The view from the window and back into the room.

Everyone's computer has a view. Unless you have your eyes shut, you are going to see something whilst you sit there typing. For a lot of people I guess that includes a window, and I'm certainly amongst them. What can I see from where I sit? Well, my window looks out over the cul-de-sac where we live, and whilst it is a quiet backwater, it is off the main duel carriageway that forms the town's ring road, so I can see a lot of traffic as it pulls up at the intersection.

When I write I do sometimes find myself looking out of this window as I compose my thoughts. On a day like today the sun is shining brightly from a clear blue sky where there isn't a cloud in sight. It's rather nice. I can see the school children waiting at the bus stop at the end of the road, and the fire engines and police cars going in and out from the police and fire stations that are just down the road - there goes one now.

The road is tree lined, and so has a nice atmosphere to it. At the moment I've been watching the leaves fall in the Autumn, but during the spring and summer it is full and green. There is also a railway line behind the left hand row of houses, and a station beyond the trees. I get to know what time it is when I hear the sound of the squeal of brakes as the train pulls up at the platform or the revving of engines as it accelerates away. That is of course unless it is late! There is also a big steel girder bridge over the dual carriageway, and you can hear the change of wheel noise as it rumbles across it - there goes one now! Sometimes we even get on a weekend steam trains pulling through on a railtour from Carnforth. If I hurry down into the back garden as soon as I hear them I can usually catch a good sight of them.

Of course, the room itself can be considered interesting too. If I look into the room I see the second largest upstairs room of the house. I am a total pedantic neat freak, so it is always just so. I inherit this streak from my Mother, though she is twice as bad as I am! Still, I like living in a clean and tidy abode.

Th desk I have my keyboard, mouse and monitor on is solid pine with drawers in. I keep my clothes in this room, so the drawers contain knickers in one, camisoles and slips in another, stockings and suspender belts in the next one down, and several fancy corsets in the bottom. No pencils or post-its here! On the right side of the desk top is a turntable for playing LPs, and off the side of the desk is a 'mound' of technology, for want of a better word. A large server (usually switched off - what use do I really have for a powerful quad core server?) a file server and a former server that is now used as my desktop computer (well, it was cheap, and it works as a computer with a lot of power and plenty of drive space). There are also audio equipment from my time working in radio, occasionally used now though not often. Beyond that is a CD player and a laser mono printer, and beyond that a pine bookcase to match the desk with the assortment of books and things that didn'ty really belong or fit on the main bookcases downstairs in the lounge.

At the far end is a single bed, convenient for lying on and thinking at. It's a not so well known fact that an author is legitamately allowed to day dream to formulate and develop ideas! It also doubles as a guest bed for whenever we have parties. At its side is a solid oak table in the shape of an octagon. My parents bought it many years ago from a junk shop in Sutton Coldfield just after they got married - they had a house but very little furniture. The lady in the shop said: "Keep bobbing, ducks!" as they left with the table, and they still have no idea to this day what that meant!

In front of the chimney breast is the antique oak chest that Zoë affectionately calls my 'train porn chest' on account of the fact I store a lot of my model railway equipment in it. It came from my grandmother's house when my grandmother went into a home. It was made with salvaged timber from an old sailing ship being broken up in Hull in the 1930s/1940s. Sat on top of it is a quarter of my model railway, being used as a diorama to display models. Space is at a premium and the other three quarters lie stored in a cupboard. At one end is my writing bureau. Another antique piece from my parents' stash of surplus furniture. They came a long way and did 'keep bobbing' and when I moved out and got a house of my own I furnished it with all the surplus furniture that sat dusty in storage.

Then we reach the final corner, and a pine wardrobe for the rest of my clothes. Strangely it is the only wardrobe in the house - Zoë prefers the judicious use of the floordrobe or the chairdrobe in our room. It drives me mad, but then I guess if we were both neat freaks, we would probably find that a whole lot more difficult to live with. I have too many clothes, and it brims with stuff hanging on the outside as well as the inside. There is a drawer at the front and I fill it with bras. What always gets me is how I can have so many clothes and yet still have absolutely nothing to wear? Oh a girls' life!

Does that yet bring an end to the guided tour? Well I suppose so. I look again to the window and see the sun has moved in the sky quite quickly since I started writing. It's brighter now, and the school children are gone - I guess their double decked bus came and went whilst I was hard at work. The traffic is also much lighter. It seems to just melt away when the time reaches nine o'clock and rush hour ends. Now would be a good time to get my car from where it sits just out of view below the window if there was anywhere I wanted to go. But I don't.

Nextdoor reverses his car from its parking space. Will he ever learn to drive properly? Does revving the guts out of a car from cold really improve its ability to reverse? I thought not too. Now I see the postman, coming with his big red sack. I wonder if he will bring any letters for us? Some days we get tons, and others we get none; it's all very hit and miss.

A knock on the door and I finally have to shift from my chair and go from my little den.

Sentiments to the bigots who think to murder for their prejudices is acceptable.

There is a big part of my life that I don't talk about. Nor do I draw attention to it anymore. Am I ashamed of it? No, not really. It was just 26 years that sort of happened, and I got through them. So then why do I pretend it never happened and create an elaborate backstory to my life that pretends that things happened somewhat differently than they really did?

I suppose it is because of sad news like this that makes me act in the way I do. She was not the first, and not the last murdered because bigots thought they had every right to murder minorities that they didn't understand. In Britain, things don't seem quite this bad, but we do have to put up with our own bigots such as Julie Bindel who abuse their position in the media to spout hate and lies about us.

I have been attacked because of my past. I was attacked in the street physically in Durham a number of years ago by three people who shared Julie Bindel's bigotted views and intended to use them as justification for attacking a person they saw as different. I have been harassed in a former workplace to the extent that it ended with me having to endure a two year campaign of bullying and victimisation that ended going to court where they backed down and settled only after I refused to let them get away with it.

Several years ago I was refused entry to changing rooms in New Look in the Metrocentre, and BHS in Durham, because of people's bigotry being used to bar my use of the facilities to try and clothes for size. I've been verbally abused more times than I can remember in the street.

Still, I'm lucky. I've grown beyond the abuse because I now just blend in with society and am seen just as another normal person. I hide my past because I don't want it used against me to prejudice the new life I have. Now I read about another murder, and I wonder why I am the one being forced to hide? Surely we must work hard to create a society where it is the bigots who must hide as society rejects their unjustified stance, just as it has become for those who once openly advocated oppressing other minorities.

There is a part of me that worries that 'blowing my cover' my create adverse reactions for me in my life. But I answer myself with the stubborn view that to hide is to admit defeat and hand victory to the bigots. So I shall hide no longer.

I am transgendered and proud of who I am. I am just a normal woman who had to go through hell and prejudice to get a birth defect corrected, but I came through and am the better person for the struggle. Anyone who wants to cause me trouble can suck my f*ck!ng c*ck. It's long since gone, but the sentiment to the bigots remains the same.

There are stranger things in life than a bucket of beans.

The NaNoWriMo writing this month is steaming ahead well. Despite having lots of other commitments, I'm finding the time to both meet and excede the totals per day. Hopefully it will produce a few things for the new anthology book I am putting together.

With The long Summer of war now complete I'm finding it a lot easier to produce other stuff. It's actually quite nice to work on short stuff again, even though I often describe short stories as the Banana Republic of fiction. They might be a little more fun now, but they are still not a patch on piecing together the plot of a good novel!

I've been working on some material that stems from stories I wrote and rewrote as a child. I'm not sure if it will come to much, but I thought - with a little encouragement from Zoë - that it might be an idea to lay to bed the old stories I used to write as a very young teenager about time travel. We'll wait and see whether this idea works! I've also been tidying up and rewriting some of the 'outakes', for want of a better word, from some of my books. A few pieces have been discarded, but others are going to make the final edit of the anthology.

Why is it that as soon as I start collecting something, then everyone else seems to jump on the bandwagon pushing prices up? I used to collect old tinplate toy trains back when they were worthless junk in the eyes of most people. Then all of a sudden programmes on the television started showing them off and claiming over exagerated prices thus inflating the real world prices as people got greedy. Even now, there is no marlet for tinplate trains, because everything stagnated when prices asked were beyond what people were prepared to pay. This moved on to the collection of old Gossard basques that I began to amass. You used to be able to get them for a couple of quid as old shop stock and clearance. Now they go for staggering money on Ebay. I'm seeing this happen more and more. There is a range of sci-fi books that I've been getting as old stock and secondhand in as new condition. They're the SF Masterworks series from Gollancz, but lo and behold, the prices for the out of print ones have suddenly gone up from a few pence to many tens of pounds. Is this because I cursed them by expressing an interest? I've got over half of the full set of 71, but there are a few now that it seems I will never be able to realistically get to complete the set, even though I have managed one or two of the rareties before the prices shot up.

The portfolio section of the Jenny Emily Web is due not one but two new pieces. They were supposed to go up over the weekend, but the webmaster has been very overworked, so I'm told. Still, I'm hoping they will go up this week. They will be a short extract from 'Bringing home the stars' and another from 'The long summer of war'. Both full-length pieces are definately going to be in the forthcoming anthology. I am also informed that there will be other minor revamps to the photographs section and the bibliography section. The photograps in particular are long overdue a tinker. I must admit that with hindsight it was probably a flaky idea to have too many pictures from my modelling career on there given the type of modelling that I did. Still, never knowingly shown a naughty bit on camera yet. As I would say to my Mother: I'm actually wearing more than I do when I go to the public swimming baths in a bikini.

Yesterday I managed to stay up for in excess of 24 hours. I cannot really recomend it. It was just a quirk of having worked through the night followed by having a comitment to go to a meeting at a radio station followed by doing a family meal chez parents. Being awake that long makes me grumpy as well as giving me a headache. It also worryingly exposes the fact that I have had a heart murmur since an early age. When I'vwe been awake that long I seem to be able to feel it murmering, and it is such a weird feeling. I'm told it can't cause my brain to explode or anything bad like that. I did get a wonderful night's sleep though last night.

Finally finished the long summer of war.

At last! I have finally finished 'The long summer of war'. It has begun to drag for me a little bit these last couple of weeks. I had meant to get it done sooner, but a sudden increase in other workloads have meant that I haven't had the time that I wanted. Still, it's done now, and I'm so glad!

I'm off for a walk into town today with Zoë, and no doubt we will discuss ideas for other stories. We've already been busy discussing ideas for 'The Life of Nob T. Mouse' scripts. There will be a new one going up today which I was heavily involved in! Don't forget to follow the link on the left hand side, half way down on the nobmouse site to go and vote for the comic.

I've been cursed with the first of the winter colds today. It started in the early hours of this morning, and follows on from niggling little ailments that weren't a full-blown cold. I have a sore throat that feels like I've been giving favours to an acetylene lamp. It isn't pleasent. I can also feel me head start to feel like it has been stuffed with cotton wool then strategically kicked. I only hope that I can get through this cold and feel a lot better sooner rather than later; I hate lingering illnesses.

More undemocratic meddling behind our backs and without mandate.

The writing is going well, and I'm well under way on the NaNoWriMo thing (Gosh! That's hard to type at speed!). I'm doing it in the form of short stories for this anthology, so there won't actually be any one story of 50,000 words but rather several of varying lengths. Once I've finished the one I'm on I have a couple of other ideas, and we'll see where they go to. I'm also going to write an introduction for the anthology too.

Today on the radio I heard that the unaccountable and out of touch ibeciles in Europe have tried again to sell us out and ban working longer than 48 hours. I, like a lot of other people, resent being told by idiots riding the gravy train at taxpayers' expense that I shouldn't work more than 48 hours. Well, I actually like working long hours, and I also like the money it brings. It seems they are determined to stamp all over businesses and workers and shaft the poor and the hardworking. I really do resent this. The sooner we have the referendum that will inevitably provide the mandate to withdraw from this European Federal nonesense, the better. It is interesting to note that only politicians like this gravy train - the citizens of most, if not all European countries resent this rubbish too, for the same reasons that we do.

So much for a common market. The electorate in the 1970s were lied to and deceived. There is no mandate for what is going on. Moreover, most people who are alive today were not alive or inellegable to vote at the time. The sooner we have the referendum to end the expensive gravy train and destruction of the European nations, the better.

On publishing and complaining without reason.

It was a total surprise today to discover a short article I wrote in print in a magazine that I occasionally get. It's non-fiction, but I submitted it months ago and was told they wanted to use it. However it missed issue after issue, so I stopped looking out for it. Imagine my surprise when leafing through a copy of the magazine at lunchtime and finding that piece staring back at me! It was only a few days away from the next issue of the magazine being out, so I could have easily missed it completely.

I was talking with some-one the other day about swearing in print. I realised as we talk that it is something I have very fixed personal standards on. I don't think I have ever used the f-word in anything I have written and published. In this day and age when moral standards are on the decline, I still think that the f-word has no place in most things on the screen and in print. It is a vulgar word that often adds nothing but unjustifiable offence. Of course, sometimes it is acceptable in context. I never felt that the film Trainspotting or Lock stock and two smoking barrells ovwerstepped any mark. Their use of the word seemed somehow justified, but often in print and on screen the word isn't at all.

I do use other swear words such as 'shit' and 'piss' but then again, I swear in real life too - there is no halo over my head, I can tell you! I don't think anyone reading any of my stuff would wrinkle their brow and think: "This doesn't seem right: the f-word hasn't been used." Charectors don't have to be chavvy and vulgar for the story to work. All too often, frequent use of the f-word - especially on screen - seems to stem from an abscence of real plot and scriptwriting skill.

I see that the Mary Whitehouse wannabes are back jumping on the bandwagon. Now, I felt that Brand and Ross certainly overstepped the mark and were specifically offensive against two real people in a way that could never be justified. But Jeremy Clarkson wasn't, and it annoys me this breed of imbeciles who sit by the television waiting to be offended just so they can complain. We'll call them the 'Complaint Nazis' from now on. It smacks of having a complete sad and somewhat bullying outlook on life. They decide to get offended over nothing so decide they must foist their lack of taste upon everyone else. I'm sure Clarkson will shrug these fools off. I actually did watch Top Gear, and really cannot see what all the fuss is about.

Little Jenny Wren.

It's been a rather pleasent surprise this morning. The post came early. Actually, whilst that was a surprise, it wasn't the surprise. The post brought a copy of a magazine in which I discovered 'Bringing Home the Stars' in print, unabridged and forming nearly a quarter of the entire magazine. I had sent it originally saying it was unfortunately far longer than their usual submissions of a couple of thousand words. They had asked for something of a horror nature, and I thought there was a small chance that they might abridge it or serialise it. Instead they were impressed enough, it seems, to print it in its entirety!

It's day one of NaNoWriMo, and I've written approximately zero words so far. Well, plenty of time yet, but I must get into the habit. Work has picked up at the moment, so I might be rather pushed on time. We'll just play (or should that be 'write'?) it by ear.

Today is the Jenny Towers annual fancy dress Halloween party. We've been doing this for about four years now. The theme is fancy dress, but not necesserilly Hallowwen. Consequently in previous years I've come as a burlesque dancer, naughty schoolgirl and The Demon Drink. This year I may have secured a WRNS ratings uniform, and subject to the large box of old uniforms in the stores I am visiting this afternoon providing something serviceable that fits, I may just pull this off. Sexy Jenny Wren! I'm hopeful they can find a cap - which we affectionately refered to as 'lids' in my time in the cadets - that fits. I have a big head, and in cadets many years ago they had great difficulty in finding one that fitted.

I'm sure I had something else meaningful to say. I was thinking about it both yesterday and the day before. But it's gone now. I'm sure I might remember in time for the next blog entry.