Blogging for Profit: I've just signed up for the Creative Entrepreneurs Club 30 day challenge called Blogging for Profit (http://www.creativeentrepreneursclub.com/articles/20090528). Not sure what it entails, but looks like fun. If by the end of the month I can get better at this blogging lark, then it will be worth all the effort.
Novel Update: Spent two hours on the train the other day with a pen and paper (remember those pre-PC days?) sketching out the whole story from the point of view of one of the characters. Feel a lot better now - just need to convert ideas into words - so no problem there!
Wednesday, 3 June 2009
Tuesday, 26 May 2009
New Helium Posting
Read my lastest posting here: http://www.helium.com/items/1461705-living-in-the-country
Then have a look around my Helium page and browse some of my earlier articles. There's a real mixture: travel, small business tips, cookery and a sprinkling of fiction and poetry.
If you enjoy what you see, drop me a line - I'd love to hear your thoughts. If you don't enjoy what you see, drop me a line anyway - I need to know why.
Then have a look around my Helium page and browse some of my earlier articles. There's a real mixture: travel, small business tips, cookery and a sprinkling of fiction and poetry.
If you enjoy what you see, drop me a line - I'd love to hear your thoughts. If you don't enjoy what you see, drop me a line anyway - I need to know why.
Friday, 20 March 2009
The Making of a Novel
I've had this idea running around in my head for ages. A story of one man's dream to build an ice-rink in Russia. Based on a friend and business colleague who died a couple of years back. Same style of writing as A Small History of Tractors in Ukrainian. So far, I've written 8000 words in a failed attempt to do the Novel in a Month challenge in November 2007. Now it's resurrected and I'm working with a tutor to knock it into shape and finish it. Hopefully it will then get published - but let's take it one step at a time.
After 3 sessions with my wonderful tutor KT (you know who you are!), around 4000 words have been torn to shreds and are starting to be put back together. I'm having difficulties with two main aspects:
1. There's a world of difference between writing a short story where every word counts and all extra detail is binned and writing a novel where there needs to be background, setting, atmosphere, character development etc. My 8000 words will probably morph into 30000+, even before I start writing the rest of the story.
2. There's a world of difference between fact and fiction. At present, much of the narrative is based on real incidents from my travel. I keep saying 'but it wasn't like that' to which KT replies 'who cares - it's fiction'!
I can see this is going to be a long but interesting journey. I'd love it if you would join me sometimes along the way.
After 3 sessions with my wonderful tutor KT (you know who you are!), around 4000 words have been torn to shreds and are starting to be put back together. I'm having difficulties with two main aspects:
1. There's a world of difference between writing a short story where every word counts and all extra detail is binned and writing a novel where there needs to be background, setting, atmosphere, character development etc. My 8000 words will probably morph into 30000+, even before I start writing the rest of the story.
2. There's a world of difference between fact and fiction. At present, much of the narrative is based on real incidents from my travel. I keep saying 'but it wasn't like that' to which KT replies 'who cares - it's fiction'!
I can see this is going to be a long but interesting journey. I'd love it if you would join me sometimes along the way.
Wednesday, 18 February 2009
DEAD MEN'S MUSIC
I heard today that I am the prizewinner in the Writing Club open poetry competition. The poem called 'Dead Men's Music' was written following a visit to the cemetry in St Petersburg where many of Russia's most famous musicians, writers and artists are buried. Looking at the memorials to Tchaikovsky, Borodin and the others, I thought what a geat jam session they could all have together.
The poem can be found here: http://www.writingclub.org/cOP29DdMnMc.htm. I hope you enjoy it.
The poem can be found here: http://www.writingclub.org/cOP29DdMnMc.htm. I hope you enjoy it.
Tuesday, 14 October 2008
MY BOOK REVIEWS
Like most writers, I'm an avid reader - getting through a couple of books each week, not to mention newspapers and magazines. I rave to my husband and friends about books I have enjoyed and moan about ones that have disappointed me. So, I thought I would start posting some of my 'rave reviews'. If I don't enjoy a book, you won't hear about it - but I'm going to make a noise about the good ones.
You can find these reviews directly via the link on the right hand side of the screen or set up an RSS link to http://elizabethducie.wordpress.com/
I hope my reviews help you find some new books to enjoy.
You can find these reviews directly via the link on the right hand side of the screen or set up an RSS link to http://elizabethducie.wordpress.com/
I hope my reviews help you find some new books to enjoy.
Thursday, 25 September 2008
ELLIE'S BIRTHDAY
Ellie was having a wonderful birthday. Aunt Zoe (not her real aunt, but Mummy said it was more polite) had bought her a silver locket with inscription: “the best god-daughter ever”. She had invited seven friends for tea – with cake, jelly and ice-cream – and games. Joe had won musical chairs – again! Sarah had won “Pass the Parcel” and loved the pack of fortune-telling cards (they would have fun with those in the playground tomorrow). The best game had been “Memories” where daddy had put lots of items on a tray and after studying them briefly, they had to write down all they could remember. Ellie had got them nearly all, but had forgotten the auburn hair dye and the business card. She had remembered the withered poinsetta – but, so had everybody else.
After everyone had gone home, she went to write up her journal. As usual, she chose from the jar of sharpened pencils. The dusty radio in the corner played a new song by Simon and Garfunkel – somehow, she knew that “Bridge Over Troubled Water” was going to be big.
As Ellie grew sleepy, the room started to spin – gently at first, then more quickly. She closed her eyes – and when she opened them, she was staring at her brand new laptop. She glanced across at the bottle of herbal medicine her friend had given her to protect against flu. “Sure is powerful” she thought, as she started to type up her journal.
After everyone had gone home, she went to write up her journal. As usual, she chose from the jar of sharpened pencils. The dusty radio in the corner played a new song by Simon and Garfunkel – somehow, she knew that “Bridge Over Troubled Water” was going to be big.
As Ellie grew sleepy, the room started to spin – gently at first, then more quickly. She closed her eyes – and when she opened them, she was staring at her brand new laptop. She glanced across at the bottle of herbal medicine her friend had given her to protect against flu. “Sure is powerful” she thought, as she started to type up her journal.
Sunday, 17 August 2008
HANNAH'S SMILE
It's a balmy evening in Florida. Six of us meet by chance outside a well-known restaurant. We have arrived from the States, Europe and the Far East for a conference and we know the next few days will be hectic. We decide to spend our last free evening together - a twenty-first century version of Ecclesiastes: 'eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we work our socks off'.
The restuarant is crowded, but Hannah, our waitress, finds us a table right away. She is older than the norm and heavier than one would expect of someone used to running between tables all night. But she has a great smile; a smile that never falters all evening, despite provocation. We quickly get menus and she reels off the specials. The noise level is high and not all of us can hear her words. However, we are more interested in ordering our first drinks. Hannah suggests a pitcher - both the Sangria and the Mojitos are recommended. We plump for a pitcher of Sangria, a glass of Mojitos and a coke. Then we wait - and wait - and wait. Other table around us are served - Hannah has disappeared.
Finally she arrives, bearing a tray aloft. Pitcher of ice, six glasses and a variety of bottles - she begins to mix. One or two of us, more familiar with Sangria than others, look confused. Why is she opening a bottle of champagne; where is the Spanish wine? Finally, someone says - what are you making. Flashing us her smile, she says patiently 'I'm making the pitcher of Mojitos you ordered.' We remind her of our order. 'Oh, OK' she says and picks up the tray to take it away. Suddenly, the thought of sitting here even longer without food or drink is intolerable. 'Leave it, carry on - we'll have the Mojitos.' She shrugs, carries on mixing and then trys to serve all six of us from the pitcher. Our teetotal companion reminds her she has ordered a coke and she's still waiting. She will have to wait for a while yet before it arrives.
Hannah pours our drinks, picks up the tray, including the pitcher - and leaves. 'Hey, that pitcher's not empty' someone says. A few minutes later, she returns, carrying the pitcher and tops up the glasses. We will never know whether this is normal procedure, whether she forgot to put the pitcher on the table - or whether she heard our plaintive comments as the pitcher disappeared.
Finally we get to order our food. A mixed bunch, with a variety of levels of hunger and jet lag, some order starters, most didn't. One of our number orders the Tapas special, to be delivered at the same time as our main courses. Once more we wait - and wait - and wait. Other diners finish their meals, pay and leave. We begin to check our watches.
Next time we see Hannah, she is bearing another tray, with the makings of the house salad. Maybe the kitchen is very small; maybe mixing ingredients at the table is meant to involve the diners in the experience - but in reality, there are far too many tables for this to be done in comfort - and by this time, we just want the food on our plates in front of us. Once the salad is mixed, she plates it out in three portions - the correct number, but tries to give it to the wrong people. Having sorted that out, she offers another pitcher of drinks - an offer we rather foolishly jump at. Too late we remember this woman can only do one thing at a time - and if she is mixing drinks, she's not serving food.
The next pitcher of drinks is finally mixed and served. Hannah makes another plate of salad and tries to serve it to one of us - even though the dirty plate in front of her is a dead give-away that she's already eaten her salad. The coke finally arrives.
Eventually, Hannah appears once more with the Tapas special, artistically arranged on what looks like a Victorian cake stand. It is accompanied by six plates. We point out this is the main course for one person. She smiles, hands out the six plates and leaves. A suspicion grows - she thinks this is a second course for everyone. 'Help yourselves' our companion says 'there's far too much for one person here.' We hang back, too polite to take him at his word. However, we gradually realise she's not coming back until it's all gone - and as our hunger grows, we start, one by one, to pick up our forks. Finally, when there is nothing left, Hannah appears at the table once more. 'Another pitcher, guys?' Her smile is unwavering. 'Maybe later' someone replies. 'For now, can we just have our main courses?' She shrugs as if to say - you only had to ask. 'Sure, no problem - they're on their way.'
At last, after nearly two hours, we all have a huge plate of food in front of us. By this time, we've eaten all the bread, nibbled at the Tapas and finished two pitchers of drinks. To say the edge has gone off our appetites is putting it mildly. No-one finishes all their food; Hannah continues to smile as she clears away the debris.
Too drained by this time to order (and wait for) dessert or coffee, we call for the bill. We question briefly whether we will add a tip; we can't really say we've had good service. But then, we realise we don't know why she's so bad. Does she have problems that keep pulling her mind away from the job? Is she ill and on medication? Has she been working all day, on her feet without a break. We tip more generously than necessary and leave before we have time to change our minds. Hannah's smile follows us into the night.
The restuarant is crowded, but Hannah, our waitress, finds us a table right away. She is older than the norm and heavier than one would expect of someone used to running between tables all night. But she has a great smile; a smile that never falters all evening, despite provocation. We quickly get menus and she reels off the specials. The noise level is high and not all of us can hear her words. However, we are more interested in ordering our first drinks. Hannah suggests a pitcher - both the Sangria and the Mojitos are recommended. We plump for a pitcher of Sangria, a glass of Mojitos and a coke. Then we wait - and wait - and wait. Other table around us are served - Hannah has disappeared.
Finally she arrives, bearing a tray aloft. Pitcher of ice, six glasses and a variety of bottles - she begins to mix. One or two of us, more familiar with Sangria than others, look confused. Why is she opening a bottle of champagne; where is the Spanish wine? Finally, someone says - what are you making. Flashing us her smile, she says patiently 'I'm making the pitcher of Mojitos you ordered.' We remind her of our order. 'Oh, OK' she says and picks up the tray to take it away. Suddenly, the thought of sitting here even longer without food or drink is intolerable. 'Leave it, carry on - we'll have the Mojitos.' She shrugs, carries on mixing and then trys to serve all six of us from the pitcher. Our teetotal companion reminds her she has ordered a coke and she's still waiting. She will have to wait for a while yet before it arrives.
Hannah pours our drinks, picks up the tray, including the pitcher - and leaves. 'Hey, that pitcher's not empty' someone says. A few minutes later, she returns, carrying the pitcher and tops up the glasses. We will never know whether this is normal procedure, whether she forgot to put the pitcher on the table - or whether she heard our plaintive comments as the pitcher disappeared.
Finally we get to order our food. A mixed bunch, with a variety of levels of hunger and jet lag, some order starters, most didn't. One of our number orders the Tapas special, to be delivered at the same time as our main courses. Once more we wait - and wait - and wait. Other diners finish their meals, pay and leave. We begin to check our watches.
Next time we see Hannah, she is bearing another tray, with the makings of the house salad. Maybe the kitchen is very small; maybe mixing ingredients at the table is meant to involve the diners in the experience - but in reality, there are far too many tables for this to be done in comfort - and by this time, we just want the food on our plates in front of us. Once the salad is mixed, she plates it out in three portions - the correct number, but tries to give it to the wrong people. Having sorted that out, she offers another pitcher of drinks - an offer we rather foolishly jump at. Too late we remember this woman can only do one thing at a time - and if she is mixing drinks, she's not serving food.
The next pitcher of drinks is finally mixed and served. Hannah makes another plate of salad and tries to serve it to one of us - even though the dirty plate in front of her is a dead give-away that she's already eaten her salad. The coke finally arrives.
Eventually, Hannah appears once more with the Tapas special, artistically arranged on what looks like a Victorian cake stand. It is accompanied by six plates. We point out this is the main course for one person. She smiles, hands out the six plates and leaves. A suspicion grows - she thinks this is a second course for everyone. 'Help yourselves' our companion says 'there's far too much for one person here.' We hang back, too polite to take him at his word. However, we gradually realise she's not coming back until it's all gone - and as our hunger grows, we start, one by one, to pick up our forks. Finally, when there is nothing left, Hannah appears at the table once more. 'Another pitcher, guys?' Her smile is unwavering. 'Maybe later' someone replies. 'For now, can we just have our main courses?' She shrugs as if to say - you only had to ask. 'Sure, no problem - they're on their way.'
At last, after nearly two hours, we all have a huge plate of food in front of us. By this time, we've eaten all the bread, nibbled at the Tapas and finished two pitchers of drinks. To say the edge has gone off our appetites is putting it mildly. No-one finishes all their food; Hannah continues to smile as she clears away the debris.
Too drained by this time to order (and wait for) dessert or coffee, we call for the bill. We question briefly whether we will add a tip; we can't really say we've had good service. But then, we realise we don't know why she's so bad. Does she have problems that keep pulling her mind away from the job? Is she ill and on medication? Has she been working all day, on her feet without a break. We tip more generously than necessary and leave before we have time to change our minds. Hannah's smile follows us into the night.
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