Blog takeover day: Marcie Craig

I'm a bit worried about Diane. She's asked me to do this ... thing today, and she seems to forget that I'm a figment of her imagination. To be honest, I'm surprised she still let me loose. I know she's bursting to tell you all some news ...

Most of you already know who I am, but for those who don't ...

My name's Marcie Craig. I'm 32 years old and the only female rock DJ in Birmingham. I've been on the circuit for around 13 years. I can be hired for a hundred quid a night, or one-fifty if I use my own gear. I prefer to use house equipment if I can, because I ride a Harley Davidson.

The Cellar is my regular pitch. It's a poky, sleazy pub at the bottom of a double flight of stone steps. Overhead is one of the biggest small markets in central Birmingham. There's a poorly lit underground car park at the back of the pub – the ideal place to commit a murder ...

I haven't decided yet if I'm going to age disgracefully or if I'm going to be perpetually 32. I like being 32. My story first began in 1996, but Diane recently decided, in her wisdom, that that story never happened and while I have another story to tell, she wants to morph the 2 together. I'm not sure how I feel about that at the moment.

The new story starts in Barnaby III nightclub, affectionately referred to as Barneys. This is 3 storeys of 3 kinds of rock: classic, thrash/metal, and whatever seems to be the latest trend. My floor is the classic floor. I work there on Saturdays.

A book arrived from America last week, I'd Rather Be Writing by Marcia Golub. Diane keeps handling it distastefully by the corners because it's secondhand and stinks of cigarette smoke. But once she gets her nose into it, she's gone. Something in this book asked her to write about her fantasy writing space, and then about her actual writing space. Then the exercise asked her how she could make her actual writing space more like her fantasy writing space to encourage her to spend more time there. Since then, Diane's gone barmy, decluttering the desk area ... and she keeps on stumbling across things I thought I'd hidden.

Hmm. Marcie must try harder.

And now she's in a flurry of activity. Whereas before she was quite happy to laze on the settee, these days, if there's nothing on the telly, and sometimes even if there is, she's still chugging this big box of books around with her and reading and writing. The box is the size of a small town.

Then this bit of news came in last night, and she's rattling on about "cosmic ordering" and looking like the cat that got the cream, or a dog with 2, er, tails. (She warned me not to swear because her dad's reading.) (Hello Diane's dad.) :oD <--- charming, sweet smile.

I'm a bit worried about her.

I'm sure she'll tell you her news tomorrow - if she doesn't manhandle me out the way and hijack my one and only post before the end of today.

In the meantime, happy birthday to Sally Quilford, whose idea this blog takeover was, and thank you for reading.

Oh, and if you want to know more about either of my stories, you know what to do.