The second migraine came when I was about 20. I was in our shared student house in Camberwell, and the pain crucified me. I lay on our bed and wondered if I was dying. The noise of The Simpsons coming from the living room below so disturbed me that I couldn’t stop being sick. When I was sick there was a moment of blessed relief, and then the pounding returned. The pulsating consumed the whole of my head, and the vice-like squeeze around it tightened and tightened.

And once that hot, stabbing clench clawed its way into my head, it never really left.

As I’ve got older (I’m 32 now – imagine it. I can’t) the headaches have got worse. In the last couple of years I’ve had a couple of headaches a week, and if I didn’t treat them quickly they’d rapidly turn into a migraine. I always have to have painkillers to hand. First ibuprofen, then codeine and paracetamol, then whatever was the strongest thing I could get my hands on over the counter (to the extent that the pharmacist in East Dulwich Sainsburys accused me of being a drug addict last year. I hope you read this you fucker).

In my mid twenties my GP diagnosed cluster headaches and gave me some Tramadol, but after taking two I was too scared to take any more. They seemed so strong. How I wish I thought that now. They don’t even touch the sides of the pain I’ve had. Triptans do work, but I’m at the point where I need to take one every morning when that familiar, hot tightening begins, just to get through the day. You’re meant to take a maximum, really, of two a month so you don’t get rebound headaches (ones that come from medication). However you look at it, it’s not great.

Having migraines is a pain in the ass. You can’t do anything. You can’t speak to your friends, you can’t watch TV, you can’t read a book – and you certainly can’t write one. All you can do is lie there, in the dark, in pain. Sometimes it’s as if someone has put a dull needle in your eye. Other times the searing throbbing ache grips you so hard that you know your body is making you vomit because it’s a way to expel something. But it doesn’t help. Nothing helps. It’s as if you’ve stopped living. It’s as if the world is going on around you and you’re paralysed. When people describe their migraines as ‘disabling’, it’s not an exaggeration. Your life has stopped, and there’s nothing you can do but wait it out.

This year the migraines have got worse. There’s a school of thought that suggests migraines are referred emotional pain. That we store pain up, and because we haven’t released it, it manifests itself as a physical symptom. Do I believe this? I believe this as much as I believe any suggestion of why people get migraines (stress, weather, food triggers, allergies, alcohol, blah blah blah). But short of getting in a time machine and erasing the last five years of my life (a rollercoaster with more low depths than dizzying heighs), how do I get rid of this emotional pain? How does anyone? We accept it, and we get on with it. Despite being a drama queen, I’m not one for playing the victim. But if I could cleanse myself of the emotional pain I would. I’m just not sure it would help.

In the last year I’ve gone from having a migraine every couple of months to at least two a week. Did my life change? I added a full-time job to the mix. Is it stressful? Absolutely – most jobs are – but it also makes me happy and I enjoy it. Do I think it’s the cause of my migraines? Again, I don’t know, and we’ll never know. All I know is that I’ve worked in a job since I was 20, and I’ve never experienced anything like this. And because I didn’t want to have to quit my job after just starting, and because I was so desperate, I decided to use my medical insurance and went to see a neurologist. Please, if you don’t have medical insurance, do get it. It’s worth it, and not just for the Molton Brown handwash in the hospitals.

I like my neurologist a lot. He’s amusing, he’s good-looking, and he clearly knows his stuff. What I don’t like are the pills he’s put me on. I’ve so far tried Amitriptyline (an anti-depressant), Propranolol (a beta-blocker), and Pizotifen (a benzocycloheptene – ie, an antihistamine. I think). With each of these drugs (prescribed because they’re effective in preventing migraines – not because I’m depressed, have had a heart attack or have allergies), I was given the tiniest dose possible.

With each dose I was fucked. I mean, truly spaced-out fucked. I stopped each before I could really tell if they’d help with the migraines or not. Some people have asked why I didn’t sit it out, why I didn’t wait to see if the side effects calmed down before quitting. But I couldn’t live like that; I can’t. I can’t take a month or so out of my life to see if the numb-inducing side effects would disappear. Because in doing so I would disappear.

I. Would. Disappear.

When you suffer from migraines all the fucking time, you end up doing a lot of research about them in the hope that you’ll discover a magic cure (this doesn’t exist). Like the thinking that those who struggle with emotional release get migraines, there’s another school of thought that those who are ‘sensitive’ are more likely to get migraines. When I write ‘sensitive’ I don’t mean emotionally – although I’m sure many migraine suffers are highly strung because of the shit we have to go through, but I mean physically sensitive. I know I am.

Sensitive people are hyper-aware of their bodies. When I used to smoke joints (normal weed) as a student I hallucinated. I could feel my blood travelling though my veins, and everything got brighter. Stronger. Inanimate objects were not fixed and still; they swayed in the air and moved. When I tried cocaine (not by choice, and it wasn’t very much – less than a line), I was jittery for two days and my friends thought I was exaggerating. And when I’ve tried various prescribed drugs (such as the standard-issue contraceptive pill), I’ve always had a reaction to them. A doctor once told me I’m sensitive to synthetic drugs (are there any other kind?) and this is true – I am.

So where does this leave me? Having spent more than a month experimenting with these preventative drugs, I know they’re not for me. I wish they were. I so wish that I was the type of person who could pop a magic pill and be fixed, but I’m not. When it comes to traditional medicine (which I am strongly in favour of), I have two choices: I can take the medicine and be a zombie – a silenced, fuzzy-headed non-person who cannot drive, cannot work, cannot do anything – or I can keep having migraines. Which would you choose? How can you choose from those options? Either way, you won’t win. You won’t be happy.

In light of this I’ve ramped up the non-traditional help. I’ve been seeing a cranial osteopath since January, and while her work helps – and I believe in what she does and physically feel the results – it’s not enough. If it was enough I wouldn’t keep having migraines. I’ve also started seeing an acupuncturist, although – of course – I’m super-sensitive to his treatment. I’ve only seen him once, and he only put a few needles in me, but I had an effect so strong that he at first thought I was kidding. Through my tears I so clearly outlined the feeling that acupuncture is meant to bring that he’s confident the treatment will help me if I can go with it. Can I? I don’t know. I’ve also started taking Feverfew, and for the days I’ve been taking it I’ve felt so sick I can barely eat … but I’ve not had a headache today. Are the herb pills working already? Or is it a placebo effect? Or have I just struck it lucky for one day and have not had a headache?

I know that one day I’ll look back on this time and wonder how I ever got through it. Believe me, it is not fun, and it gets to the point of being horrendous. When your life is dictated by if you’re going to be able to leave the house or not, if you’re going to be in debilitating, excrutiating pain or not, it’s not much of a life – and you end up letting people down. I’ve let my colleagues down, I’ve let my friends down, and I’ve even let my family down. I’m pouring all my energy in being able to make it into work every day – and not leaving early despite the pain – that there’s nothing left for anything else. I’m spent. I’m emotionally and physically spent and there’s no end in sight. There’s no finishing line with my life waiting for me at the end of it. It’s a tunnel of hell.

And yet despite all this, I’m not unhappy. There are moments of awfulness – pure, can-I-take-much-more-of-this agony – but I love my life. My friends are hilarious (and hopefully understand it when I go AWOL), my family is supportive, the boys are good-looking, and let’s be honest, I have a dream career where I get to write novels and work in innovative tech. I’m extremely lucky.

But underneath that perfect-on-paper persona I’ve got going on (I’m so clever and pretty! Yay!), this stuff is happening. When you’re going through it and nobody else you know has, talking to strangers online who have gone through it, or even just reading their experiences makes you feel better. It gives you hope, and it reminds you that you’re not the only one having a hard time. And I suppose that’s why I wrote this. I didn’t do it to attention-seek, to seek sympathy (for there are many much worse off than I am; I know I’m lucky in so many ways), or even because it was cathartic. I did it because I wanted to be honest and to share too – because the more people talk about what works and what doesn’t for them, the more likely it is that one day we will find a solution to these awful, ridiculous migraines. Obviously I really hope we do.

Yet despite myself I’ve been rhapsodising to anyone who listens about the future of social commerce, and how product curation – alongside content and conversation – is the next big thing. It’s something I was working on last year with a retail client, but it’s only in the last few months that the epiphany has really settled. It’s accepted by the particularly clever that the future of digital browsing is heavy with user curation (as seen in apps such as Flipboard), and I believe product curation will influence trends in online purchases. In fact, I’d put all my money on it.

When we think about the history of advertising in comparison to where we are now, we know that control has shifted from the men in suits to the consumer. Aspirational messages don’t necessarily have the same impact they once used to, and the way brands speak to customers has changed. Consumers are not spoken to, they are spoken with – and now that companies are having multiple conversations rather than one, marketing to consumers has become complicated. We can use social data to further segment customers, we can be clever and create compelling content which we hope increases conversion rates, but ultimately brands are now at the mercy of the consumers in a way never seen before. We are their bitches, and we do not like it.

And whereas brands once had to persuade bloggers and ‘influencers’ to like their stuff, now we have social content curators to contend with. These are the super-users on ‘traditional’ networking sites like Facebook and Twitter, and they’re also rising up the ranks on sites such as Pinterest. They’re the person who somehow always manages to find the cool stuff to buy, the person who inspires us and doesn’t necessarily have an agenda in their brand involvement. They’re sharing because they want the kudos and the self-esteem boost, and fellow consumers follow because they don’t want to be talked at by traditional marketing methods any more. It’s goodbye advertorial, and hello fellow shoppers. It’s social commerce ramped up; it’s power to the people.

There’s a multitude of stats out there that suggest that users have more confidence in user reviews and ratings than any information given by someone in ‘power’ (the PR, the brand representative, the journalist writing about the product). This isn’t anything new.  But when a consumer chooses to ignore these calculated marketing messages, there’s a blip in the broadcast – and a super-user can move into it. They can suddenly be the authority on your brand, and you’re powerless to stop them.  It’s the same reclaiming ethos that spurs on crowd-funding projects, Occupy Wall St-style protests, and possibly even London riots.  And if you can’t stop them, well, the only thing you can do is to join them.

Brands who understand the importance of product curation will be the ones who flourish in 2012. Companies who relinquish a certain amount of power and allow hyper-personalisation will be those who see the most conversion. Yes, brilliant mobile sites are important, and we mustn’t ignore customer service on social networks, the socialisation of search, smart TV, gamification or whatever else is being talked about with regards to ecommerce. But most of all we need to understand that our customers are individuals who want to repackage our propositions as part of the personalisation of their digital profile. For consumers are no longer just what they look like or what they say – they are also now what they buy, and brands cannot afford to ignore this.

This column originally appeared in New Media Age magazine.

1. Compile your Scrivener document into an RTF

• Open your Scrivener document
• Go to File –> Compile
• Select the chapters and scenes you wish to include in this version of your manuscript
• Select ‘Compile for RTF Word compatible’ (you may wish to choose a different type of document, I use RTF to retain formatting)
• Hit ‘Compile’

2. Email your .RTF to your Kindle

• Find out your Kindle email address. To do this go to Your Account –> Manage Your Kindle –> Personal Document Settings.
• Ensure your regular email address is in the ‘Approved Personal Document Email List’ (if it isn’t you can add it)
• Open your email, add your .RTF attachment, and send your document to your Kindle email address

3. Sync Kindle and your manuscript shall appear!

It really is that simple. I’ve done this so I can proof my manuscript-in-progress while on public transport / in bed / on the beach.

- thanks to Ivan Salcedo who taught me how to do this.

Our interactions on the web have the ability to make us all look like grasping, desperate fools. Like a one-night stand with a man no stranger to the unforgiving gleam of the clap clinic, social networks create a false sense of intimacy. They lure us into believing that, in participating, we can be ourselves – that we can share our views and our tastes and that by doing so others will love us.

But as anyone who’s woken up next to a person they never intended to get feral hot with will know, the reality is somewhat different. We are not loved for being true to who we are; we are loved because he is drunk and horny. In the cold light of day, it is possible, even likely, that we will be rejected when he sees us without make-up on. When he sees who we really are.

Social networks, of course, are our distribution tools of choice in showing off the best, edited-for-publication versions of ourselves. We only allow flawless, skinny photos to grace our Facebook pages. We talk of things that make us look intelligent, rather than dumb.

And we’re always performing, even when we’re not aware of it. Social networks allow us to be at our first-date best over and over again. Our moody, ugly, bad-hair day selves are rarely allowed to make a cameo on the web.

Until, that is, we forget ourselves and think that he might just be into us after all.

One such victim of forgetting herself is Diane Abbott MP. Embraced in her own personal love-nest on Twitter, Abbott casually wrote: “white people love playing ‘divide and rule’”. What went wrong? She forgot she was supposed to be performing.

Rather than dressing in an expensive, see-through baby-doll that skims her worst bits and makes her tits look fabulous, she let it all out. She let herself be seen in her true light: unsupported, flabby, saggy, sad. And maybe a bit racist.

In a rush to defend herself – her excuse for allowing herself to be swept away on a wave of foolishness – Abbott released a statement. She said: “I understand people have interpreted my comments as making generalisations about white people. I do not believe in doing that. I apologise for any offence caused.”

But, of course, it is too late. Abbott believed that the gentle, accepting kisses and hair stroking of others meant something. She forget about the rules of digital reality and instead fell headlong into a bed of roses, aware of the thorns hidden beneath the sheets but thinking, perhaps, that they would not scratch her.

She forgot to play the role of the MP and fell for the myth that hyper-reality on the web is true.

Should we berate Abbott for casual racism? Of course. But, more than that, I think we should feel sorry for her. She is not the first woman to wake up the next morning to discover she’s not wanted thanks to her performance the night before, and she won’t be the last.

The digital economy we now live in makes everything and everyone disposable. How could it not when our words and our purchases are now made up of pixels rather than of something tangible?

What isn’t disposable, of course, is reputation. Abbott is now perfect BNP fodder, a woman who makes rash remarks, a woman who will now realise that being herself is the ultimate faux pas. How she’s managed to become an MP without first understanding this is beyond me.

Dude looks like a lady

As a Wendi Deng Murdoch aficionado, I was obviously delighted to see the woman herself on Twitter. And when she announced she was actually a Guardian-reading he, I shrugged my shoulders and decided I couldn’t care less.

The world needs more women like Wendi Deng, and, if someone wants to pretend to be her on Twitter, I’m all for it. Why not? It doesn’t ever really matter who’s behind the account so long as the right brand values are enforced – and let’s be honest, ghost writing on Twitter keeps plenty of redundant (and some not-quite-yet-redundant) journalists out of the benefits office.

I propose that the bored man who started the fictional account keeps it up. He clearly has nothing better to do, is fairly competent at pretending to be a kick-ass woman, and is obviously filling a gap in the market.

Deng is almost too good to be real. Why should she be real on Twitter?

Kanye do it

Yes he can! Especially if it means reinventing himself from a rapper to a Shoreditch-style nontrepreneur. Which is kind of nearly the same thing, but with less ass-shaking girls on your tail in the latter case.

For those of you still reading, yet confused, I’m talking about Kanye West coming over all undergraduate on Twitter yesterday.

If you believe his late-night statements, West has apparently started a company named DONDA (named for his mommy), which will change the world. He said: “DONDA is a design company which will galvanize amazing thinkers and put them in a creative space to bounce there [sic] dreams and ideas…”

So far so Silicon-Roundabout wishy-washy? Absolutely. But read further. ”We want to help simplify and aesthetically improve everything we see hear, touch, taste and feel. …To dream of, create, advertise and produce products driven equally by emotional want and utilitarian need. To marry our wants and needs.”

Several prominent Old Street angel investors, who have opted to remain anonymous, told me this morning that it sounds like a grand plan – indeed, it’s the most realistic pitch they’ve heard in months. They stand ready and willing to help fund the rapper’s endeavours.

This column first appeared in The Kernel

I’m currently writing my fourth novel. It’s due at Easter. in June 2012 (thank you to my editor for extending my deadline). Everything was going swimmingly until several bad things happened (my grandfather passed away, I ended a tempestuous relationship, I got addicted to getting into trouble) and I took six weeks off work to bum about, eat cheese strings, and watch Mad Men on loop. I think this is a valid reason for forgetting to write.

But it’s a new year and I’ve decided to keep a record of my writing progress. I used to do it at the top of my manuscript when I wrote novels in Word, but since swapping to Scrivener I haven’t bothered. Which is clearly a mistake. Additionally, being transparent and therefore also accountable will possibly shame me into writing more.

Anyway, look away now if numbers bore you (they do me). Or keep reading if you want to see how many words I have written this year (note, these are manuscript-only words and do not include columns or articles which I also write).

Additional: I need to average 1000 words a day, or 7000 5000 words a week to hit my deadline on time. Wish me luck.

BOOK FOUR (still untitled. I need to sort this out – in my head it’s called Something is Rotten in the State of Denmark St, but I don’t think this is snappy enough I now have a title, but I’m not going to share it until after I’ve submitted my MS to my editor. Sorry.

2012 manuscript word count total: 46,711

• (please note, this word count is not for my full MS, which is actually higher as I started writing it last year. This is purely the number of MS words written in 2012)
  

Week 1 total: 4905

• Monday, 2 January: 2092.
• Tuesday, 3 January: 1023.
• Wednesday, 4 January: 1790.
• Thursday, 5 January: 0
• Friday, 6 January: 0 [I won a game of Scrabble though!]
• Saturday, 7 January: 0 [editing]
• Sunday, 8 January: 0

Week 2 total: 4514

• Monday, 9 January: 0 [researching]
• Tuesday, 10 January: 0 [meetings]
• Wednesday, 11 January: 2523 [and I made a presentation which I had to give the next day. Productive]
• Thursday, 12 January: [meetings / actual pounding-London-streets research]
• Friday, 13 January: 59. Not in the mood.
• Saturday, 14 January: 1932
• Sunday, 15 January: 0

Week 3 total: 4805

• Monday, 16 January: 0 [editing & plotting]
• Tuesday, 17 January: 1666
• Wednesday, 18 January: 0.
• Thursday, 19 January: 3139
• Friday, 20 January: 0
• Saturday, 21 January: 0
• Sunday, 22 January: 0 [I had the very best of intentions for the weekend but my plans were thwarted.]

Week 4 total: 6754

• Monday, 23 January: 1583 [and loads of research into the history of India's railways. Really.]
• Tuesday, 24 January: 2946
• Wednesday, 25 January: 1137
• Thursday, 26 January: 0
• Friday, 27 January: 0
• Saturday, 28 January: 1088
• Sunday, 29 January: 0

I’ve stopped consulting and have taken on a full time job … bring on the six-day week, working in the evenings, and constantly apologising to friends for not being able to see them as much as I’d like to.

Week 5 total: 0

• I took the week off to settle into my new job. I think this is reasonable.
  

Week 6 total: 1027

• I’m not proud of myself for the appalling lack of words this week. However there are mitigating circumstances: I left my laptop in the office every evening as my work computer hadn’t yet been set up, and I got a migraine at the weekend from rush-rush-rushing around London. I’ve learnt my lesson, trust me.

Week 7 total: 4507

• I wanted to write 10,000 words this week, and I would have managed it if I’d not been lead astray on Friday night. I aimed to be tucked up in bed by 11pm; I got home at 11am the following day. This is not conducive to writing a novel. With you as my witness I will endeavor to be stronger.

Week 8 total: 0

• Let’s agree never to talk of this week. I’m really starting to regret this public word-count thing.

Week 9 total: 4826

• Since I’ve started keeping a public record of the number of words I write (or don’t), several people have asked how I plan my writing time. Obviously it’s kind of difficult. When I wrote my first novel I set aside 12 hours every Sunday to write it, and I got it done in nine months.

• I decided I was going to be very, very good this weekend and that I would dedicate 16 hours  (out of the 48 hours of Saturday & Sunday) to writing. This is no hardship – I love writing this manuscript and I need a break from going out. However, weekends are also for catching up on sleep and chores and things like that. This is my pie chart of how my weekend was supposed to look:

Planned Weekend

• Purple: sleeping (33%)
  
• Green: writing (33%)
• Orange: meals (some with friends) (13%)
• Blue: hairdressers (8%)
  
• Red: chores and travel (8%)
• Turquoise: arsing about (4%)

• And this is how my weekend turned out:

Actual Weekend

• Purple: sleeping (27%)
• Green: writing (6 hours – 15%)
• Orange: meals (some with friends) (8.3%)
• Blue: hairdressers (25%)
• Red: chores and travel (12.5%)
• Turquoise: arsing about (10%)
• Sky blue: trying to persuade friends that I’d love to party with them but novel-writing pixies don’t actually exist (2%)

Week 10 total: 0

• Ha ha!
  

Week 11 total: 0

• Ha ha ha! I’m a lucky girl. The last two weeks have seen me:
  • collapse (twice!) with the worst migraines of my life;
  • lose £1000 on unused flight tickets and hotel rooms in the States (will I ever see my family in America again?!);
  • have a brain scan (all clear – thank you for asking);
  • get completely fucked up for two days prescribed medicine (I made friends with a banana!);
  • get fucked up again on the medicine used to counteract the original medicine.
• It’s been never ending pain. Let’s be honest, in that sort of situation, you wouldn’t be able to write a damn word of a manuscript. I did try once though – I managed 12 words before realising I’d hit a major plot issue. Which I’m still thinking about.
• I have, however, nearly finished going through the page proofs for ALL THAT GLITTERS. They look gorgeous. The book is great fun (and has lots of sex scenes). I can’t wait for it to come out (news to come soon!).

Week 12 total: 0

• BUT:
  • I have been desperately ill for the last couple of weeks
  • I went through the page proofs of ALL THAT GLITTERS twice
  • I really wanted to hang out with my friends and chill for a weekend. You wouldn’t begrudge me that.
• The only worrying aspect of this is that Robert Loch left the country and I still got led astray.

Week 13 total: 3988

• Yes, I’m just over 1000 words short of my 5k weekly target, but I did read through the incomplete manuscript, and it did take me EIGHT hours. But it was definitely worth it. This book is the best thing I’ve ever written – I’m very pleased with it. It’s going to be amazing.
• PS, please note I didn’t get lead astray this weekend. I am impressed with myself.

Week 14 total: 1370

• The point is that it’s hard to write when you’re high on prescription drugs which are meant to prevent migraines … and if you don’t take them, you get a migraine. I cannot win, but I am having lots of fun messing my brain up by trying a different sort of prescription drug every week. No, really. It’s awesome. Who wouldn’t want to be a medical guinea pig and lose lots of brain cells in the process?
• Fortunately I managed something … and what I wrote is beautiful. Small blessings, right? Happy Easter & Passover, love me. x

Week 15 total: 2071

• It’s taken me weeks to nail this sex-scene. If I can read it without cringing, it’s okay. But it takes a lot of work to get it to that acceptable level of erotic-but-not-awful. Seriously. This is my life.
• I also wrote this this week – about what it’s like to have persistant migraines. It may explain my pitiful word count for the last five weeks. Oh that my poor manuscript was suffering because I was being led astray and having fun. All that seems a long time ago right now.

Week 16 total: 4309

• But I deleted 2000 words. Woe.

Week 17 total: 3635

• Slow progress, but I love this manuscript so hard. It’s all coming together.

Wondering what I’m doing when I’m not writing? Follow me on Twitter.