How to tweet your life and story in six easy steps.

Luke Neima, the equivalent of Luke Skywalker on ABCtales, asked me about story structure. I gave him the short answer. Each word in a sentence has a weight that makes up the ongoing narrative. I mentioned tropes, flung in a bit of trophallaxis and ended by feeding him the story of my life in which the words which were flew from the page before he could read them. I noted them down quickly, but they didn’t make any sense, but then life never does. Look over my shoulder, I’ve got my arm over them pinning them down.

First memories:

When I was five I stole a gun. Dad got mad and told me told me to take it back and shoot somebody. That way I learned social responsibility and since that day I’ve not shot anyone else.

Setting the scene:

We lived in a house so dirty it was always night. Family portraits were hung facing the wall to keep them clean. Our house, in a derelict street, didn’t smell as much as ooze. I call that stage of my life early fauvism.

Transitions (Sentences always look forwards and backwards):

Early desuetude, of course, led to late desuetude. Dad had a good job breeding lab-rats, but he didn’t know where his work started or ended. They developed diabetes and were heavy smokers, like him. He became strapped to the chair, grew depressed and the rats took over. They ate our shoes and clothes. Our wardrobe squeaked. Even the shadows groaned and moved out. People smashed our windows and shouted in at us, sitting quietly in the parlour, that our house was haunted.

Mum had a foul temper and a war trumpet for a mouth. She would never let them get away with that. She haunted them. Sometimes I take her picture off the wall and look at it. I hung my picture next to hers so we could get closer once more.


We were forced to move, but nobody wanted us in their neighbourhood. Jails were full. The Insane Asylum had stopped taking people that were sane and The Poor House was full of cheap, no-good chisellers. We fell into the official categorisation of the ‘Unlucky Luckies’. We were left in isolation, but they had already gone over budget. Our only option we were told was the office of Remedial Care when only came into effect, retrospectively, when you didn’t need it.

Conflict Resolution:

We took to sleeping outside their office—leaning on each other—listening to the vinyl scratch of a long playing record telling us the long wait was almost over and the short wait would soon begin. We became as immune to it as a Status Quo record.

Clichés and False Moustaches – wrapping up:

Revolution was not about corruption, but apathy. In the chrysalis of waiting we grew wings and became ourselves.


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Share this link if you’re lucky enough to have friends. Share a life.

How to twitter to your friends!

I attended a workshop to help me increase my tweets and sell pledges for my book Lily Poole.  Well, I didn’t actually attend. I live on the planet Pluto and it was in London. You know how crowded London gets and with property prices being what they are and the threat of the Ebola virus. I watched it online, like everybody else.

I made some notes which I’ll share. Here are the notes: Use plenty of hash-tags and tell lots of lies about yourself but make them sound the truth. America is behind, or in front of us by four hours, but as a resident of Pluto we just say Earth is seagull shit away, an opaque knot. Not that we’ve got seagulls here, but you know what I mean.

That got me thinking. Halloween will be with us soon. Get a blond wig and shell suit and, instead of dressing your kids up as a witch, dress them up as Jimmy Savile.

In the twitter class this ‘end goal’ > more sweets. Innovate. Everybody dresses as a witch. That’s boring. I’ll dress as Jimmy Savile. ‘Pictures boost engagement by 40%.’ > more sweets. ‘Ask yourself who is your audience?’

Well, everybody is older when you’re younger. Take the case of Jack. His mother is tearful and angry because he complains that he’s started a new school, is only wee, and  nobody wants to play with him at playtime. Her potential audience is other mothers who have children, who may have experienced that particular difficulty, or that particular situation. I was once wee Jack too. ‘Look for resonance.’

My solution is to # Carl – give wee Jack a knife. Some of my best friends have holes in them and it never done me any harm.

‘Don’t be weird.’ But what if you’re born that way? ‘Don’t make friends for the sake of making friends.’

‘Practical things you can do, make your audience feel important.’ Mrs Lily told me about the party she went to on the Maid of the Loch. It was for an old biddy that came to her social club beside Clydebank library. Her son brought her and she sat wedged between Mrs Lily and her friend, when they had a little meal. They were invited to the old biddy’s 99th birthday party. After the birthday meal, everybody got a 99-cone.

Don’t leave me standing alone in the playground with no pledges. It #cold and nearly #winter.

Pledge now  towards the publication of my book Lily Poole.

Share this page by retweeting or favoriting. I’ll buy you a 99-cone.

Don’t assume that the page you see on screen is the page everybody else sees. Tag on Facebook, or re-post link. Keep those hash-tags working for you.