Team Building Exercises

Someone in the office just said their department head has suggested strongly...as in:



I nearly peed myself laughing at the possibility of a 'Team Building Exercise' led by this person.

Of course, I suggested 'Why not paintball? It brings out the best in people.'

Yes, of course it does.

I went on a Paintball Team Building Exercise once.

It was great fun.

I got to shoot all the people I just didn't see eye to eye with a gun which utilized compressed air to basically shoot marbles made of paint.

In the crotch.

What's not to like?

I believe if that particular manager were to go on a Paintball TBE, they would need to perhaps invest in some good goggles and padding:



And even then, they'd still probably be peppered with bruises...

Ah, management...

...about as useful in modern society as the career politician. (I had a discussion with a friend at work today about how those two modern societal constructs are probably the reason we as a collective haven't reached higher levels of intellectual/social/economic development).

But that would be a whole different discussion for a whole different day.

Been reading American Sniper, after having seen the film with some friends last week. Now, I haven't had a chance to finish it yet (I am about 70% done), so I cannot give a full 'review' of it, but I'd have to say that perhaps some of the reviews grossly slagging it fail to hit upon one crucial piece of the puzzle:

The book is the experience of Chris Kyle, as seen through his eyes and put to pen (alright, under the supervision of an editor).

Yes, there is an unabashed, unapologetic and features an unending amount of US flag-waving.

Yes, he has an overly developed sense of black and white (who is good and who is bad).

Yes, it builds up quite nicely in the action sequences only to let you down by crescendo-ing with 'And I shot him' denying those who want a more in-depth look at the 'How' in the dark.

Yes, the dialogue is cliched and poor (well, poor isn't correct here. If a person in real life speaks in that manner, then you just have to accept that).

Yes, he does come across at times as a bit of a 'Richard' (keeping this blog tidy...what a challenge).

But it is HIS point of view of his experiences as a Navy Seal Sniper.

Whether you like it or not, it is a treasure trove into an understanding of what the warrior mentality is.

It doesn't mean all men and women who serve in their respective armed forces share that particular view of life, love and war.

But it presents a very interesting analysis of the psyche that made him who and what he was.

And I'm finding it fascinating BECAUSE it gives you that insight, whether it is something you like or empathize with or not.

I only wish Clint Eastwood would have used the underwater nighttime training exercise shark scene from the book in the film.

Can we Mr. Eastwood? Can we?



Aaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww! :-(

More than a Feeling

I am taking up a cause today.

'A what?' you ask.

'A cause? Mario, are you sure? No good ever came out of people who take up causes. They end up ignored by the masses at best, and martyrs at worst. The DEAD kind of worst.'

Well, yes, you would be right.

And I've not time for dead martyrs (The only kind. I've yet to find a live one...)

The cause I'm taking up is this one:

Now, on to explain this one.

I have been in the UK for a while now. Voter apathy tends to be all that gets talked about every time there's a general election, and yet all people seem to talk about in the office is how party 'A' is a bunch of crooks (I shall endeavour to use polite language throughout), Party 'B' is politically inept and weak, and party 'C' is filled with xenophobic miscreants, all the while laughing at parties D, E, F and the rest as a waste of time and of a vote.

For politically apathetic people, the British sure love a good politics moan.

But every time I've asked a British friend or colleague 'Why don't you challenge the system?' The answer is a series of roundabout non-answers that would make any of the politicians of those so belittled parties proud.

'You can't challenge the system! Politicians have made it so that it can't be beat!', they say in a dejected chorus, as if The Hypnotoad has just been unveiled in the room.  

So, the systems sucks, but what are you going to do about it?

You CAN tell the system and those who run it that you don't believe in it.

'But we have! We constantly whinge about it!'

Yes, well whingeing the way it's normally done has not effect when children do it to their parents.

Do you think it will work on a well entrenched, very well connected political establishment where the career politician is a master of tiptoeing through all sorts of minefields unscathed? A system that is if anything acutely self aware and determined to preserve itself by any means possible?

Go cry to the Hypnotoad.

You stand a better chance.

Some would argue that violent revolution is required, but I loathe to advocate violence no matter how revolutionary it may seem to be (and because 10 out of 10 times violence is used...someone gets hurt).

I advocate something much more pragmatic.

Rather than choosing the lesser of two weevils...

...or being 'apathetic'...

(by the by, thank you internet for all of these images...and people who put them on the internet...including the ones I used for making the first one)

...why don't we as a concerned group of individuals brought together within the confines of society and its many quirks, simply DO something about it?

Come General Election Day in the UK (Thursday, May 7, 2015), rather than partake of the unofficial National British Pass Time of Whingeing, why not whinge WHILST registering to vote AND queuing at your local electoral station to CAST your vote of 'No Confidence' (doing all of this will probably put you in the right grumpy mood to be able to do this last part).

I think it is the best course of action short of becoming an active participant in a real life re-enactment of an Alan Moore illustrated novella.

 

(I can almost feel the back of my head being struck by that awesome walking stick of his for saying that...)

By the by: up until about an hour ago, I thought I was alone in this particular thought regarding a solution for the political malaise of the UK, and yet it's funny what happens when you write 'vote of no confidence UK' into Google:

http://www.votenone.org.uk/

It gives information on how to successfully case a 'vote of no confidence', and is well worth a look.

Remember, folks, this is a democracy as much as it is a partisan democracy.

While NOT voting is a right within a democracy, VOTING, even if it is for NONE, is that right being put to action.

Rant over. :-)

Take it on the Run

Short entry today (and it still took me 30 minutes to write...bah!)

I'm listening to REO Speedwagon at the moment. I had forgotten how nice it was to have Spotify...

Spent the weekend belting Chicago's '25 or 6 to 4', which annoyed my other half (I was also belting out 'Carry on my Wayward Son' by Kansas, which stuck to her head) , though she and sprog did dance hilariously to it when I put it out loud on my phone.

I like little silly moments like that.

I did 90% of my tasks this weekend. Sadly, since I was not the person to pack the power cables for the laptop, this is one of those tasks which evaded me.

Cleaning the windows was another. Cleaning south facing windows in winter when the wind is blasting FROM the south is not a happy thing to do.

It didn't help that I REALLY wanted to finish Call of Duty: Advanced Warfare. Now, before you go on a 'Boo!' rant, please allow me to expand on this topic.

I have been playing the Call of Duty series since Modern Warfare 2. Fatherhood, however, has meant I have considerably less time to play such trivial game.

I was given CoD:AW as a Christmas gift, meaning it has taken me near two months to be able to finally play it. And I did complete it in a dedicated afternoon (I played it in the lowest setting possible).

Boo-hoo, Mario.

Boo-hoo.

I also don't like going online to play. Last thing I want is to have my mediocre gaming skills bested by a 12 year old with too much time on their hands...well, time enough to humiliate me, in any case.

Writing wise, it has been quiet in the 'Put thoughts to paper' front, though actual thoughts have been bubbling fiercely.

When I finished The Space Between the Stars, I was relatively happy with the mythology. But as I read it over again, I found that perhaps there was space to expand upon it. So I did (in my head), and there are now more characters in this narrative. Or rather in a parallel narrative.

But The proof is in the pudding, and I guess I shall have to write another short story about that.

K told me I'd better, because she was happy with the mythology as it was.

So once again, I need to convince my toughest editor that this makes sense...

Hurray for challenges!

;-)

Carry on my Wayward Son...

Hello again.

It's been a while since I last blogged.

Life gets in the way of things (I actually have a large degree of empathy for George R.R. Martin when he claims he will write The Song of Ice and Fire at his own damned pace, though taking time to buy a Bowling Alley doesn't help him write any faster). At first, I didn't want to blog because I was gauging the reaction to people reading The Space Between the Stars, which was...well minimal, though the few comments I did receive were good and humbling.

But then other things took me away from the blog.

Excuses, mostly.

You know the kind.

Some valid.

Most, however, were mere laziness.

So, in the spirit of this week, I have decided to eliminate (or diminish) laziness as my Lent promise.

If you aren't a Christian, Lent may seem a bit of a strange quirk of devout (and semi devout) pilgrims giving up chocolate or alcohol for 40 days and not eating meat on Fridays.

My take of it, however, is slightly askew of it (and perhaps not entirely in keeping with the factual meaning of Lent).

But that's between me and the Invisible Giant in the Sky to chat about.

Jesus, as the bible tells, went into the desert to pray and commune with God for 40 days and 40 nights, fasting and declining the advances made to him by the devil.

Not much different than the prolonged meditations and abstinence from the temptations of the material world practiced by some Buddhist disciples on their path to perfection, for example.

The basis of it, is to deny yourself of something which is a need in order to appreciate whether or not it is in fact a need in the first place.

Explained like that it is quite introspective.

At least to me anyways.

So, back to that Lent promise of mine.

I am giving up, or attempting to give up Laziness.

How do I define/quantify laziness?

There's the rub.

Well, the one way I will define my laziness for the Lent period is by my ability to do tasks. To that effect, I have picked up a little notebook, on the cover of which I have written 'LENT TASKS.' Every day is written on it for the duration of Lent (I will include Easter Sunday on this diary), and I must write all the tasks I intend to do for the day on the page corresponding, as well as tick the task once it has been completed.

I know what the first complaint will be: 'Well, Mario. Anyone can make a list where they do the bare minimum number of tasks and claim they've accomplished everything.'

And you would be 100% correct in that assumption.

But I am not simply 'anyone.' I know what my own failings are, and organisation is actually top among them. I am erratic at best in my organisation. I am most comfortable shooting from the hip.

So in effect, HAVING to write everything down for 40 days is in itself a challenge.

It takes me away from my comfort zone.

It denies me something I like, though perhaps do not need (though at times it may feel like I need those extra 30 minutes fiddling about flicking endlessly through TV channels or watching the same dog chase it's tail on YouTube).

My other half has already told me not to be too hard on myself should I fail to live up to the task.

No one feels too hard about themselves when they fail to give up chocolate for Lent.

Or alcohol.

Or eats that bacon double cheeseburger on a Lent Friday.

Some people even manage to successfully avoid the chocolaty temptation for 40 days...

...though quite a few do so by picking up a 'support vice.'

:-/

So, this will be my burden for the next 40 days.

To be as organised as I can, and avoid falling into the trap of 'I can do it later'

I'll keep you posted, since I have made it one of the tasks to blog more regularly (once a week). I may even add 'Write a page of fantasy fiction' as a daily task.

Or I may leave it for later... ;-P    

The Space Between the Stars - Short Story

The Space Between The Stars

by 

Mario A. Mezquita

In the beginning, there was only the Deep, Deep Dark.

Until the Spark.

Until the Flash.

Then, there came a sound.

A scream.

A moan.

It was Liss, the Great Mother, only just born from within the Deep, Deep Dark, and already heavy with child.

She was giving birth.

From her womb emerged her first three children, and she knew she loved them ever since she knew they existed.

This was the First Gift: Love; the unconditionality of love: to love because there is love to give.

The children were named Orii, Nordos, and Sothos. They were giants, and walked and lived in the Deep, Deep Dark.

They loved each other as brother and sister, as friends, as lovers, as equals.

And Liss loved them all as such.

But love was not enough.

Sothos and Orii grew close to one another.

Nordos resented the closeness between Sothos and Orii.

He resented his exclusion.

In a rage, he took a spear and thrust it into Sothos’ heart.

Sothos was distraught at the betrayal by his brother.

He summoned his strength and pulled the spear from his heart. A great sword appeared in his free hand. With a swing, Sothos shattered the spear still held in Nordos’ hands. He swung it once more and cut off his brother’s head.

Those were the young days of creation, when that which did not yet exist could be created with but a thought and become at once both new and ancient.

The two first things imagined were tools of death.

Orii stood silent in shock; her brothers, her friends, her lovers, lay slain before her by each other’s hand.

She abandoned her brothers and mother to wander the vastness of the Deep, Deep Dark. Why she did so was not known. Perhaps it was the pain of losing Nordos and Sothos and blaming herself for their deaths. Perhaps it was a belief that she had somehow failed to love Liss, Nordos and Sothos enough. Perhaps it was simply madness.

Liss was inconsolable. Her grief lasted an instant. It lasted an age.

She grieved the loss of her children. She cried long and painfully, her salted tears washing down upon the bodies of Nordos and Sothos, moulding them and changing them; carving out mountains and valleys.

No longer giants, yet giants still.

Continents.

The tears pooled around them, and in shedding those tears of sorrow, Liss created oceans and seas, lakes and rivers.

There was another Spark

Another Flash.

Liss was once again overcome by the pain of childbirth. This time, like the last, there were three.

The first was bright and radiant. Everywhere he stepped as he walked the land that had once been Nordos and Sothos life grew that had never before been seen. And Liss named him Sól, and was pleased with him.

The second too, was radiant. But her light was cool and enveloping. Everywhere she stepped life changed, matured, and ceased. And Liss named her Swela, and was also pleased with her.

Liss gave Sól domain over the Sun, and called him the Sower and the Husband. She gave Swela domain over the Moon, and called her the Harvester and the Hunter.

The third one, however, was no child.

It was a great mass of mud.

Special mud.

The Mud of Life.

Liss asked Sól to take the mud, and make for her new children to rule over the world created by her fallen first.

Sól  took the cleanest, smoothest of the clay first, and using his hands made a beautiful tall figure with smooth porcelain skin, large blue green eyes, fine features and long, golden hair.

Sól called this creation Caella, and said that it was fit to illuminate the heavens.

And Liss thought Caella was beautiful, and made him/her the First Star of the night sky, Master and Mistress of Beauty and Love; and the Guiding Light.

Sól then took another lump of mud; this one was rough to the touch and dense like granite. From it he shaped a figure shorter than Caella and of great girth, with thick arms and legs, round nose and ears, small, intense eyes, a flowing beard and a broad smile.

Sól named him before Liss as Ivaldi, the Hearth.

And Liss thought Ivaldi was strong and noble and named him Master of Stone and Steel; Artificer and the Eternal Forge.

Sól took two small lumps, one a solid light brown and the other mottled in all the tones of earth and fire.
With the first he sculpted a figure slim and elegant, like Caella but smaller and swarthier; with emerald eyes, auburn hair and a playful smile.

Before Sól could present him to Liss he let out a joyous laugh, which pleased Liss.

And she named him Cihlihan, Master of Youth; Merriment and the Forests.

The other figure, made with the mottled mud was also small and delicate, but broader of shoulder and hip, rounder of face and with deep, ponderous eyes.

And Liss stared profoundly into her eyes and named her Wisgnó, and made her Mistress of Knowledge and Laws, and Keeper of Secrets.

Lastly, Sól took a smooth, deep, dark lump from the mud, and fashioned a tall, handsome figure of sinewy musculature, strong features, prominent jaw and sharp teeth.

Liss touched his arm and felt great tension and readiness.

She named him Mana, and made him Master of Strength and Beasts.

With Sól and Swela by her side, Liss gathered her new children together: Caella, Ivaldi, Cihlihan, Wisgnó and Mana, and named them her Clǣgcynn, her Clay Kin.

Liss asked the Clǣgcynn to go to the mud and make children of their own, to populate the land which once was their brothers. And so they did, each creating races in their image and in their likeness both physically and spiritually.

Caella created five races; all as beautiful as new stars in the firmament to honour those that had come before the Clǣgcynn. Ivaldi created four, two each to wield the secrets of Stone and the secrets of Steel. Cihlihan created two; Wisgnó three. When Mana approached the mud, his hands delved deep into it, and he took out a clump of mud large and dark like him. He fashioned out of the mud nine races which he called the Races of Dread, beings both magnificent and terrifying, and he turned to his brothers and sisters and said with a growl:

These Nine of Dread I create to test your children; to best your children, and expunge them from creation. As evidence that after beauty, after stone and steel, after youth and merriment, after knowledge and laws, strength alone is all that remains.  

From that moment, all of the races of Liss lived, loved and fought in the land that was once Nordos and Sothos and within the oceans which were Liss’s tears. And they called this world Niwent, the Land of New Giants, for they saw themselves as such.

But with the passage of time, the Clǣgcynn began to quarrel over territory, over beliefs, and over power. Their children, the races who now populated all of Niwent engaged in fierce, bloody conflict, devastating the land in their parents’ names.

A great sorrow filled Liss.

With Sól and Swela ever-present by her side, she summoned the Clǣgcynn before her. She kissed and embraced each of them, and she felt a great love for each of them. When she kissed the last of them, a great darkness enveloped all of Niwent.

Swela’s mantle covered the heavens. Her hand was swift, precise and merciless. She moved through the land and the oceans, mountains and rivers, cities and fields; culling one race from each of the children of the Clǣgcynn.

Magnificent cities crumbled, left to ruin.

The countryside turned to ash.

Battles which had raged for untold time ceased.

The Clǣgcynn mourned their dead children.

Some wept.

Some raged.

Some were relieved.

Then, there was silence.

Liss, who until then had never spoken a word, said:

This is the Second Gift: Loss. A gift I have known well. A gift which gave you the world you live in: a world you neglected. You took love for granted: my love for you, your love for each other. Now you have lost, so that you may appreciate what it was to have something you love taken from you. Your remaining children too shall experience loss, so that they may forever remember this moment. 

And Liss made all the remaining children of the Clǣgcynn sleep a Great Sleep which lasted an age.

This was to be the First Great Sleep.

Caella’s kin were granted near immortal life, so they alone could see the world around them grow, bloom, wither and die, to contemplate deeply the meaning of love and loss. To them would fall the burden of eternal mourning.

Ivaldi’s kin were made to toil away beneath the ground, deep in the heart of mountain and hill, to forever remind them that mastery of any craft is only achieved and maintained through constant hard work and dedication.

Cihlihan’s kin were made small, so as to feel what it is like to go unnoticed and dismissed; and also to learn to be closer to the ground and tend to the needs of even the smallest of forest dwellers.

Wisgnó’s kin were also made small and near blind, to remind them that even the least thought-of things can hide immense knowledge, and that in order to pass judgement one must look beyond the surface.

Mana’s kin were denied the light of day, made to lurk in the shadows and the shallow darkness, so they would know what it is like to be expunged from creation.

And Mana resented this.

The children awoke to mourn their lost brothers and sisters.

An age passed. Life in Niwent was not the same as it had been. The children of the Clǣgcynn dwelled in the mire of loss. They stagnated, rotted, began to forsake the Clǣgcynn, blaming them for their punishment.

Liss saw this and took pity upon the Clǣgcynn and their children.

She made them all sleep once more.

This was the Second Great Sleep.

She returned to the Mud of Life. Little of it remained save for rocks and grit.

There was a Spark.

Then a Flash.

Liss’s womb swelled. From within it there came a radiant light which bathed all of Niwent, and settled on the mud. Tears of pain and joy flowed from her many eyes, and washed over the sleeping children of the Clǣgcynn. The tears, heavy with the virtues and vices of the children of the Clǣgcynn pooled around the radiant Mud of Life, and were absorbed by it.

A blinding flash illuminated the mud.

When the light subsided, in place of the mud there were many small, naked and defenceless babes, with hair and skin of all colours of the earth. Next to them was a clutch of eggs as large as the babes, shining with all the colours of a rainbow.

Where most of the Clǣgcynn saw with wonder the new children of Liss, Mana saw them as weak and feeble; as not strong enough to belong in creation.

A great sword appeared in his hand. It was Khæos, the Kinslayer, the Absence of Being.

It was the sword Sothos had summoned into being from the Deep, Deep Dark to slay his brother.

He took the great sword and swung to kill the babes.

A hand with claws as large as swords appeared and held Mana’s arm, Khæos a hair’s breadth away from striking down the babes. Mana was angered, and swung around with his free arm, which held a morning star, in an attempt to crush the eggs.

From the darkness a great forked, spiked tail emerged, and wrapped itself around Mana’s arm, stopping the morning star from reaching the eggs. Mana flew into a rage, struggling to no avail against his unseen captor.

A mighty head appeared from the mist as large as Mana’s body. It was covered in rainbow coloured scales. It was long and followed by a slender, serpentine neck. The head was covered in horns rough and smooth, long and short. Its eyes were intense, like embers from deep within the ever-burning fires of stars. Its mouth was filled with rows of teeth long and sharp.

It opened its gaping maw.

Its roar was a thunderclap.

Fire spewed forth from its mouth and lit up the sky.

Niwent shook.

Mana, arms forcibly spread and facing all of his brothers and sisters, was raised to the heavens.

From the darkness appeared a second head, like the first, except with a pair of mighty branching antlers on its top and three eyes rather than two. It struck with blinding speed, ripping off the arm which held Khæos with one bite; the mighty great sword falling into darkness.

Mana screamed and reeled back, as the body of the gigantic, two-headed beast emerged, and settled before the babes and eggs. Like the heads, it was covered in thick, gleaming, rainbow coloured scales. Its wings flapped once, and hurricane winds crumbled mountains and levelled great forests.

One wing was crimson and leathery. When it flapped its wind was hot and dry, like a desert storm. It rested carefully over the eggs.

The other wing was black and feathered like a crow’s. Each feather had a great eye. Each eye was a different colour. It settled gently atop the babes, great eyes all fixed upon them.

The beast released Mana, who fell to the ground on his knees.

Mana turned and gazed upon the beast for the first time. His eyes filled with tears, and he wept. He had never seen such a magnificent and terrible beast.

Liss called the beast Drakan, Father and Mother of Dragons and Guardian of Men. The head with two eyes she called Vadrag the Father, master of Fire and Ice. The one with three eyes she called Dramutt the Mother, Mistress of Wisdom.

And Liss said unto the Clǣgcynn and their children:

Behold this final gift I give to you: Hope.  In Men, may you find the best of you, and the worst; Woman and Man are without mother or father, and yet brother and sister to you all. They shall lead a short life compared to that of the other races of Niwent, but in this short lifespan men shall be gifted with something to inspire you: Hope to achieve, to love, and to accomplish as much as their older siblings; perhaps even more.  Should you, my Clǣgcynn, accept them, some Men may choose to follow your path in seeking answers to life; and some may choose to make their own path. Drakan and his kin shall be Guardians of Men, until such a time as Man is ready to venture out into the world.    

Upon hearing this, all the Clǣgcynn and their children rejoiced, save for Mana.

Liss then said unto the Clǣgcynn:

Your place, my children, shall be among the stars, and not in Niwent. From the Deep, Deep Dark you shall watch over your children and over Men. If they call to you, respond. If they bring before you their infirm, heal them. If they fear the space between the stars, stand vigil, comfort them with your light and guide them. Above all else, love them. As I love all of you.

And with those words, Liss smiled at her children.

She was filled; first with a Spark, then with a Flash.

And she shone so bright that her light turned to stardust and fell over all of Niwent, bringing new life wherever it landed.

And the Clǣgcynn knew she would forever be with them.        

Playing the Tuba in the Bathtub

I have been otherwise occupied over the past few weeks. It seems the universe conspires to keep me busy and away from writing. There have been regrettable but unfortunate family tragedies and several trips across the not-that-small island that is the basis of George Arrrr! Arrrr! Martin’s Westeros (I even got to take a photo of the only place I could think of that would be the perfect Casterly Rock!). Heck, I even had a chance to be present and bear witness to Spider Man receiving a medical award for his research on mutations!

At work, a new line manager has meant now there is loads of work to do, and this past week I have been transported to the magical world of Agresso financial software, as I have been engaging in non-stop invoice registration and posting! The excitement is akin to taking flight on a griffin for the first time.

Yup.

A Griffin.

You don’t catch the sarcasm?

Then I am either a rubbish writer or you love financial transactions.

Which is worse?

;-P  

Thing is, though, that maybe I should just shut my yap and get on with it.

It is all well and good to talk a good novel, but what matters is that the blasted thing is written, and at some 60 odd pages, it hardly classifies as anything more than a disjointed novella.

In that respect, I have been trying very hard to at least release The Space Between the Stars here on the blog sooner rather than later. It has been a short story in the making this summer which essentially gives the very beginning of the Fantasy World of Niwent. I have passed it on to my editor (yup, K), for a final draft read, but she has been a little busy at the moment, which means as soon as she gives me the feedback I can go ahead and post it here!

Speaking of feedback (uh-oh!), if you have already read The Cicada and the Deep, Deep Dark feel free to let me know what your thoughts on it are.

It has received three reviews on Amazon (one is on the US site, two on the UK site), but the more the merrier, as they say.

I Need to Clean my Keyboard

I tend to eat at my desk a lot. It’s convenient; it’s where my computer is.

Not that I dislike the outdoors in any way. Take today for example. While slightly hazy, it is quite a pleasant, dry, warm day to sit outside and take some much needed vitamin D, and just sit and vegetate.

But no, not I. I prefer to sit in front of the PC trawling through ridiculous amounts of completely useless information on Wikipedia, while listening to the likes of Iggy Azalea’s ‘Fancy’ and Enrique Iglesias’s (ssss) 'Bailando'. Who would have thought that voice would come out of a skinny, white Australian lass? (No, not Enrique’s. Iggy).

The world is truly full of surprises.

As to why someone who used to work cleaning rooms for a living would want to ‘trash the hotel’ is beyond me. But to each his own, I guess.

 Right, back to the issue of the desk meals. (MS Word, you are getting on my nerves with all these ‘Reflexive. Consider Changing’ notifications. Stick to simple spelling mistakes, please!) Eating at the desk means inevitably I will find bread crumbs on my keyboard, which is quite a vexing thing. Yes, they are MY crumbs, but nonetheless it is annoying because my keyboard soon resembles my toaster.

But in the moments of quiet, contemplating solitude in front of the screen that I am not finding out about the City of Batman, Turkey (Yes, there is a City called BATMAN! How incredibly awesome is that? I do hope you are not lying, Wikipedia.), I am trying to write something. Be it a blog, a rant, or a short story, or trying to work up the energy to get into the groove to get the novel back on course.

Small steps and small victories, I tell myself.

To that end, I am close to finishing (I hope), a short story, which I hope to publish here on the Niwent blog soon. I have possibly mentioned it on previous blog posts. It is the Genesis story of the Niwent, which is something which I was quite keen to put down in writing early on. So I hope when it does come out it will be read by more than myself and Kirsty.

Guess that’s all for the moment…

I shall either clean this keyboard, or get back to writing something.

I love slow days at the office. ;-)