How You Probably Shouldn’t Write a CV

I’ve applied for a job. Not, you understand, that I don’t already have a job. I have several. But this was a special kind of job. With the circus. With a company that is not run by me. I believe this will make a refreshing change. I have every intention of letting someone else tell me what to do and saying ‘yes sure’ and doing their bidding as I am bid. I may even say ‘yes, sure, boss.’ But that might be getting carried away. Should I get the job that is. Otherwise it will not be a refreshing change. Obviously. Things will carry on as normal with me telling people what to do and them saying ‘yes, sure.’ And then a completely random selection of doings will happen. Some better than I asked.

So, I had to write a CV. Now, being a person of an organised nature I of course already had a CV more or less to hand. I read it. I was not impressed. Improvements were needed:

I started at the beginning. As one does. Generally. There was an old photo of me which I cunningly replaced with a new photo of me which I had equally cunningly photoshopped out many of the wrinkles. How I expect to fool the recipients of this CV with that I have no idea since they saw me in person with the requisite amount of facial distortions only days ago. But maybe they forgot. Or didn’t look very closely.

Then I attempted to conceal my age by not mentioning it and simply describing myself as ‘of a certain age’. This again, is unlikely to fool people who know that I have a daughter who is about to embark on the high life of physics at a certain well-know academic institution of higher learning and quads. (who, by the way, don’t have normal autumn spring and summer terms but have Michaelmas, Hilary and something else odd that I have forgotten terms. Who the fuck is Hilary and why does she get her own academic term?)

Instead of enumerating chronologically my life’s works, (which would frankly take so long to read the poor recipients of my CV would die of old age, be buried, go to heaven, reincarnate as a better life form (probably a lava lamp or possibly the London Eye) and lead a lengthy and successful life as an inanimate object before they had got up to the part when I was aged 30), I made a sort of list-style CV.

I listed achievements, which included being nearly able to tango.
I listed key skills, which included writing lists.
I listed IT skills, which included being able to type quite quickly.

I mentioned a few good reasons that they might like to hire me, such as me being slightly financially embarrassed, me liking them and me being jolly interested in the circus.

CV writing is tricky stuff. I hope I get the job.

Novel Editing – How Probably Not to Do It

I have spent the last a lot of days trying to edit my novel. And trying to add another 20,000 words to it so I can finish my MPhil and win the (and I am ashamed to say this but this is a sign of my obvious desperation) Daily Mail novel competition. The prize is a lot of money. Which I could do with. Mostly to buy time. Mostly to write. Mostly to avoid getting a real and proper job instead of running a real and proper publishing company which makes no real and proper money.

Editing a novel is HARD. Editing a novel you have written is REALLY HARD. Mostly because you already know what happens.
Here’s how it goes:

Read some bit. Think, well that’s ok. But it needs more. Add some bits. Look at the word count. It has crept up a bit. Good. Read another bit. Think well that’s crap. Delete that bit. Look at the word count. It has gone back down to what it was before. Damn.
And so it goes on.

Days and days later nothing much seems to have changed. Except a lot of time has gone by. So the house is still filthy, the cat is still hungry, the children are still wondering where their mother is.

Novel Writing, or How to Write a Novel, and How to Write Poetry Too. In Fact How to Write Stuff.

Firstly, sorry to have neglected my loyal readers. I was busy. This is why:

I am writing a novel.
I am also writing a collection of poetry (which means lots of poems. The collective noun for poems is a ‘collection’).
I am writing a novel and a collection of poetry and doing an MPhil.
This is more cunning than it sounds because I am writing a novel and a collection of poetry for my MPhil. Cunning eh? And somewhat unbelievable too. Who in their right mind would award someone an academic qualification for simply making something up as you go along? For this is the essence of novel writing. And very much more the essence of poetry. The other essence of novel writing is that it is long. Very long. Extremely long. Longer than a piece of string. Longer than an ocean liner. Longer than waiting in the hospital to have an ultrasound scan when you are required to drink pints and pints of water and NOT allowed to go to the toilet. (You can see how time distortion works when in such a situation.)

The last few days was where these two activities (writing and MPhil not lack of urination and ocean liners) have come together in a feast of workshops, bad coffee, reading other people’s very long novels and staying up very late pretending to be clever and literary. I say pretending because, although writing may have been mentioned in passing, in fact we were drunkenly singing such delightful ditties and ‘Twist and Shout’ (a lyrically profound song) and ‘House of the Rising Sun’ (a ballad so lyrically disastrous that has previously killed many a patient listener).

The actual workshops, attended by actual academic staff, were, of course, much more serious. A great deal of time was spent discussing the literary significance of the erect vs the flaccid penis as featured in Anne’s story. Another topic of equal profundity was how to write a good sex scene without it sounding clichéd. Here is the answer – don’t. It takes some clever people to come up with this sort of thing.

Many things were learnt by all participants about how to write a novel. Here are a few:
It has to be long (as mentioned above).
It should probably have a plot.
If it doesn’t have a plot be sure to put a lot of clever words in.
If you don’t do clever words and still don’t have a plot then rearrange all the chapters/paragraphs/words such that either of the above magically emerge.
It should have a title (mine hasn’t so it will never be published).
If you ever want to get it published don’t hold your breath.
Holding your breath can be bad.
Holding your sanity is a waste of time for a novelist.

Not all my fellow Mphillers are writing novels. Some (including myself as I swing either way and have never been the least bit skilled at making decisions) are writing collections of poetry. Here are a few things that poets need to know about writing:
Poems are short.
They can be very short.
It needn’t make any sense as long as it sounds clever and you can quickly make up what it means if asked.
If it appears to actually make sense then rearrange all the words and lines until it looks a tad confusing and thus ever so clever.
The lines are not meant to reach the other side of the page.
If the lines reach the other side of the page you are writing prose and therefore have to write a fuck of a lot more than that.
If you ever think you will be published you are living in cloud-cuckoo land and stand a better chance of actually discovering a land made of clouds and cuckoos.
Sanity is a very bad thing for a poet. Don’t bother.