coffeecoffeecoffee and an excerpt

Yum! I just made an iced coffee in the blender. Delish. It's tropical in London today. Thick and humid and damp. Yesterday we had thunder storms. It's supposed to hit 30 degrees this week.

I'm so glad I don't catch the tube to work.

Here is the conversation I've been writing recently. It's been really hard. But I'm mostly happy with it at the moment. Enough to move on to the next bit (which is what? hmmm)

@ the surfery boy party:

She kicked off her shoes, and clambered up the ladder one-handed and awkward. Jake was at the top, reaching to lift her up the last part. The iron of the roof was rough and rusty and warm under her feet. It creaked as she followed Jake along the the rivets to the peak. There they nestled, where the ocean wind blew full of the scent of salt and ozone and seaweed.

"Why the roof?" she asked, hugging her knees.

Jake cracked a beer open, snick and hiss, and sipped the froth. "The view."

"But downstairs..."

"There's a party, sure. But sometimes, you want to get away for a little bit."

"Okay." She rested her chin on her knees and looked out. The grey beach, the black sea with its slick of moonlight. The sprinkling of lights around the coast, occasional cottages and cars and streetlights. The dense black edge of the cliffs, heavy arms that encircled the scene. She imagined what the two of them looked like. Human huddles, perched like seagulls.

"It is lovely," she said.

"You get a feel for a place when you're on the roof."

"I didn't know those brownies you made were special brownies," Molly confessed, ducking her head to peer at him, one-eyed. Cheek on knee.

Jake laughed. "Shit."

"Yeah. I was supposed to pick up my friend, Geordie. And I couldn't drive."

"You were giggling too much to drive," he said.

"Something like that."

"I'm sorry, Molly. Hope I didn't get you in trouble."

"Not too much trouble."

He sipped his beer. He looked sideways at her. "Why are you here?"

"Sometimes, you want to get away for a little bit."

"You're not drinking your beer."

"No... I guess I don't feel like it anymore."

A shriek from below, that was clearly Geordie having the time of her life. Molly shivered, as the wind cut through her clothing. Why am I here. What am I doing?

"You seem like an innocent person," he said.

"What?"

"I don't mean that in a bad way."

"The brownies."

"More than that."

"Then what?"

Jake shrugged. "Couldn't say. Not exactly."

She considered. Watched the beach. The shapes of people walking along the sand. Some of the boys were down there, yelling at each other about driftwood and building the bonfire.

It wasn't the word she would have thought. And if that was what he thought, then who was Jake?

"Why are you here?" she asked.

"Just living."

"You live here?"

"For the summer. Teach surfing to all the tourists, round the point."

"And then what?"

He smiled at her. "Back to the snow, Molly."

A man of the seasons, she thought. "A nomad."

"Something like that. You live anywhere in particular?"

"Londontown."

"City girl," he said.

"Something like that." She shifted on the iron, trying to find a more comfortable spot. "You snowboard."

"Good guess."

"And how's that for you?"

"I'm trying to make it. This year. This year's my year."

"How do you mean?"

"I'm trying to go pro. I'm going to make pro."

"Wow. You must be good."

Jake grinned again. "I'm excellent."

She grabbed the other beer and opened it. Guess she did feel like it after all. "So how do you make pro, then?"

"You get yourself known. Make a name for yourself. Get sponsored."

"I assume a level of skill is involved."

"There is a measure of skill involved, yes," he said.

"How long have you been doing it for?"

Jake shrugged. "Since I was little. Started skiing when I was kid, then switched to boarding. Do you board?"

Molly shook her head. "I've been skiing a few times, but haven't tried snowboarding. It looks a little... fast."

He laughed. "That's only a problem if you're not in control."

"Exactly."

"But you have to lose control to get good at it, you know."

"Really?"

"You let go."

"Maybe I find it hard to do that," she said. She sipped the beer. Fizzy, malty, and cold enough to make her shiver. Rested her lips on the edge of the can. Let go.

"I'll show you."

"What?"

"I'll take you boarding, in winter. I'll show you how." He smiled sideways at her. She couldn't quite tell how much he was joking.

"The best way to learn is to follow someone who knows how," he added.

Molly grinned. A vision of herself shrieking in terror, hurtling down the mountainside, and poor Jake below suddenly realising what he'd got himself into.

an update and a new blog

Not a lot of writing -- on Molly -- recently. I am still working on the scene with Molly & Jake on the roof. In fact, I may even post an excerpt here...

But I have been doing other writing, on the new blog! This is the blog I have set up with my workmates. It is a total blast and we're having so much fun playing with it. Our general theme is 'money'. Yeah, that basically means we can write about anything, because everything has some kind of tenous link to money, finance, being paid, cost, etc...

Here it is: iwilldothatformoney.com -- go visit and marvel.

Our top keyphrase right now is "dumbasses with money". I had a giggle this morning when I saw on the stats that someone found our blog by Googling "what a crackhead will do for money".

I have started a series of posts about Kayleigh-Anne Boyd, a fictional Big Brother contestant now on the path of fame. She's a total riot. Hilarious to write about. We found a free photo stock library which had these awful, just awful, photos of this woman with frosted pink lipstick posing in over-the-top-sexy mode. She has become Kayleigh-Anne.

Next up will be something like, "The Wannabe WAG Pregnancy Trap, a guide by Kayleigh-Anne Boyd, aged 22 and one half". I am also starting some posts around UK NHS dentistry, and "litigious lifestyle choices"...

We would love to have other people contribute to the blog, so if you have something you want to write about (usually in a bitter or scathing kind of way) please give us a bell...!

it's something like a poem, jim

I wrote something. It's something like a poem. It's a scene from Molly, one I haven't got to yet, cut down and made in to... something like a poem.

~
Sick urban stone

Melting water halos in the neon
Dusting in her eyelashes, running her mascara
And she tastes in the back of her throat
The scent of a wet city at night
Coiling trickles along her collar bone
And down
And drips off her fingertips
The eternal man stands crying beside her
He told her his secret
It's too big for her to hold right now
~

I haven't moved forward with Molly yet -- she's still at this surfery boy party at the beach cottage, waiting for me to send her up to the roof and talk to Jake. I'm dragging my heels because I want it to be this note perfect scene and I'm not sure what they are going to talk about yet. I'm thinking -- brownies, and music, and some kind of confessional? I want it to be all about the things that aren't said.

Have you watched Sex & The City? There's an episode in season 4 where Carrie meets Aidan again, after they broke up because she was cheating on him. It's at the launch of his new bar. There's this scene -- really short. They're outside, and they talk. It's sad and jagged and underwritten. Everything is in the spaces. Everything that's being said is not in the dialogue.

I wanted to find a clip, or at least a script of the dialogue, but I can't (curse you, internets). It's season 4, episode 5, "Ghost Town", if you want to check it out.

I want that kind of dialogue.