Jane IS obsessed with Jane

A good friend of mine - who didn't realise that I was predominantly blogging about Jane Austen - recently told me that she thought the title of my blog was profoundly narcissistic. "Jane Obsessed with Jane"? Oh, how I laughed. Before deleting her number from my phone.

But seriously, while the purpose of this blog is mainly to help me coordinate the research I'm doing on Jane Austen before writing my next novel, "According to Miss Austen", it is also to help me to chart my own progress while writing. You know, one has to "grow" as a writer, and that sort of thing. ;)

Anyway, I put a major growth spurt on today. The title of a blog post by @BubbleCow (read all the details on www.bubblecow.co.uk ) made me come over all peculiar. The post was on the subject of blogging every day if you want to really develop your "brand". As such, it is good advice, as is most of the advice from BubbleCow; but for me, it was the final straw.

I have, of late, missed much sleep and been plagued and vexed by a constant feeling that I've forgotten something - the feeling you get when you've left the iron on. It's been exhausting. Finally, today I realised where it was coming from - myself. I have been lapping up every piece of advice on writing I could find; when, where and what to write; when to blog, whether to tweet, how to network. The end result was guilt and inevitable failure and - you've guessed it - that "left the iron on" feeling.

Overnight, I have entered writing adolescence. F*** you, I won't do what you tell me - and all that. I have rebelled. No more will I slavishly attempt to follow every bit of advice out there, like a biddable eight-year-old. No, I have become that most loathsome of creatures, an adolescent writer! Sure, I'll make mistakes, but they'll be MY mistakes, Goddamnit.

Is this a stage every aspiring writer passes through? Oh boy, I hope so. Please don't let me be the only one - all teenagers might want to be rebels, but only if their friends are too...

With any luck this period of obnoxiousness will be brief, and will culminate in me turning into my mother, as it has in real life. Then I will counsel newbie writers with sage advice, and tut to myself when they don't follow it.

Ten Things You Don't Know About Me

Following @rebeccaebrown and @mruku, and in the manner of the petulant child who cries "Me too! Me too!", here are ten things you didn't know about me.

1. I am a notorious pedant. Oh, you knew that already? Misuse of language and ignorance of punctuation and grammar rile me intensely. I have been known to correct friends and family to their faces when they've committed a malapropism or other error. Come to think of it, it's rather miraculous that I actually still have any friends...

2. However, because I am complex, I also love malapropisms, mispronunciations and examples of redundant apostrophe 's! I delight in them in a horrible, "more grammatical than thou" way. Sometimes I save them and use them over and over again; thus, after more than twenty years, I still call Ferrero Rocher "Ferrickity Rockers" (overheard in a shop) and envelopes will always be "enveolopleves". (Yes, I did see that written down, exactly like that.)

3. I don't get music. Seriously. If there's such a things as musical dyslexia, then I have it. I cannot tell one note from another, nor can I distinguish between the sounds of different musical instruments. When I was in secondary school music was obligatory for the first year. I spent most of that year outside the door of the music room, because the music teacher was convinced that I was taking the piss, and that no-one could be such a complete musical ignoramus. Well, I wasn't and I am. I still don't really do music; I can listen to it for short bursts on a car journey, but at no other time. This is a source of great regret/bewildered bemusement to my very musically inclined, ukulele-playing husband.

4. I can't sing. At all. Probably related to No. 3. When I was five, I took part in a Tops of the Town-type thing, during which I was chosen to be the very special little girl who stood on stage pointing at the star during "Twinkle Twinkle", but who most definitely was not to actually sing. Thankfully, my daughter has a beautiful singing voice. So I'm told.

5. I also can't/don't/won't dance. Seeing a pattern?

6. I am an army brat. I lived in Israel for two years with my family, during a time of considerable unrest and shelling of Israel by the PLO. Being kids, my friends and I were largely oblivious. When a shell landed on the beach, 50 metres from a friend of mine who was launched into the air by the blast but was unhurt, we all thought it was cool. Once, my mother had to leave me at home, sick, while she ran to the shops. She got caught in some shelling and was forced by soldiers to take shelter. When she finally got home some hours later, she was nearly frantic, bursting into the bedroom to see if I was alright, or if I had been terrified. I was buried in a book and hadn't even noticed that she'd been gone.

7. Hmm. Running out of stuff to say. I was the one to propose to my now husband, will that do? At Dun Aonghus, on Inishmore (island off the west of Ireland, stunning cliffs), looking out over the Atlantic on a glorious day. He was silent for a few moments, gazing pensively over the waves; then turned to me and said, "I do." Poor sap. He still doesn't know what hit him.

8. I am a rabid, strident, card-carrying atheist. Oh, you knew that about me too? Don't care, still leaving it as number 8, cos I can't think of another one!

9. I have a Master's degree in Film Studies. The subject of my thesis was male-to-female cross-dressing in Hollywood comedies. I argued that men parodying "femininity" was actually a feminist act, by demonstrating what a contrived construct "femininity" actually is. Fascinating, huh? Got first class honours for it, too. As you can see, it has led me to make my fortune. Not.

10. I am socially phobic. Yes, really. I was formally diagnosed about four years ago. I know, you're all astounded, what with me being so outgoing and amusing and all. However, for years just leaving the house was a massive undertaking; getting on a bus or entering a building full of people caused anxiety attacks. Being able to put a name to my problem has been a massive help and has enabled me to figure out lots of coping mechanisms. That being said, I genuinely love people and am fond of a good natter; but it has to be on my terms or I just won't show up. You have been warned.

Right, there you go; the above is the mixed bag that is me. I'm probably going to regret this...