Happy Christmas Everyone!!

Well, here we are on the final day of NaNoWriMo - and yes - I've done it! Completed 50,000 words of a new novel in 30 days and barely broken sweat (she fibs). Frankly, I think I could have got a lot further into the novel, had we not been moving home at the tail end of this month. Still, 50, 283 words is a reasonable start and I hope to finish the first full draft by the time Christmas is upon us.

What did I learn from the process? That it's possible for me to write 1800 words a day for an entire month, without being tempted to go back and edit what I wrote. This is such a positive step forward for me, as, being the "tinkerer" I undoubtedly am, it is not something I have been able to achieve previously. I'd really like to be able to go on and complete the remaining 40K-50K words of the story in a similar vein.

So a HUGE and sincere well done to all of you who gave the novel-writing challenge a go this time around - and for those who might like to enter this, or the screenplay contest next year, you can check out the details at: http://www.nanowrimo.org/

Best, Kaz x

November Is National Novel Writing Month - Will You Join Me In Bashing Out 50,000 Words Over 30 Days?

If you're a writer of fiction you will no doubt have heard of National Novel Writing Month (aka NaNoWriMo), which runs from 1-30 November 2009. Participants are required to write a 50,000 word first draft of a new novel (from scratch) and this year, for the first time, Yours Truly will be taking part. Yes, I'll be aiming to write 1700 words per day, over each of the 30 days and I'd be thrilled to have your company, writing alongside me.

On this occasion we are aiming for quantity, rather than quality, (you have my official permission to write utter crap), because if, at the end of November, we find we've fallen in love with our storyline, we may just decide to take things further. Many writers have gained their first publishing deal through taking part in this annual worldwide event, so why not get yourself over to http://www.nanowrimo.org/ and sign up now.

Who knows, it could be the start of something BIG and rather wonderful.

On The Hunt For The Lesser-Spotted Agent

I realise I've been neglecting my readership - (that's you guys!) - in pursuit of my '60-day Write And Sell A Screenplay' challenge. One week to go and I'm almost there. What I mean is, I've finished the first draft of my masterpiece. I now realise it was an unrealistic goal to include the "selling" bit as well. Sixty days is plenty of time for working out your premise, cast of characters and motivations . . . and I'm really pleased with the story and much of the writing, only, it's not what I think that counts. I'm going to do some revisions next week and then send the manuscript to the Writers' Workshop to get some feedback.

I was intending sending it to the BBC Writersroom (they spell it like that), but I feel it's important to get some professional input at this stage and see if I'm on the right track. The closest I've come to scriptwriting superstardom, was to get shortlisted in a BBC Radio new talent comp a few years back. Let's see if we can do better this time.

And what about an agent? Is it possible to get an agent without having something optioned? is it possible to get your screenplay optioned without having an agent? Watch this space . . .


Best, Kaz

PS Something entirely unrelated: just headed off to Yahoo! Groups to see if there was one dedicated to Lesbian Crime Authors. There wasn't. (Maybe I should start one?) Closest match came back as: 'I Was A Teenage Jehovah's Witness.' Huh? Am I missing something?

Say "hi" to Corrie's newest scriptwriter!

I am indebted to Joanne Salt at How To Books for sending me the latest edition of William Smethurst's "How To Write For Television." I confess I've had my head stuck in it all weekend - only coming up for air, food and Match Of The Day.

And this book is proving a big hit with me for several reasons. For starters, it's written it a witty, engaging style that is easy to follow. As well as leading you step-by-step through the process of writing your first script: story; style; plotting; dialogue; characterization and so on, the author introduces us to the various genres: Sitcoms; Drama and of course, Soap Operas. Did you know, for example, Hollyoaks currently pays £6300 for a single script (including omnibus repeat fee)? I didn't. There's serious money to be made in this industry that's for sure.

But what I'm really interested in, is where to send my "Calling Card" script. Again, Mr Smethurst provides plenty of sound advice, as well as a wealth of industry resources and contacts including writing courses, grants, agents and the Internet, naturally.

A really impressive calling card script can open doors, you know - even for the likes of newbies like me it seems. You can even use it by way of an introduction to your favourite Soap's script editor. So watch out Jonathan Harvey, cos I've always fancied writing for Corrie. My storyline of Gail falling for Eileen is bound to be such a big hit with the viewers . . .

Pleased to note that Katie "Jordan" Price has issued boyfriend Alex Reid with an ultimatum. Either he quits making violent porn films, or she will dump him. Disappointed to note that it's for entirely the wrong reasons.


Not because Reid's films abuse and degrade women - oh no. But because when he's acting out his rape scenes, as per the latest sleazebag production, he's cheating on her! Huh? Talk about skewed mentality. I don't know which of them is more warped.

40-Day Breakthrough Challenge starts here!

I’m not going to lie to you.

I had a fleeting thought about coming on here and telling you how extraordinarily well my 60-day ‘Write And Sell A Screenplay’, Challenge was panning out. But the truth is, come Day 21, and I’ve barely made a start. You see, I've allowed myself to become distracted by another entirely unrelated project. Something that wouldn’t have happened if I’d been one of Jurgen’s students I’m quite sure.

And it’s nothing to do with the fact I’m not committed to my screenplay idea, because I’m crazy about it – particularly my lead character, Meredith, who I’ve got great plans for. My distraction was simply to with business – something I couldn’t turn down, but . . . I fully intend to make up for lost time, starting today – this second.

My 40-Day Breakthrough Challenge starts here, guys . . .


Best, Kaz


PS If you’d like to read Rainbow Reviews’ write-up of my latest novel, here's the link:
A Warped Sense of Uma by Kaz Jordyn

Day 7 Of 60 (already!)

Hmmm, well . . .

how quickly a couple of hours can turn into a whole week of brainstorming . . . particularly when one has been up to one's gob in Lemsip the past few days.

Following our weekend BBQ in Surrey, which left everyone sozzled and soggy, not to mention bloody bad tempered (frankly, there were more screaming hissy fits amongst couples, than a whole class of toddlers on their first day at nursery), Yours Truly developed something of a nasty head cold (I'm not a bloke, so I'm refusing to call it Swine Flu). Hence I haven't got nearly as much done on my screenplay as I had hoped for.

However . . .

My premise is sorted (well and truly) and I've got a pretty neat cast of characters who are becoming more real to me by the day. I'm really looking forward to getting to grips with my main character, Meredith, who is out to settle old scores.

I've had Julian Friedmann's acclaimed tome, 'How To Make Money Scriptwriting,' in my collection for around four years now and I'm hanging my head appropriately, because previously I'd not ventured past the introduction. So this weekend I'm really going to get stuck in, except, as I've just been reminded by The Girlfriend, Chelsea are on the box on Sunday afternoon and we're having people round tomorrow night. As I reminded TG, every artist has to make sacrifices for her craft. "Fine," she said. "Just popping out to buy the wine for tomorrow night and the beers for the match."

That's settled then. Good. Meantime, Mr Friedmann's wisdom awaits . . .

Day 1 of 60

Well here we are. Day 1 of my 60-day Challenge to write and sell a screenplay. Having just this second peeled the wrapper off my first pack of 'cue cards', I'm raring to go. But there's the small matter of planning to be tackled first.

To those of you - in particular - contributors to the Writers' News Talkback forum, who have been wishing me good luck with the venture, my grateful thanks, as always for the support.

And to Mel G, who thought I was attempting a 60-a-day challenge, as a lifelong anti-smoker, let me assure you, taking up a fag habit is nothing whatsoever to aspire to. Still it gave me laugh anyway.

So here goes. I intend spending the next couple of hours brainstorming ideas for my plot theme and character motivations. And along the way, I'll be getting some input from writers and producers who know precisely what it takes to achieve my goal.

I hope over the next 60 days, you'll be attempting your own challenges. Do please let me know how it's going.

Best, Kaz

My 60-day Breakthrough Challenge!

It's all Jurgen Wolff's fault.

Jurgen is a well-known motivational coach and writer and author of several books, including 'My Writing Coach.' I recently received an email from Jurgen telling me about his latest project. He was looking for 30 people to take part in his 60-Day Breakthrough Challenge, with Jurgen providing all the motivational tools (free of charge) to enable his students to achieve their own pre-set goal over the two-month period.

Frankly, who wouldn't want in? Jurgen informed me this morning, that unfortunately he received my application too late for it to be considered. But he did suggest I go ahead with my goal anyway and he gave me some key tips to get me up and running, which I will share with you. Over to Jurgen:

THREE KEYS TO SUCCESS IN ACHIEVING YOUR GOAL

1: Have confidence that you can do it.

The best attitude to have regarding your goal is “I know I’m going to reach my goal. Now my job is to find out the easiest, fastest way to do it.”

I’m not saying that in some Pollyanna-ish way. Presumably you have chosen a goal that is reasonable and achievable. I’m guessing that many people have done it before, in a similar time frame if not faster. Why shouldn’t you? The only thing that may be missing is knowing how to do it, and then committing the time and energy to complete those tasks.

In my case, millions of people have dropped 3% body fat, organized their offices and kept them organized, and probably hundreds of thousands have created useful information products. I can’t think of any reason why I can’t do it, too.

With more lofty goals you may be challenging yourself against the very best and an element of realism can be useful. Lots of people have run the four-minute mile, but I can think of several good reasons why that wouldn’t be a realistic goal for me (age, genetics, not enjoying running…). Similarly, while I’d love to win the Pulitzer Prize for Literature, that wouldn’t be a good goal to set—aside from any modesty about my writing prowess, it’s a goal that is entirely in the hands of a small number of other people, the committee that chooses the winners. But getting my novel published? How many hundreds of thousands achieve that in even one year? Enough to make me confident that I can do it, too (especially if I have a Plan B of self-publishing…).

So if you have chosen a goal that is reasonable, now is the time to stop devoting any energy to concerns over whether you can do it and put that power into finding the best way to do it.

2: Be flexible.

When people try something and fail, they remember what they were taught as children, “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.”

So they try the same thing again.

And again.

It still doesn’t work and they give up.

I wish we could teach children, “If it first you don’t succeed, do something different!” That should be your mantra throughout these sixty days (and beyond). When you encounter a wall you can’t get over, figure out how to go under it, through it, or around it. There is always a way.

3: Take advice from people who have done it

I’m not suggesting that only a coach who has won a gold medal can help someone else win a gold medal but for sure the best coaches have a solid knowledge of the event, probably have participated, and add to their experience a way of giving valuable feedback. Yet often we ask our friends or relatives what they think of our goal and get discouraged if they react negatively—which they will do much of the time. If you want to prove this to yourself, try this experiment: mention your goal to a random selection of ten people over the course of the week. I’m willing to bet that you will get mostly one of these responses:

“Really? Isn’t that awfully difficult in today’s climate?” (or “if you’ve never done it before,” or “unless you know the right people,” or…)

“Oh, interesting, that’s great.” (In a tone that might as well be accompanied by a pat on the head, followed quickly by their latest bit of news.)

“Good luck—I tried that (or something similar) and it just didn’t work out.” Or “I’d love to do that, too, if I had the time…” The implication being that either you’re doomed to failure or that you’re undertaking something anybody could do if they could spare an hour or two. Both are de-motivating.

It seems easy to laugh off or ignore this kind of negativity but actually it’s insidious. It plants seeds of doubt that in time can undermine you. The moral is to keep your own counsel and discuss your goals only with people who you know will be supportive and those who actually have (successful) experience of what you are trying to do.

If you follow these three guidelines, you hugely increase your chances of success.

Well, I don't know about you, but I'm feeling energised and up for this challenge. It’s a well-known fact that we are more likely to achieve our goals when we write them down. Not committing our plans and ideas to paper is a form of judging them not to be good enough. And when we tell others what they are, apparently we have an even greater chance of turning our goals into reality. So here goes.

My 60-day challenge is going to be . . . (drum-roll please) . . .

Write and sell a TV screenplay.

It's something I’ve never attempted before. I’m pretty sure I can get the thing written, but selling it as well, that’s a whole different ball game. Maybe I’m aiming too high – who knows?

So far I’ve come up with a premise and a working title, and that’s about it.

And I’ll be recording my progress right here every couple of days or so. So why not join me? If there’s something you’ve been wanting to do for a while now, don’t put it off any longer. Stop thinking about it and start doing. Commit some time and energy to your project today. And we’ll kick the whole thing off officially on Saturday August 1st.

And please do write to me here at the Treehouse. Or you can email me: kazjordyn@yahoo.co.uk and let me know what your Breakthrough Challenge is going to be for the next 60 days, because I’d love to feature your stories on this blog. Come on guys, we’ll crack this thing together.

Best, Kaz

Pity The Woman Who Bags Herself A Mummy's Boy

A study carried out on behalf of a pasta company has revealed that one in three men aged between 20 and 40 still live with their parents, compared with one in five women of the same age. To be fair, Yours Truly didn't flee the nest until the age of 25. But, 40? Hey, come on!

Still I suppose in these cash-strapped times, money (or lack of it) is bound to be a contributory factor and 59 per cent of the 3,000 men and women surveyed, cited 'cost' as their main reason for lodging Chez Mummy & Daddy. Apparently 16 per cent of male respondents admitted they enjoyed being looked after by mum (brave souls) and 11 per cent saying they'd miss their parents too much if they left home. Sniff, sniff.

With 56 per cent of adults having their meals cooked for them and 55 per cent getting their smalls washed for nothing, it's a wonder anyone ever budges at all. And get this - almost one fifth of respondents had a packed lunch made up for them every morning. I'm beginning to see the attraction. I suppose there's something to be said for squatters' rights.

And although I mock, I do know something of the mindset of a Mummy's Boy. You see, my dad (who died eleven years ago) was a late leaver of home. He was in his forties when he married my mum - and up until that point he'd shared a house with his mum and his elder brother - who never did leave home at all. And although my parents enjoyed a happy and enduring marriage, I can't help but think that Dad, constantly doted on by his mother, (unconsciously, perhaps,)transferred his pampered/ lazy ways into his relationship with Mum.

At times, bizarrely, (or maybe it wasn't at all,) it was as if he became the third child, along with me and my sister.

I don't intend to spill the finer details of our domestic arrangements here, save to say, that my gran used to prepare salads in a certain way - finely chopping the ingredients and adding a half-teaspoon of sugar - as if to cajole a child into eating. Guess who carried on the tradition so that my dad was eating shredded, sugared salad like a little boy, when us girls were eating whole foods like grown ups? Mum, of course. Quite weird, that, thinking back.

Or maybe it wasn't at all . . .

Any thoughts?

As a new Friday feature of this blog, I've decided to introduce the following awards:

KJ's Hero (or heroes) of the Week

Panto Villain of the Week


I'm delighted to announce this week's winners are:

KJ's Heroes:

The England women's cricket team, who, following their World Cup and World Twenty20 successes, this week retained the Ashes. Congratulations to Charlotte Edwards and her team who were welcomed to 10 Downing Street by Gordon Brown, along with their trophies. Maybe our men could get some tips.

Panto Villain of the Week: (boo . . . hiss . . .)

Dr Denis Walsh, Professor and midwife (scary, that,) who said that women giving birth are too reliant on epidurals, depriving themselves of the 'character-building' effects of agony. Given that some women I know have described the birthing process as akin to passing a melon . . . I think we might have some clue as to where we'd like to stick it, don't we girls?

A case of mistaken identity . . . but oh what a great day out

Yesterday I attended the Lit Up! event for writers at Upton Country Park, Poole. It took place in the splendid walled garden and not even the rain lashing down on our marquee roof could dampen the spirits of the participants.

As I approached the garden, I was warmly greeted by one of the organisers, which kind of surprised me because I hadn't expected to get recognised.

"Carole?" she said.

"Sorry?"

"Are you Carole?"

"Carole Blake?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Oh. I thought -"

"Kaz Jordyn."

"Ah yes you're on my list," she said, ticking me off (said list, not personally) and showing me the way to the refreshments tent. For a second I contemplated Being Carole Blake (there must be a film in there somewhere) and the fact that I'd be giving a talk to sixty people in under ten minutes' time with no notes and no prep. And that - I can assure you, was enough to jolt me back to reality.

As it was, Carole's talk went down a storm. As well as relaying some amusing anecdotes to her appreciative audience, we learned that her agency, Blake Friedmann, receives 30-50 fresh manuscripts a day, although Carole was quick to point out, that's not nearly as many as the BIG agencies like Curtis Brown. One woman asked how much of BF's slushpile consisted of "crap." Carole replied candidly: "98 per cent." Ouch.

Things that impress Carole (and her agency):

i) Be thoroughly professional in your approach

ii) You've had your work professionally critiqued and taken on board the feedback

iii) You've had short stories/ articles published in a national publication/ newspaper

iv) You've attended the Arvon writing course (or similar)

Don't forget to include these things in your letter of introduction where appropriate. And a tip from Carole about the novel itself: write from your passion. Don’t try to write what you think the market wants because nobody knows what that is. You can create your very own new genre if you really believe in your story. Most important of all - your main character comes first. Keep her in your head as you write. Live and breathe her story. Don't come up with a storyline and try to find characters to fit into it. Carole says she wants to read something that "makes her fingertips tingle."

Just so you get the picture fully, Carole hasn't taken on any new novelists in two years. By following these tips, maybe you can persuade her your blockbuster has potential. On the plus side, Carole's agency is one of a handful who doesn't mind email submissions - so get brainstorming! (I said that, not CB.)

Next up to the mic (which wasn't switched on as everyone could hear perfectly well at the back), was crime writer, Peter Lovesey, author of over 30 published novels. He brought the house down with some very funny tales about his writing experiences. Honestly, you couldn't make it up. He also got several among us to read an extract from six very different novelists including Agatha Christie, Patricia Highsmith and Ian Rankin. He then asked us to determine how gripping the opening lines were and how successfully (or otherwise) they engage the reader, making them want to read on.

This might surprise you. Peter writes most days from 8am-6pm. How many words do you think he achieves on an average day? The answer, is between 130-200. Gasp! . . . yes, we all did. However, Peter doesn't do re-drafts. Those 130-200 words are the actual words that will appear in the text of his current novel. Each book takes around one and a half years to complete and Peter plans the whole thing out chapter by chapter before he starts writing a single word. It certainly works for him! The title of Peter's talk was "Murder Must Entertain" - we all agreed, he did that all right.

Finally, we were given the opportunity to quiz a distinguished panel of writing experts from a range of genres, consisting of Della Galton, Janine Pulford, Janie Jackson, Barbara Dynes, Peter Lovesey and Keith Bennett.

If you don't want the bad news about your chances of being the next Dan Brown or JKR, look away now.

What emerged was: in today's vastly overcrowded marketplace, it is extremely difficult to make a living from writing fiction by itself. Only a small percentage of people make enough money to live on, compared with non-fiction writers. Janie and Barbara suggested gaining credits from a number of publications by writing non-fiction, as a possible way in to the fiction market.

The prolific short story writer, Della Galton, revealed she wrote four unpublished novels, before she had her first one accepted. And even now, she gets plenty of rejections amongst the successes. With two published novels, Della still supplements her income by producing 'how-to' articles on writing fiction. She currently has a book out on writing and selling short stories.

When someone asked how to make themselves "more marketable," Janie instantly dismissed the term. “It's simple,” she said, "be a brilliant writer." The marquee almost took flight from its moorings when she added: "Editors won't care if you're a black lesbian with ten children as long as you can write well. It’s all that matters." However, Della added that authors these says are expected to do a lot of their own marketing as regards giving talks, interviews, and the like.

So there you have it. The secrets to your success. I'm not exactly dashing off to reinvent myself (not even as Carole Blake II), but if I take away one thing from yesterday afternoon's adventures, it's that I will work harder at trying to sell more non-fiction pieces in future, alongside working on my novel. In fact, I've got this great idea for a book . . .

PS. Little tip for those of you attending similar events in marquees in future - remember to pack a fleece, or similar - unless, of course, we're having a heatwave - in which case feel free to ignore this advice. I was sat there in jeans and a T-shirt all afternoon and by 5pm, I was freezing my tits off.

Fuming over lunchtime nudity

It seems a few people are up in arms cos some fit bird got her tits (and a whole lot more, apparently) out at lunchtime yesterday - all on the pretext of teaching people to draw.

Model, Kirsten Varley, whipped up something of a frenzy, by adopting a variety of nude poses on Channel 4's 12.30 offering, Life Class. Some viewers were quick to dub it pornography (I ask you!) Apparently (according to The Sun) writer, Punteha Yazdanian, 23, who watched the programme from her sick bed fumed, "It nearly gave me a relapse."

Little tip here, love, in future, keep the remote closer to you.

Two observations: (and I'm not meaning to be smutty, honest.)

1) I'm bloody furious, because, while the posse of po-faced miseries were enjoying a rant over a naked woman intruding on their cheese and pickle toasties, I was distracted by several Loose Women on the other channel and missed the event completely.

2) All we got to draw in art class at senior school was bowls of fruit and copper kettles, not fit-looking women like Ms Varley. Boo-hoo. Maybe if we had I'd have achieved an 'A' grade instead of a 'B+', eh, Mr Hind?

'Must pay more attention in future, Jordyn!' - (to the TV listings.) Now, where have I heard those words before . . .?

Recipe for the perfect sexy read

Get this. Latest research from skin moisturiser brand Astral, reveals that women aged 45 to 60 are looking for for lots of titillating sex . . . when choosing what novels to take home with them. Almost two thirds of the 2,000 interviewees said they were keen on raunchy scenes in novels - you horny devils you - proving you've still got it . . . and at your age too. Phew!

Romantic fiction came out on top in the ratings (35 per cent) followed by blockbuster crime/ mystery novels (33 per cent) and general fiction (31 per cent).

Reference books proved least popular (can't understand why, personally, I love a peek at a good old leather-bound tome) although a fair few did admit to snuggling up with a cookbook. Understandable really. There's a definite connection between eroticism and cooking, especially if it's one of Nigella's.

But what really made me smile was the bit that said researchers had discovered women feel sexier when they have more confidence in their skin quality. Hardly any surprise that. I mean, do you think they'd have published a survey that suggested otherwise?

I'm afraid I don't place too much store of these survey things. After all, statistics can be manipulated to prove or disprove any theory more or less, can't they? Good. I'm glad we agree.

I mean the thought that better skin quality leads to more sexual confidence and therefore equals more sex . . . well, it's downright . . . gosh is that the time? Got to dash, guys, . . . I'm late for my facial.

Hard at work . . . honest . . .

I swore I'd never do this . . . but I'm going to . . .

blog about Katie (did you know her first name is Katrina?) Price and Peter Andre - but before you switch over to something more interesting like the shipping forecast - hang fire. I'll make it quick, honest.

The only reason I'm doing this is cos I'm fed up with people telling me, "you're a lesbian - so you're bound to take her side," (words to that effect.) Huh! What? Me? Blinded by my Sapphic tendencies? Okay, so it wouldn't be the first time.

I'm just surprised the marriage lasted three and a half years - I can barely put up with the bad-mannered mare's shenanigans for half an hour on TV. Pete, mate, you're made of sterner stuff than you think. So, yes, I support you. And salute you.

Message to the designers of this year's Wimbledon officials' outfits . . .

-2/10. Truly piss-poor, 'wouldn't be seen dead in it,' dreadful.

Sorry, Laura Robson (and good effort earlier by the way), but I couldn't give my full attention to cheering you on, love, because of having my eyes continually drawn to some lump of a woman line judge, squeezed - yes, squeezed, into some naff get-up that you'd expect to see at a Working Men's bowls club of a Sunday afternoon. Did someone think the addition of the white cap would make the whole ghastly striped-shirt charade look somehow trendy? Well all it does is make everybody look like they're eight months' gone. Even the men. And as for those House of Elliott reject skirts, don't even get me started. (We're back on the women now, in case there's any doubt.)

Why can't our annual tennis fest be like the other Grand Slam events and we can have our officials decked out in cool polo shirts, or tees, rather than this poncy 'bankers on a cruise' stuffed shirts brigade. Better still, get Vivienne Westwood to knock something up. Course it won't happen. Because this, my dears, is Wimbledon, blah, blah . . . years of tradition, blah, blah, crap.

Honestly, 2009's faux pas must be the least flattering officials' kit ever. If I'd been signed up as a line judge, I'd have started an all-out rebellion, trashed the gear and walked out, which would surely have been something of a comfort to the players, as I have enough trouble seeing whether the ball was in or out on the action replays, let alone in real time.

Hang on a sec. What with my dodgy eyesight, maybe I've done those outfits a disservice. Perhaps with my glasses on . . . up close . . . they'll look . . .

Nah, hideous.

Shameless appeal to commissioning editors - oi YOU - gis a column!

Are you the commissioning editor of a national or regional publication? Come on out of the woodwork and reveal yourself to us. You know precisely who you are, so stop hiding. I can see you. I'm talking to you. Yes, YOU. No don't navigate to another page you spineless sh . . . lovely person, you.

As you're reading this blog, aren't you thinking, this woman is exactly what we need to spice up our magazine/ newspaper/ website/ blog/ cereal packet/ church choir/ Neighbourhood Watch newsletter? No? You're thinking you left the sausages at the checkout at Sainsbury's - well, frankly, I don't believe you. And if you did, it damn well serves you right for taking your eye off the ball, while trying to chat up Mel on till five. (See how clever I've been there. It matters not what your gender or sexual persuasion, "Mel" fulfils everybody's sexual fantasy.) Or maybe not.

You see, dear readers, what I've always hankered after is, well quite a few things actually, now you come to mention it, but mainly . . . My Own Column . . . in a national (though I'd consider regional/ local - we all have to start somewhere) publication. Ahhh (lingering sigh.) And this blog sort of is that, isn't it? Like a column. Albeit, starting in a very small way with the kind of readership that makes Richard and Judy's defunct viewerless disaster look like the sort of thing that would cause a massive power surge and blow up the National Grid.

Subject matter/ content: Anything under the sun. I can do empathy/ sympathy/ misery/ droll/ funny/ gut-wrenchingly funny/ zany/ self-deprecating (not all at the same time). And if it's an opinion piece you're after, you won't catch me sitting on the fence then suing at a rate of 20,000 bucks per splinter lodged in my posterior (though right now it sounds like a viable career option.)

Having recently done a travel guide review for a book magazine, I find I've developed a touch of wanderlust. So if you just happen to be the CE of a publication which features travel pieces and your regular writer's gone AWOL - or you can't find someone to trawl to those less popular out of the way dives, like Bermuda or Dubai - just give us a shout. Tough gig, but somebody's gotta do it.

I'm off to get the packing case on standby.

This ain't no Budden romance, Jackiey, love. Ditch this 'ugly' tosser before you get seriously hurt

Jackiey Budden's unsavoury behaviour on Celebrity Big Brother 2007 was nothing short of appalling. I said at the time I thought she was the main instigator of the bullying of Shilpa Shetty and I stand by that. Jackiey was the one that kicked the whole sorry episode off by constantly referring to the Bollywood actress as "Princess" and "The Indian," because, apparently she couldn't pronounce "Shilpa."

By no means was she the only one who disgraced herself. Danielle Lloyd, Jo O'Meara, Jack Tweed and Jade Goody acted like pack animals, baying at their defenceless, though remarkably dignified prey, at every given opportunity. As far as I an aware, Jade, was the only one to accept the blame for the disgraceful way she behaved in the house. She duly apologised to Shilpa and all was forgiven.

When Jade's cancer became inoperable, it would have taken a very hard person indeed not to feel desperately sorry for Jade and those closest to her - for her sons and Jack and Jackiey. Jackiey, in particular, was forced into showing her vulnerable side under the persistent glare of media intrusion, albeit, this was the way Jade chose to end her life.

Following Jade's death, somewhere in the stark recesses of Jackiey's grief, I imagine, there must have existed a terrible emptiness and a longing for someone to shoulder the burden alongside her. Or perhaps the opposite: for someone to transport her to some fantasy island away from it all.

Enter ex-squaddie-turned-chef, Jason Cooper, who Jackiey met in the resort of Los Cristianos, Tenerife.

Ten minutes into the relationship (okay, six weeks, but still), courtesy of his ex-wife and ex-lover's newspaper revelations, Cooper is already emerging as something of a prize love rat, whose motto in snaring the 'desperate' women he has a reputation for pursuing, according to local Elvis impersonator, John Dresser, is to 'go ugly early.' What a charmer, eh? While Jackiey maintains: 'I know I've found someone I can grow old with.' Talk about love being blind.

Jackiey, darlin', I may have been your fiercest critic one time, but you deserve far better than this grabbing slimeball. Now I'm not remotely trying to woo you back 'on-side' as it were. (Doesn't it make you hoot when the press describe somebody as a 'former lesbian' like it's a bloody career change!) I'm quite sure it doesn't matter a fig to those who care about you, whether you find your future happiness with a man or a woman, just as long as that person loves you for you . . . and not what he or she can get out of you.

Fiddler in the Roof

Aishatu Ishaku, the Holloway inmate on remand for fraud, who was thought to have escaped by tagging on the back of a visiting church group, has been discovered hiding in the roof space of the prison's pottery classroom.

Not sure what's more embarrassing for the jail - for her to have actually legged it - or the umpteen staff checks, employment of sniffer dogs and scrambling of a helicopter, which occurred following Ishaku's vanishing act.

Clearly the sniffer dogs warrant further investigation. They can't all claim to have been overcome by a bout of hay fever, surely.

I should learn to quit while you're ahead, love . . .

Debbie Stallard, 47, from Paignton, has got off doing community service because probation staff say her four-inch heels are a work hazard. And you see, Debbie, poor love, can't wear 'sensible' shoes cos her Achilles' tendon has shortened (through wearing stilettos for so blooming long, one presumes). Which, roughly translated, means the woman can't wear flatties cos they cause her too much pain. This is all backed up by medical evidence naturally. (It begs me to ask the question: how much money do we waste on these ridiculous proceedings?)

So the magistrates, in their questionable wisdom, relented and gave her six-month curfew order - and is the woman happy? Of course not. She thinks having to wear an electronic tag is: "a bit harsh." No, nothing to do with swollen ankles, or any other medical condition as far as I am aware.

Anyway, she's considering an appeal. No surprise there.

Meanwhile, if anyone knows of any 'community service' jobs that are suitable for women in high heels please send them to me at this blog and I'll forward them on to the relevant authorities for future reference.

CRB checks: of course be thorough . . . but come on . . .

In 2002, when I applied to work in an organisation which looked after elderly and vulnerable people, I was required to undergo a CRB check with enhanced disclosure. With the forms duly completed, partly by me and partly by my employer (in no time at all - well almost), we sat back and waited . . .

and waited . . .

but was I concerned? No. Because, being the morally (some might say, boringly) upright citizen I am - I've never had any contact with officers of the law, except for the purposes of researching a novel, once or twice. I don't have any points on my driving licence - and for the cynical amongst you, it's not because I've paid someone to take the rap for me - what do think I am, a footballer?

OK, I did once get a parking ticket for stopping on a double-yellow stripy thing once in Brighton, when I got caught short. It turned out to be the most expensive bloody 'penny' I ever spent. Then there was that time on the one-way system in Wimbledon (and if you're at all familiar with the area you'll know exactly what I'm talking about). Through the post I received this grainy image, resembling an old Polaroid (supposedly me hunched over the wheel of my rusty yet trusty Mondeo) together with a demand for a hundred quid for DRIVING IN A BUS LANE.

BUS LANE? CALL THAT A BUS LANE? What, for a Dinky toy, or what? Honestly, it's about ten feet long, with absolutely no advance warning until you're on top of the thing. What do they expect you to do? Swerve into the other lane of traffic and cause an eight vehicle pile-up? I was livid, of course. But, being the upright citizen I am (did I mention that already?) I paid up, meek as a lamb. And moaned about it incessantly for years to come. See, I'm still doing it now.

None of which has anything to do with my eagerly awaited 'enhanced disclosure'.

So anyway we waited. We waited three months. Then six. Nothing. Zilch. F--- all. Then the lovely lady who'd agreed to take me on, chased it up with those in 'the know.' Supposedly. There had been a bit of a backlog evidently. We were told we needed to be patient. (Of that there was no doubt. 'Patience' became my middle name, by default.) On the stroke of seven months, said lovely lady told me she couldn't wait any longer for me - and hired somebody else. Boo, hiss. I could hardly blame her. Meantime, I was doing another job. One that didn't require an ED: delivering flowers. I'd waited so long to adopt my 'caring' tag I wasn't sure it was my thing after all.

In fact, I forgot all about it, until one day an envelope containing my CRB certificate popped through my door - a mere 13 months after I'd applied. Yes, THIRTEEN months, almost to the day. My application had even celebrated its first birthday as I'd remained blissfully unaware . . .

I couldn't resist phoning the CRB people up to find out what had gone wrong.
'Ah, they said, 'it's because you moved addresses recently.'
'So?' I said.
'Between one county and another.'
'Yes, that's right.'
'Well, er . . . it means we had to check with Kent police . . .'
'Mmm.'
'. . . and with Surrey.'
'And that takes 13 months?'
'There was a backlog, Madam.'

How frightfully reassuring.

(How to) Get out of jail FREE . . .

This week's Bad Girls' award for initiative goes to . . .

the woman, as yet unnamed (is that because they don't know who they're looking for?) formerly on remand for fraud in Holloway and now on the run, thanks to a visiting church group. When they left the prison, she tagged on the back of the party. It wasn't until they did a roll-call later in the day, they discovered they were one resident short. I assume the authorities have checked out Hope Springs?

Now if you wrote that scenario in a book, people would say it was too far fetched. Unless Lynda la Plante wrote it . . .

Still reeling from last night's Apprentice shock!

Were you one of the 10 million viewers who tuned in to last night's episode of The Apprentice to witness the climax of the 12 week 'interview from hell?'

If so, are you as shocked as me? Frankly, I'm inconsolable.

Not at Kate falling at the last hurdle - inevitable, I'm afraid, once she started canoodling with Pantsman prat, Phillip. It was an axing by association for robotic Kate and restaurateur, Yasmina proved a fair and worthy winner in the end.

No, what's bothering me, is the departure of eagle-eyed, acid-tongued right-hand woman, Margaret Mountford, who is off to pursue her PhD in papyrology - you wot? The study of documents found in Egypt and written in ancient Greek. Whatever floats your boat, I suppose. In her online column Margaret says: 'I want to finish my degree before I need a Zimmer frame to get up on the platform to receive it.' Stay another year, love, and I'll carry you up there myself. I'll start training for it now.

MM, you'll be sorely missed. Whoever will they get to replace you? Suggestions please.

Never too late to leave an abusive relationship

So Gillian Taylforth has left her violent partner, Geoff Knights, after 23 years. That takes one hell of a lot of courage, because - leaving the physical damage aside for one moment - when you are living in a regime where there is a constant atmosphere of mental abuse - and when you are conditioned to believe that you are in part responsible for the abuser behaving this way - your self-esteem can be drained to the point where you can't find the inner strength to take even the smallest step towards changing your situation.

Reading through the comments on the News of the World's website, I was pleased to see the messages of support for Gillian. Though not everyone was supportive. A minority of respondents vented fury that she had stuck by Knights all this time and a couple of the replies were downright offensive.

Yes, Gillian has endured a sickening catalogue of abuse for far too long. We all agree on that. But so do many, many women. And I fully recognise that it's not just women who are affected by domestic violence, but they do make up the vast majority of victims. Actually I'm not that keen on the use of the word, 'domestic', because in my opinion, it weakens the emphasis on the word 'violence.' It's outright violence, isn't it? Pure and simple. Yet the courts repeatedly deliver lesser sentences to perpetrators of this type of crime, than if they'd set about a stranger in the street. This is equally as bad, if not worse, because the partners these deviants systematically inflict harm on, they claim to love.

Some of you reading now this will be in Gill Taylforth's former situation. Or perhaps you know someone who is. I do.

Annie has been married to Richard (not their real names) for around the same time Gillian was with Geoff Knights. They have three kids. We only found out he'd been knocking her about when she threw him out of the house for punching their 14-year-old daughter. The CPS decided to prosecute. Richard pleaded guilty and received a suspended sentence. Meanwhile, four weeks before Christmas, Annie went to court and got an injunction against Richard, to prevent him coming near the family. In theory, that is. In reality, it's just a scrap of paper.

So how did Richard wheedle his way back into their lives? He had one thing going for him. Richard held the family's purse strings. He told Annie the kids wouldn't have a Christmas unless she took him back. No presents. No celebrations. How bad would that make her feel? Did she really want to be responsible for their kids not having a Christmas? He played on her emotions - her vulnerability - and he won. She relented. For now . . .

It is totally unacceptable to me that Clearcast, the ad-approving body, censored Keira Knightley's ad for the charity Women's Aid, in which she portrays a victim who falls prey to her boyfriend's unleashed rage, deeming it to be too brutal to be shown even after the watershed. What planet are these people on?

Two women a week in England and Wales are killed by partners or former partners. It's an absolutely shocking statistic. As I write this, a woman's body has been discovered in a wheelie bin in Cobham, Surrey. Police are hunting a 33-year-old man in connection with the woman's death - a former occupant of the house.

I'm not pretending to have the answers here. But I know there are people out there who can help. If you need someone to talk to, or help with getting out of an abusive relationship, you can contact the National Domestic Violence 24-hour helpline (run in partnership between Women's Aid and Refuge) on (freephone) 0808 2000 247. In cases of emergency dial 999.

It's never too late to change your life for the better.

Who you calling a lemon-sucker, Julie Burchill?

I don't intend spending long on this because I can't always tell whether Ms Burchill is being serious, or seriously tongue-in-cheek, so I don't want to be seen to be taking her seriously in case she isn't (being serious), if you know what I mean.

In yesterday's Sun, La Burchill made a spirited defence in the case for watching Big Brother 10. She called people like me who don't watch it, "half-witted freaks" and said we BB-haters: "hate the young, the working-class, gays and trannies" and (wait for it), "people who have sex more than once a fortnight."

As a lesbian, brought up in a working-class family, who did once fall into the "young" category and who has consistently maintained connections with the g&t scene (not the drink, dearies), and furthermore, as someone who voted Nadia to win with a frequency that caused BT to increase my monthly direct debit payment substantially, I take issue with Ms Burchill's assessment of your average BB-basher.

Yes, I'll admit I enjoyed the bloody thing back in the heady days of Nasty Nick, Brian Dowling, Anna the nun and of course the irrepressible Jade Goody, when BB was in its infancy. But now the contestants are so-o-o patently obvious in their strivings for their fifteen minutes of fame, in their efforts to set themselves apart from everybody else, these desperate wannabes have made tuning in to their non-antics as bland and boring an experience as a three month vacation spent queuing in the Mont Blanc tunnel.

So then, Julie Burchill. Perhaps the real reason we choose not to indulge ourselves in this dreadful spectacle has nothing to do with the reasons you suggest. The point is, love, we have better things to do with our time. Or maybe some of us are trying to improve our sex quotient ratio.

No doubt, dear readers, you'll let me know where you stand on this issue.


PS. I'm addicted to The Apprentice - less so since Debra got the boot. But that's a whole other posting. Nick and Margaret for Parliament anyone?

Latest

There appears to be a problem with the 'comments' section of this blog, which I will try to resolve. I have tried to leave my own comment for Clare just now, to say thanks for those thoughtful words, so I'll do it here. Meantime, if anyone wants to add anything, do please keep trying, or you can contact me via my website: www.kazjordyn.com

Best, Kaz

Tributes to 'Mr Westbourne'

This poem to Ralph's memory is poignant. It's not a great quality image - blurred somewhat by weathering unfortunately, but it captures perfectly the mood here and the essence of what many of us are feeling.

I only wish I knew who wrote it.

Ralph's Birthday

June 1st.


Today Ralph Millward would be 42.

He should be 42.


Except, three weeks ago, sometime in the early hours of May 8th, Ralph's life was taken as he lay in his sleeping bag outside the M&S food store in Westbourne, just around the corner from the pitch where he had sold The Big Issue for eight years.

Westbourne has a villagey feel to it, living as it does in the shadows of its buzzier, brassier near-neighbour, Bournemouth. It boasts an elegant Victorian arcade, a vibrant cafe culture, an eclectic mix of restaurants, art galleries and chic boutiques where a simple day frock can set you back a hundred-and-fifty quid.

To say that the residents here are openly shocked by Ralph's murder would be an understatement. Those who dare can only speculate on the extent of the savage brutality which ended Ralph's life - accounts of his injuries are well documented on news sites throughout the Internet. Many of us, who knew Ralph would prefer not to dwell on thoughts of his suffering.

Since moving here from Surrey last year, I saw Ralph on virtually a daily basis. And I know it's against the policies of the people who run The Big Issue to give their vendors supplementary money, over and above the price of the magazine (currently £1.50), but I did on a regular basis. We all did. Ralph Millward was such a popular guy here you couldn't help but want to do more for him.

That fateful Friday morning, the events of which I can recall as clearly as if it were yesterday, as I emerged from the car park behind the Hogshead pub, I was confronted by six police squad cars, three lined either side of Seamoor Road. My first thought was that a robbery had occurred. Then I spotted the forensic tents assembled against the wall at the side of M&S, flanked by resident shrubbery. In the newsagents, an assistant told me that Ralph had been discovered dead earlier that morning, and that the circumstances were suspicious. Then she said with a shrug: "He chose that way of life," and went back to her stock take. I walked out without buying anything. My momentary sadness had been swallowed up by anger. I had wanted to say to her, he chose it over what? What was the bloody alternative?

In the few short weeks following Ralph's death, "alternatives" have emerged. At Ralph's memorial service the Wednesday before last, for which several hundred locals turned out, a woman told John Bird (Big Issue's founder) that she had offered Ralph a room in her house, which he had declined.

Then there is the hostel for the homeless in nearby St Pauls Road, which Ralph had expressed an intense dislike of on the one occasion I tackled him about his sleeping arrangements. He said, in typical Ralph understated fashion, they weren't his kind of people. Other Big Issue sellers I spoke to in Bournemouth this week were more forthright, citing instances of bullying and violence. Talking to me about Ralph's sudden demise, another vendor, a woman in her 30s said: "It could have been any one of us."

Here in Westbourne, it seems the initial outrage has been overtaken by a sense of guilt. A sense that whatever we did for Ralph individually and collectively it wasn't enough. It could never be enough.

The growing number of tributes adorning the pavement alongside Ralph's pitch bear testament to the popularity of the man who always had his head in a book. He once told me he could read Patricia Cornwell and Bernard Cornwell alongside one another - rare indeed - though from those who knew him best, it seems sci-fi was his favourite genre.

Judging by the ever-increasing bunches of flowers, cuddly toys, Aston Villa memorabilia, cards and poems dedicated to Ralph's memory, it seems Ralph Millward was Mr Westbourne. As a group of us gathered to view the latest additions, one man passed comment: "Gawd, there's more flowers here for our bloke than for Princess Di."

That says it all.

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