Why I Didn't Become a Programmer Until Now

Prepare yourself for a tragic tale of wasted potential...

As a child, I loved computers. We were a ZX Spectrum family, and my parents both took the time to learn BASIC and write programs for it. They even had listings published in magazines (and my mother these days is referenced on World of Spectrum, thanks to one of her programs being in an issue of 16/48's tape-based magazine). So the groundwork, the opportunity, was there. I dabbled in learning BASIC myself, thanks to an Usborne book or two, though at that age I was mostly content to just type in listings or play commercial games. By the time I was old enough to really consider coding, the Spectrum was already obsolete (sob).

That's not to say I didn't still dabble. I recall, in my first year of secondary school, writing some code on an ancient BBC Micro for a technology project. Something about helping new students to find their way around, if I remember correctly. Coding was an option, so while other people were cutting up wood to make signs I was joining forces with another kid to write a program that would give you directions based on the room number you entered. Fairly simple stuff, though it would have been truly unwieldy if we'd ever tried to write it to handle more than about four rooms.

And then we got to GCSE, and the ill-fated Information Systems course. We were told in advance that this was a hard course; that we needn't think it would just be two years of 'messing about on computers'. It wasn't a course for lazy students looking to muck around. That's what they told us and so, being a diligent, bright student who liked computers, of course I signed up for it.

What I got, sadly, was two years of messing about on computers. The school didn't have any dedicated IT teachers, so the course was taught by Maths and Chemistry teachers in their spare time. That didn't help, but I'm not sure having a proper IT teacher would have made much difference. There wasn't a single piece of coding in the course. We learned instead about how to use ClipArt and snazzy fonts to jazz up a poster for a school fête. We learned about how a computer system could help a supermarket with sales and stock control, but might not be so helpful for a small corner shop because of the costs involved. We possibly learned about the SUM formula in Excel, but no macros or pivot tables or even any of the more interesting formulae.

Looking back, I can see that this wasn't the sort of course I was expecting or even a very useful one to have been taught. At the age of fifteen, though, I lacked that sort of awareness. All I really knew back then was that I'd signed up for a computer course and spent two years utterly bored stiff. I blamed computers for that boredom, rather than the course, and turned my attention to other things at A-Level and at university. Computing was not for me, I decided.

By the time I realised my mistake, while hanging out with CompSci students at university, it was too late. I was already deep into a Philosophy degree, with a minor in Creative Writing, and there was simply no way of altering things. I took a unit in Formal Logic as part of Philosophy, the one unit I received a First for, but that was as close as I got. The door was closed and there was no reopening it.

It didn't entirely stop me trying. I applied for a couple of 'trainee programmer' roles after university, but without success. I dabbled in the odd bit of programming at home, but the trouble with trying to learn code by yourself is that you need an idea of what you want to achieve. I picked up HTML because I could use it to make silly websites with Lego minifigs doing ridiculous things, but I never had the same options available in other languages. There are only so many business reporting exercises you can do out of a textbook before getting bored and going to do something else, if you don't have a teacher standing over you waiting for your results.

And then this opportunity at the COBOL factory came up. And somehow this time I was successful in my application (twelve years of real work experience and a better interview technique may have had something to do with that). So now I've finally been taught to code, in the way I never was before, and I love it. It comes easily to me, somehow, and as happy as that makes me it also makes me sad for what might have been. What might have happened if I'd been given a proper course at GCSE, or if I'd recognised the weaknesses in the course I did do and looked at doing something coding-related at A-Level or with my degree? Have those twelve years of working, frequently in retail jobs for various reasons, been a complete waste of my potential?

Somewhere, there's a parallel universe where I went a different way. And maybe in that universe I minored in CompSci at university and got put off by the mouthbreathing geeks who didn't know how to react to an actual female person in their midst (unlikely, given that I dated a few in my time as it was). Maybe I still failed to get a job in programming and ended up on the same career path anyway. Maybe by now I'd be earning a comparative fortune writing ground-breaking software (something that will never happen while I'm working in COBOL, I know). Sadly, it's the nature of the world that I'll never know what might have happened. But I can be happy to be here at last, and I can certainly learn from my mistakes. I'll be watching Small Girl's interests and potential closely, whatever they may be, to make sure she doesn't get put off from something for the wrong reasons.

And in the mean time, I've got code to write.

Everything is Awesome!!!

Everything is cool when you're part of a team!  And if you don't agree, I can only assume that you haven't seen the Lego Movie yet.  You really should, by the way.

I'm not going to spoil it here.  Instead, I'm going to take advantage of the uncharacteristically upbeat mood I've been left in, and talk about some other things that are awesome.

1).  COBOL is Awesome!

I have four weeks left of my probation period at the COBOL factory, and the current expectation is that I'll pass with flying colours.  In the past five months I've picked up COBOL and JCL with reasonable facility, and I'm finding coding to be remarkably fun.  I haven't enjoyed a job this much in a long time.

2).  Editing is Awesome!

In the past week I've put together over 5,000 words of the second draft of the novel.  That's nowhere near the sort of pace at which I crank out words during November, of course, but it's pretty good for keeping regular life ticking over at the same time.  There will doubtless be further blogging about the process at some point.

3).  Making Stuff is Awesome!

I've already blogged about the cushions I made recently.  No doubt there'll be more in future, since I have crochet on the go and plans for several cool jackets (I'm weirdly obsessed with the idea of making jackets.  Not sure why, but jackets are awesome).  The fireplace in my living room is decorated with crocheted amigurumi and a tiny robot panda made of felt, and I recently rediscovered the pencil tidy I made from clothes pegs in my youth and redeployed it so I won't have to spend quite so much time looking for a pen to do the crossword at the weekend.

4).  This Thing is Awesome!

Look at it.  It's beautiful.

I came across this in a shop window in Kyoto a few years ago, and it's one of the most awesomely steampunk things I've ever seen in real life.  It's an automated machine for making tiny cakes of some description.  Metal rings come down a chute at the back and are positioned on the inner ring of the hot plate.  Batter is squirted in, then they make a full rotation to cook one side before being flipped over onto the outer ring to cook the other side.  After that second rotation they're taken off the hot plate and are ready to go.  The photo doesn't entirely do it justice, because it was absolutely mesmerising to watch.

5).  Lego is Awesome! (Obviously)

Do I really need to say anything here?  I think I'll let this be my final word on the subject:

Cushiony Goodness

For many years there has been, in our house, a cushion with a picture of an elephant hand-embroidered on it whose exact provenance is unknown to me.  Recently, not least as a result of living in the bedroom of a small girl, this is what it looked like:

Yes, that's green felt tip you can see on the cushion itself

Small Girl was, needless to say, somewhat upset by its current state, so I agreed to see what I could do to rescue it.  Electing to focus on salvaging the elephant itself and not worry about the border, I first attacked the cushion cover with scissors.  There were a few small holes in the fabric within the boundaries of the elephant, so I strengthened them with mending tape before putting a layer of interfacing across the whole of the back:

There's felt tip on here too, but it's not so easy to see

The tail, sadly, got a little caught by the fray monster but the rest was rescued reasonably intact.  The next step was to see about transferring it to a new cushion cover.  I gave Small Girl the choice between having something in a matching colour or going for a contrast; she elected for the contrast and requested her favourite colour (blue).  Blue fabric was duly procured and cut to size, and I applied a further layer of interfacing to the reverse of the piece earmarked for the elephant (better safe than sorry).  The elephant was pinned in place, then sewn on using a very short zigzag stitch to cover the edges.  It'll never be the strongest of pieces, but fingers crossed it'll last a while longer now.

Once the elephant was attached, it was a simple enough matter to run round the sides and put in a zip.  Hey presto!  One finished cushion:

I thought I was going to catch the edges of the elephant more than I did

That's not the only cushion I've made recently, either.  For Christmas I got a cross-stitch kit for embroidering a cushion cover in a rather striking design.  Hand-stitching that took the best part of a month, then while I was out buying blue fabric for the elephant I also picked up some different fabric to make the cross-stitich cushion cover, plus a second one so the sofa won't overbalance:

Avast, ye LuBBers!

The skull-and-crossbones cushion is the same yellow on the other side, so when civilised guests come around we can have a smart matching pair on display.  With less civilised company, or if we see a fat Spanish sofa weighted down with gold doubloons, we can hoist our true colours and attack.  These were, again, simple enough to make although stitching through all that canvas and wool took some effort.

Now, if someone could just explain to me: what are they for?!

Measuring my Life in Lampposts

Today I did the final run in the Zombies, Run! training program.  No more drills, no more mandated stretching breaks, just 45 minutes in which to run at least 5k.

Spoiler alert: I did it.  I reckon I covered 5k in just under 38 minutes, which is hardly world-beating but then I did have to walk for some of it.  And much of it was into a massive headwind as well.  Endeavouring to run while the wind is pushing you the other way at 20mph is not exactly easy.  Sheer bloody-mindedness kept me running continuously for very nearly the whole of the first 2k, but it also wore me out to the point where much of the rest was erratic, to say the least.  There's plenty of room to improve on my time if I keep at it.

At times like that, when running is a struggle, and especially since this last run didn't include the handy time checks I've been used to getting every couple of minutes, I make a lot of use of lampposts.  I tell myself that if I can just keep running as far as the next one, then I can slow down and walk to get my breath back.  And when I walk, I tell myself that it's only as far as the next lamppost, and then I'm going to start running again.  And then I'll run again, and I'll run until I'm worn out and think I can't go any further, and I'll make myself go as far as the next lamppost before I slow down.

It's a similar approach to the one I use when writing.  I found a long time ago that if I really want to write without getting distracted then I have to set myself targets.  I write in fifteen minute bursts.  Enough time to get going, not enough time to get bored.  And short enough that I can wait until it's done before I check Twitter or look at funny cat pictures.  I just have to make it to the next lamppost.

Tools of Editing: Part One

Just to prove I am actually following through on that rash declaration of mine...

These tools are actually pretty new to me.  I finally cracked and bought a Kindle just after Christmas, mostly for reading on the bus to and from the COBOL factory every day.  I'd been lugging around 900-odd pages of China Mieville and it was just getting ridiculous.  Now I have something that slips into the front pocket of my bag, doubles as a useful place to store my bus ticket, and lets me read classic French literature for free.

It's also proving a handy way of reading my novel draft without ending up tweaking it.  If I read it on my laptop I'll want to make little amendments here and there, instead of reading it through and getting a feel for the story as a whole.  I'll also have to waste ten minutes of my lunch break booting up and shutting down, but that's by the by.

Instead of tweaking, I'm going all old-fashioned and making pen-and-paper notes of things that strike me as I go through it.  I'm looking at big picture stuff at the moment: plot, pacing and characters.  The fiddly little things will come (much) later.  The notebook pictured was a Christmas present from a fellow writery-type.  When I unwrapped it, she commented that it was practically compulsory for writery-types to buy each other notebooks for Christmas and birthdays.  I agreed heartily, not least because she was just in the process of unwrapping the notebook I'd bought for her...

The pen also has writerly credentials.  It was a gift to mark the completion of five full years as a Municipal Liaison for NaNoWriMo, and is engraved with my username from the website (I could have had it engraved with my real name, but I've been 'Magenta' in various corners of the internet for so long now that I'm actually more likely to answer to that than the name on my birth certificate).  It seems like an appropriate pen to be making notes on a NaNo novel, plus it's not a pen that anyone else in the house can wander off with (always a danger around here).

The notes in the picture are some of the ones I made today, my first day of editing.  Reading through it, I was surprised by how quickly the first part went.  What I read today took the best part of a week to write, and at the time I was itching to get further on into the more exciting parts of the story.  It felt like it was dragging and would be terribly dull to read.  In fact, it seems to whizz through and there's definitely room for expansion.  I always knew I was going to need to put more work into establishing the characters, and it's heartening to see that I can do that without dragging the story down too much.  I'm quite excited to get going now, but first I have to finish the rest of the read-through.

Untitled, like its subject

Every November, I write a terrible novel.

The National NovelWriting Month challenge is reasonably well-known these days, I think, and involves churning out a first draft of at least 50,000 words within the 30 days of November. I've been doing it since 2005, mostly because I find it an absurd amount of fun but also because it affords me the opportunity to transfer the stories in my head onto paper.

One upshot of having done it for so long is that 50,000 words really isn't that much of a challenge any more. It's not that much of a novel by modern standards, either. So I've taken to setting myself harder challenges instead. In 2012 I had ideas for two separate-but-related paranormal romances, one with zombies, one with demons. Rather than choose between them I elected to write them both and aim for 100,000 words in total. Parts of it were undeniably fun; there was zombie sex with parts falling off at inopportune moments; there was tentacle sex with at least fifteen tentacles; and there was a decidedly D/s threesome where the two gentlemen were technically the same person and the lady was under orders to obey one and not the other. Writing that many words in such a short amount of time nearly did for me, though. I struggled with RSI (never normally a problem) and had a massive meltdown in week three when the effort of sustaining the pace finally caught up to me. I made it to the target in the end, but it was only by the skin of my teeth.

So for 2013, 100,000 words was definitely out of the question. Instead I set myself the more manageable target of 75,000 words, but with a determination to get that much out of a single story. Much of what I've written over the years has petered out shortly after 50k, and I was keen to finally write something that would run a little longer. In the end, that story got to 78,000 within November and was finally finished in the following week at around 82,000. It's the longest first draft I've ever written, and I'm surprisingly pleased with it even now.  It's a tricky tale that starts as the story of a bored wife embarking on an illicit affair, takes a sudden left turn into urban fantasy with musings on the philosophy of creativity and ends, as all the best stories do, in betrayal and tragedy.

Why am I talking about this now, in January? It's a long time until next November and the next NaNoWriMo project (for which I'm thinking of tackling gothic horror). It comes back to the idea of challenges. I can write a first draft. I can knock out a story in a month, but it'll be baggy and uneven, and things will change mid-story as ideas suddenly come to me. It's not something I can share, except possibly with a couple of trusted beta readers. I need to get better at editing, at spending the other eleven months of the year putting in the graft that's needed to knock that story into shape, rather than leaving it languishing on my hard drive forever.

So this is my declaration: I will edit this novel, this year. I will put in some effort, and work on those words, until I have something I can be proud of for more than just the speed at which it was written. I say this here, so it's in writing. I can't go back on this pledge now, and anyone who reads this can chase me about it and ask me how it's going. And if it's not going, they can ask me why the hell not and refuse to accept any excuses from me.

I will edit this novel, this year. I will.

Make me.

I've been musing on the concept of exercise lately

This is because I've somehow wound up taking up running.  Thanks to the wonder that is Zombies, Run! I've been working my way through a couch-to-5k program and surprising myself with the results.  Not just in terms of how much further I'm now capable of running after five weeks of training, but also in terms of the fact that I'm five weeks in and still interested in continuing.

I'm not a sporty person.  I lack co-ordination and grace, I'm suspicious of the kind of enthusiasm implied by physical activity, and I was raised to favour intellectual achievements over sporting ones.  And it's only now, having somehow fallen into going for a run, that I realise how far my education fed into my prejudices rather than encouraging me out of them.

Like I said, I'm not co-ordinated.  Nor am I built for speed.  There was no way I was ever going be a natural athlete, no way I could be top of the class at PE in the way that I was top of most other classes.  Where I think PE lessons failed me is in never giving me a way of seeing any kind of improvement.  Regardless of the sport we were doing, I was flailing around at the back somewhere.  Sometimes I wasn't even entirely certain what the rules were, or what I was supposed to be doing.  And because we never seemed to do much in the way of organised training, I could only measure myself by comparison to other people.  And I was always, always down at the bottom.

Now I'm running.  I'm running alone, after dark so no one can see how awkwardly I run, how red my face is or how often I have to stop and walk for a bit.  There's no one to measure myself against, except me.  I may never trouble Mo Farah, but I could leave me from three weeks ago for dust.  That lardarse could hardly run for thirty seconds without gasping for breath.  The difference really is remarkable.  There's only three weeks left in the training scheme, but suddenly that 5k is looking reachable.

I'm not expecting to win any races.  I'm not even expecting to take part in any races (although this one always looks oddly fun - who doesn't want a free fish?).  Mostly I just want to be able to run for the bus without almost dying.  For years I thought that was, if not impossible, then certainly something that would take a lot of effort with no real enjoyment.  I'm still trying to get my head around the idea that it might actually be fun, but there does seem to be something quite satisfying about pounding along the pavement with heavy metal in my ears and zombies on my tail.

And of course, there's something even more satisfying about getting back home and into a nice hot shower afterwards...