About Me

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If you like short, fiery, red haired East Londoners who now reside in Norwich that have a penchant for video games, board games and filmmaking then you've come to the right place, my friend. I write a fortnightly column about video games for Forces of Geek and I write, direct, edit and film with Cheesemint Productions, my production company. You can search for us on YouTube, you know how the Internet works, right? This blog, Excuse Me While I Geek Out is a place to collect my column pieces for Forces Of Geek and anything I've written for other websites and publications as well as being a place to write about all things geek. My other blog, For All Or None is a cathartic activity dedicated to my mental health and I write openly and honestly about deeply personal psychological issues that effect me. It's an mental outlet so doesn't necessarily require readers especially as it will no doubt be full of grammatical errors, nonsense and spelling mistakes.

She appears composed, so she is, I suppose

Hi there,

Welcome to this unorganised collection of my writings, thoughts, creative notes and ramblings. It may not be coherent and at times may be a little hard to follow. Such is the nature of language and I'm not writing for anyone else, just myself, in an attempt to organise my thoughts and to aid me with my creative work but please feel free to peruse and comment if you wish to do so.

XO,

Emma-Jane

Sunday, 14 November 2010

Goodbye RAF Marham?

I will be sad if RAF Marham is closed. I found my ATC camp photo from 2000 the other day. Some great memories...the camp where I met some amazing people, learnt to fire an L98 rifle, do some work experience in the armoury and the media department and to top it all off I got to sit in a Tornado GR4. I'm feeling all sentimental for my air cadet days, I really do miss it.

Goodbye RAF Marham...I hope not.

Saturday, 13 November 2010

Napoleon

I've never claimed to be a writer, but it occured to me that lately I've been solely focusing on Cheesemint projects in my blog...yet writing is another creative outlet which I usually keep to myself (it's usually in the form of some crappy angst ridden poetry - I sometimes think I could be a teenage boy - or just some obscure rambling about religion or pseudo-psychology). But I had the urge to write something...anything. So here it is. Not sure why either, I bloody hate Jack Russell's - annoying little yappy ankle snappers...and the name Karen...ergh. Makes me wonder about the goings on of my mind. Anyone out there care to analyse my story?

It's called Napoleon and yet again...it was the first name for a dog I could think of. Which again makes me want to question...you get the idea...over analytical, much? Anyway...here it is. Oh, on more thing, it's not spellchecked and my grammar is probably awful.

Napoleon

Warm rays of sunshine poured into her office fragmented through the dust-covered aluminium blinds. She sipped her lukewarm coffee, black, no sugar, and closed her eyes to bask in the heat. A heavy sigh left her lungs as she took in her surroundings. Oppressive, cold and cramped, that was what the company had given Karen in exchange for an unfairly proportioned increase in paperwork. It was a meticulous work load and she knew it was worth more than her meagre wage covered. Still, it paid the rent and fed the cat and with no immediate family to worry about Karen felt no real obligation to complain. It all seemed like too much bother to her, so she lived a frugal, simple life and it suited her just fine. She gazed through the gaps of the blinds, which she often envisioned as bars of a prison cell, locked away from the outside world and the passing hours of the day. She wondered what it was about the outside world that was really so appealing, after all, she hardly left the house. Yet at work the outside world took on a curious quality. Never quite understanding why, she took comfort in watching people wander past, acting out their daily routine day after day, week after week, going about their business, carrying out their tiresome lives through the same repeated series of monotonous actions as always. Their routines eventually became part of Karen's own routine.

On Mondays at around 11:08am the same alarmingly youthful looking OAP, adorned in a thick layer of matte red lipstick and blue woollen overcoat went by with her little Jack Russell terrier. Karen had grown fond of this dog and had nicknamed it Napoleon because it seemed to her that he was in command, he might have been the one on a lead but he was certainly the one doing the leading- without fail every day Karen watched as the old lady struggled to keep up with him. She never stopped to wonder why this reminded her to fax the previous days figures to head office, but she took it as her cue and wandered off to the dark corner of her office where the fax machine lived, alongside the decorative indoor plant given to her by a family member who no longer knew what to buy her these days. She ran her hands over its waxy leaves, their dark green hue pleasing her, she genuinely liked this gift but she knew that no matter how much she watered it and changed its soil that it would never grow more than half a metre high. This saddened Karen but she had decided that the plants stunted growth would do, because the only other space for it was by the window. The very idea of blocking her only view to the outside world mortified her.

Today was one of the rare days that the old lady and Napoleon were late. On these occasions Karen became fidgety and restless, picking up her assorted knick-knacks and stationery, moving the items back and forth to either side of her desk. Within these intervening moments she could not take her gaze from the window, her screen. She found herself panic stricken and worrying needlessly on their behalf. Eventually, after one full minute of excruciating terror, at 11:09am, they would stroll by and Karen could once again breathe easy. Whenever this same event occurred Karen would wonder if the old lady had stopped off at the post box and felt sure that she was probably correct and needn't have worried, her old lady was writing letters to relatives because she lived alone. Of course! That must have been what kept them. The old lady and her loyal yet feisty companion would never let her down. Karen was absolutely sure that they lived together in a small but cosy bungalow in one of those quiet residential areas of the city, the kind of place where trees lined the road and small children played happily together outside.

Evidently, today was different. 11:09am and the old lady and Napoleon were nowhere to be seen. Karen knew that something must be wrong. She felt uneasy. 11:09, 11:10, 11:11...as the seconds turned to minutes, she was frantic. Her eyes darted from the window to the clock on the otherwise barren white-washed walls, then to the window, then back to the clock, she willed the hands to stop before flicking her eyes over to the window again. Her eyes finally came to rest on her digital desktop clock, fixated with it and unable to pry away her gaze she had no choice but to watch as the small number 1 transformed itself into a 2...11:12am. It was 11.12am! Alarm bells rang out. Where were they?! What could have happened?! Maybe the old lady has been attacked...she could be on the floor unable to get up after a nasty fall or worse...she could even be...but who...who would take care of Napoleon? Oh poor Napoleon! Helpless as his owner lies there motionless, waiting there loyally, hungry and all alone. It was all too much to bear thinking about. Karen felt the tears start, small droplets of liquid fell from her tearducts forming precise little blotches of ink on her overused, scrawled upon notepad, before she knew it she was sobbing inconsolably. “Poor Napoleon! Poor, poor Napoleon!” these, the few words she could force out amid a cascade of tears.

Later that day Karen was made redundant.