To entertain myself, celebrate a birthday and help January seem a little less dire (too cold, dark, not enough cash etc) I’ve decided to organise a Robbie Burns night for the end of January. To do this I’ve rented a Landmark Trust property (more of later) to provide the necessary ambiance (and a log fire), invited a few friends, and am providing a couple of haggis, with a few neeps and tatties.

I also need to find some Robbie Burns poems to recite that are fairly comprehensible and not too long. Not as easy as you may think. I didn’t realise the subject matter was so surreal or full of words that I doubt most Scottish people still use or ever have (what the hell is a “crowlin ferlie” and what does “auld lang syne” actually mean?). The only hope of comprehension is that occasionally the poems are sprinkled with the odd phrase that sounds vaguely familiar. A Robbie Burns night, hmmmm, what have I let myself (and others) in for? Maybe with a few whiskies, we won’t care. So far I’ve found the following (wish me luck):

To a Louse
On Seeing One On A Lady’s Bonnet, At Church

Ha! whaur ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie?
Your impudence protects you sairly;
I canna say but ye strunt rarely,
Owre gauze and lace;
Tho’, faith! I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner,
Detested, shunn’d by saunt an’ sinner,
How daur ye set your fit upon her-
Sae fine a lady?
Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner
On some poor body.

Swith! in some beggar’s haffet squattle;
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle,
Wi’ ither kindred, jumping cattle,
In shoals and nations;
Whaur horn nor bane ne’er daur unsettle
Your thick plantations.

Now haud you there, ye’re out o’ sight,
Below the fatt’rels, snug and tight;
Na, faith ye yet! ye’ll no be right,
Till ye’ve got on it-
The verra tapmost, tow’rin height
O’ Miss’ bonnet.

My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out,
As plump an’ grey as ony groset:
O for some rank, mercurial rozet,
Or fell, red smeddum,
I’d gie you sic a hearty dose o’t,
Wad dress your droddum.

I wad na been surpris’d to spy
You on an auld wife’s flainen toy;
Or aiblins some bit dubbie boy,
On’s wyliecoat;
But Miss’ fine Lunardi! fye!
How daur ye do’t?

O Jeany, dinna toss your head,
An’ set your beauties a’ abread!
Ye little ken what cursed speed
The blastie’s makin:
Thae winks an’ finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice takin.

O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae mony a blunder free us,
An’ foolish notion:
What airs in dress an’ gait wad lea’e us,
An’ ev’n devotion!

A Bottle And Friend

There’s nane that’s blest of human kind,
But the cheerful and the gay, man,
Fal, la, la, la

Here’s a bottle and an honest friend!
What wad ye wish for mair, man?
Wha kens, before his life may end,
What his share may be o’ care, man?

Then catch the moments as they fly,
And use them as ye ought, man:
Believe me, happiness is shy,
And comes not aye when sought, man. 

Anna, Thy Charms

Anna, thy charms my bosom fire,
And waste my soul with care;
But ah! how bootless to admire,
When fated to despair!

Yet in thy presence, lovely Fair,
To hope may be forgiven;
For sure ’twere impious to despair
So much in sight of heaven.

A red, red, rose
O my Luve’s like a red, red rose,
That’s newly sprung in June:
O my Luve’s like the melodie,
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve!
And fare-thee-weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ ’twere ten thousand mile!

Address To A Haggis

Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o’ the pudding-race!
Aboon them a’ yet tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o’a grace
As lang’s my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin was help to mend a mill
In time o’need,
While thro’ your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An’ cut you up wi’ ready sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like ony ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin’, rich!

Then, horn for horn, they stretch an’ strive:
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
Bethankit! hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad make her spew
Wi’ perfect sconner,
Looks down wi’ sneering, scornfu’ view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckles as wither’d rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash;
His nieve a nit;
Thro’ blody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread.
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He’ll mak it whissle;
An’ legs an’ arms, an’ hands will sned,
Like taps o’ trissle.

Ye Pow’rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o’ fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer
Gie her a haggis! 

To A Mouse, On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough

Wee, sleekit, cow’rin, tim’rous beastie,
O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi’ bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee,
Wi’ murd’ring pattle!

I’m truly sorry man’s dominion,
Has broken nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An’ fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave
‘S a sma’ request;
I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave,
An’ never miss’t!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
It’s silly wa’s the win’s are strewin!
An’ naething, now, to big a new ane,
O’ foggage green!
An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin,
Baith snell an’ keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste,
An’ weary winter comin fast,
An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell-
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro’ thy cell.

That wee bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble,
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter’s sleety dribble,
An’ cranreuch cauld!

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain;
The best-laid schemes o’ mice an ‘men
Gang aft agley,
An’lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
For promis’d joy!

Still thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me
The present only toucheth thee:
But, Och! I backward cast my e’e.
On prospects drear!
An’ forward, tho’ I canna see,
I guess an’ fear!

Auld Lang Syne (an old favourite!)
    
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup of kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?

And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp,
And surely I’ll be mine,
And we’ll tak a cup o kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pou’d the gowans fine,
But we’ve wander’d monie a weary fit,
Sin auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidl’d in the burn
Frae morning sun till dine,
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
Sin auld lang syne.

And there’s a hand my trusty fiere,
And gie’s a hand o thine,
And we’ll tak a right guid-willie waught,
For auld lang syne.

I came across an inspirational article about “working nomads”, who combine a love of travelling with working from their laptop. Thanks to new technology, they can work from most places in the world. And the fact that they earn money from their laptops lifts their status from “bum” to “mobile entrepreneur”.

This got me thinking. Trying to achieve a life less ordinary or more creative can seem impossible at times, but is achievable. I think the first step is to imagine another life for yourself and see yourself doing it.

Ask yourself a few questions: If I didn’t work in my 9-5 job, what would I be doing instead? If I had an alternative lifestyle, what would it be? If you are sitting at your desk thinking, if I were at home I would be…, then that is a start.

For me, I love the internet and all the opportunities it offers. It is not just a form of communication but a way of meeting people with common goals, finding inspiration and getting advice from complete strangers. It blows my mind how much information is actually on there and it is all accessible for the price of your broadband connection or an hour’s session at the local internet cafe. Where else could you just type in a keyword and masses of information appears at your fingertips?

I had a “vision” of my creative life a few years ago. It would consist of working online, building websites, marketing websites and offering advice to others. It would also involve a passion for all things arty crafty, creative writing and a love of nature, gardens and travel. My first step is this blog and website.

My learning curve has been steep over the last couple of years: I’ve learnt web design, writing for the web, how to edit photos, marketing advice and I’m still learning. Next, I’m going to learn how to provide animation for websites (using Flash), so watch this space for my first attempts.

If you don’t have a clue what you would do, then start with something very simple. If say for example you wanted to start working from home, imagine what your “home office” would be like. I have a friend who described her ideal vision for her place to write as a desk with a line of terracotta pots and plants on a shelf in front of her. We used to work together in an office and used to laugh at the thought of her terracotta pots. She now has a shed in the garden, with said desk, potted plants and a laptop. Her vision became a reality and she has the space to be creative.

My vision for my ideal working space would be to have the radio playing music (preferably Justin Timberlake) in the background and a desk in a corner of the room with great views of a stunning landscape/beach. Next to my desk would be a kettle for making tea and an endless supply of dark chocolate digestive biscuits/Kitkats. I would also have a “creative hammock”, where if in need of inspiration or respite I would plonk myself for half an hour or so, before continuing to work. The hammock would be strung between two palm trees. If you have got this far you are probably laughing by now, but for some this ideal of working outside of the conventional office setting is a reality. Those palm trees are beckoning…

I tried to find a local book club recently that was accessible during the hours I’m available, usually weekends and not too far from where I live. The local library used to do one, but not anymore. Well what to do next? Bookclubs are not always that easy to organise due to the logistics of finding somewhere to meet, agreeing on which books to read, getting people to read them and so on.

However, as with most things nowadays, there is a virtual solution to this desire for literary discussion in the form of two websites: http://www.librarything.com and http://www.shelfari.com Both websites offer users the ability to catalogue their favourite books or those that they are currently reading, offer literary critiques, join groups and get into virtual fights on online forums.

After snooping around the sites for half an hour or so, I decided that shelfari appealed to me the most. Librarything is very similar in its approach, but shelfari had a clearer structure and attractive design and I liked the fact that you could add your collection of books to your own blog in the form of a virtual shelf. (See below for an example of my shelf. It updates automatically as you add more books. If you click on a book, it takes you to reviews.) For all you bookworms out there, why not give it a go?

Shelfari: Book reviews on Diane’s book blog

For those of you interested in creative writing, there is a glimmer of hope shining on the horizon in the form of websites that provide a potential showcase of your work. The slush pile for many publishers is not only getting too high and too much for them to physically deal with, they seem to be wanting to abandon it altogether, preferring to get new writers from agents instead. Not good news for aspiring writers whose work is destined never to be read. YouWriteOn.com is a website started in January 2006 that allows people to submit their writing for review by their peers. After five reviews the work is entered onto their ranking system and the top five are given feedback from professionals. Harper Collins is also developing a similar type of website authonomy.com as a forward-thinking source of potential new writers.

If poetry is your bag then abctales.com is a place for poets to read, share and discuss poems and short stories. Writers can also submit a synopsis and two consecutive chapters to thefrontlist.com. The best are referred to an agency. So there’s nothing to lose and the worst that can happen is that your writing can improve. I might even dust off my science fiction novel that has been festering under my bed for the last six years…