Whirling around the room, with no feet, and mouth gaping blackly, stretched in a silent scream. And then suddenly she was there, hovering horizontally above the bed, face to face with Shawna. She stared into viridian eyes. Eyes of blood set in a face now as black as coal. The coldness of hell engulfed her. Her body shuddered as she tried to jump up. Run away from the thing that now reached a black hand towards her face. But she couldn’t move. All went black.

*

“Lying is bad Shawna.” Mommy angrily swept up the shards of glass. “I can’t afford to buy you another bedside lamp. If you’re going to be throwing things around the room and breaking them you can just go without.”

“But—.”

“There is no such thing as ghosts! Maybe it’s just as well that you broke it. You can’t sleep with the light on every night. Light costs money!”

Shawna realised that she wasn’t alone any more. Something inside her was getting angry.

“And another thing. I need to sleep too. You’re far too big to expect me to come running every time you yell in the middle of the night.”

Shawna grinned down at the back of Mommy’s head, floating above her, light as a feather. She understood now. She had nothing to be scared of any more. It wasn’t her the lady wanted. It was Mommy.

“Mommy.”

“Really Shawna. Just shut—.”

Mommy looked up. The lady smiled.