OK, I admit it. I was enthralled by both. They were totally different, and yet I was wholly absorbed throughout the seven-book marathon. I have been switching between psychopaths, murderers and the supernatural for a good few weeks now, and I’ve loved every minute of it.

If you haven’t already chewed your way through Stieg’s set, then do it! He was an exceptional writer, and the stories are fabulous. I loved the characters, the plot, and the sheer mass of detail which he creates, spidering his story over the course of generations to produce a tightly plotted and simply splendid narrative. Larsson passed away as his books were about to be published, giving rise to all sorts of conspiracy theories. There’s a great article about him here.

As for Meyer – if you want something girly, light, and downright irresistible, go for her.

I feel a bit lost, now. I finished the last book this morning. I wandered to the shelf to see what else was in the offing. I have ‘The Little Stranger’ by Sarah Waters to go at, but I’m not in the mood. I may feel disloyal turning my back on my two recent companions in search of a new author.

Funny isn’t it, how when one reads it’s a little as if you’re casting yourself in to the book. I’ve inhabited some lovely worlds recently and I’m reluctant to see them go. I’ve battled vampires, and murdered some biker thugs. Going back to vacuuming the living room and writing a bid doesn’t have the same appeal, right now…

Nothing happened.

My neighbour called the mobile to ask if I was part of the cut too, which let me know that it was the whole area. I was lost. The radio had been silenced, leaving me wondering about a PopMaster question. My shortbread was looking weary. I went across the road to the hairdressers, bored. I got my hair cut, barging an old lady out of the queue because she needed a perm and my short cut doesn’t require love, attention or electricity to maintain.

I sat in there for half an hour with the cobbler, baker and hairdresser swearing and moaning. I didn’t have to pay because the till was cemented shut. It was quite, quite fantastic. We all spent time together talking, and no-one could do anything.

I went to see my neighbour and we sat chatting for a while, and then we both retired to read a book. For a few hours, this afternoon, everything stopped. I loved it. But not so much that I’d want to do without power, for long. I needed to update the blog…

Well, I had my own Secret Garden experience this afternoon. After two days without rain, it was time to venture out in my new wellington boots (Black with smiley faces on) and trug, and start wielding a trowel. Filled with positivity for Spring, I set to work.

I unearthed just as many things as they did in the book. Four or five buckets of dog mess, a Vimto can, a Wispa wrapper, an old cigarette packet and something which promised to be prehistoric dinosaur bones but actually turned out to be an old rawhide chew.

I don’t think, when Burnett envisioned her Victorian secret garden, it had a Pomeranian and German Shepherd in it, and lots of passersby who (understandably) mistake the garden for the local council amenity.

Next weekend’s Fasting & Prayer Conference in Whitby includes all
meals.
 ————————–
 Sunday morning sermon: ‘Jesus Walks on the Water’
 Sunday evening sermon: ‘Searching for Jesus.’
 ————————–
 Ladies, don’t forget the rummage sale It’s a chance to get rid of those
 things not worth keeping around the house. Bring your husbands.
 ————————–
 Remember in prayer the many who are sick of our community.
 Smile at someone who is hard to love.
 Say ‘Hell’ to someone who doesn’t care much about you.
 ————————–
 Don’t let worry kill you off – let the Church help.
 ————————–
 Miss Charlene Mason sang ‘I will not pass this way again,’ giving
 obvious pleasure to the congregation .
 ————————–
 For those of you who have children and don’t know it, we have a nursery
 downstairs.
 ————————–
 Next Thursday there will be tryouts for the choir. They need all the
 help they can get.
 ————————–
 Irving Benson and Jessie Carter were married on October 24 in the
 church. So ends a friendship that began in their school days.
 ————————–
 At the evening service tonight, the sermon topic will be ‘What Is Hell?’
 Come early and listen to our choir practice
 ————————–
 Eight new choir robes are currently needed due to the addition of
 several new members and to the deterioration of some older ones.
 ————————–
 Scouts are saving aluminium cans, bottles and other items to be
 recycled. Proceeds will be used to cripple children.
 ————————–
 Please place your donation in the envelope along with the deceased
 person you want remembered.
 ————————–
 The church will host an evening of fine dining, super entertainment and
 gracious hostility.
 ————————–
 Potluck supper Sunday at 5:00 PM – prayer and medication to follow.
 ————————–
 The ladies of the Church have cast off clothing of every kind. They may
 be seen in the basement on Friday afternoon.
 ————————–
 This evening at 7 PM there will be a hymn singing in the park across
 from the Church. Bring a blanket and come prepared to sin.
 ————————–
 The pastor would appreciate it if the ladies of the Congregation would
 lend him their electric girdles for the pancake breakfast next Sunday.
 ————————–
 Low Self Esteem Support Group will meet Thursday at 7 PM. Please use the
 back door.
 ————————–
 The school drama group will be presenting Shakespeare’s Hamlet in the
 Church hall on Friday at 7 PM. The congregation is invited to attend
 this tragedy.
 ————————–
 Weight Watchers will meet at 7 PM at the First Presbyterian Church.
 Please use large double door at the side entrance.
 ————————–
 The Associate Minister unveiled the church’s new campaign slogan last
 Sunday: ‘I Upped My Pledge – Up Yours!’

As a Syrkiewicz, I currently get called ‘Circley Bits’, ‘Circle Witch’, ‘Swarovski’ or ‘Missis S’. I still find it amusing listening to people struggling to pronounce it, and I think I’ll treasure my new name with as much enthusiasm fifty years from now, as I feel currently. There’s a great article on the BBC news site about unfortunate names, which makes me think I’m lucky to have mine.

I feel particularly sorry for a woman called ‘Jenny Taylor’, and realise that things could be much worse. Here are some of the names which a recent survey unearthed:

• Sue Mee (A lawyer)

• Rob Mee (A banker, her husband!)

 • Justin Case

• Barb Dwyer

• Stan Still

• Terry Bull

• Paige Turner

• Mary Christmas

• Anna Sasin

• Doug Hole

• Hazel Nutt

• Pearl Button

• Jo King

• Barry Cade

• Carrie Oakey

• Priti Manek

• Tim Burr.

Possibly my favourite on the list is Annette Curtain.

Names do have a significant bearing on how someone is perceived. My Dad told me in no uncertain terms when I published my first novel that I was not to refer to myself as ‘Jen’. He insisted that it was a childish moniker and would deter people from buying it. So, I am Jennifer Syrkiewicz on my book covers, at the doctor and dentist, and when I am in trouble. My signature has become a scrawled line, as when I was first married I still struggled with the spelling.

The person I feel most sorry for is my dog. She is called Nietzsche, after the Philosopher. It was all fine until I called the vet to get her name changed on the system. Nietzsche Syrkiewicz? Poor girl.

Finally I see the value of the internet. Where would we be without it?

I’m off to harvest my crops on Farmville now. Must dash.

Well, I am. I churned out 40,000 words towards the end of last year, and then…nothing. I am writing poetry, and writing articles sometimes, and all that malarkey, but as for the novel? It’s dead in the water. I started writing it on the back of an unpleasant event which had just taken place, and at the time I was fired up with enthusiastic fury, spewing my venom out on to the page. And then I got happy, and chilled out, and all desire to write fled out of the window alongside my anger and disappointment. The novel is left in stasis. Refusing to accommodate a ‘happy ever after’.

And so, I guess the problem is I really need some trauma in order to get passionate about my writing. It’s a double-edged sword. Go through some tough times, and write like a demon, or be at my happiest in life, and have no access to creativity.

I think I prefer the happiness.

But I do miss the twelve-hour stretches of creativity. Maybe I’ll kick George a bit and hope that it leads to some remorseful yet passionate writing…

‘Just bought a brand new Toyota, and am sailing down the motorway it’s lovely. Chat later, can’t stop’ they text back and congratulate you on the purchase of your new vehicle

• If you consume two bottles of white wine and then collapse in to bed without drinking any water, you feel like hell in the morning
• Putting a tortoise on the board when playing Trivial Pursuit can get in the way of rolling the dice
• Birds don’t eat apples if you put them outside, regardless of how appealing and ‘country kitsch’ the hanger is
• I am useless at making desserts, so should have stuck to my original ploy of getting the friendly neighbourhood baker to do it and asking her to ‘rough it up a bit’ so I can pass it off as my own at dinner parties.

All in all, a productive week with many rich learning opportunities. Particularly the Skort word, which I’m sure, will be a valid and most useful addition to my vocabulary from now on.

I found the Urban Dictionary yesterday online. It’s an alternative collection of definitions for real worlds that people use, which may not be accepted to the OED. I found out some interesting things. I use the word ‘wicked’ a lot, meaning ‘brilliant’. In Boston, they use ‘wicked’ to mean ‘very’, as in ‘this sentence is wicked incomprehensible’. When I was in my twenties at Norwich Union, someone on my project team actually complained that I would not be an adequate project manager because I used the term, which obviously demonstrated my incompetence. I realised at that point that unless I started to really work outside of the box and get some blue sky thinking done, putting clear water between myself and my colleagues, my dreams of being an executive may fail.

Anyway. Thank God I didn’t have to play that game anymore. It makes me laugh when I hear corporate speak – it’s like an ‘Emperor’s New Clothes’ game which isolates people who do not continually walk around with their nose stuck in ‘Who Moved My Cheese’.

Back to the Urban dictionary – here’s what I found.

Jen (noun):

Gorgeous, amazing, perfect everything. The girl who has always been my best friend, the girl who I should’ve been chasing this whole time. I love her.

Obviously the definitions included in this collection are accurate, well thought-out, and highly intuitive. I love it.

Shmoo:

A word to describe someone who is lovely, saucy, and the best all in one. Nothing can ever beat them.

John: ‘You know Mia?’
Tom: ‘Yeah, she is a right shmoo’

 Guitar Face:

The act of making an unusual face while playing the guitar. The look typically resembles a look of pain, intense ecstasy, or sometimes even plain old gas.

‘Man, that solo was sweet but he had total guitar face going on’.

 Look yourself up at www.urbandictionary.com.