Reserving Judgement

So I decided to come out and play with the kids from the Indie Ink Writing Challenge this week as I haven’t been to recess for some time now. The website has had a facelift and some of the rules have changed so I feel like a newbie – oh well.
Ok – so ... I was given a prompt from MrsBear, I kinda had to rush it because I left it too late, admittedly, I’m not even sure if I ... yada yada yada, you can guess the rest. The prompt itself is at the bottom of the post.

I prompted Mare and got a lovely surprise with: I’ve Never Been a Fan of theMonster Mash – a lovely take on a popular genre!

RGM

Leasa wasn't the type of girl to moan or complain, so far the first day had gone as most first days do, no one remembered her name but it was always her turn to get the coffee and latte orders. It was still the dream job, she just felt like she might wake up soon.

Mrs Enid (as she liked to be addressed), stalked the length of the room like an impatient carnivore jonesing for its next meal. Most of the editorial team were sat around the long rectangular table that took up most of the conference room, a golden laptop sat at the head with its lid open in front of a chair that was larger than the rest. Mrs Enid's navy blue blazer rested neatly on the back.

"... can anyone give me an answer that will not get them fired on the spot?" She glowered.
There was a long pause, not because anyone couldn't answer the question but because Mrs Enid hadn't actually asked one in the first place. She was prone to thinking up stuff and not explaining anything, yet expecting career sensitive answers.  

“So you’re all going to give me the silent treatment again? Ok, YOU’RE ALL FIRED!”

This time everyone in the room came to life, about thirty people speaking up at once, trying desperately to be heard, and in turn; save their jobs. Some even came off their chairs to be heard, which started off a chain reaction until Leasa was the only person seated, note book on her lap, waiting for Mrs Enid to speak so she could continue taking the minutes. The suggestions being fired across the room became a general mêlée of desperate comments and ideas, none of which could be heard.

Seated at the top corner of the immense table, Leasa got a front row seat to the evil little smile that had been forming on Mrs Enid’s lower lip, but after a few more seconds the woman decided she’d had enough. 

“QUIET!” She shouted.

And like that, the room fell silent and everyone sat down in unison. Leasa couldn’t help noticing the effect was like a team of synchronised swimmers in the middle of a routine. Their faces were almost expressionless apart from an almost indistinguishable look of fear. The tabletop seemed more interesting because no one dared to look at Mrs Enid.

“So, where are we up to new girl?” Mrs Enid asked without looking to her left.

“The er, er the Marion Cotillard article.” Lease stammered.

Mrs Enid didn’t turn her head but Leasa could feel her looking sideways harshly as though something repugnant had just made a noise. “Who’s writing that piece?” She asked running a long fingernail along the back of her chair.

“It’s me Mrs Enid.” A young woman replied carefully.

“It’s satisfactory, but we have a preferred style of writing here at Random Girl Magazine so I suggest you look at some past issues and stop writing like you work for Cosmopolitan!”

Leasa felt a little sorry for the woman as she avoided 90% of eye contact with Mrs Enid. She looked almost as green as Leasa even though it certainly wasn’t her first day, or maybe it was her black rimmed glasses and brunette hair that gave her a sheepish librarian look. She was pretty not beautiful, Leasa thought, and could’ve pulled off a slutty-librarian-stripper look at a bachelor party if things ever got that dire.  The brunette looked up, caught Leasa’s eye for a second too long, and looked down at some papers in front of her on the table.

Mrs Enid refocused her attention at a well groomed guy in a fitted black suit that didn’t hide the fact that he worked out regularly. Like everyone else he kept his gaze fixed on the table but Leasa caught a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“You! Where are we at with the men’s calendar?” asked Mrs Enid.

As he looked up his gaze swept to face Mrs Enid and he looked directly at Leasa for the briefest of moments that wouldn’t have been noticeable to anyone in the room except her.  “I emailed it to you yesterday, Mrs Enid.”

“I know, but I didn’t reply because I chose not to read it, I’d much prefer if you showed us young man.”

At that, he stood up with a slight air of confidence under the watchful glare of the old lady and strode towards the gold laptop. “May I?” He asked. Mrs Enid nodded nonchalantly cutting her eyes to the floor in disproval. Her short black hair and pale skin making her face look sinister.

After a brief moment he’d loaded up a presentation, turned off the lights and flicked on a ceiling projector with a tiny remote lying beside the laptop. On the wall behind Leasa a logo with the letters RG in shimmering silver trim appeared and a slideshow commenced, mostly of semi naked men in gyms wearing deliberately ill fitting uniforms posing for the camera. He’d begun talking everyone through the slides with his shadow cast on the wall. Most of the audience had forgotten about the slides and was either staring at him or his shadow. Mrs Enid in particular was relishing the sight; her long nails had dug into the smooth varnished wood and as she watched, her fingers slowly scratched the varnish making not much noise at first, then growing louder as he bent over to load up a second file.

“What, what’s this? What are you doing?” asked Mrs Enid, breaking everyone out of their spell.

“It’s Susan’s presentation. She’s off sick and I said I’d do it for her, I have all her notes memorised.”

“If Susan valued her job she wouldn’t call in sick,” she picked a stray piece of fabric from her pencil skirt and shooed him back to his seat. “Have you put that in the minutes?”

It took a moment for Leasa to realise Mrs Enid was talking to her, like a high school kid trying to keep up in class, she jotted down everything she could remember from when the slideshow was interrupted. Mrs Enid threw her a cold glare and picked someone else to chow down on.

The meeting went on like this for another hour. Various employees got snapped at or humiliated. By the end of it all Leasa had decided that Mrs Enid was a cougar masquerading as a witch in a pencil skirt, and chalked up her first day as Mrs Enid’s PA, a lesson in fear management.

As the weeks passed, Leasa got used to never being addressed by her birth name and instead a mixture of ‘you’, ‘get me a ...’ and her personal favourite ‘PA Girl!’ were the popular choices.

The work itself wasn’t hard. In less than a month she’d worked out the witch’s routine, her likes/dislikes, and could just about read her mind for those times when she’d demand an answer to a question she’d never asked in the first place.

The other employees rarely spoke to her, but dished out looks of sympathy. Water-cooler conversation stopped whenever she walked by but the pay was solid and a good recommendation from the monster would get her closer to making a career dream a reality. Random Girl Magazine was made up of various divisions and it was the London branch that appealed to Leasa the most. Mrs Enid was reportedly very good friends with the overseas editor, so getting in her good books would prove fruitful.

*****

Bad hair days weren’t the best start by any stretch but Leasa managed to get her locks into shape before leaving her apartment and catching a cab uptown to the RG building on the north end of Lexington Avenue. She’d survived thirty six issues of RG Magazine and Mrs Enid at some point had started calling her ‘young lady’ which was a step up by the monster’s standards.

She picked up her non-fat venti latte with cinnamon no sugar from Al at the coffee stand outside the building without having to ask. He knew her routine and had it hot and ready by 8.30am just as she got out of her cab. Al was as reliable as night and day. He tipped his hat as he tried to hand her the change she always refused and wished her a good day, as always.

The ride up to the 21^st floor was made all the more difficult when Mrs Enid, Barry and Helen boarded on the 3^rd. They must have been at the food hall, Barry and Helen reluctant slaves to the witch as she probably forced them once again to join her for an early morning breakfast; she hated to eat without something good to look at.

Helen’s hair was healthy looking as always, her slutty librarian look made all the more potent by her recent love of figure hugging suits and designer glasses. Barry had moved up in the world and since Susan had been fired two years ago, he was now deputy editor. He’d probably worked late nights with the monster in her cave to better his chances.

Helen furnished Leasa with a lingering gaze and the staff Christmas party from her first year at the magazine flashed past her eyes, along with images of Helen half naked in a broom closet and a massive drunken girl crush. Leasa felt the tension of the moment and shifted her weight so she would be as far away from Helen as possible in the small space.

The elevator ride was proving to be one of the longest.

Usually there was no sound but today the cables made screeching noises as they pulled the box up towards its chosen floor. 16, 17, 18, 19 – Leasa watched each number light up like they were bringing her hope. On the 20^th floor the cables went silent and Leasa prepared to get off and walk quickly to her desk outside Mrs Enid’s enormous office when a sickening metallic sound ripped through the elevator shaft. The box shuddered and everyone shuddered with it losing their balance briefly. Whether it was their movement or the unstable supports not able to take the strain the entire box shook for a split second and another much louder ‘bang’ was heard overhead like cables snapping.

Leasa felt her heart jump out of her chest and a feeling like her head was floating inches above where it should be made her feel nauseas. There was a distinct feeling of weightlessness momentarily and then it sunk in that they were falling. The last thing she heard before blacking out was someone scream her name.

Muffled sounds and echoes possible voices attempted to climb into her ears. She wasn’t totally awake but the sensation of being held was her only comfort. As the seconds passed Leasa stirred some more and managed to open her eyes, blinking back the sudden attack of light. Her head was pounding and she had that coppery taste in her mouth like she could taste blood.

Barry and Helen were on the other side of the dented elevator, passed out, and possibly knocked out. They seemed to be breathing which was a good sign. Mrs Enid had vanished. The smell of expensive perfume filled Leasa’s nostrils and she recognised the scent immediately, which had the effect of bringing back the rest of her senses.

Two arms were wrapped around her tightly, and in her ear a gentle repetitive whisper – the words, Leasa you’re going to be okay, Leasa you’re going to be okay ...

"MrsBear's prompt for me was: A glimpse of compassion or kindness from an otherwise awful human being."

                                                                                                     

SHAMELESS BUT NECESSARY SELF-PROMOTION!

Hiya Wiley Kits and Wiley Cats (sorry, I'm having a Thundercats moment) - Take a read of this and if you know anyone that would benefit from such a service, feel free to pass this on ... 

Apologies to my US friends out there. You probably already know but, secondary/primary school is the equivalent of your high school/elementary I believe - corrections are welcome.

About Me:
Hi, my name is Stefan Jeffrey and I am an experienced proof-reader and writer, based in the UK. I write online film reviews as well as manage my own blog where I write fiction. I have also written several plays for inner-city schools.

In the last three years I completed a comprehensive proofreading course from the Writers Bureau and since then I have been working mostly voluntarily for colleges and universities. My main clients are upcoming writers who require their work to be of a high standard prior to turning in manuscripts.

In my spare time I take part in weekly writing challenges, hosted online, within various 'blogging circles' but my time is taken up with proof-reading so I limit the time I spend flexing my writing muscles.

Service Description:
I am a freelance proof-reader with a range of voluntary and paid experience. The documents I come into contact with range from pieces of coursework, essays, dissertations and manuscripts. I can also work on many other types of document if the need arises.
I take pride in my work which means I take pride in bringing other peoples work to a professional standard and in addition I work very quickly to ensure I get return business from my clients.

I look forward to working with anyone out there who requires a pleasant and professional service. I'm also able and available for any 'ghost writing' projects.

Rates:
A qualified proof-reader works at a pace of 10 pages (A4) per hour. As specified by the Society of Editors and Proofreaders, the minimum rate as of the 1st April 2011 is: £20.25 per hour.
For university students I give a 20% discount, college students 50%, secondary and primary school level is free provided the document does not exceed 5 pages (A4).

If you wish to use this service you can contact me at: sjloveswriting@live.com to discuss any details that are unclear. I can provide a contact number once we have communicated via email.

Thanks for taking the time to read this or pass it on to friends/family/colleagues if you think they will benefit.



S.A Jeffrey | © 2008 Writers Gift Ltd All rights reserved.

Nothing new, religious people lie too.

What I’m about to tell you didn’t surprise me that much but, as it was happening I had to really question the situation and step out of myself for a moment because I couldn’t believe the way it all went down.

All of this happened around 5.45pm this evening, probably not that far from where you are right now. A colleague and I had finished work and being a bright sunny day we chose to walk from near London Bridge to Canada Water.
Working closely on a project together for the last two years meant that we have a good rapport and talk about our personal lives from time to time. During the walk we discussed family, friends, our children and other crap dudes talk about. We were nearly at our destination when a cyclist pulls up out of nowhere and before he see’s my face he addresses me by saying: “Hey! I know you don’t I?” in a really thick Polish sounding accent. Taken aback, mainly because he really sounded as though he believed he knew me, I spun sideways and replied: “Whoa, I’m sure you rode up and said that before seeing my face, but hey – do you play basketball or something?” this is my default question when a random dude rolls up on me. I’ve played a lot of ‘pick-up’ basketball games across London so there was a possibility he’d know me from an indoor/outdoor court. He looks at me baffled, partly due to the language barrier, partly because I speak fast from time to time and maybe he just didn’t play ball – who knows?

The next thing he says lets us know what is actually happening here: “So ... do you believe in God?” This causes me and my colleague to immediately look at each other, smile and say in unison: “OH! Okay ...” I’m all for letting people say their piece unlike my friend from work who tells the guy to walk and talk. He agrees and continues with: “So ... would you say you’re a good person?” I reply: “Yeah” after very little thought, then he asks: “Do you lie?” I say: “Yeah, I lie from time to time.” Then, with an unnervingly smug smile on his faces he asks: “So, what does that make you then?”

WHOA!

Ok, pump the brakes, wait-wait-wait-wait-wait, nah-ahhhh, noooooo he ditn’t!
In actual fact – he did.

We stop walking because I stop dead in my tracks and tell the guy to pause, this is not the part where I lose my cool, in retrospect tons of thoughts pulsed through my head in that split second, and this was the result:

“Dude, really? You’re going to roll up on us, tell me you know me which is obviously a lie, and I choose to let that go and give you the floor to talk, then you, in a round-about kinda way try to sneakily call me a liar? Tell me I’m wrong because I don’t think me being right is gonna pan out well for you this evening.”
At this, my friend is saying: “Hold on, hold on – naaaaah.” I stand between him and the guy because as much as I appreciate the input, this dude on the bike needs to do a ‘self-check’ pronto.

He tries to comeback with something which I fail to remember because at this point all I’m saying is: “Dude, get back on your bike and ride away ... No seriously, I hear you trying to say something but you really need to pedal in another direction because I don’t appreciate the fact that you were under-handed about starting a conversation, then you want to talk to me about lying – nah, I’m good, please, be gone.”

Obviously embarrassed he says there’s no hard feelings whilst fiddling with his bike trying to get back on and, over and over like he’s reassuring himself he repeats: “It’s okay, this happens, not to worry, it’s okay ...”

Now, if you think I was unreasonable, please let me know? It’s like; the majority of experiences I’ve had with religious people when they attempt to evangelise to me, usually end not so well for them. I have nothing against religion as it’s as much a discipline and choice of life that brings out the best in most people, forgetting all the sex and killing etc ... done in the name of God, religion is a pretty cool gig. Being first Christian, then Muslim, now neither, I see the appeal. I can respect someone that has beliefs and holds to them, provided those beliefs, and the actions from them do not hurt others physically or emotionally.

As I’m writing this I’m thinking about that guy and I’m wondering what were his set of beliefs, I didn’t give him the chance to ask much more than a few questions before waving him on.
The way I see it (and you’re allowed to disagree here) is in the form of the paragraph below:

A wise woman once said: “If you don’t believe in God, then at least believe in something because you need something to root you within this world.” That quote came from the mother of a man I used to work for and it’s as true today as when he told me a few years ago.

Thoughts, some profound, others not so deep ...

I’m awake after 11pm, not because I’m forcing it, or I’m scared of falling asleep, but because I’m full of life at the moment and I gotta get some of my thoughts outta my head before they becoming echoes and I totally forget why they were there in the first place.

I've been given another excuse to write (not that I ever need one). Someone posted a video of Will Smith, a sort of collage of videos lasting under 10 minutes where we see Will talk about life, the universe, fears, motivation; a real plethora of profound stuff that didn’t go over my head and instead got me thinking, a lot.

One of the quotes amongst many that I took away from the clip was: “ ...there's no reason to have a plan B because it distracts from plan A ..." which led me to think about how much focus I give any one thing and was it enough to simply go in, fangs out, with no contingency plan. Basically what he’s saying here is; we have to do the best we can do at everything we do, no excuses, half measures or mediocre attempts. Making that a mantra (and I won’t front) will be difficult, but what’s stopping me?

Out of all the times over the last few months that I’ve logged onto Facebook and seen the regular trail of links that I glaze over, sometimes pause to look at or completely ignore, tonight has been significantly different. Several of the posts/links/statuses made me think, really think, and that’s a good thing because often I find the home page as useful as a damp paper towel. It was good to see some thought being put into the posts this evening and throughout the day, and for it to happen all in a single 24hrs is a feat of epic proportions.

So, not that I’m currently ranting – well I guess the above was a poke, not much of a ‘dig’ to be fair, but kudos where they’re due to the Facebookers out there that made for an interesting home page.

I digressed and hopefully you’re still with me, I didn’t mean to but it happens sometimes (apart from Saturdays - I’m like cupids arrow on a weekend, straight and true!).

I started off this blog by saying I was full of life. I blame that on a few people as much as the experiences I’ve had recently; I use the word ‘blame’ in the most endearing sense of the word, if that’s possible.

I have to cherish all the bad stuff that’s happened before I get to the good. Regardless of it being a really jacked up year to begin with, hopefully those who know me can agree that I don’t complain much (corrections are welcome, I sometimes lie on a Wednesday morning) or at least not enough to not see the positive side of a negative experience. I think that’s where some individuals slip up. When things go pear shaped, the time spent moaning about it is really unnecessary. Imagine if we took all the time spent complaining and added it up, I’m sure we’d buy back hours, maybe days/weeks.

Here’s a crazy thought – what if, with all that time we just stole back, we did something totally random like; got on with plan A! How frikkin’ awesome would we be then?! I have no flippin’ idea but I’m picturing YOU reading this now and you have a wicked golden aura around you and a massive ‘I’m the shizzle’ smile on your face.

Not that doing any of that positive reinforcement stuff is easy, but it’s good to just get out of your own way for a hot minute and let the universe, in all its glory, swallow you up because you spent the entire day attracting ‘life’ and life snatched you up for a party.

Where all this is coming from?

A quote?

A home page?

A realisation that because I’m breathing the fun hasn’t ended?

Who the hell knows, who the hell cares ...

What’s important is that instead of trying we ‘do’, instead of struggling ‘let’s get on with it’, and instead of reading all of this and taking nothing at all from it, ‘let’s forget we read it all together’, there are far easier ways to be inspired than to listen to some guy, high on life who simply can’t sleep.

Here's the video I referred to at the beginning of the post:

The dying art of conversation between males and females ...

Pic sourced from: thisisgreatsex.com

This isn't a subject I wanted to tackle with fiction because although I could have given a damn good run at it, I'd constantly be writing in the first person. As objective as I think I can be, I still have my own views on the subject and tend to have a lot to say sometimes. My friend Sophia asked me to write on the topic some time ago, but through circumstance I'm only getting to it now!

Before you ask what the hell I'm talking about – what I'm talking about is us, you and me, and virtually every other heterosexual person on the planet, and what's got me shooting words on the page is the question; whether or not, as males and females are we engaging in conversation?

I could wrap this up with a very simple yes we are! But in order to continue talking I have to give a little context to what I'm trying to get across.
When I say conversation, I don't mean two people talking about a topic of no value with the lingering thought in both their minds as to when is the person going to shut up and just snog me? No. I'm here to explore the notion that some of our so called conversations are based around a fundamental need to ingratiate ourselves to the opposite sex in order to facilitate fallacio or some other pleasurable sexual act.
But hold on – is Stefan really saying that the only reason men and women converse is to screw each other’s brains out? Not entirely. I'd wager that most people in a relationship really do have genuine platonic chats/rants/discussions with like-minded or otherwise people of the opposite sex, I'm even saying that single people find it relatively easy to natter about some really interesting and stimulating stuff without ulterior intentions, but ... if you're sitting there across from someone you think is hot or would like to see in less clothing then there are things you're going to do during that conversation which you wouldn't do with say; Sally with the incredible amount of facial hair for a woman and a wart on the end of her nose.
Firstly, if you're crushing on someone during a conversation you'll feel less comfortable talking about any personal quirks that others in your inner circle of friends finds odd, or you won't divulge too much personal information period. If you find your yapping away and keep fixing clothing, straightening that tie, checking your hair or stroking your clavicle, then they are all signs that you might just wanna fuck the person you're talking to, or failing that, you're a little nervous because you're out of town and your mate Jerry who knows you back when you had braces and evil breath just walked into the bar and waved at you, or, you just have a tendency to touch yourself ... (you're worried, I'm worried, we're all worried).
I believe that conversation isn't dead and if you're passionate about a subject then there's no harm in discussing it. I also believe that we all have thoughts about different people, sexual or otherwise and that's fine as long as those thoughts stay in your head unless invited out for dinner and a good movie ... (yes SEX - please try to keep up!).
Usually the best friend a man can have is a woman and in lots of cases vice versa. In my experience men tend to stab you in the back at a moment’s notice, whereas a woman would consider your feelings first for the most part.
I don't have that many guys I can turn to in a crisis and I'm cool with that, but if you think I'm wrong or way off its okay I'm just speaking from personal experience. Feel free to colour me stupid and ignore everything I just wrote.