Bookshop conversations.

A very snooty woman came over to me and said:
"I just want to know why a bookshop of this size does not stock work of such importance as unpronounceable foreign name."
I said "Hmmm, let me check that out for you. How do you spell unpronounceable foreign name?"
"Well, I don't know, surely you should?"
"Do you have a title?"
"No, but she was nominated for that big prize last year."
"Which one?"
"Oh I don't know. This is ridiculous."

Would you believe that I found the book she was after? I triumphantly presented her with it.

"But it's in hardback."
"Yes, it was only published recently, and I don't have a due date for the paperback."
"I have read it in paperback."
"Oh!" I check the computer, "There's no record of it being available in paperback. Sorry."
"Oh, this is stupid. Of course it's in paperback, I read it in paperback."


A man comes to the counter and asks for a book.

"I'm sorry but we don't keep that title in stock. I could order it for you?"
"Yeah, go ahead."
"We do ask for payment in advance."
"What? WHAT! That's not good enough. WHAT! You don't have the book but you want me to pay you for it anyway?"
"Well, we have had to implement the payment in advance rule as so many people ordered books that we wouldn't usually stock and then didn't bother to come and buy them. We got stuck with..."
"I can't believe this. It's not good enough. How dare you ask me to pay. You can forget it. I won't buy books here ever again..."
Man exits down the stairs still ranting. The next customer in line gives me a sweet little sympathy smile.

A middle aged man comes over to the counter with his ear clamped to a mobile phone. He hands me a book entitled "Schoolgirl lust." I scan it, bag it and ask for the money. He says down the phone;
"In a bookshop. Just paying. Yes. Graham Greene."

Here we go again.

Well I have given my Bridport failed entry a tiny rewrite and submitted it elsewhere. I still think it's good. Not only that! I have finished my invisible woman story. Yay. And I think I'll be just in time to meet the deadline as long as I get next day post, and manage to make my temperamental printer work. Whilst my stories are "out" there, then there is hope.

My computer has another virus thing so will have to go back to the repair shop. It's something I feel very uncomfortable about, seems akin to handing a stranger my diary and photo album. The idea also that someone can see all the odd searches I have made creeps me out too. So I hang on to it despite the fact that I now can't back anything up, or play any disc, and I have no clue as to how much damage is being done every time I turn on.

On failure.

Well I failed to place anywhere in the Bridport Prize. I feel silly and foolish because I was actually quite optimistic which is most unlike me. I really liked my story, and there was something in the way of positive thinking and all that which made me imagine that I was in with a chance. I was after first place and didn't even make 13th!
In many ways I am crippled with self doubt and worry that too many people delude themselves into imagining they have a talent. I do not want to be one of them. Yet also when it comes to my writing I can be full of conviction that I am ... I don't know...talented/able to put words together in a usefully descriptive and emotive way. I truly thought that my story was strong and interesting, and good quality.
Not good enough though. Boom, fantasy over. I really am such an idiot. I thought I should write this down and share my embarrassment.
We are really struggling financially as a family, and perhaps I should just try and get extra hours in the bookshop and sell other peoples words rather than sit here grinding out words that are shit.

Customers.

There are two men who regularly come into the bookshop. I feel sure that they are up to some mischief. They have that alcoholic sway thing happening, and they hang out by the art books. One wears an enormous jacket, no matter if it's hot, the sour stench of him spreads throughout the entire shop floor. They choose maybe 10 books, and then go and sit at the table and chat and look at the books. The jacketed one takes his coat off and spreads it wide so that the table is obscured. They get up and stagger off. They return again and again throughout the day. I try and count the books on the table before and after they leave. I can't tell if anything is missing. Our art books are security tagged, they never set off the alarms. Our security guard has watched them closely and can't see that they are doing anything.
Could it be that they are two down on their luck street guys who need a regular fix of art?

Grinding out words.

Gah! Yet more procrastination and faffery on my part as I struggle with my invisible woman story. (She's not actually invisible.) I know the end, I have written the larger part of it, but to get to the end there is a gap. A gap I have wrestled with for a few days now. Grrr to the gap, bad gap!
Now, rubbishly, I fill the gap with, well, filler. And it shows. Argh. I feel that if I can just complete it and leave it for a week and then return to it, suddenly it will be clear what needs doing as the magic of story writing happens when I don't look.
So, best grind on then.

Somerfield tits.

I went into our local Somerfield with my twins to buy this weeks exciting issue of Match. The way the magazines are set out there is with three low shelves atop one large shelf. Women's interest and TV is on the left, and on the right there are 2 shelves of kids comics (I'm talking Thomas the Tank Engine and Barbie etcetera), and the top shelf is Nuts/Zoo/Boobs R Us soft porn men's mags.
Remember I said these shelves are low? Right, so my kids are almost eye level with Michelle Marshes air brushed boobage, and start saying "Mummy, why have those ladies got no clothes on?" and so on.
Hmmm.
I went back in today, alone, and I looked at the shelves and just thought how incongruous it is to have those magazines with the children's stuff. Then I thought that actually I feel quite cross about it. I am getting heartily sick of the constant reduction of women to the size of their breasts. What message does this give to young boys? It is becoming more and more acceptable to see soft porn images right across the media. I recall Labour MP's being angry about page 3 girls, and now they are everywhere.
So, I went over to an assistant and said I had a complaint. She got the supervisor. I explained that I was unhappy that the men's mags were with the children's and she said;
"That's where they are located."
"Yes, I can see that, but why are they with the children's comics, that's inappropriate surely?"
"They have to go there on the top shelf."
"Hmmm, yes, but it's nowhere near as high as for instance the top shelf in the newsagents which is well out of children's reach, is it?"
"No, but it has to go there."
"With the kid's stuff?"
"Well where else could it go?"
"Perhaps, if you must sell such things, they could go over with the women's magazines and at least not be where kids can easily see them?"
"Oh no, it wouldn't be right! The women wouldn't like it."
"...?..."
"Perhaps we could put them under the children's magazines, at the back."
"Hmmm. Perhaps you could pass on my comments to your manager?OK, thanks, bye."

Back to school motto's.

Summer holidays are over as of today, and I have packed my boys back off to school. They each gave themself a motto for the new school year, Dylan's is "It's showtime baby!" and he says he will show people who he really is, Ted's is "Keep on rocking" as he says he wishes to maintain last years glory!
I don't have a motto for myself, if I did it would probably be along the lines of "Get a move on fatty!" as my ability to procrastinate seemingly knows no bounds. Because of this I have organised my own timetable to follow, which, if followed correctly, will allow me the grand total of 12 hours a week for my writing.
Si pointed out that if I were to work extra hours at the bookshop I would be unavailable to the people who phone me during the day and talk for hours, he says I need to take my writing seriously enough to count it as being work and not answer the phone and not get sucked in to conversations with the many old ladies who like to chatter to me on my way back from school. He is right of course. I guess in some way it is hard for me to validate my words. I know too many deluded people who think they are special because of some talent they perceive they have when in truth...ach, I'll give it a go eh?