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Sasha Distan

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  1. Sasha Distan
    This morning I woke up, pretended to eat the imaginary ice cream (green flavour!) that Goblinboy pretended to feed me, got up and fetched Baby Wolfeater from his cot, gave them milk, and went back to bed to snuggle my husband. Dashi joined us, because the best place for a lurcher to be is cuddled on our duvet, and after a little while we were invaded by our small and not so small sons. Then I got up.
     
    It's Sunday, so I abandoned my husband with the small boys, and Dashi and I went to the farm. Many people have told me I'm a lucky bastard, and trust me when I say that I believe them. Our great friends Clare and Christian have rented us (back in April) a little scrap of unused woodland with a pond in it (about an acre all in all, but not all useable) in return for one pig per year - ready for the freezer. So we built a fence (cue swearing, shouting, bleeding) and now we have pigs, six chickens in a run we got for free (score!), a greenhouses we have yet to rebuild (secondhand for nothing), a shed containing the very beginnings of a rabbit tree (meat rabbits, don't get all sappy on me), and a raised bed growing potatoes.
     
    I fed the animals, walked to Copper's field and gave him breakfast, and went for a walk with Dashi and the farm spaniels. It was a good morning.
     
    Then I came home to be greeted by all my boys.
     
    Goblinboy will be three (THREE? where did the time go?) at the end of October, and Wolfeater has just turned one. Goblinboy is all about the talking, playing pretend, the questions (Why is rain?), the learning about hammers and anvils (he's learning from his Daddy. I'm proud), and the helping with absolutely everything (anyone need a tiny gardener?). Wolfeater is walking (properly walking) and has been able to climb the stairs since six months (yeah, we've had no rest), and is busy eating whatever he can lay his hands on and trying out new word-sounds.
     
    And.... now neither of them are napping anymore, and I gotta go.
     
    Oh, and I wrote something. Kitt's been great at keeping my secrets as always. Bye y'all!
  2. Sasha Distan

    Repeat x 1

    By Sasha Distan,

    We might have done something insane. A suspect a lot of you might think so. We have made a mad, crazy, awesome, wonderful, expensive, fabulous, impulsive choice. Again.
    Our little Goblin is currently 17 months old, gorgeous, blond, fluffy, blue-eyed, intent on digging in the dirt, playing with his brother Dashi, pointing excitedly at tractors, ‘helping’ water the garden, and getting to know the sheep and lambs at the farm.
    So we thought we’d get him a sibling – a real human sibling (which in no way diminishes Dashi’s position as his only older brother).
    Yes, we’re insane.
    New Baby will be a blood relative of Goblin, and we will be accepting delivery of them sometime in mid August. Goblin will be 22 months old, we’ll have two in nappies, we won’t be sleeping, life will be harder, more expensive, and potentially more stressful.
    Why on earth have we chosen to do this? I couldn’t tell you. We love being parents to our little man, neither of us would have life any other way now. So why not?
    Sure, every now and then I have a split second desire of student life with clubs and loud music, louder outfits, and flirting with pretty boys. But then, I think the reason I look back so fondly, was because we were young, we’d just got together, and it was fun to be cute and desirable late at night in Brighton. I wouldn’t go back to that life for all the money, all the books, or all the pretty horses in the ‘verse.
    I see dads and mums in the woods, by the beach, in town sometimes, with their gaggle and brood of children in different heights, chatting, squabbling, giggling, sharing ice cream, playing games – and I want that life. Our one boy is perfect and marvellous, but I want him to have siblings to fight with and play with. So here we go.
    If I seem distracted, that’s why.
    As last time, I am not prepared to talk, openly or privately, about the ins, outs, or specifics of how we are going about this, and we thank you in advance for your understanding.
    So, anyone got any advice how to tell the Goblin he’s going to have an even smaller person in his life?
  3. Sasha Distan

    Polling Data

    By Sasha Distan,

    "Lies, damn lies, and statistics" - British PM, B. Disreali (popularised by Mark Twain, and often attributed to him, in a fabulous example of disinformation)
     
    Today is "Brexit Day". For those of you not in the UK or Europe, this might not mean much. Nine months ago we held a referendum to leave the EU, we votes leave, by a significant but narrow margin. Lots of people are pissed off by this - I'm not one of them.
    But whether we stay or go isn't what I want to talk about, what I want to talk about is the reliance on polling data, and the idea we can tell who voted for what.
     
    Lots of statistics say it was the young who voted to stay, and the over 65s who votes to leave (and this is called unfair, because apparently the older generations won't have to life in a separated Britain - as though the average lifespan now isn't 87 or something...). I've also read so-called statistics about what percentages of blacks/Mexicans/women voted for Trump. On both these things, I called bollocks.
    Our votes are private and confidential. At best, all we can say is who voted where. Everything else is guess work. All this data is created from small samplings of the people who chose to talk to to the information gatherers outside polling stations, and who says they're telling the truth? No one can check. And since voting for Brexit, like voting conservative, isn't socially popular, plenty of people will deny they did it, even if they did.
     
    I hate that news outlets publish this data as fact, use it to openly bully certain categories of people in the country. It's bad maths.
     
    Right, now that's out of the way, I'm going to go make a cake.
  4. Sasha Distan
    For those of you who don't know, I teach secondary school Food Technology (which is somewhere between Food Science and the Home Economics some of the older generation may remember). For those of you in the USA, secondary school covers some of middle school and some of high school - ages ranges 11 to 16. In this interestingly exalted position, I get to hear some rather odd things. Over the last few years these have included:
    16yo boy: "Don't cows lay eggs?"
    13yo girl: "Chef... isn't bacon a type of bird?"
    15yo boy: "Chickens come from eggs? Really? Are you sure?"
    14yo boy to his friend: "Dude, c'mon, everyone knows bacon and ham are different animals."
     
    But the things I hear which most often worries me, are students as young as 11 (and, yes, most of them female) telling me during nutrition lesson that I am wrong because: "wheat is poison", "carbs are really bad for you", and "fruit contains sugar". Lots of this, they get from their parents (mostly mothers in questioning) who are on diets and trying to lose weight. They don't like it well I tell them that none of these things are true (not in the way they think they are) and that a healthy diet should contain carbohydrates, wheat is only poisonous if you suffer from coeliac disease, and that the sugar contained in fruit is in no way comparable to processed sugar cane that they pour liberally on everything they eat.
    My big problem, is that so much of this information is not coming from their parents, but from YouTubers, Food Bloggers, and Lifestyle Gurus who have about as many qualifications between them as my dog does (like him, their hearts might be in the right place, but they're talking out their arses much of the time).
     
    There is a trend, on the rise over the last few years, but prevalent for at least a decade or so of fun new dietary fads. Clean Eating, Paleo diet, Raw food, the list goes on and on and on. And most of the people spouting this stuff know... nothing.
     
    My job is to teach children how to cook and why they need to eat foods (other than that they taste nice) and my job is being hampered by the celebrities of the internet. Well bugger.
  5. Sasha Distan

    I'm Back Now

    By Sasha Distan,

    "I went to get paint, and I went to that big bookshop, y'know, Saga Books. And they had coffee and places to sit, and I thought what we really needed was to be more like them..."
     
     
     
    Yes, I'm back.
    Yes, it's really me.
    Yes, I wrote something little, and I though I'd share. Ma thought it was a good idea, but that's not the only reason.
     
    Hello,
    It's been a while, how are y'all? I missed you guys - you know who you are.
    So, I'm a parent now. Here are the facts you get, these and no others. He's ten months old, his birthday is in October, you can call him Goblin, or Goblin Boy, we do. He is the best thing that has ever happened to us. By miles. I love him more than I ever thought possible.
     
    A lot has changed since I've been away, everything and nothing in a way. I have less time than I thought I would, turns out little Goblin's take up a lot of each and every day. I had to give up my horse, Copper and his field-mate have been loaned to a lovely pair of girls who adore them. I miss it, but it wasn't really my choice. I had to sell the truck, the car seat didn't fit safely in it, I bought a Honda CRV, still rugged, but just a bit more sensible. I tiled the upstairs bathroom, I still haven't painted the hall.
    Dashi is huge now, 17 months and still super cute. He loves his little brother, and goblin loves him too.
     
    Life is really really good.
    So how've you all been?
     
    PS: points for guessing the quote, no Googling allowed.
  6. Sasha Distan

    Alone In Bed

    By Sasha Distan,

    So, I’m going to share with you something I don't normally share much - though my characters share their sex lives with you often and graphically. Several of them are quite the exhibitionists!
     
    But we're not here to talk about the boys, the men, and the demons, we're here for me. Now, people tell you all sorts of less-than-fun things when you get married, about how life in the bedroom slowly diminishes and all of that. But it's not true for us. Three years has already flown by, and everything is better than it ever was.
     
    Cris isn't here, he's in Canada (you lucky people, he's over there programming fun military simulators), and in our bedroom, four weeks is a damn long time to sleep alone. His side of the bed is cold and empty, and as I understand it he too is sleeping only on 'his' side of the bed in the hotel. If this was that sort of movie, they'd cut the film and make a montage of us sleeping face to face but missing each other deeply.
     
    Last week, my husband reported to me an interesting thing. He woke up in the morning... naked. He always sleeps in boxers (I'm the nude one). I joked he was missing me in his sleep, and he admitted that when he had awoken, he had found that, whilst asleep, he had rearranged the spare pillows onto my side of the bed, and slept cuddled up to them as though I was there. Oh how my heart aches.
     
    This morning, I had a far more rude awakening. Not being jumped on by the dog, worse than being awoken by the screams of the teething Goblin, but being jolted into consciousness by my brain, at just the moment when I desired no such thing. It was a good dream: Cris was there, we were kissing in that fantastically warm and lazy manner one does in the middle of the night when neither of you are quite fully awake. It was incredibly vivid, the feel of his tongue, the familiar warmth of his body, and just as my hands were exploring the delicious heat south of his navel, my brain kicked me in the gut and forced me awake.
     
    Great, I’m being cock-blocked by my own subconscious. Fucking wonderful.
  7. Sasha Distan

    Cooking For One

    By Sasha Distan,

    Sorry Delia Smith, but One is not Fun. Cooking for one is, after lack of sex, company, and bedtime snuggles, the worst thing about Cris being away is cooking for fucking one.
     
    I would rather not eat than cook for one. I would rather, and generally do, sit on the sofa and eat carrot sticks, chips, and dip, rather than cook for one. To be perfectly honest, I would rather starve than cook for one. I swear there is no more depressing task in the universe.
     
    I don't know how you all do it. I assume it is the threat of starvation and a terrible decline into madness is the only thing which makes you people who live alone cook. I say "you people" but I don't mean it in a bad way - I've just no experience of what your world must be like. I have never lived alone, almost never been an adult of any sort without Cris by my side. I know people who live alone and take joy in their cooking, but I've always been a feeder. There are Turkish grandmothers out there who'd be proud to own me. I like to feed people, to fill the house with warmth and scent and joy. and those of you who have read my stories, especially some of the early ones, will have read all about my food. My kids at school joke I should write a book, or a blog, or something. I smile and mutter I already do.
     
    Maybe there are people rich enough, or who live close enough to metropolis enough, to eat take-out most nights. Maybe there are people who find joy in microwave meals. But whenever I think of cooking for one, all I can hear in my mind is Akhtar from The History Boys, teasing Irwin by saying: "or do you whisk up gourmet meals for one?"
     
    Cooking for one is a thankless task. Hurry home baby.
  8. Sasha Distan

    Over When It's Over

    By Sasha Distan,

    So, my husband has gone away again. Work need him to be in Canada for four whole weeks. He left this morning. Neither of us even pretended to be anything other than devastated. We don't do well apart, over ten years of seeing each other everyday, living together, buying a house and raising our boy together will do that to a couple.
     
    Four long weeks.
     
    Don't get me wrong, I'm more grateful than anyone outside my head could know for the life I have, for the love we share, for the job which offers him happiness, fulfilment, and financial security, but four weeks without him hurts. Hurts more than anyone outside my head could know. But I have to be strong for our son, he has to not be upset that Dada is gone for now. He'll be back, and we'll be waiting.
     
    But I swear to Gods everyone else is scared of that the people who tell me "the time will fly by" all need punching in the mouth. Trust me, last time he was gone, three weeks felt exactly like three weeks. This time, four weeks, will feel exactly like four weeks. Each day is a long day, each night is a long night, and I'm sitting here now, looking at the stairs and knowing when I get up there, the bed will be cold, and there won't be a light on in Cris's office or the sound of tapping. No, there is no joy to be had in sleeping alone.
     
    The time will not fly by, and when he gets home again, I will break down and cry. Big strong cowboys are allowed to cry on their doorsteps, trust me on this.
     
    Oh, and someone at work asked me if I was worried about Cris being away so long, and the temptations of long distance travel for work. I laughed at her, because apparently you're not allowed to deck your colleagues. It would be funny, if it wasn't so fucking offensive.
  9. Sasha Distan
    Today I want to talk about something which mostly everyone thinks doesn't affect me, and much of the time, I am lucky, and I pass by writer's block like a freight train running on a different track while I sit in comfort and tap away on something which more resembles the shinkansen. But to say I have never felt that dread of not starting right, or not finishing, would be a terrible lie.
     
    I'm good at lying, but I don't want to lie to you.
     
    Let's talk about The Last Page, Final Chapters, The End, and how hard it is to say goodbye.
    I'm sitting in front of a story right now, 24,000 words of something which sledge-hammered me around the skull two weeks ago (yes, sorry, I did write all that in 12 days with breaks for Christmas), but which I do not want to finish. Not just because it was supposed be for the spring anthology and is going to be too long to qualify, but because I still don't feel like I know these characters well enough to let them go. But I know I'll have to.
    Finishing is the worst feeling, or one of the worst feelings, I have ever known. Letting go of people you have shared your brain with, your life with, is tough. My characters talk to me in the shower, while I’m trying to eat dinner and converse with my family, hang around while I sleep and insinuate themselves into my life. They latch on, bug me when I'm supposed to be teaching, or marking, or walking the dog, and letting them go means waving goodbye to people who have become great friends. Even if they've only been with me for a little while, it's still hard.
     
    The First Page, In The Beginning, Once Upon A Time, and how to get to know someone.
    Starting can be as hard as finishing, and I doubt I need to explain to any other writer out there, the number of files I have, a thousand words here, four thousand words there, of things which just never got off the ground. Worse still are the ideas which roll around in the mind, sometimes for years, but every time you go to apply them to paper, they drift away, as insubstantial as smoke, the details smearing like warm paint in the bright sun.
    I have a few things I want to start at the moment, but I can't, because I don't know where to start, and something else is holding my back from that first blank page.
     
    Guilt.
     
    Guilt because I have left characters and readers hanging, suspended in mid air, waiting for resolution or continuation, some I have left waiting to fall in love. And that must be painful.
    I feel bad for them, but sometimes trying to dive back in where you left off is worse. You can't grab the thread, the style has changed, and what seemed easy and natural before is now stilted and difficult. The best intentions are all well and good, but coming back is hard.
    So to those readers and those characters, I am sorry. But I'll try. You are not abandoned, and I am on my way. I will do my best to bring you home.
  10. Sasha Distan

    The Hunt

    By Sasha Distan,

    I shoot, I gut, I butcher. I raise animals and I'm OK with killing them. So it should come as no surprise that I like Hunting. And when I say Hunting with a capital H, and because I am, at least technically English, I mean Fox Hunting.
     
    Fox Hunting is not a sport, but an integral part of the culture of the countryside where I'm from. Contrary to popular belief not everyone who rides in a hunt or supports it is rich, or a landowner, or votes Conservative. There are a lot of people poorer than me, some richer. A lot of people far less educated than me, many differently educated than me, some who make me feel stupid - and not just because of their attitudes. I've meet some wonderful, kind, empathic people through the Hunt, and some who are utter dick heads.
     
    Because it is a cultural landmark of many, many people. The social-media sphere of the morally 'correct' would have everyone believe that everyone who supports Hunting is a murderer, an evil person who cares nothing for the land, the animals, the foxes. And yet they could not be more wrong.
     
    Foxes are beautiful, glorious, cunning, irritating and essential creatures. But we took away their top predator, and they have no direct competition, and the weather is generally mild in our land. Foxes can decimate livestock: chickens, ducks, young lambs in the field, and there is only so much fences and gates can do. The hunting ban came into force 11 years ago, and since then drag hunts are the norm. People say we shouldn't bother anymore, but the hounds need to run, and the mere presence of Huntsmen, horses, and dogs in the fields wards off the fox and his wiles. After the hunt has come through, we won't see hide nor hair of a fox for weeks.
     
    Today, I took our 14 months old Goblin boy to his very first Hunt meet. It was lovely, the horses shone, the Huntmaster smiled and waved, people cheered. A very VERY large and friendly foxhound came to sniff at Dashi, then the buggy, then rested his chin next to Goblin's face and my son stared and giggled at him. It was a beautiful moment, I wish I had pictures. I have every faith that big, unfamiliar, and fluffy dog would have posed no risk to my little boy at all. Dashi was rather in-awe of him.
     
    Long may we continue to see the horses ride out in their splendour with the baying of the hounds. One day my son might ride with them.
  11. Sasha Distan
    So let's dive right in and make people angry: I fucking hate most gay fiction book covers and story promo images used online. I detest them. They're shit.
    I see some ridiculous things, some terrible things, and some things which are generally pathetic. I have beef with people simply taking images from google and shoving them together in paint or Photoshop with no hint of care or artistry. I have issues with shit fonts which look like they were worked in wordart circa 2000. But mostly:
     
    Bollocks to stereotypes.
     
    I see it all the time. Readers and writers alike complaining that gay fiction is marginalised, that no one takes erotic writing seriously, that we're too niche for most people to care much about the craft of writing, because there's so much shit to wade through to find anything good (this site totally helps with the last of those problems). Lots of people, even those who read gay fiction, say that it's all generic, and it's just about the sex.
    And when you look at most of the so-call story 'art' which the authors themselves post alongside their writing, you'd be inclined to agree with them.
     
    Here's how to create the world's most artless, generic, gay fiction book cover.
    1) hot, shirtless torso, usually with extreme shadowing, often without a proper face
    2) second, often also topless, moody looking guy
    3) jeans with an open or half open fly
    4) terrible font which clashes colours, doesn't compliment, and doesn't obey physics, placement, or colour theory
    5) optional image of an animal, often with "artistic" tribal or computer generated noise to make it look like a sketch
     
    Step away from Photoshop and gettyimages people, and go find yourselves someone with a level of competency in design to make art for you. And yes, you'll have to pay them. Artist's need to eat and pay rent too.
    If we keep perpetrating the stereotype that all gay fiction can be summed up with two anonymous shirtless hunks taken from a free image library on the web, then we can't complain when people shove us into a little pigeon hole out of the way and say we're all the same.
     
    Well, I can, and I fucking will.
  12. Sasha Distan
    Husband comes home tomorrow. It's been a long time, and it seems like forever since I wrote to tell you all he was leaving. Home tomorrow, and it stills feels like forever away. I have to get through another long night with the bed cold and empty next to me until Dashi jumps up onto it and snugs so hard into my shoulder he practically pushes me out. Another morning walking with the Goblin strapped to my back, trying to convince the teething Goblin to eat breakfast. One more moment when I will get up, get out of the house, and pretend I'm totally fine.
     
    Because that's what I've been doing.
     
    "I'm fine." These are my default words, my automatic reply setting. I hate people asking me how I am, because I might tell them, and that's not the kind of person I am.
     
    I think my best moment over the past three weeks was finally getting the double height wall which goes up our stairs painted. It is bright lemon yellow, and the deep inside edge around the window is gold. It reflects the light beautifully, but I tonally matched the colours well enough that it's not glaring and crass.
     
    Worst moment? Oh, that's easy. I call it Tuesday morning. Goblin had a bad night, I didn't sleep. We'd had Young Sir's one year health check the previous day with a woman I hate, who I feel always judges me for my parenting style, which is somewhere between the way I treat the dog, and how I am generally. I'll snuggle and blow raspberries with my son, but when he tries to sit up under the table and bumps his head, I just shrug and go "Well, that's how he'll learn." The woman doing the check wanted to talk the whole time about Cris being away, and wanted to let me know there was help for me. I don't need her damn help. I have friends for that (and they've been amazing).
    So back to Tuesday:
    Got to work. Got asked 8 times if I was OK. Failed three times to print a damn picture I needed to give my students lesson 1 . Got asked by my boss if was OK, and snapped at him. got a shirty reply that he was just 'being polite'. Felt like a dick afterwards. Snapped in reprographics when said images failed to print AGAIN! Realised I had three product analysis lessons and had to products to analyse because I hadn't been out to get them, what with being super tired and having to take Goblin to childminders and Dashi to kennels. My head of House Nick came in to ask me something desperately unimportant about chickens while I was super busy dealing with my lessons and trying to rejig the scheme of work. He asked if there was anything he could do. My reply "Unless you can magic up some more hours where I can get some damn sleep and not be the only person worrying about my son, then no!" and then I cried. I cried in front of my Head of House. and he's a nice guy and all, but I do not want to be that person. I don't want anyone I work with to think I can't cope. I trade on being the one people go to because whatever else is going on, you know you can always throw Sasha five more tasks, and everything will always get done. and by this time, it was only 8.32am

    So yeah, I know when my worst moment was. Easily.
     
    People have told me for the last three weeks to make the most of Cris being away and do all the things I can't normally. I don't understand this, we don't have secret single behaviours. We've been together since we were 18, so everything we do we can do together, apart, separately and in the same room etc etc.
    what the one thing that's different? I can watch porn without headphones on. (No, we're not one of those couples who share porn, we like different things).
     
    I'm so ready for him to come home.
     
    Hurry home babe, your boys miss you.
  13. Sasha Distan
    The husband leaves at 10am tomorrow morning. I have plans, I have friends coming to stay, I have my family and his family all telling me to come over whenever. I think they think it'll all be fine. I'll be busy, between the Goblin and the dog, we've a lot on. And I have work.
     
    But I see the sunsets and the long nights ahead, and that's where being alone scares me a little bit. We haven't spent more than 5 nights alone in a decade, and he's going to be gone for three weeks. I'm not going pretend there aren't upsides: I can get his Christmas present made, I can have Goblin's godmother stay over, I get the whole bed to myself (and Dashi), and I get private midnight fantasy time with my left hand.
     
    I'm going to borrow from Jason Aldean when I say, that I get up and face the day just fine all my myself. No one I work with will ever know anything is wrong. I can get done whatever it is the day needs, the house will still be standing, the washing will get done, everyone will be fed and walked and watered. I expect to most people, I won't even seem lonely, after all, there will still be three of us in the house.
     
    I haven't slept alone in years. Even when I took young sir and the dog camping, Fox and I shared an air bed. We always do, and I think nothing of it. I'm trying to count backwards right now and figure out the last time I slept alone... the night before we got married, and I wouldn't describe that as sleeping, more like tossing and turning. That was over three years ago.
     
    So if you see me alone at three in the morning ad I tell you I'm fine, nod along and smile, but don't believe me. I don't do lonely well.
  14. Sasha Distan

    Life Changes Sometimes

    By Sasha Distan,

    I've been gone for a pretty long time. Hi guys... remember me?
     
    When I bowed out back in March, it was because we were getting prepped to move house. We bought a three bed semi-detached with a little garden and had to leave the big wild - we didn't go far, but houses in very rural Sussex are deeply expensive.
    We moved the day before my birthday, so I get to say I bought myself the most expensive birthday present ever!
     
    So we bought a house, got some chickens, and in April I finally got the thing I'd waited my whole life for: Dashi is now not quite 6 months old, a gorgeous little lurcher pup bred by friends of ours from the farm. I got to choose him when he was only 3 1/2 weeks old, and he is the most adorable creature. His mother is a rabbit dog, and Dashi is going to be trained up to be a fast little hunter too. He's already damn quick.
     
    So we've been busy, but I'm sorry to say, but I'm not back. This is not me returning happy and triumphant, even though I am deeply happy and triumphant. Dashi is sleeping by the back door, I'm sat on the sofa, and we are content. Cris got a better job, one he likes better, involves more high level coding and more money. Plus he likes his co-workers. I finally finished re-writing the key stage 3 scheme of work for school (it only took 4 months!), and spent an inordinate amount of money on an enormous american double door fridge freezer.
     
    But I'm not back. And here's why:
     
    We're about to become parents. Not dog parents, but real full on actual parents. Soon, really soon. And we're both sort of terrified, and excited, and amazed. So I'm going to work on being prepared for becoming a parent, and maybe someday I'll be back again.
     
    Thank you for everything. Thank you for being there for me, for reading, responding, and enjoying the work. Thank you for being patient, and kind, and a million other things.
    And now you'll have to excuse me, because I have to go fight the instruction manual and build a crib.
     
    love Sasha xxx
  15. Sasha Distan
    So I've not been about. This is not my fault.
     
    1) our internet got cut off 5 days before we moved
    2) we moved house
    3) school blocked GA from all school computers
    4) despite having moved in on the 2nd May, our internet didn't get connected until TODAY!
     
    Normal people are irrational and grumpy without the web, so can you imagine what my life has been like living with a first-class grade-a bona-fide geek-nerd and programmer without internet? He's been in hell. Oh goody.
     
    The house is bliss, and very nearly perfect.
    I've painted the front door John Deere green, then we had 2 solid days without water when the water main under the A22 snapped, flooded the road and left 10,00 homes without any running water (makes a mockery of finally owning more than one toilet when you can't use any of them), I bought a chicken coop, which I need to convert before the chickens arrive this weekend.
    I'm not even close to being fully set up in the kitchen yet!
     
    And then there's Dashi.
    Follow me if you will. My riding buddy Clare has a son called Dylan. Dylan's best friend Charlie (always known as Weller) has a beautiful long haired lurcher called Kelly. Kelly is his gun and running dog, which for the uninitiated does not mean she goes running with him. Kelly hunts for him, because a lurcher is fast enough to catch a rabbit which hasn't been shot. In Ireland they use Greyhounds and lurchers in hare coursing, a sport in which the hare is now given a head start because otherwise the dogs win too often. Kelly is a good hunter, and Weller eats a lot of rabbit (he's also a cracking good shot - through the eye socket with an air rifle and practices on 5p pieces at 200 yards).
    A lurcher is not a specific breed, but a mix of sighthounds and other working dogs. Kelly has greyhound, whippet, and Beddlington terrier in her background, which makes for wonderful robust health and very fast dogs.
    And Kelly had puppies.
    The sire is a lovely boy, also fawn coloured, with collie, greyhound and other stuff in his genetic make up, and I have also met the grandsire and the bitch's sister, who are all owned by Weller's family and his parents-in-law.
     
    The puppies are 4 weeks old today, and as of last friday, one of them is mine. Obviously Dashi isn't home with us yet, because he's only little, and unlike his brother's and sister, he is black, tan and white, with orange eyebrow spots and little white paws. I love him into tiny pieces already.
    I've waited so long for my pup; he's going to be perfect.
     
    and yes, I'm going to train him to do what his mother does so well, and be a loving, loyal family pet who kills rabbits for us to eat.
    Pictures of little Dashi are on my twitter @sashadistan because GA and image hosting no longer seems to be such a useful thing.
  16. Sasha Distan

    Without A Hitch

    By Sasha Distan,

    I should have known better. Really, I should of, but I didn't. I had faith that everything would be A-OK.
    We found a house, we put reservation money on it, we could afford it, we got the mortgage, we chose our options, they built my house (and my kitchen) just the way I wanted it.
     
    And then the fuck-up happened.
     
    Here I am, sitting in a land of boxes, with two plates and one saucepan in my stripped out kitchen, and instead of surviving like this for another day, we have to manage for another eight. Eight days. Fuck.
     
    I rang the solicitors Monday and prepped them for an early move in date, the 25th.
    The BCR (build complete record, something all new build houses in this country have to have before the bank deems them worthy of the agreed mortgage) was signed off ans sent Tuesday.
    I got a call Tuesday at the farm from the solicitors to confirm we wanted to complete on Friday. So far, so good, right?
    Wrong.
    Confirmation email today: completion date 1st May. NEXT Friday. We can't move into the house, because it's not legally ours.
     
    It does turn out that you can re-sort your entire move and all your friends in an hour and a half, but I did a lot of grovelling on the phone in that time. Damn I'm lucky to have some good friends.
  17. Sasha Distan

    Cowboy Summer

    By Sasha Distan,

    So it is that we move into the final stages of editing a novella I wrote, and many of you enjoyed, in 2013. Cowboy summer has since been through the editorial wringer, combed over in fine and nagging details by the lovely Rustle, then nit-picked to within an inch of my life by Kitt. I have lost count of how many times it's been read through, how many times I've stared at the words trying to find errors and fix grammatical issues. Now it is with Vinnie, the man who did the final checks on the published issue of Born Wolf, and my oldest friend, for a last clean-up.
     
    And soon it'll be time, and we'll have another paperback and e-book out for you all to partake of if you wish.
     
    Some people think that all these stages should happen regardless, but the reality is that no one works for free, not really, and the hours involved in a full publishing edit are insanely high. People who buy the book (regardless of format) do get more for their money, something just that bit more polished, something with covers and sleek formatting, and my adoration and love. Not that those who read online doesn't get love too, and just as much.
     
    Cowboy Summer is a book very close to my heart, because despite the fact that Shura is a dapple grey quarter horse, and I cannot race around barrels or throw a lasso to save my life, it is a story almost entirely inspired by the horse I love. Copper taught me a huge amount, about horses, about riding, and about myself as a person. There were others too: Christian taught me about the art of long reining, my sister explained long and hard over skype about the right technique to throw a lasso, Ma showed me how to ask with my heels rather than the reins. But it was Copper who put in the hours with me: stood in the pouring rain while we waited to cross the road, argued back when I asked wrong, and taught me what it was to fly. He is an older boy now than he was the day we came to the start of a hedge line and in one and the same breath we both decided to run as fast as we could. I never asked, he never told, but I felt his pulse through my legs where we touched and there was nothing either of us wanted to do other than go together. I know how Rhyder Markey feels about his horse, because you couldn't make me choose between the horse and the man I love.
     
    So off we go, to share another part of ourselves with the universe at large.
  18. Sasha Distan

    Unbearable Joy

    By Sasha Distan,

    We just finished watching The Theory of Everything, about the life of Professor Stephen Hawing and his wife. Afterwards I cried, and I couldn't explain it to Cris. Right then was another moment when I realized how really wonderful my husband was, because he just said he loved me, and didn't ask why a film about a physicist had left his big strong cowboy in tears.
     
    And the reason is this. The film made me infinitely sad, because the love powerful enough to make one person love another even though one of them is dying (he was predicted a life expectancy of 2 years when diagnosed with MND), was still not strong enough to overcome the obstacles the disease brought to them. It still wasn't enough.
     
    In awful moments, I wonder if there is a love strong enough to withstand time and the universe, and if it wasn't for the proof I have encountered, I doubt I could write the all consuming adoration that I do.
     
    My godparents have only ever been with each other, they have been together 35 years.
    Both my parents, and Cris's parents, are still married, and still happy.
     
    And then there's the grandparents.
     
    A little while ago I told you all that I hoped the two of them could go together, and that is just how it went. Grandfather passed away from pneumonia with complications, and two weeks later his wife of 80 years died in her sleep. The first thing she said to my father in law when he told her of her husbands passing was "I wish he could come back, to show me how to join him". It was a very grandma thing to say.
    They will be buried together, one grave and one service, next Thursday, and I will stand there all in black and fall to pieces in front of everyone who loved them. I will not be the only one. I am not crying for their loss, not really. They wanted to go, they were tired, life had lost it's glory for them. I am crying for the love they had, the adoration that kept them together, even though they came from completely different worlds. Grandma was Scottish, grandfather was Chinese, and looking at the pictures of them when they were younger even than Cris and I, you can see the adoration they felt for each other. and it is right there is the last ever picture of them both, taken by my brother in law at Christmas over my shoulder. They never stopped adoring each other.
     
    I don't know what I believe happens afterwards, but I know that whatever it is, they are not meant to be apart.Love that strong cannot simply die. Somehow, and I have no mathematical equation to deal with this, though I wish I did, that love must transcend the laws of physics. There can be no other explanation.
  19. Sasha Distan
    People tell me I write beautiful things, wonderful things, adorable things. And I hope this is all true. But I also write awful things, painful things, terrible things. And these are true too.
     
    There tends to be a lot of discussions about what makes good writing, and so often I find myself coming back to that immortal phrase "Write what you know." I might not have grown up in the hayfields of Texas, or ridden in the rodeo, or fallen desperately in love with a beautiful girl in the back of a truck; but everything I write is true.
    I know that pain. Feeling your insides trying to rip themselves out from your ribcage. Being so full of anger and pain that it chokes you so you can't speak.
    I know the loss. Finding the bottom of your world falling out and leaving you groundless, sunken on the floor with your knees not working.
    I am right there with you through the amazing highs. When you're so dizzy with the joy and fierce fire of adoration that the world seems to made of nothing else.
     
    We were always told not to be mean, not to be cruel; but it doesn't matter if it's true. I commit character assassination on a daily basis. Those people I write who you love to hate, most of them are real, at least in part. All of them have done things, terrible things, and for their sins I will do as Chaucer did, and immortalise them in fiction. Every pimple and every character flaw. Naked for eternity.
     
    The things I write are true, some more than others, and so it is important to me that you know just how special each and every review it to me. I am just a kid, well, not so much a kid anymore, sending things out into the big wide world. And without those of you who write back, that would be all it is: just me and my laptop, sitting on the sofa, and writing.
     
    I have no tact, you should no that by now, and I am unashamedly proud of what I do. You don't get this many rep points and recognition without being proud of yourself. And we're always being told to be proud, aren't we? I have no tact; but thank you. Will all my broken adoration; THANK YOU.
  20. Sasha Distan
    First off, this entry took forever to write because of all the typos. If any make it through, do forgive me.
     
    I write, it's what I do. And because I spend so long doing it, I am very aware of how I type, the motions I make, and the relationship I have with a keyboard. For a long time now it has shocked and appalled me that most people never think twice about their keyboard. They want a machine with all the fancy specs, but they don't care, or know, anything about the main interface they are going to use to interact with the thing.
     
    Most of (you) will be using touch screens for your browsing by now, but I doubt that many are using that to actually type anything. And trust me, what you're using at work will be a standard, shitty, 'squashy' keyboard. Lever up a key, any key, and underneath in a little silicone nubbin. When pressed, it makes the electrical circuit and you get a letter. That silicone nubbin is the bane of my life right now.
     
    I am a haptic, tactile, touch sensitive person, and so I bought the most wonderful keyboard. And when I say wonderful, I mean mechanical. Now if you don't understand what this means, I pity you, and look it up. But basically a mechanical keyboard uses actual mechanisms so that when you push a key something happens underneath. There are lots of different switches, for those who like tacky, or hard, or clacky, or soft but loud, or a dozen other sorts besides. I have (had) Cherry ML switches, which make a 'soft' noise but give great feedback.
     
    For those of you who are now confused, this means that the keystroke registers before the key is fully depressed, which gives 'bounce' to the typing. The upshot of this was an increase in typing speed of 30%. Yes, thirty percent. A third faster, just by switching to a keyboard designed to actually be used rather than one produced for cheap. I kid you not (and everyone wonders how I write so fast).
     
    And being carried out in my bag everyday for two years has taken it's toll. Not on the keyboard, but on the cable, which has died somewhere inside, rendering the whole thing useless. I am going to be forced to do some creative slicing to fix it. In the mean time, I am stuck with the crappy, squashy piece of shit this laptop came with. the keys are flat, there's no feedback, I miss keys all over the shop, and the shift is just too far right and I always hit \ instead.
     
    So here I am with my dying laptop (he's old now), and my rubbish keys, and ideas which were moving too fast for my fingers before I lost a third of my efficiency. But I am a writer, and therefore I will be here, writing, regardless.
  21. Sasha Distan

    Let's Go Together

    By Sasha Distan,

    Cris's grandparents are dying.
     
    I haven't had grandparents since I was 13, and they weren't the type who were around, or who looked after us when we were kids or anything. I was so scared when I first met Cris's grandparents (back when he was still my boyfriend) because I knew how much he loved them, how involved they were in his life, and I was petrified I wouldn't measure up somehow. But it didn't happen, we had ceramics in common, and I got attached to them really quickly. We get on like a house on fire.
     
    But time moves on, and they are both 94 now. Grandma had cancer last year, and now she has stage 2 brain cancer. But she is happy, she says it's time. Today we received a call from Cris's dad that grandpa is in hospital, and he is very ill.
    After I finished having a cry that I am about to lose the only grandparents I have ever really known, and that Cris is losing family he loves, and knowing that his father is falling apart at the seams but trying to be strong and stoic like his parents taught him - I said to Cris that I am sort of glad.
     
    And he understood, and agreed. They have love each other for more than 80 years, have raised two wonderful sons, five beautiful grandchildren, two great-grandchildren. They lived to see us married, have visited strange and wonderful places all over the world, fought in and survived the war, met amazing people, and adored each other their whole lives.
     
    It is time to say goodbye, whilst they are both still themselves, whilst they are still together. And even though I don't want grandpa to be in hospital, I don't think either of them wants to live without the other, not for a month, not for a week if they have any say in it. People don't like to discuss it, it is a topic much hushed, but even on Christmas Day grandma turned to me with a smile and just said;
     
    "We won't have another birthday, sweetie: it's time to go."
     
    So I hope they go together, because I'd rather attend two funerals quickly than know that either of them were being forced to be without the other.
  22. Sasha Distan

    Three Weeks Dead

    By Sasha Distan,

    Everyone, and I mean everyone, said that looking for a house would take forever. My sister in law told us to be prepared to look for a year, others said we would see dozens of properties, and good friends of ours said that we were more than likely to need to spent six months firming up our credit rating. This last was especially worrying, especially since we were told that without any loans or regular credit card actions, our credit rating would likely be lower (purely through being non-existent).
     
    And despite one very judgmental mortgage adviser, a bank who didn't like us, and so many large numbers I went a bit head-blind on the left side, we have it in the bag.
     
    Exactly three weeks after making the decision to buy a house, we have put reservation money down on a semi-detached new build property and spent three hours at the offices looking at options for our new and rather large kitchen. And I'm gonna get exactly what I want.
     
    Solicitor phone call happens tomorrow, and the mortgage brokers come for their meeting Tuesday. The house will be completed (it's not fully built yet) at the end of March to the middle of April, so we'll be all moved in by our birthdays.
     
    Wish us luck, we'll have chickens roosting by the time we cut hay...
  23. Sasha Distan
    It is my understanding that my readers generally consider themselves pretty lucky - because they get 'fed' new stories and chapters on a regular and normally rather speedy basis.
    With yesterday marking the end of Redemption's A Bitch, and tomorrow being the end of the short five chapter Six Billion Credit Rent Boy, a bit of a wait now ensues.
     
    I am writing. The end of Tiger Winter is in sight, and it is massive now, standing around 120K, and into my NaNoWriMo word count I have also managed to insert 8000-odd words for my Chain Reaction Anthology story - so there is that to look forwards to.
     
    But there is going to be a bit of a wait. I have yet to decide what I am going to do with Tiger Winter. It is much too large to go into a multi-book single volume published edition, and due to the general lack of good feeling towards the idea of crowdsourcing, I am not sure which avenue to take.
     
    A lot of people will tell me to just upload it here, for everyone to enjoy, and I am not against that prospect either. I love writing, I love sharing my universes with all of you, and making you happy (or sad, or angry, or mixes of many emotions and hungry to boot), but I want to see my work on a bookshelf one day, not just on the 'shelves' of Amazon. Surely that's not too much to ask?
     
    I do not know of the immediate future regarding this book, I think that TW probably has too much sex to be commercially viable, but who knows. It is hard to make a decision between the love of readers, and the inevitable lack of passion as soon as the word 'money' is mentioned.
     
     
    Take blankets and snacks, and a torch for the dark.
  24. Sasha Distan

    Prolific

    By Sasha Distan,

    Yes, I understand completely if you all hate me after reading this.
     
    With NaNoWrimo coming up, all of my IRL writing friends are planning their novels and gearing up for, what is to them, a challenge of such enormity that it is all they can think of. Now, don't get me wrong, I spend a disproportionate amount of my time both awake and asleep thinking about my characters (because I am a writer, and that's just what we do), but unlike some of my NaNo friends, I don't try and take my holiday time in November so that I can have a hope of winning (on a related note, being a teacher I have about as much control over my work schedule as I do over the phases of the moon). NaNoWriMo is just not a challenge to me, which doesn't mean I don't support the cause (I do), or donate (I do that too), or encourage other writers and buy them drinks (you get the idea...).
     
    NaNoWriMo requires an adult to write 50,000 words in order to qualify as a winner. That's 1667 words a day. Lots of people do not make it, for lots of reasons, but the main one given is always "oh, there just wasn't enough time" - and my reply to this is always thus:
     
    "What the fuck were you doing that took so long?"
     
    Now, I have enough evidence to prove that I am something of an aberration in many ways, I know and do lots of things that are not expected of a person in my position, and I know that among writing communities both on- and off-line I am considered something of a freak, and sometimes a show off.
    And I'm OK with that. Sod it, if I'm not willing to be proud of myself, how on earth do I expect anyone else to be. And I believe that goes for everyone. Pride is not a sin.
     
    So here's my update, a little thing to mark that I have, without competition, or challenge, for no reason whatsoever, and without pushing myself, written 50,000 words in just under four weeks, and mostly kept myself happy with 2500 words a day. For those of wondering what I'm going to give you next, you might be able to tell from those numbers that I am a significant portion into writing Tiger Winter, and not planning on stopping soon.
  25. Sasha Distan

    12 Hours

    By Sasha Distan,

    Open Evening at school. For those without children, this is the time when prospective students and their parents and carers come to the school to look around and hopefully put us down as their first choice. School placements around here are done on a postcode lottery, affected generally only by sibling or family relations at the school.
     
    As the only functional Food Technology teacher in the largest school in the town, it falls to me to get little fingers sticky making meringues and drawing shapes with spun sugar. I made many small children happy and gave them sugar rushes so they could get through the Head's speech.
     
    My helper's were awesome: they worked well with the kids, did the washing up, didn't burn too many batches of sugar, and were generally lovely.
     
    On the other hand, I spent 12 straight hours in my classroom. not moving around the school, not walking to or from anywhere. 12 hours, in a room approximately 20 feet long. And by the time I left the school building, I realised I would be back there in less than 11 hours time.
    I understand that many people work long and longer hours, but dear god if I see that classroom again I think I'm gonna cry.
     
    Also, in preparation for open evening, I constructed 7 corridor displays, 4 classroom displays and 2 whole walls of giant paper cut fruit and vegetables. This is much more than any other member of staff.
     
    And now, I'll sleep.
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