Words of warning and welcome:

This is very much my blog, so don't be surprised if this doesn't follow accepted patterns and norms. Obviously it started out as a blog about my cross-dressing but it has developed a great deal since then. It is a place where I can be anonymous and honest, and I appreciate that.

It will deal with many things and new readers would do well to check out the New Readers' Page above this and the tag down there on the right. Although there's nothing too bad in here there will be adult language, so be careful. If you think this needs a greater control, please let me know. Thank you!

Tuesday, 3 October 2017

ULE in October

I never worked in the Library at University.

Of course, nor did any of my musing this evening include the
actual C19th library I used in for Military History that might
actually have an atmosphere worthy of the kind of magic realism
that I seem to have a thing for. No, I went for the passed library
at my first University without a soul.

I believe it has a tree in it now.

So that's nice.
Long ago, when I thought I could write fiction well, a friend challenged me to write a short story. I liked writing short stories as I believed that I could actually put into short form complex ideas, a misconception that took a long time to unpick and unravel, and I was arrogant enough to believe that I could do this with pretty much any inspiration. I was, however, beginning to realise just how unoriginal I was and how few workable ideas I had surrounding plot, hence the accepting of random writing challenges from friends. In this case I was challenged to write a story with the title of Unusual Library Efficiency. The story that flowed from this rather awful title was a bit shit. I set it in a legal firm, because if you have write what you know I knew next to nothing about legal firms. Or lawyers. Or case libraries. Or, indeed, anything to do with the legal profession. Obviously a legal firm then.

Yes, this seems to fit the bill for these days.

My idea of dress and demeanour probably stemmed from
badly-remembered snippets of Murder She Wrote.
In this office there was a library and our protagonist, never named, found that whenever he stepped through the doors he was transported to wherever he was thinking about at the time. Being a man of little imagination and even less of a curious nature (not deliberately) he never went too far from his office, meaning he was never late to work and this aspect was never noticed by his secretary. Who was, of course, older and female. And motherly. Cliches. Anyway, yes, she could enter and exit the library at will. I think, in my head, it was a small cupboard room with case files on it. Because this was around the end of the 1990s and there were no mobile phones or computers or the internet in my stories yet despite the fact that I was using all of these things at University. It was around this time that I heard people positing that these advances closed off standard lines of plot in stories and novels (and they do) and how they were thus avoided or ignored. Of course I just ignored them because short stories and arrogance.

The upshot of the story, after a tortuous 4,000 words of intensely written densely packed verbiage was that the protagonist stepped through the library doors whilst considering the nature of the doors themselves. It ended with his replacement being shown into the office in much the same way as the story had opened with the protagonist being shown the office, with the obvious hanging question. Or, at least, I thought it was obvious. And clever. And cyclical. It was, of course, mostly shite.

About the right age.

Still looks better than I.

But I do tend to drive one-handed a lot, which is about
right. Oh, and I probably need to unplug the car now.

Did I mention that the EV is automatic?

My EV is automatic.
Anyway, the concept returned to me today on the drive home from work. Coffee-fueled and impacted by a long day with various stuff to deal with. Alice dealing with a second pregnancy, running a game across two classes with my ex-newb (whose pseudonym I have apparently forgotten) - which worked but embodies all that I hate when teaching. One has to leave the groups to get on an do, with minimal input beyond policing and guidance, across two rooms and with the onus placed very much on their imagination and enthusiasm. It makes for a loud environment, much jostling and activity. Cutting leads to rubbish and waste paper everywhere, chaos reigns with pencil-crayons, instructions, confusion, some milling and no ability to properly filter in and out of conversations. I'm used to being able to jumps between... Hold on, one thing at once.

This concept. What if it were a University library room and linked to historical periods and inhabiting someone from that time for a, uh, time? What if it gender-flipped? Of course it gender-flips. A lot of research though, a lot. It whiled away a bit of the drive and a walk out to the shops this evening though, diverting enough to ameliorate the coffee a bit and play into the playing of Wardruna in my brain. In short, like a lot of what I think about, it masked the real world and the very pressing concerns of my actual reality for a short time in pointless ever-decreasing circles of headache-inducing tightness. A chorus of pointless shenanigans.


  1. Of course it gender-flipped :)

    I had an idea for some interactive fiction involving a dollshouse, where the player gets sucked inside and has to complete a series of doll-related tasks in order to get out, and of course it was a Victorian styled house, with a maid character, because of course...

    I think you should write it. I'm getting a lot out of writing. Your mileage may vary, but it's worth a try, eh?


  2. I observe your writing with much interest and not a small amount of jealousy. You have economy of phrasing and the ability to parse things in such a way that others see what it is that you do. In an entirely different manner, but with much the same outcome, Tilly can do the same both in fiction and non-fiction.

    Equally, your ideas are very much... if not original, sufficiently different so as to garner attention. And it seems that you get a lot from it.

    I have tried writing to get stuff out of it for myself for most of my life. What I got out of it was a sense that it is rather dense, not very much liked by the reading public (of any stripe) and a bit cliched if anything. I also got that sense that any attempt to write anything merely created whirl upon whirl of confusion, incoherence and eventual implosion of ideas.

    I would posit that, yes, it was worth a try.


All comments are welcome, I have a thicker skin virtually than I do in real life!