On-line in the Writing Room with Murder Most Horrid

It was decided that my writing room computer should go 'on-line'. I can't remember the whys and hows and wherefores of this decision except that alcohol was not involved, me being tee-total and Andy off the wine at the moment in an attempt to stop his snoring. Whatever. The idea was mooted, deemed a good one and the plan set in motion.

The necessary dongle equipment arrived on Wednesday and now I am able to access the interwebbly from my writing room which is a good thing because it means I don't have to chug up the net book if I want to blog or download teachery stuff, and a bad thing because it means that when I am writing or dealing with school malarkey, the temptation to hop on-line and do a bit of surf-shopping and general fiddling about is there, right under my nose at the click of a mouse.

Also, my writing room computer seems to be over-excited at being on-line and yesterday, I kid you not, performed 3 synchronisations and, get this, 104 updates!! I managed to do 5 sudokus, one crossword and the weekly shop at Sainsbugs whilst this was occurring.

I related this irritation to Andy. 'What has it got to up-date anyway?' said I.
'Well,' said Andy, 'a year's worth of not being on-line possibly?'
'Nope,' I said. 'I don't get it. All I've been doing on that computer is writing and studying and playing a game or two hundred of Mahjong Titans.'
'I can disable the update facility if you like,' said Andy, sensing a spot of computer rage on my part.

I'm not sure this is a good idea. I mean, given that computers do what they like anyway, what if mine decides to undisable itself and perform 3867 updates when I am in the middle of a particularly excellent piece of writing and I lose my creative momentum? It could be the crucial difference between the creation of a best-selling novel and the usual type of tat I write. (I need to say 'thank you' at this point to Diana, who lives in New Zealand and is currently plodding her way - voluntarily! - through 'Poulet Nous - The Race to Save Much Malarkey Manor' 2009 ed. It tickles me enormously to think someone over the other side of the world is reading a novel I wrote in 30 days about chickens. It tickles the chickens, too. Mrs Pumphrey is already practising her autograph. Bless you, Diana!)

So I think the updates doo-dah needs to stay put so they occur in small and manageable doses.

Against all the odds, I did manage to crack on with a story of sorts yesterday. And what was really odd is that it seems to be turning into a thriller. In the first three pages, the heroine murders her husband with a Stanley knife because he complains about the cost of the wallpaper she's just bought to decorate a feature wall in their living room. Now, my usual style has a comedy bent to it, and this story is no different, but there is definitely a dark side emerging. I'm not a fan of thrillers and murders and the like. You know me - I like the world to be fluffy and pink and full of cute kittens and everyone being nice to each other and eating cakes and smelling flowers in the sunshine.

But I'm thinking, perhaps I ought to expand my knowledge of the thriller murder mystery side of literature. Perhaps this is where I've been going wrong. Perhaps I've been pursuing the wrong line of writing. Perhaps I am of the Dark Side...

...oooh, hang on a minute...I've just spotted a fur ball under my desk. Pandora has been yacking them up on an almost daily basis this week. I'm beginning to think she's more furry on her insides than she is on her outside...won't be a mo...just get some kitchen roll....euewww...yuk!

I think I'll see where this story goes. The plot has necessitated my investigating how law and policing works and all the jargon and terminology that goes with it, and I am also having to fight my natural urge to get my heroine away from the scene of the murder and to the nearest olde worlde tea-shoppe as soon as possible, preferably wearing a Laura Ashley frock and rescuing an injured puppy on the way. And I'm not sure which writers to read to get to know the format of the murder-mystery- crime-thriller genre better. Andy has loads of such books, because he is a fan, but then he also seems very caught up in the latest series of Torchwood which is, as far as I can tell, 12 episodes of exactly the same plot each week set alternately in California and Cardiff.

And I much prefer John Barrowman when he is singing and dancing and doing jazz hands than when he is swanning around in a long floaty coat trying to look cross.