Hidden London: Cheshire Street

Graffiti on a door in Cheshire Street, East London.

It's been awhile since I've posted about my beloved adopted city, so I figured to get back on track I would post about Cheshire Street - just off of Brick Lane - in East London. I'm not sure how 'hidden' it is, given the amount of market stalls and shops, but I'm guessing most tourists don't even know it's there.

It's easy to get caught up in the hubbub that is Brick Lane on a Sunday afternoon. But if you take a dive away from the curry houses, you are rewarded with stalls flogging everything from cheap underwear to £5 plimsolls. Fresh fruit is sold alongside tatty leather jackets and vintage shops line the street. It's a totally different vibe than West London - in fact, you feel like you're in a different country. The infamous Kray Twins once owned a pub there and Reggie Kray's funeral procession even went down the street.

You could easily spend the whole afternoon on that one grubby stretch. But curry fumes were calling, and eventually we succumbed...

Tip: Check out vintage shops I Dream of Wires and Beyond Retro.

Multi-Task? Me?

Back in my university days, I was the Queen of Multi-Tasking (if I do say so myself). I was a member of the university track team, the president of my sorority (yes, I know, laugh if you must) and had a part-time job in my last year. Not to mention my near-obsession with getting good marks (Type A and all that). I juggled everything without even thinking about it.

--End bragging--

I look back at my former self with awe, because now that I'm writing full-time I find my multi-tasking abilities have deserted me. I used to be able to go from running in a track meet, to studying for a Spanish exam, to chairing a meeting -- all with no problem. Now I can barely switch between two projects! Whatever has happened to me?

I like to think it's not me, it's the writing. Creating is all-absorbing, not to mention tiring. It's hard to immerse yourself so fully in one world, pull out to another, and then dip a toe back in. I'm finding I'm not able to dip a toe. I need to spend a few hours -- at least -- to do anything productive.

I admire those writers who can edit multiple projects at a time. But multi-tasking, for me, is not an option. I'd love to hear from other writers. Do you work on lots of different projects at the same time? Do tell!

Good Things Come in Strange Packages

The show is more well known for dancing dogs and other oddities, but this clip from 'Britain's Got Talent' proves that it's not debatable - Britain has got talent. It's just how it's packaged that's the problem.

Susan Boyle, 47, says she lives alone with her cat, has never been married and has never been kissed. She can barely string together a coherent sentence. Her dream to be a famous singer seems laughable -- until she opens her mouth. This clip is a firm reminder that talent can come in many shapes and sizes, and that sometimes dreams can come true.

Enough schmaltz for today! But watch the video - it is heartwarming.

Back to the (Blessed) Daily Grind

I may have mentioned before that I am a big fan of routine. Without my writing routine, I putter about aimlessly, waste time and find other, more interesting things to do -- like clean the kitchen floor, for example. I need routine to anchor me.

The past few days have been action packed with everything from Spring Awakening (brilliant, by the way) to tree climbing in Hyde Park (not recommended). But I still missed my routine -- my morning coffee at 7:30, daily tweeting and then settling down at my desk to being the daily slog (or flight) towards 3,000 words. The Easter 'holiday' brought home to me how much I really do love my writing life.

As my brain is still revving, I thought I'd share with you some photos from the past few days.

The stage before the start of Spring Awakening.

Cheshire Street, off of Brick Lane, East London.

Tower Bridge.

Turkish Delight at Spittalfields Market, East London.


Kensington Gardens. Note the added feature of steam rising from the forbidden pile.

Rowing on the Serpentine Lake, Hyde Park, where an offering of a mobile phone was made (involuntarily) to the goddess of the lake.

The monstrosity that is the Egyptian Escalator at Harrods.

No Sign of Life

I'd love to post a witty and amusing update on my London Easter, but unfortunately I'm brain-dead from a weekend of speaking in French and pidgin Arabic. My brain is currently resetting and regularly scheduled programming will recommence tomorrow.

Happy Easter!

The next few days will be packed with houseguests from Egypt, France and the North (hey, it's like another country up there anyway!), so I likely won't have time to post until Tuesday.

So... Happy Easter! Have a great long weekend.

WAG #6: The Results

The theme for the Writing Adventure Group #6 was “Overheard”.

Don’t forget! The Writing Adventure Group is on Facebook. Join us there too, and get weekly reminders so you never miss an adventure.

And the results are...

How to Join the Writing Adventure Group
Cora Zane
Adam Heine
Christine Kirchoff
Nancy J Parra
Mickey Hoffman
Sharon Donovan
Iain Martin
Criss
Lulu
Jon Strother
Marsha
Carol

Next week’s Writing Adventure:

WAG #6: Imaginings. This one is people-watching with a twist. Observe a stranger and sketch a brief background for them, including a secret. Then describe why they are in that particular place at that particular time (where you ran into them) and how it will affect their future. Feel free to be creative, but don’t forget to describe the concrete reality that made you pick them in the first place! (Thank you to Christine Kirchoff for this week’s WAG topic!)

Post the results on your blog, and read this post about the group for information on how to notify me so your post will be properly included in next week’s list. (Note, please include WAG #7 in the subject heading and tell me how you want your name to appear please!)

Deadline: next Tuesday, April 14th.

WAG #6: Overheard

In all the excitement of last night's UFO, I forgot (gasp) to do my WAG! This week's assignment was to write about a conversation you overheard.

The following conversation takes place between a young couple, standing on top of the Pillow Mound and staring up at White Horse Hill. They have strong Essex accents (think Vicki Pollard but from Essex) and disgruntled expressions.

Man (shielding his eyes): Is that it?

Woman: That bloody well better not be it.

Man: We've been had. That's not a horse. That's a bleeding squiggle.

Woman: What the F$&^? It looks like a McDonald's logo.

Man: Stupid Iron Age.

Woman: Maybe they had different horses back then?

Man casts Woman a withering look and they toddle down the Mound.

Man (half-way down the Mound): I wonder if they had beer?

Unidentified Foreign Object

The Man arrived home today with a lovely, squidgy package he received from a client in Rome. Wrapped in green foil, we prodded and poked it as we debated what it could be. Cheese? Coffee? Chocolate? Our minds whipped through the possibilities like kids grabbing candy at a sweet shop.

'I think it's a soft toy,' The Man said, trying to downplay our expectations.

'Naw.' I was sure any self-respecting Italian would never give someone a soft toy. It must be something to eat. Something delicious.

Sniffing the air for clues, we tore open the wrapping. Only to reveal...

OK, so it's a bad picture. But the reality isn't any more illuminating. Is it cake? Is it bread?

We squinted at the tag to try to shed some light. Of course, it's in Italian.

So there it sits, forlornly, on the table.

Our own little UFO.

The Voices Inside My Head

Re-reading Stephen King's On Writing, I came across a sentence that really rang true for me. The first draft, we write to tell ourselves the story. The second draft, we tell others the story.

Right now, I'm 55,000 words into a first draft of a novel. I have no idea how it's going to end! My protagonist has a choice to make. I know what I'd like her to do; I'm just not sure if it's right for her. I tried to plan the whole novel before I started writing, but I didn't feel like I knew her well enough to make the decision. I still don't, but I'm edging closer. I hope by the time I reach that point, she'll do it for me.

Sound schizo? It is, in a way. Characters tend to do things that you never suspected; that you didn't even know they wanted to do. Sometimes when I'm writing, I think: Where did that come from? I love that feeling, as if they're alive and exercising their control.

Ah, the voices inside my head. Am I telling myself the story, or are they telling it to me? (Hums the theme to the Twilight Zone...)

London Today

Kensington Gardens.


Vicarage Gate, W8.

What Day is it Again?

It's finally spring in London. Leaves are tentatively unfurling; pale winter skin braves the soft sunshine. As I shimmied down the street to the local M&S for my evening meal (yes, my life is just that exciting), I noticed my local pub was so full, punters were spilling out onto the street. What's going on? I thought. Then, I remembered: it's Friday.

Remember those delicious days during the summer when you were young? The days that just passed by, unremarkable except for perhaps a rain shower here or a thunderstorm there? Without a reason to leave the house for anything except play, there was no need to know a Monday from a Wednesday.

Without a 'regular' job now, there is seldom anything to mark the difference for me between weekday and weekend. When I was in the corporate world, each day was duly counted off until the wonderful Friday arrived. Friday night was the height of bliss, knowing that two whole days of freedom lay ahead; Sunday night was the depths of gloom, for coming quickly was another heavy week to struggle through.

Now, every morning when I wake up, I feel a trace of that holiday-like excitement. I have the whole day to do what I want --write! Who cares what day it is? Although not every day is a joy (and sometimes I want to bang my head against my desk until an idea falls out), at least I am in control of me and my life -- no matter what day it is!

**I reserve the right to retract this post at any time in the future, should I feel the urge to return to the corporate world. Well, you never know!**

WAG #5: The Results

The theme for the Writing Adventure Group #5 was “Life in Motion”.

Don’t forget! The Writing Adventure Group is on Facebook. Join us there too, and get weekly reminders so you never miss an adventure.

How to Join the Writing Adventure Group
Cora Zane
Iain Martin
Christine Kirchoff
Nancy J Parra
Sharon Donovan
Nixy Valentine
Lulu
Jon Strother
Marsha Moore

Next week’s Writing Adventure:
“WAG #6: Overheard” Another people-watching exercise this week! This time, let’s listen! Choose a stranger and do your best to overhear what they say, and then write it down. It can be on the phone, to someone else, or even them talking to themselves. What does their voice, word choice, or tone tell you about them? Feel free to write their exact words OR write it as you would for fictional dialogue.

Post the results on your blog, and read this post about the group for information on how to notify me so your post will be properly included in next week’s list. (Note, please include WAG #6 in the subject heading and tell me how you want your name to appear please!)

Deadline: next Tuesday, April 7th.

Happy Birthday - Not to Me!

Nothing comforts me more than friends joining me in my current age. One week after turning the tender age of 35, my best friend J has her birthday -- today! We met in Grade Ten biology class and forged a friendship through the gruesome dissection of worms, mussels and Herman the Crayfish.



J and me in Berlin, a trip infamous for Italian dentists, cigarillos and grumpy Polish taxi drivers.



J on her trip to visit me in Wroclaw, Poland.

Despite the fact that we've never lived in the same city for longer than four years since Grade Ten, we've somehow managed to stay friends across continents and through boyfriends who have come and gone.




Our empty glasses at Tate Modern during J's recent visit to London.

I feel blessed to have such an awesome friend in my life.

S0 -- Happy 35th Birthday, J! (And yes, I had to put the age in!)

WAG #5: Life in Motion

The assignment:
Sometimes it’s good to approach writing like taking a photograph with words. On the other hand, it’s important to remember that a scene is always in transition. For this week’s adventure, sit in a good observation spot and notice how the scene in front of you changes from one minute to the next. Has the light changed? The sounds? The people? What’s different now compared to when you first arrived? Is there anything you can see (or hear, smell, etc) that is changing right in front of you? Be creative and break the rules! This week is all about change!

My attempt:

For once, the street is empty. No cars, no buses -- no people, even. Is the whole city sleeping? Have Londoners succumbed to smog sickness? The eerie emptiness makes me uneasy.

I stare. Nothing moves. Even the clouds are fixed in the grey sky. The leaves are immobile, hanging limply in the heavy air.

A gust of wind. A plastic bag takes flight. It wheels and dances in a bird-like parody before crashing to the pavement.

The street regains its cement-fixed stillness.

Weekend in Oxfordshire!

One of the colleges, Oxford University.

After two blissful days skipping through the fields of the English countryside, I'm back in London and swamped with things to do. Novels to finish, novels to revise, projects to outline... It's all good, though -- I actually like a little bit of stress to spur me along. All that to apologise for my lack of bloggery yesterday!

The Man and I had a great weekend. The weather held out (for the most part -- the only time it rained was when we were in the car driving to the B&B). The last time we were in Oxford it poured all day, so we were pleasantly surprised to see some blue sky on our walking tour around the city.

Oxford University Press Bookstore.

The Man dances a happy jig in the sun (on the way to the pub).

Our bed and breakfast, Brook Barn, was spectacular. A converted barn, it was cozy and inviting.


Mezzanine level, Brook Barn.

The Stable, our bedroom.

After a full English breakfast (I won't get into the merits -- or lack thereof -- of black pudding), we took advantage of the sunny morning to play croquet (I won). Then, we headed off to Uffington to see the legendary White Horse. Drawn on the side of a hill by the Iron Age people, the horse was created by digging trenches and filling in the trenches with white chalk. Yes, they were just that crazy. Even crazier (and totally unknown to us) is the fact that you can only really see the silly thing from the air. We spent hours of fun climbing the side of the steep hill to see where the whole horse might actually be visible. The answer: it's not. Ah well, at least we burned off the breakfast!

Unidentified horse part.

White Horse Hill.

Leaving London - For the Weekend, Anyway

London has a way of sucking you in, like a giant Hoover whose grip you can't break. With everything so readily available, you tend to forget there's a world outside the greater London area - a world with trees! Cows! Sheep! People who don't need to wear make-up to go to the delicatessen where they'll pay £10 for some organic bread!

This weekend, the Man and I have decided to flee the city and head for rural Oxfordshire - about an hour's drive away (however, as The Man is from Cairo and drives like it, for 'normal' drivers, it may take twice as long). We are both firmly city dwellers, but with my semi-rural roots, I often long for open spaces and greenery that isn't cultivated to within an inch of its life.

We'll spend the day in Oxford and then head to our luxury bed and breakfast. If the weather holds, we want to do a cycling route around the Ridgeway, an old Iron-Age trek used during ancient times.

Wish us weather luck! Have a great weekend - see you on Monday.

Go Boy! Obscure MEP Socks it to Gordon Brown

A member of the European Parliament takes Gordon Brown to task on the current state of the economy in crisp, clear Etonian style. I have to admit, I was slightly distracted by his very bad tie (yes, I know, think what you may of me!).

Hidden London: Kensington Church Walk

This fifty metre stretch is one of my favourites in London. And even better, it's in my neighbourhood! I always try to walk through there whenever can. With its old-school shops - miles away from the chain gang on High Street Kensington - you could almost believe you're back in the 1700s when Kensington was the 'royal village'.

The first part of Church Walk - off of Holland Street. Image courtesy of RduJour

Church Walk runs from Holland Street (just off of Kensington Church Street), behind St Mary Abbott's Church, through Alec Clifton Taylor Gardens and finally finishing at High Street Kensington.

Flowers in bloom last weekend in Alec Clifton Taylor Gardens. Yes, that is a tombstone.

St Mary Abbott's church and cloister.

St Mary Abbott's back door.

WAG 4: The Results

Thanks to everyone for the birthday wishes yesterday (yes, I take every opportunity I can to remind people of my birthday !). I'm feeling a bit fragile this morning after the celebrations, so without further ado, here is a round-up of this week's Writing Adventure Group:

This week’s theme was “Do You Hear What I Hear?”.

Don’t forget! The Writing Adventure Group is on Facebook. Join us there too, and get weekly reminders so you never miss an adventure.

How to Join the Writing Adventure Group
Cora Zane
Christine Kirchoff
Sharon Donovan
Iain Martin
Mickey Hoffman
Lulu
Marsha Writes
Jesse Blair
Carol
Aunt Sally
Nancy Parra
Jon Strother

Next week’s Writing Adventure:

WAG #5: Life In Motion
Sometimes it’s good to approach writing like taking a photograph with words. On the other hand, it’s important to remember that a scene is always in transition. For this week’s adventure, sit in a good observation spot and notice how the scene in front of you changes from one minute to the next. Has the light changed? The sounds? The people? What’s different now compared to when you first arrived? Is there anything you can see (or hear, smell, etc) that is changing right in front of you? Be creative and break the rules! This week is all about change!

Deadline: next Tuesday, March 31st.

A big thank you (and a giant donut with extra sprinkles) to the Lovely Nixy Valentine for organising the group.

WAG 4: Do you Hear What I Hear? Sadly, I Do

I'm ready to sleep. Come on, sleep! My book is down, the wardrobe door is closed against the dark shadows. The light is off, the door is shut. Sleep, I'm waiting.

What's that? My ear picks up the hum of a violin. BBC Radio 3, it must be. What's the song? La la la la... I know that tune. I worry at the song in my head, trying to place it. In comes another instrument -- that's a piano. La la la la... maybe it's Shostakovich. Yes, that's it.

I open my eyes and push the puffy goose-down-smelling duvet away. I wrench open the door. It scrapes the side of the wardrobe. Why have we never fixed that?

'Can you turn that down!' Without my contacts, The Man is lumpified.

'But it's Shostakovich. He wrote it when his wife was dying.'

'Yeah, well I'm dying to get some sleep,' I grumble.

I storm back into the room and scrape the door closed again.

La la la la... violin music finds a way under the door and straight to my ears.

Bloody wife. I wish she'd die already.

Happy Birthday - To Me!

I know it's in poor taste to wish yourself happy birthday. But I figure hey, it's my birthday and if ever there was a time to self-indulge, it should be now. So - Happy Birthday to Me!

Before you ask - I'm 35. It's hard to believe I'm (almost) on the wrong side of the thirties! Ten years ago, I was working in Montreal as an editor at a medical publishing company. Now, I'm trying my hand as a writer in London. In between, I worked in Ottawa in PR; moved to Poland to teach English; completed a Bachelor of Education; moved to London and fell in lurve; taught at a school near Heathrow... and recruited teachers to this lovely land of Hope and Glory. Busy years!

But as schmaltzy as it sounds, I've never been happier than right now: Struggling through the angst and frustration of trying to get published, and spending my days creating stories and characters. What could be better?

A Little Less (Online) Conversation

Sometimes modern technology can take over your life. As useful as mobile phones, Blackberrys and the like are, I don't always want to be connected to society. This past weekend, I made an effort to reduce the amount of time I spent reading blogs, Twittering and Facebooking. In fact, I went cold turkey.

And I waited for the world to come to an end.

Surprise! It didn't!

After I got over the shaking, the nervous sweats and the twitching, I actually enjoyed the outside world, tooling about in the weak spring sunshine. I sat on my sofa - sans computer - and read a book. I resisted checking Google Mail to see if any agents had written. I lived my life! And I enjoyed it!

Don't get me wrong - I was chomping at the bit to get back to my computer today. Lifting the lid of my laptop was magical. Logging onto Twitter was like devouring a football field of chocolate bars. But my weekend without the Internet reminded me that real life is just as good (minus the chocolate, though). And that's all too easily forgotten as we become immersed in online worlds. They're great for connecting us with others, but are they disconnecting us from ourselves?

Google Street View: Hours of Procrastination Fun!

As if I needed another time waster! Actually, though, I ran across this while researching a restaurant in Paris for the novel I'm currently writing. I use Google Maps a lot to refresh my memory, and yesterday I noticed the 'street view' option. I could see everything my characters would see if they were looking out from the restaurant - and I quickly became hooked!


Of course, I checked out my own London address to see if it was available on Street View - and there it was. As the day went on, I discovered Google had just launched Street View in the UK, enabling viewers to see twenty-odd cities across the country. With the predicted outcry about invasion of privacy, Google quicky responded that they've blurred all faces and car registration numbers - although Twitterers were able to find many examples where this was not so.


They also uncovered these hilarious photos that somehow made it onto Google Street View (a few were removed after users complained yesterday):



A warm welcome off of Commerical Road, East London.



Cleaning the pavement in Hackney. Gross.




A lesson for all fare-dodgers: Don't. Or you'll end up in Google.



(Thanks to Londonist for the photos.)

London Transport v. Sloths

Spotted on the way to Gatwick Airport. Photo courtesy of Annie Mole.

Hidden London: The King's Wardrobe

Blue plaque commemorating the original King's Wardrobe



I can't express how much I love this small, tucked-away gem just steps away from St Paul's. It's almost impossible to find. We certainly wouldn't have stumbled across it had it not been for yet another London Walk (and no, they're not paying me to endorse their service - yet, anyway!).



The small square is accessed via a gangway which cuts through a row of narrow houses. And to find the gangway, you need to navigate the maze-like streets of old London, passing by traditional pubs, decrepit passage-ways and ancient churches. If it wasn't for the screech of buses from nearby streets, you could almost believe you were back in Edwardian London.



Although the original building -- purchased by King Edward for all his ceremonial robes -- was destroyed in the great fire of 1666, a blue plaque marks the spot. Surrounded by old structures with shade-dappled flagstones, you may feel like you're in a different world -- but you're not alone. Like all good historical locations, the courtyard has a resident ghost: a lady in white who silently drifts from building to building.




The courtyard.

WAG the Dog (OK, it doesn't make sense, but I'm trying to be creative!)

This week's WAG participants:

How to Join the Writing Adventure Group
Cora
Iain Martin
Nancy J Parra
Lulu - People Watching and Saving Lives
Jesse Blair
Jon
Nixy Valentine

The Writing Adventure Group is on Facebook. Join us there too, and get weekly reminders delivered to your inbox so you never miss an adventure.


Next week’s Writing Adventure:

“WAG #4: Do You Hear What I Hear?” So often, our brain filters out the sounds we hear every day, but sounds can make a story so much more concrete and help your readers feel like they’re really there in a story. This week, go out, sit and listen. (Close your eyes if that helps!) Let your attention move from the obvious sounds to the subtle ones. Try to take in the sounds you usually filter out, whether it’s voices, traffic, children, the hum of overhead lights, or whatever. Write a short description of the sounds and your experience, especially anything unexpected.

Post the results on your blog, and read this post about the group for information on how to notify me so your post will be properly included in next week’s list. (Note, please include WAG #4 in the subject heading and tell me how you want your name to appear please!)

Deadline: next Tuesday, March 24th.

Wag #3: Friends? I Think Not

This week's WAG was to write about a stranger you encounter with whom you might like to be friends. I'm going to digress a bit, only because I'm can't resist writing about a man I ran across yesterday on Portobello Road.

_______

I sip my strong coffee as the unfamiliar sun caresses my head. No gloves, no coat - it feels like freedom after the gloominess of a London winter. Lionel Richie floats through the mild air from a nearby old-school ghetto blaster. The street is slowly stretching its Sunday morning arms. Ahhhhhhh...

'Am I annoying you?'

Hunh? My eyes fly open. At the next table, a middle-aged posh-looking man has settled into the chair next to a complete stranger.

'No, you're alright, mate,' the stranger says, engrossed in his newspaper.

'I smoked seven grams of cocaine and had six hookers last night,' says Posh Man, swaying slightly in his chair.

Stranger barely looks up. 'Sounds like a messy night,' he says in a typically understated British way.

Posh Man looks offended. 'No, not messy. Not messy at all. I'm just coming down. I smoked seven grams of cocaine and had six hookers last night,' he repeats, louder, in case any of us have missed it.

Stranger continues with his newpaper. Silence falls.

'I'm the best film maker on this street. Too bad my wife has left me. Man, she was hot.' He points to Stranger. 'Now, if she was with you, I'd be impressed. You're rich. Not as rich as me. I have a Rolex that used to be owned by Frank Sinatra. I'm the best film maker on this street.'

Stranger folds his paper now, giving up. 'No, no, I'm not rich.'

'You are!' Posh Man protests. 'You have a Patek Philippe watch.'

At this, I have to steal a glance at Stranger's watch. I have only heard about Patek Philippe in Vogue, and even I know they're worth thousands of pounds.

Stranger doesn't deny it. He puts his paper under his arm and gets up. Silence descends again, until another couple nab the table where Posh Man is sitting. Posh Man looks their way.

'I smoked seven grams of cocaine and had six hookers last night,' he says, delighted to have a new audience.

And it goes on. The Man and I get up to leave, stifling our laughter.

'He's a nutter!' The Man says.

'But he looked so posh...'

'He's wearing a bow-tie,' The Man responds assuredly. 'The mad ones always wear bow-ties.'

London Springwatch

Today is 14 C and sunny. It truly feels as if spring is on the way! The Man always makes fun of my enthusiasm for spring, but after you've lived through Canadian winters it's hard not to be excited at any hint of greenery. London trees flower much sooner than Canadian ones, and he's getting a little sick of my 'Look! The trees are coming out!' cries -- not that it stops me.

Flowering trees on the way to Portobello.

We woke up this morning to brilliant blue skies and decided to walk to Portobello Road, where The Man needed to pick up the finalized soundtrack for his upcoming film. It was still early and the stalls-owners were just starting to unpack their white vans. After picking up the DVD from the small mews where the studio was located, we grabbed a quick coffee (more later on an interesting character we encountered) and then meandered through Kensington Gardens on our way back home.

Kensington Gardens.

.

First lemonade of the year by the Serpentine Lake.

Hidden London: St Christopher's Place

Image courtesy of The London Traveller

To help motivate me to get out and explore my adopted city, I'm starting a new feature: Hidden London. Once a week, I'll post places off the beaten tourist trail. This week: St Christopher's Place.

You couldn't have an area closer - yet further - from the adrenaline rush of Oxford Street. All you need to do is locate the clock, find the hidden passage, and thirty seconds later you're in a quiet square lined with cafes, restaurant and boutiques. Sound magical? It is, in a way. The square has a Continental feel to it and you almost feel like you've been transported out of London.

I first discovered St Christopher's Place on a London Walk. The Man and I have done almost all the walks now - covering everything from Dickens' London to the Jewish East End. This one, focusing on Marylebone, was one of our favourites. Following our tour guide, we scooted past Selfridges and turned into a narrow corridor. I was immediately intrigued, but we had no time to linger as we continued up to Marylebone High Street (where we ran into Alan Rickman outside of Waitrose).

A year or so later, I attempted to find St Christopher's Place with my friend J, who was visiting from Toronto. I could vaguely recall it was somewhere outside of Selfridges, but the multiple glasses of champagne at Selfridge's champagne bar didn't aid in the search. Vision blurred, I managed to track down the clock and we scoffed some divine Turkish food at Sofra.

If you need some respite after shopping - and you can find it - St Christopher's Place is worth the hunt.

Mouse in the House!

Last night I headed down the stairs to the kitchen when I saw a dark shape streak across the floor and disappear behind the fridge. MOUSE! I screamed (internally), slamming the door to the lounge shut so it wouldn't retrace its steps. There's been nary a sign of the furry little guy since, thank goodness.

It's not the first time we've had visitors. Our terrace was built in the 1800s, and has loads of little nooks and crannies for critters to tunnel through. I first saw a mouse a few years ago, when The Man was away on a business trip. As soon as he got home, we called in council. Mice are such a problem in the borough that they actually have a service where someone comes to check out your flat - for free! Our guy assured us that while we did have a mouse intruding at some point, he was long gone. We joked that he probably took one look at our foodless kitchen and decided to go somewhere better!

We had two run-ins since then, but the mice don't seem to like our hospitality. They put in a quick appearance and duck out again. Let's hope it stays that way!

Wag #2 - The Results!

Here's a round-up of all who participated in this week's WAG! Next week's is open to anyone and everyone - see the assignment below.

How to Join the Writing Adventure Group
Cora Zane
J Strother - Mad Utopia
Nancy Parra
Jackie Doss
Criss - Criss Writes
Iain Martin
Marsha - Marsha Writes
Lulu - Introspective Liar
Jesse Blair - SexFoodPlay
Nixy Valentine
Mickey Hoffman

Next week’s Writing Adventure:

“WAG #3: A New Friend”
Sit somewhere that you can watch strangers passing by. Choose someone that you don’t know, but you can imagine being friends with. Describe them in concrete terms, particularly whatever it is about them you find appealing (or unappealing!) Feel free to also write what you imagine that makes you warm to them, but don’t forget to describe reality as well!
Thank you Marsha for contributing this week’s adventure theme!

Post the results on your blog, and read this post about the group for information on how to notify me so your post will be properly included in next week’s list. (Note, please include WAG #3 in the subject heading!)

Deadline: next Tuesday, March 17th.

WAG - The Sequel

I'm going to be pathetic and preface this by saying I'm a bit 'written out'. I've started working on a new novel and editing another, and I'm feeling brain-dead. So if the writing exercise doesn't make sense, then just go with it!

This exercise, set by the lovely Nixy Valentine, was to go outside and sit for a moment or two. Then, write about something you didn't notice at first. My observations come courtesy of the Central Line on the London Underground, where you're never short of something to feast your eyes upon.

FINGER-LICKING GOOD

She stares vacantly at her fingers. Short brown hair cropped close to her head, trendy hand-bag, cool (but not cute) pink trainers - there's nothing to distinguish her from the surrounding commuters. Her hands clutches a tiny metal object. I hear the 'click' as it slices through her nail. The nail arcs into the air, falling amidst the rest of the train's rubbish. Then, slowly, she draws her fingertip into her mouth. Her tongue moves across the skin.

One nail down, nine to go!

QueryFail? AgentFail

Last week, a group of agents participated in the now infamous 'QueryFail' on Twitter (search for #queryfail), generating an enormous amount of debate about the rights and wrongs of doing so. I intended to just go on my merry way and not wade into this debate, but I can't stop myself.

I realise the intent was to educate, not to mock. And I understand many of the snarky comments came not from agents themselves, but from others 'watching' the stream. My issue isn't with agents trying to educate potential clients on what or what not to do - that's actually a good thing, and there are lots of great blogs out there that do just that. My issue is with agents publicly trading samples of people's (ignorant or not) hard work - without their consent - and opening up a forum for them to be ridiculed.

In my previous life, I recruited teachers from Canada, the US, Australia and NZ to come teach in the UK. Every year, we visited job fairs all over those countries and fielded thousands of phone calls and questions. I answered at least 50 emails per day from potential teachers and made dozens of phone calls. I know what it's like to see your inbox go up with fruitless questions from ignorant people who could answer the questions themselves if they actually bothered to do a little research.

But at the forefront of my mind was this: as annoying as some of these people were, this was our potential client base. It was my job to respond to these questions, no matter how ill-informed I thought they might be, or how much I doubted their ability to teach 30 kids. Sure, my colleagues and I traded jokes and made snarky remarks sometimes. But all in the privacy of our office. We would never take examples of 'bad questions' and post them in a public forum. That would be like shooting ourselves in the foot. And very unprofessional.

QueryFail was well intended. But was it well thought out? I'd have to say no.

Life in the UK: The Test

Chatting with fellow expat Nixy Valentine about our immigration experiences, I was reminded of the sheer joy I felt upon learning I had to write a test on 'Life in the UK' in order to secure my permanent residency permit. Not only would I have the chance to show the Home Office the depth of my knowledge about 'life' in the Kingdom, but I'd also get to pay £40 for the privilege. On top of the £750 the permit was costing me. As I said, sheer joy.

Why was I so deliriously happy? Well, I figured that after two years of teaching the squirmy, squealing youth of Britain, I had such an insight into the collective psyche of the nation that I'd pass with flying colours. Not only that, but I'd also been recruiting overseas teachers to make up for all those Brits who didn't want to teach the squealing youth, constantly explaining everything from the NHS to the size of UK pillowcases (I kid you not - someone asked!). Surely the test would be a walk in the park. Oh what fun.

Vibrating with excitement, I purchased the Life in the UK book at my nearby Waterstones and confidently opened it, expecting to know everything inside. But horror of horrors, what met my eyes were facts I'd never heard -- nor likely would never need to know, be it for the fact that the Home Office thought it important for immigrants to know that Saint David's Day is on March 1. Or my favourite useless fact of all: If you're blind, you get 50 per cent off your TV license! What the...?

With the date of my test fast approaching, I spent hours studying the information in the booklet, even roping in The Man to quiz me. If I had to write the stupid test, I was determined to kill it. As I went off the nearby Kensington Library - the closest test centre - I was confident but nervous. Notes in hand, waiting for the test to start, I felt like I was back in university again. Finally, I was ushered to a computer (all the tests were multiple choice, done on a computer). Three minutes and 20 questions later, I was done. And slightly disappointed. That was it? That was what I'd spent hours studying for? What a letdown. My joy had given way to annoyance.

All sarcasm aside, I agree that immigrants do need to know about the country they are living in. They should be familiar with cultural practices and the history of the land. But why is it that the UK deems immigrants good enough to teach their children and heal their citizens, but when they want to settle in their adopted land, they have to jump through such silly hoops? And actually pay for the thrill of doing so?

Happy World Book Day!

I'm straining to remember the first real book I ever read (i.e., something with more than ten pages). But as nothing is coming to mind, I'm going to settle for the following.

Last book I read:

The Best a Man Can Get by John O'Farrell

Favourite Childhood Books:

Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery (I had a crush on Gilbert)

The Island of Adventure by Enid Blyton (I had a crush on Phillip)

My Side of the Mountain by Jean Craighead George (no crush, but it was a damn good book!)

Sweet Valley High series (who couldn't love two blonde twins - one evil and one good?)

Favourite Adult Books:

The Time Traveller's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger

What Was Lost by Catherine O'Flynn

Something Borrowed by Emily Giffin

Almost French by Sarah Turnbull

We Need to Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver

Care to share your favourites?

Is Your Week Getting Softer?

Spotted at Warwick Avenue Tube Station, Photo courtesy of Dan Hon.

Writing Adventure Group - The Results

Thanks to everyone who participated! Results and next week's assignment are below.

The assignment this week was to describe the sky. This was observational, so writers were encouraged to use descriptive words more than metaphors or emotive words.

For those who participated, please cut and paste the links below (and instructions for next week, if you wish) to your own blogs. This will help promote the group and give some linky love to each other, creating a fantastic cross-promotional network of WAGs!
————————
Cora Zane - Stars Will Cry
Sharon Donovan
Adam Heine - Authors Echo
Nancy Parra - This Writer’s Life
Criss - Criss Writes
Carol - DMWCarol
Nixy Valentine
Marsha Moore - Write On!
Jesse Blair - SexFoodPlay
Jackie Doss - The Pegasus Journals

Next week’s Writing Adventure:
For next week, go outside, and sit for a minute. (This can be in your yard or garden, on a city street, in a park, in a shopping centre, where ever you choose!) Soak in everything you see, hear, smell, etc, for a moment, and then describe something that you did not notice at first. This can be anything! Just make it something that you overlooked when you first arrived. Keep your descriptions as concrete as possible!

Post the results on your blog, and read this post about the group for information on how to notify me so your post will be properly included in next week’s list.

Deadline: next Tuesday, March 10th.

WAG!

Last week, we posted a call for all writers to get involved in WAG (it's not too late!). If you want to do this week's assignment, you still have time! The more, the merrier.

The challenge this week was to write about the sky, without using similes and metaphors. Doesn't sound that hard until you actually attempt to do it!

London is famous for grey. It's everywhere, from the faded, pollution-smeared buildings to the asphalt of the street. But the most unforgettable grey is that of the sky. So here it my take on this week's assignment:

Grey stretches across my sky, the red-brick chimneys barely visible through the thick haze. The ever-present airplanes are blotted out, leaving nothing except a bleached sky of paper-white to rat-grey. Sounds are muted under the heaviness of the shifting clouds -- even the screeching buses swoop by silently. Small drops of mist pool on a cast-iron fence, making the black shine wetly. I look up, hoping for rain, for anything, to break through. But the clouds continue their relentless smothering, and I flee inside.

Living Sculpture

If you ever wanted to create your own artwork -- but, like me, are totally useless at drawing -- now is your chance! And all you have to do is stand there.

Artist Antony Gormley is looking for 2,400 volunteers to occupy the fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square this summer for his new artwork, 'One and Other'. Twenty-four hours a day, for 100 days, a member of the public will stand on a column at Trafalgar Square for one hour. You can bring anything you can carry up with you. And what you do when you're up there is totally up to you!

"The square has its history as a place of national identity," Gormley said in a recent Telegraph article, recalling the fact that the plinth was built in 1841 to display an equestrian statue for which funds were never raised. "My project is about trying to democratise this space of privilege, idealisation and control. This is about putting one of us in the place of a political or military hero. It's an opportunity to use this old instrument of hierarchical reinforcement for something a little bit more… Fun."

The Man and I registered our interest at http://www.oneandother.co.uk/ and we're awaiting our applications! True, standing in a deserted central London square at 3 a.m. in the rain (in all likelihood -- this is London after all) may not be your idea of a good time, but when else will you have the chance to look across the iconic Trafalgar Square from such a unique position? And to be part of such an interesting artwork?

I have to admit I'd never heard of Antony Gormley until a few years ago when we literally bumped into one of his sculptures. Parking on Waterloo Bridge, as we usually do when we go to the South Bank, we pulled up alongside a human-sized metal object on the pavement. It hadn't been there when we visited the previous week, and it looked as if it had dropped from the sky. There was nothing to identify what it was, even.

Looking around the horizon over the next few hours, we kept spotting more and more of the strange-looking figures perched on roof-tops around the river. The effect was oddly disconcerting, as if you were being observed by something otherworldly.






Jim Dyson/Getty Images

Further investigation revealed that these sculptures were actual casts of Gormley's body, and that 31 of them were dotted on buildings around Westminster for an artwork called Event Horizon.

On his website, Gormley said it was designed to "get under people's skin" and make them "feel slightly uncertain about what's going on in the world that you are living in". Mission accomplished!

This time, I want to be the one watching others from lofty heights!

The Night Sounds of London

I've slept on the sofa for the past few nights in a bid to prevent The Man from my snuffling, sniffling and coughing as I battle the cold from hell. While our bedroom fronts onto the busy street, our lounge oversees a row of gardens that separate the next terrace from ours. The traffic is muted, you can hear the birds, and it's like being in a different world.



View of the gardens in the recent snowstorm.


And in the middle of the night, the sounds are even more unearthly. One night I was awakened by the foreign song of a strange bird. Stupid thing, I muttered; it's not even light yet. As the singing continued, I became less annoyed than intrigued. Its tune was unlike any run-of-the-mill bird, and I was reminded of the time The Man and I saw, to our surprise, three large parrots perched in the trees of Kensington Gardens. Further research revealed that west London -- Kensington, in particular -- is home to a number of parakeets and other exotic aviaries. That's all well and good until they start singing outside your window at 3 a.m.


A sound I am now well acquainted with but that terrified me at first is the howl of the urban foxes. Yes, you read that correctly -- London is home to foxes that exist on rubbish and prowl gardens for treats. I grew up surrounded by raccoons, skunks, wolves and deer, but I'll never forget the first time I saw a fox in London. I was in Camden Town (you can't get any more urban than that) and I saw one streak across the street into the tall grass on the other side of the road. At first, I couldn't believe my eyes, but when I mentioned it my friend he just shrugged as if it was commonplace. Last week, looking out my kitchen window at dusk, I saw the shadowy form of a fox as it scaled the garden wall and jumped off into the undergrowth. They are the prowlers of the city night and their terrible cries have haunted my sketchy sleep this past week.


And finally, you have the noise of the other horrible species: the binge drinkers. They are nothing if not consistent. Every night, no matter Monday or the weekend, you can hear them make their way home, shouting, kicking cans and generally being as obnoxious as possible.


I prefer the parrots and the foxes.

How to Get Published: Lorella Belli Seminar

Way back in June 2008, I pitched my first novel to Lorella Belli Literary Agency. A few days later, I heard the clunk of my package as it made its way back to me. Better than a rejection , though -- the agency just wasn't accepting any more clients at the time. I had a quick grumble about the £4 I'd just wasted, and put my submission aside.

Those £4 were actually well spent, since about a month ago Lorella Belli invited me to a free seminar she was running on how to get published. Even better, it was just a 15-minute walk from my house. I read a lot of agents blogs in the US, but the UK is still somewhat of a black hole for me, so I was really looking forward to meeting an agent face-to-face and getting some insight into the process from the ground up.

Unsure exactly what to expect, I traipsed down Portobello Road in my now-unfamiliar high-heeled boots, slightly nervous. As I entered the seminar room -- the roar of the Westway and the rumble of the Underground filling the air -- Lorella's friendly face instantly made me feel comfortable. An Italian who has been living the England for many years, she wasn't the 'scary agent' I'd worried about meeting. The small group of eight people -- from illustrators to screen-play writers -- was also welcoming. Most people, like me, were in the beginning stages of their writing careers.

While most of the session was quite basic, it was invaluable to hear the information straight from the horse's mouth. Listening to other people's questions about how to classify their writing, or the difference between publishers and agents, made me realize that I have learned a lot in the past year. Lorella's depth of industry knowledge also showed me that I have a lot more to understand!

Unfortunately, as I have come to learn, there are always one or two in every small group who behave to the detriment of the whole. I have to admit I was stunned at the confrontational attitude adopted by certain members. NOT a good way to get an agent! And one refused to even talk about what genre he was writing -- he was so worried people would steal his idea. Now, I can understand a little bit of artistic paranoia, but how on earth can you expect to get an agent when you can't even pitch your idea? It was a good lesson in how not to behave.

Some key points from the seminar:
(Copyright Lorella Belli 2007)

• There are now more than 120,000 new titles published a year.
• Choosing to become a professional writer is a bit like starting a business and should be approached the same way.
• There are over 150 literary agents in the UK.
• Commission charges are pretty standard in the industry: 15% (UK sales); 20% (US sales)
• Lorella Belli agency is interested in non fiction, women's fiction - strong memorable characters, original storyline, pace and good story-telling.
• Reading a novel is like watching a film: when you start watching it, if you think it's boring, you change the channel. That's what agents and publishers do if your work isn't strong enough to engage them.

Writing Adventure Group - WAG!

In the UK (and maybe the US? Have I been away for too long?) WAG stands for 'Wives and Girlfriends' -- usually of football players. Bleach blond, fake tanned and sporting hair extensions, WAG seemed the perfect ironic name for a group of struggling writers who need to force themselves into the outside world -- all thanks to Nixy Valentine, a fellow writer in Scotland I 'met' through my blog. Like me, Nixy is a transplanted North American to the UK, and she has a brilliant blog about the writerly life (not that I'm saying my blog is brilliant, but hey, why limit the comparisons?). So when she proposed the idea of writing adventures to the outside world, I was in!

I'll post the assignment each week on my blog, along with my resulting writing. The more the merrier, so please spread the word and feel free to join in!

And my apologies if this introduction doesn't make sense but I am slightly high on cold medication right now...

Nixy writes:

In thinking about spending more time Outside and how to use this to become better writers, Hip Chick Marsha and Saucy Jesse have agreed to help me with a weekly exercise adventure. All writers are welcome to join in, and we’ll be doing something a little different every week. Just made an official page for the writers group, but here are the basics:

Each week we’ll do a little mini-writing project together, and post the results on our blogs. Umm, that’s about it. We want to be very light on rules. After all, we’re all crazy artists.

This week your assignment is:

The Sky Is The Limit
Outdoor scenes often use the sky, light, or weather to create a mood. So this week let’s practice that. Go outside and look up. Describe the sky exactly as you see it. Use concrete words, no flowery language or metaphor. The idea is to let the physical speak for itself and to train us to be able to create the idea of “peaceful”, “beautiful”, “amazing” without using those kinds of empty words that tell the reader how to feel. Keep it real. No aliens or imaginings or memories. This is an observational exercise!

If you want, take a picture to put into your blog post as well as backup for your descriptions, or you can let the words stand on their own. It’s totally up to you. It can be night or day, good weather or bad. I don’t care. Don’t feel boxed in, and don’t worry about form. You can post a list of words, one line, or three paragraphs. No rules!

You have one week! (Until Tuesday, March 3rd.) When you’re finished, post the results into your blog. Please include a link back to this post, so your readers can learn more about the group adventure and participate in this and future events! Write to me at nixyvalentine AT gmail DOT com and send me your link. Next Wednesday, I will make a post of all the entries and link to them.

Let’s get other writers participating! Please tweet this page, Facebook status it or blog it!

The Search Is Over

When I was nine, I understood what heaven was. I was in Seville, travelling with my parents through southern Spain. It was almost 40 degrees, and we took shelter inside to get something to drink. I ordered my favourite beverage at the time -- chocolate milk. But what I didn't realise was that I was actually requesting hot chocolate (which accounted for the strange look the waiter gave me -- I'm guessing most Spaniards don't drink hot chocolate in the summer).

When it came, it was even better than the cool chocolate milk I'd been craving. This was hot chocolate unlike any other I'd tasted. In fact, I'm not even sure you could call the powdered variety 'hot chocolate' next to this. Oily and thick, you could practically feel it sliding down your throat, its richness coating your mouth.

For the next 20-odd years, I was destined to wander the world in search of hot chocolate that would measure up to my childhood experience. Nothing did -- until last weekend, when the hot chocolate of my dreams re-entered my life. And it was only been a ten-minute walk from my door-step.

Hotel Chocolat, on High Street Kensington, is a purveyor of all things chocolate, from olive oil to chocolate baguettes. After a walk through nearby Holland Park, The Man and I nipped in for our tea. Always cold, my eyes searched for something to warm me -- and fell upon the 'Liquid Chocolate'. I tried hard not to get excited; I'd been let down so many times before. But this looked promising. There were five varieties, from Valencian Orange to Azteca (with chili). Ever the traditionalist (when it comes to chocolate, anyway), I chose the Classic -- a dark chocolate version. I waited, trembling in anticipation. Mug in hand, I breathed in the heady aroma. So far, so good.

The first sip transported me back to Seville. As the liquid oozed down my throat, I knew the search was over.

Crash -- and Hopefully Not -- Burn

I was just about to start writing a post about the most wonderful cup of hot chocolate I have ever had when disaster struck.

The Man's hard drive crashed on his laptop. Now, this isn't as bad as it could be -- if it had been the computer where his 90-minute film was stored, I would have declared Armageddon -- but it certainly ain't good. Not only has he lost many important contact emails and marketing material for his upcoming film, but now I have to redo hours of work editing the narrative for his script, which he planned to record this week. Luckily, I have an old version saved on my computer, otherwise... well... I don't want to even think about it. As it is, it will take me most the night.

The moral of this story? Back up your work, people! And come by tomorrow when hopefully I will still have the brainpower to write about my mouth-watering cup of hot chocolate.

Art in the Park

Serpentine Gallery, Kensington Gardens

We are so lucky to have the Serpentine Gallery in our back yard (or back garden, as they say over here. When I first moved to London, I told my super-posh flatmate William that I loved our back yard. I'll never forget the look of horror on his face as he made it clear to me that a yard is a concrete apron outside of factories etc., and this was a 'back garden'. But I digress...)

On my first forays into Kensington Gardens, I was more interested in Kensington Palace or the Lido at the Serpentine Lake. I never even realised that the pretty brick-and-white building was an art gallery until The Man took me inside. Small -- with only 5-ish rooms -- and intimate, the gallery often exhibits one artist at a time, allowing you to feel like you've entered into separate compartments of the artist's mind. Recently, we went to see a collection of works by Indian artists and we were blown away by the massive, brightly coloured paintings mounted around the outer walls of the gallery.


'Indian Superhighway' Exhibition, Serpentine Gallery, December 2008






Every summer, an internationally renowned architect is commissioned to design an outdoor pavilion. We watch it rise with curiosity, wondering what unique shape it'll take on this time. Last year, Frank Gehry created a geometric behemoth of glass and wood, complete with different platforms almost at tree-top level. Outdoor parties, concerts and films are shown there all throughout the short British summer.




Pavilion by Frank Gehry, Summer 2008


The Serpentine feels like our own gallery. As we watch tourists peruse its offerings, we always feel a strange proprietorial air, as if this inauspicious gallery among the trees of Kensington Gardens has done us -- and Londoners -- proud.