The Write Words

Katy Bush and the Chain Mail Bikini

2012-01-11T14:57:00.003Z

“She's a lovely girl that Katy Bush.”

Nana's knitting needles continued their clicketty clack, clicketty clack.

“She was one of your Grandad's favourites.”

Nana was sucking a mint and 'favourites' came out sounding like 'fivers', but it didn’t matter, I could translate Nana speak. She was always sucking a toffee or sipping a cup of tea. She managed to knit at the same time and do the TV Times crossword. I sometimes wondered if she had extra arms hidden in her cardigan that she juggled in and out so quick no-one ever noticed.

Stevie had shuffled right across the floor. His face was so close to the TV screen I was surprised his glasses hadn't melted.

“It means Grandmother.”

I turned to Nana, “What does?”

“Baboushka. That song she's singing. It means Grandmother. In Russian. It was a clue last week.” She tapped the magazine by her side. “Had me flummoxed.”

“Out the way Stevie,” I said. But he didn't budge. Round his head I could just see Kate Bush's arms waving about. I prodded my little brother with my toe and he shifted to one side. I could see her properly now. She didn't look as though she was singing about grandmothers. One minute she was dancing with a big cello thing and the next she was all angry warrior, hands on her hips. She was wearing a chain-mail bikini.

I've seen chain-mail. There was a Medieval Day down at the park with jewellery stalls and hawks and a real blacksmith. There was a man dressed as a knight and you were allowed to touch his armour. Mum said to be careful, like he was a dangerous dog or something. But he just smiled and let me hold the edge of the chain-mail shirt. It was heavy. Really heavy, all those little loops. I said it felt cold, and he said that was why he was wearing a wool shirt underneath.

Kate Bush wasn't wearing a wool shirt, or anything else, under her bikini. I pulled a face at the thought of all that cold metal between your legs.

The sound of the knitting needles stopped.

“I could make you one of them Sally love. I'd whip it up in no time.”

For a second I had a vision of Nana forging metal loops on an anvil, the sleeves of her cardigan pushed up to her elbows.

“I'll pop down to Boyes in the morning and get some wool. I'll rummage out something sparkly with a touch of lurex.”

Stevie sniggered.

“Lurex, I said, our Stevie, lurex.”

She wasn't daft my Nana.

I'd sort of forgotten about it, until Nana turned up the next Thursday to babysit as usual. Her green knitting bag bulged like a fat frog. Poking out of the top, amongst the needles and the end of a tape measure, was a large ball of grey wool. She held it out to me with a sniff.

“This was the best they had. I told them they're missing a trick. They've got to be more adventurous. Young people these days want a bit of pizazz in their knitwear.”

The ball was surprisingly heavy. There was something silvery running through it like thin tinsel.

“That,” Nana said, looking sternly at Stevie, “Is the lurex.”

Kate Bush wasn't on Top of the Pops that week, but Nana said it didn't matter. A bikini was a bikini. She sucked on a mint as she looked me up and down.

“Hope I've bought enough wool,” she said.

It wasn't really wool. The label said 95% acrylic. Nana pointed it out.

“Wool would only shrink,” she said. “And that wouldn't go down right well in Scarborough.”

I stared into the depths of my glass of milk. Oh. Please. No. There was no way. Absolutely no way I was wearing a knitted bikini on the beach at Scarborough.

I glanced over at Stevie. His eyes were fixed on the screen. Olivia Newton John this time. Eleven year old boys are so fickle.

Mum was no help. I told her about it at breakfast the next morning. She was pinning up her hair while eating marmalade on toast. It always amazed me how she could do that and not get all sticky.

“You've got to humour her, Sally love. She's still mourning your granddad. We all are. This is the first year he won't be with us in Scarborough. Just do this for her, please.”

She cleared away my cereal bowl with one hand while reaching for her shoe with the other.

“Anyway,” she added, in the fake cheery voice she used when she was trying to sound convincing.

“You've got a lovely figure. You've nothing to be ashamed of.”

I sometimes wondered if my mum had ever been fourteen. Judging by the photos in the old albums she'd skipped straight from cute curly-haired toddler to Miss Pontin's 1964. And she didn't know that I'd overheard her talking about me to her friend Jean last week “She's got my hair bless,” she'd said “And her dad's figure.”

Nana came round specially when she'd finished it. It was only Tuesday and she'd had to take two buses, but she said she wanted to make sure it fitted before she added the ‘embellishments’.

The grey triangles sat in my hands like lumps of porridge. I swallowed hard, knowing what was coming next.

“Come on then, try it on. I need to check whether it needs any adjusting.”

I slipped the pieces on over my knickers and bra, my fingers fumbling with the thin woolly ties.

“They're only temporary,” Nana said. “I'll put some proper ones on later.”

She made little clucking noises as she tugged at the fabric.

There was no mirror in the living room, but I caught sight of my reflection in the TV screen. There was a lot of pale flesh. And very little else. I looked away and wriggled my shoulders, even through my underwear the yarn was itchy.

“Stay still.”

Nana's voice was muffled as she approached me with a mouth full of pins. I stood frozen as she peered at my body through the bottom of her bifocals. I felt like a voodoo doll. Or a balloon about to be popped.

There was a burst of laughter from the doorway and I span round. One of Nana's pins jabbed into my shoulder.

I shrieked not so much from the pain but from the sight of my brother and his best friend Jonno bent over double, hands over their mouths, wetting themselves at the sight of me.

I grabbed a cushion and threw it at their heads.

They disappeared into the hall but I could hear them cackling.

I wanted to cry. My teeth were clenched so hard together it felt like they might break. I couldn't let Nana see. Mum had said we mustn't upset her. I didn't want to start her off crying too.

She clucked again, her mouth free of pins now.

“It'll be grand,” she said, “Once I've finished with it. Just you see.” She rummaged in her pocket. “Here, have a mint.”

***

I loved going to Scarborough. Whole days spent on the beach. We'd set off first thing with everything we needed for the day, and as soon as Dad had set up the windbreak, that was it. We stayed there 'til teatime. Only torrential rain or a hurricane counted as reasons to pack up and leave. Nana always said “Whatever the weather, there's always the flask.”

It was the one time we were allowed tea. Hot and sweet with lots of sugar, because that was the only way Nana would drink it. It was my favourite taste in the world. Huddled behind the windbreak, wrapped in a towel, my skin pink and prickling from the cold North Sea.

As we passed the plastic cup round Nana and Grandad would tell us about their courting days, when they would cycle fifteen miles to Scarborough and spend the day on the beach. And how Grandad always treated Nana to a cone of chips before the cycle back.

It wouldn't be the same this year without them. Nana decided at the last minute that she wasn't up to it and was staying at Aunty Jen's instead. I couldn't help feeling a bit relieved. No Nana, no chain-mail bikini.

Or at least I thought so. I'd packed my own suitcase, including my navy blue swimming costume and a baggy 'specially for the beach' t-shirt. But Mum was in charge of the beach bag and on the first morning once we were settled on the sand she passed me a horribly familiar bundle of greyness.

“Here you go love. Nana gave me this before we left. Perfect day for it. Get yourself a tan while it lasts.” She was already in her black swimming costume. The one with the plunging neckline and the non-existent back.

It was the hottest day ever. I stayed in my t-shirt and jeans all morning. I was baking, literally, my body was even beginning to smell like bread. Just along the sand from us two women in white bikinis were stretched out on stripy towels. They looked so cool and unbothered by the heat, as if they were used to being somewhere far more exotic. They'd probably start playing with a beach ball any minute, giggling and flicking their long blond hair. I sank deeper inside the oven of my t-shirt.

The sea was doing its very best sparkly thing and the waves looked like the froth on an ice-cream float, fizzling out onto the sand. The water would be freezing but I could imagine how delicious it would feel lapping round my legs. Maybe I could just turn up my jeans and have a paddle.

Dad had been playing football with Stevie. Now he flung himself down on the sand with a big “Ouf!” The usual signal that he was going to have a sleep.

“I want to go in the sea,” said Stevie.

“Not on your own love.” Mum said, without looking up from the pages of her book. “You go in with him, Sally.”

I looked at the sea and the crashing waves. There was no way I could get away with just turning up my jeans and Mum would have a fit if I went got sea water all over my new t-shirt. It was going to have to be the bikini. Once I got in the water I would be OK, I could sink shoulder deep and no-one would be able to see me. I could rinse off this horrible breadiness and feel fresh and human again. But the water was a long way off, the beach a vast expanse that had to be crossed. Mum tugged her sunglasses down her nose and peered over them at me.

“Come on get your new bikini on and get in that sea. It'll do you the world of good.”

“Saa-llee come on!”

Stevie was inching his way backwards down the beach.

I unfurled the grey sludge of the bikini bundle and saw Nana's promised 'embellishments' for the first time. She had lined and edged each triangle with cotton material, blue with tiny white dots. There were new wide straps too made of the same fabric.

I reached for the biggest beach towel and wrapped it round my body before I peeled off my jeans and wriggled into the bikini. It fitted perfectly, no sagging, no itchiness. The cotton was cool against my skin. A piece of paper fluttered to the floor. It must have been wrapped up inside. I picked it up, expecting something inspirational, Nana telling me to “knock 'em dead”, to “make her proud.”

It said 'Handwash only. Rinse after swimming. DO NOT IRON. xxx”

I grinned, picturing Nana blowing kisses as she always did when she said goodbye. And suddenly I could see them, Nana and Grandad as teenagers, splashing each other in the sea. Chasing each other across the sand. Holding hands as they wheeled their bikes along the cliff path to the road.

Standing up I let the towel slip to the floor. The world kept turning, Dad kept snoring, a seagull by the sea wall continued to peck at a discarded chip. Mum looked up and smiled and nodded her head before turning back to her book. The two beautiful women in the white bikinis had gone.

Stevie was already up to his waist in the water, arms windmilling like mad. I raised my arm and waved back.

“That Katy Bush, what was she thinking of, she'll have given herself an awful rash.”

Nana's voice was only in my head but it was as clear as if she'd been sitting by the windbreak with her flask of tea.

Baboushka, I thought. And then, still grinning, I ran. A polka dot warrior queen, across the sand to the sea.

Sarah Dunnakey, 2012

Synchronised Thinking

2010-03-26T20:22:00.004Z

I had one of those weird moments of synchronicity today.

My novel has a fair number of mythological references (not too surprising as one of the central characters is a Greek goddess). I was editing a scene today in which one of the (non-goddess) characters is holding a glass of wine like a bowl in her two hands and another character thinks she looks like an oracle looking for answers in a scrying cup. Shortly afterwards the glass breaks and the goddess character has a ponder about bad luck quotas, 7 years for a mirror, how much for a glass?

I decided to Google the whole 'breaking a mirror = 7 years bad luck thing' and discovered that the 7 years bit goes back to the Romans who believed we renewed ourselves completely every 7 years and therefore that's how long a damaged soul (ie one that was broken when a mirror smashed) would take to heal. BUT the superstition goes back further than that, beyond early mirrors and polished shields and slices of obsidian, back to the scrying pools of dark water that were used for divination.

Spooky.

Wouldn't it be satisfying though if my novel ever gets published and I get a letter saying, "Did you know....?"

It's Good to Talk

2010-03-24T19:28:00.005Z

The edit/rewrite continues. I'm loving adding to my word count in the side bar each day. Over 14,000 words edited so far. And I'm actually really enjoying it. The lovely Anna Chilvers author of the splendid Falling Through Clouds told me I would and I should have just believed her - thanks Anna.

Had a particularly chewy scene to deal with today. On the original draft I had scrawled 'what is this scene trying to do?' across it. After reading this post on Calistro's blog and doing some big doodling with a sparkly purple pen borrowed from the daughter's pencil case I found the answer. Then I looked at the scene. It wasn't doing it. The characters were there, Id set the scene but 'it' wasn't happening.

What to do?

I was so mired in the original scene that I found it really difficult to imagine rewriting it even though I knew it had to be done. Then I remembered an exercise we did recently at my Stephen May writing class. I got a blank piece of paper and a non-sparkly pen (optional) and wrote the scene completely as dialogue. I didn't worry about style or precision. I just let the characters chat, pretty much as I thought they would do in real life. Their conversation veered off in various directions but in the end after pages and pages of chinwagging and confabulation I knew that in amongst it all I had managed to tell 'it'.

It took me the rest of the day to edit it down, getting rid of lots of the dialogue in the process, especially the 'Well yeahs' and 'What do you means?' and the bit when they started discussing house prices in York (?!). Then I put back in all the description and action bits.

The scene is now so much better. There is a point to it. The reader learns more about the characters and their desires and fears. It moves the story on. It has a beginning, a middle and an end - yay!

A sigh of relief and a new technique learned. I imagine it won't be the last time I will be using it. 66,000 words to go.

Editing

2010-03-04T09:56:00.007Z

Yeuch its a bit dusty in here. Where've I been? Working mainly but also, ahem, on Facebook. Have decided however that the occasional two-liner on FB isn't doing it for me, so am planning to blog more regularly again.

Couple of things brought me back here.

One was wanting to talk about reading out loud.

I've been told many times that reading your writing out loud is a useful part of the editing process but I've never really taken it on board. Then last week my writing class (taught by the splendid Stephen May) had a reading session in the cocktail bar of a local pub. It was a brilliant night, with some fantastic stories (and the cocktails weren't bad either).

Earlier in the week I chose the story I wanted to read. It was one I had recently entered into a competition and was quite pleased with. I practiced reading it out loud. Eek. How come I hadn't spotted the repeated words, the clunky sentences, the dodgy dialogue. All fixable and I did alot of editing before I read it in the pub, but I really wish I'd done it before entering it into the comp.

Ah well, lesson learned. In future I am going to make reading aloud a compulsory part of my editing (might even progress to taping myself and playing it back - gulp!)

Second thing was The Novel. Still Novel #1 although Novel #2 does exist in a skeletal form.

Quick catch up - wrote novel in 2008-9, March 2009 started sending out initial chapters and synopsis. Throughout 2009 I received 6 rejections - but all with positive feedback- and one request for the full manuscript. Nothing (not even a rejection) has resulted from the request for the full ms despite me sending a follow up enquiry.

Anyway I sort of decided to shelve novel #1 and get on with #novel 2. But novel #1 wouldn't stay quiet. It's a story I really want to tell, and has a central character who just won't stay quiet. So, I got out my rejection letters and tried to work out exactly what they were saying. Turns out they were all saying pretty much the same thing, they loved the concept, they even said they loved the writing BUT they didn't 'fall in love' with the book.

I re-read my novel.

I didn't fall in love with it either, and with the benfit of a six month absence from it I saw the glaringly obvious - no bloomin' conflict. At least not enough of it, not of the immediate and necessary kind anyway. All my conflict was in the past and my characters were just dealing with the repercussions . One of the knock on effetcs of this was that most of my characters were pretty flat. I wasn't showing them at their fictional best ie when they were under real pressure and facing immediate conflicts. This is all basic 'how to write a novel' stuff that I'm theoretically well aware of and yet had somehow managed to miss out on in practice.

So. Major rewrite about to begin. I have gone through my ms with a pen and scribbled sweeping edits - 'drop this character', 'completely rewrite this scene', 'do I really need this chapter?', as well as a few ticks here and there for bits I'm happy with. It's almost like starting all over again.

I've got a month off work and I'm determined to finish this edit by Easter. I'll keep you posted.

Yes I know I should be working or writing but...

2009-10-22T13:48:00.003+01:00

The Guardian Book Blog is just too distracting and it was from there that I pinched this:

42 Essential Third Act Twists

I especially like 'Reverse Robot Reveal' and 'Dark Lord Reasonable'

Wonder if I'd get away with either of them in my act three...

My first ever book review

2009-10-19T19:41:00.004+01:00

Apologies for the blog gap, all the usual excuses, plus I have been busy reading this

If there's anyone left out there who isn't aware of this new novel by the very talented Cally Taylor, then listen ye - its fab!

I'm not too hot on book reviews, in fact I've never written one before. I have that problem with non-fiction generally (except my blog but then I'm JG not SD so it's OK). And indeed my contributions to my monthly book club meet-ups are usually along the lines of "Sorry I didn't get round to reading it", "Yeah, it was good, erm yeah, I especially liked the bit, you know..." and "These crisps are great!" But here goes:

I read a whole lot of stuff across all sorts of genres (except horror cos I'm a scaredy cat) but this is my first 'supernatural chick-lit' and - I loved it. What makes it so good? - (I mean apart from the fact that I just bloomin' well enjoyed reading it and was torn between wanting to get to the end and not wanting it to finish).

OK, totally real main character. Lucy is someone I know, I mean she must be cos I feel I know her so well, she's 100% believable and rounded which is not a bad feat considering that she's dead. The supporting cast are fabulous too, all with enough personality for you to want to get to known them better (even smelly Brian). The premise of a 'wannabe ghost' (in fact a whole house full of the) is brilliant and the plot unfolds in a way that keeps you wanting to stick by Lucy through everything that the afterlife throws at her. The pace is page-turning and the dialogue and observation, witty and clever. Erm, what else - oh yes - wonderful ending, and I don't just mean the last very satisfying couple of pages but all the twists and turns that build up to it.

Yes Cally is a blog friend (and I've even once met her in the flesh!) but that wouldn't be enough for me to praise her novel, or to buy multiple copies for family and friends this Christmas (including hopefully one in Spanish - it's been translated into at least seven languages already) - but that is what I am doing.

So go and hound your local bookseller for it. It's already waiting for you in Waterstones and Borders and it's hit the charts at WHSmith. It's also flying into baskets like hot buttered scones over at Amazon. Look I've even provided the link

No News Good News?

2009-10-08T12:32:00.003+01:00

Last week I finally got round to sending a polite email to the agent who has had the full ms of my novel for the last five months.

It took me so long 'cos, hey guess what, I couldn't find the right words. I didn't want to sound too pushy or desperate but I also wanted to make it clear that I really would like to know how my novel was doing. I got a prompt reply from her assistant saying that the agent was 'still reading it'. Hope that's not a euphemism for "Manuscript? What bloomin' manuscript? Oh you mean the one we've been using to prop up the wobbly desk."

As a student years ago I had the privilege of entering the den of the editor-in-chief of a major publishing house. He showed me his enormous slush pile (no, that's not a euphemism). It was a-teetering and a-tottering in the corner of his book-lined room. He told me that he was unlikely to find anything publishable in it and didn't look too happy at the prospect of having to wade through it. I hoped for his sake and for at least one wannabe writer that there might be a gem hidden in there.

I would love to know if my offering is in a corner of an office near the pinnacle of a wobbly tower still waiting to be read or whether it is already well-thumbed and lying on the agent's bedside table. Or whether at this very moment her assistant is putting it into a return envelope.

I must be patient.

Meanwhile have done lots of planning for novel 3 which I'm thoroughly enjoying. I said yes to a major work project yesterday which probably scuppers my chances of doing NaNoWriMo, but at least thinking about that has made me make a start. So current writing plan - Be Patient and Write novels 2 & 3 simultaneously (or at least on alternate days).

On the non-writing front - I have started going to a weekly sewing class and in typical fashion have decided that I don't want to spend weeks and weeks making bags and cushion covers (as generally recommended for beginners ) but have embarked on this:

Have so far reached the point where I have all my pieces cut out (from lovely shimmery but unslippery wine red satiny fabric) and tomorrow will begin the 'pinning it together' and maybe even some actual sewing! Hope to have it finished by Christmas (tho' there's a possibility that I may end up going 'oh bugger it' and turning it into a bag and a couple of cushions after all)

NaNoWriMo

2009-09-22T08:58:00.005+01:00

I'm seriously thinking of doing it. A novel in a month. In previous years I have been ever so impressed when fellow bloggers have gone for it (and succeeded!) but I have also, I must confess, thought they must surely be a little bit mad. But this year I get it. Or at least I get why I should give it a go.

Novel #1 is still with an agent, novel #2 is, hmm, well not exactly simmering - the gas is on but I haven't chopped up half the ingredients yet and I can't find the oil. Meanwhile a slightly bizarre novel idea (in fact idea for a series of novels) has popped into my head - crime mysteries set in a world that I'm very familiar with. I think it could be fun but I'm not convinced I want to shelve #2 and spend a year of early mornings working at this new idea only to discover that actually it was a bit daft.

Sooo NaNoWriMo - I splurge it out over a month - 2,000 words a day. I like a challenge, deadlines etc and I think this one (hey lets call it novel #3) is the kind of project that will benefit from having its first draft written that way. Could be dreadful of course, but then if it is at least I will have got it out of my head so I can focus on the burning onions in novel #2

Inspired

2009-09-15T10:03:00.006+01:00

By my new writing class. It's run by Stephen May, author of the indispensible Teach Yourself Creative Writing and the award winning novel TAG (Both great books and I'm not just saying that cos I know him :o)). Who fortunately for me and other local wannabe writers just lives down the road.

I wasn't sure what to expect, having been to several writing classes/groups over the last couple of years but I got back home last night buzzing and full of ideas. Stephen didn't waste a minute of the hour and a half and had us doing lots of fantastic writing exercises that all cunningly linked together and really worked. I found voices and characters I'd never imagined I had in me and came away with three pieces of writing that I'm sure will lead on to something more. The other people in the class were equally impressed - even /especially the woman who said she had never had to work so hard at writing in her life.

For anyone in the area who is interested in coming along the sessions are at Hebden Bridge Library on a Monday and Thursday evening 6-7.30.

Now I'm going to go and introduce my favourite new character from last night to the motley crew that are assembing for my Murder Mystery.

Back

2009-09-13T08:50:00.004+01:00

To blogging that is, rather than yet another post about my sciatica. I'm feeling much better and can now sit comfortably at my desk for a decent period of time (so long as I keep a good posture and get up and walk round a bit every now and then), so I really have no excuse.

Also a return to writing as after a bit of a break I'm raring to go with lots of enthusiasm for the new novel and also, unexpectedly, an idea for a murder mystery series that just won't go away.

All good unless of course I start procrastinating and following distractions such as those offered in this Guardian blog post which points to the rather wonderful 'Weird Book Room' at Abe Books. I really must not buy The Great Pantyhose Crafts Book or The Lost Art of Towel Origami, but how can I get through life without How to Avoid Big Ships or The Stray Shopping Carts of Eastern North America ?

Happy Browsing!

Out of Bed

2009-07-28T09:53:00.002+01:00

Hurrah no more back pain posts - for now. On Saurday I decided I'd had enough of lying around and made my first attempts to hobble up and down the street. On my fourth attempt, accompanied by hubby and daughter, I made it to the rather splendid pub at the end. So chuffed by my progress that I had a large glass of wine despite the 'avoid alcohol' warning on my meds. Felt a bit stiff on Sunday but continued with hobbling and this time made it to the swimming baths. Felt just like the Little Mermaid, in agony on land but pain free and full of energy in the water.

So life pretty much back to normal now but at a slightly slower pace and accompanied by a walking stick (which hubby a bit perturbed by - think it ages me a bit!). All systems go now for camping trip to France starting tomorrow. So no more blogging for a couple of weeks but hopefully lots of writing in between the swimming, cycling and sightseeing.

Happy Summer everyone!

Friends

2009-07-24T13:04:00.003+01:00

Aren't they great. I've felt so lucky this week to receive so many visits, phone calls and emails. My bedroom is quite tiny but its been lovely having it filled wih friends, and quite often their children too, bearing cards, flowers , chocolates and magazines. I also received an unexpected but very lovely email from a fellow Saffer which really cheered me. My favourite gift so far has been a cafetiere mug - so the daughter can now safely make me coffee as well as tea! She has been a complete and utter star through all this and we have had some serious talks about all the children out there who are full time carers for their parents. Fortunately of course this situation is only going to be temporary so she can give up her nursing duties soon. This morning I joked that this was good practice for when I'm old and she replied "When you're old I'm putting you in a home!" Methinks she's had enough of the caring lark.

Fortunately another lovely friend has whisked her off to play at her house for the afternoon so she can enjoy just being a nine year old girl again.

I think she was quite traumatized yesterday. I forgot to take my pill cocktail at lunch time and over did things a bit, ie went downstairs a couple of times. Result was me curled up on floor in tears in complete agony unable to get into a position that didn't make my body scream with pain. The daughter called 999 and a lovely paramedic arrived almost immediately. He was able to make me comfortable and calmed both of us down, but I felt so sorry for my little one. Hubby came home from work and took her out for a walk and she seemed quite happy when they got back.
So I'm especially pleased that she is off having fun this afternoon although she did make me double promise to take all my pills and not get out of bed unless I really have to.

Oh dear I fear I am becoming a back pain bore. Will blog about something writerly soon I promise. Have managed some novel writing in between friend/paramedic visits and still feeling excited and daunted by it, which I think is a good combination

Anagrams

2009-07-22T11:10:00.004+01:00

Guess who's spending too much time lying in bed with nothing but her netbook for company? Anyway in between reading blogs, playing spider solitaire and of course writing novel 2 I rediscovered my favourite anagram solver site.

I used it for a quiz show that I worked on recently that had an anagram round. Mindless but titillating fun to be had finding anagrams of names and places etc. As an anagram I can be Red Sauna Hanky or A Naked Ashy Urn.

Below are some of my favourite anagrams that I came across while doing the show

1. A two word phrase that has the following anagrams:

Antarctic Clever Toy
Cancel Victory Treat
Carnal Corvette City
Tartan Tricycle Cove
Recontact Rectal Ivy

(Clue - CAR)

2. A classic 1930s film
Entwined Thigh Ow
Hot Whining Tweed

3. What I'm too fond of
Sir Top Carnation
Nip Or Castration

Answers if you haven't worked them out at http://wordsmith.org/anagram/

Has any one got any particularly amusing name anagrams? Hubby's is Brisk Horny Toot!

No change

2009-07-21T13:24:00.004+01:00

Hmmm Doc's prediction that I would be on my feet again in a couple of days hasn't come true. Still flat on my back,can't sit up and in pain if I move at all. I have an impressive pile of drugs by my bedside now - most of which just send me to sleep. Have postponed holiday to France which has taken some of pressure off as I now have a whole week to get better instead of just 24 hours.

Family, friends and bloggers/facebookers have been fantastic. Hubby brought home a take out Thai meal for tea last night, daughter made me a splendid breakfast and lunch today and a friend popped round with a cappuccino from my favourite cafe. I've had some lovely online well wishing (inc my brother who reckons this is my cunning plan to avoid swine flu) I also had a couple of lovely emails from work saying that although the show didn't fall apart in my absence on Friday I was defintely missed. So still feeling pretty lucky and not too sorry for myself.

Intended to do some writing yesterday but drugs sent me to sleep. Today will try writing and then take sleep inducing medication.

Weird thing happened yesterday actually. Daughter was out with friends in the afternoon so I was on my own. Front dooor was unlocked because I was expecting visit from doctor later. I needed the loo so went through my regular routine of crawling to bathroom on hands and knees, then had a lie down on the floor to recover for a few minutes before crawling back to bed and lay there silently screaming (ow ow ow). Then I heard a noise downstairs, a thump followed by a sort of metallic ring. It was too early for doc and hubby and daughter not due back for hours. I called out "Who is it?" in a big brave voice and then shouted my husband's name. No reply.

I was convinced there was someone down there. So - I got out of bed and walked down the stairs to the first floor. There was no-one there. I then walked down to the kitchen on the ground floor. The front door was closed and there was nobody there. I then sat down on the sofa in total shock at what I had just managed to do. Not wanting to be stuck downstairs in my nighty I seized the moment, headed back up the two flights of stairs and collapsed back on my bed.

Cured? Nope. I haven't been able to manage it again and am back to lying flat in bed and only managing to crawl when I get out of it. Hubby reckons it was adrenaline, like when people lift heavy objects off themsleves or others in an emergency. Isn't biology / physiology amazing?

OK going to do some novel writing now, got to make the most of all this free time!

A change of plan

2009-07-18T15:51:00.005+01:00

When I woke up yesterday morning I had the full day ahead mapped out. Get up, shower and dress, cycle to station, read Robert Harris on train, spend a busy day in studios recording five episodes of the quiz show I'm working on at the moment, finish about 8.30, have a couple of beers with the rest of the production team then go home to Hubby, a whisky and bed. However my body decided to scrap that plan.

I got up. Instantly excruciating pain shot down one side of my body, my vision tunnelled, my head started fizzing and I collapsed on the floor. Fortunately Hubby was on the case, realised I'd fainted and raised my legs and let the blood return to my head. Getting back into bed made me cry in agony. My lower back and left leg were shot with stabs and cramps of pain.

All the worse case scenarios went through both our heads but fortunately my lap top was to hand and after a quick google we diagnosed sciatica. An advice call from a doctor afterwards confirmed it. Basically it's a trapped nerve at the base of my spine - but a particularly long nerve right down my leg. So yesterday, and so far today, have been spent lying flat on my back taking a carefully rota-ed selection of painkillers, one of which I didn't know was even legal. I'm OK as long as I stay in one very flat position. Eating is dificult, typing tricky and I won't traumatise you with details of how I manage to go to the loo.

The doc seems pretty certain that I should be on my feet again by tomorrow and then I will need some physiotherapy to try to prevent such a horrible attack again. Sciatica has numerous causes but I'm pretty certain that the hours I spend sitting badly in front of my computer have been a major contributor. Doc called it a wake up call and it's certainly been that. Better posture and more exercise are on my post recovery to do list.

Its certainly made me appreciate simple things like just going for a walk or pottering in the garden, or having a shower - all of which I am desperate to do again. Fortunately I have a lovely view of the garden from my bed and the nodding roses and buddleia have been cheering sights. I have also done lots of reading - Robert Harris The Ghost, Sara Paretsky Bitter Medicine and Julie Myerson Out of Breath. Might even get some writing done this afternoon if I can get past the doze inducing effects of my drug cocktail.

Hubby and daughter have been fab - bringing me food and tea and things to read. Daughter made me a card and some yummy fudge and took a photo of downstairs to remind me what it looks like. Even the cat has been sending me sympathetic looks from the end of the bed. I feel very lucky, and when I'm back on my feet again will hopefully be able to use this experience in a positive way.

Edited to add: It's now Monday morning and I'm still in pain and still in bed. Grrr. Trying to stay positive despite having to postpone family holiday in France. Am going to spend this afternoon writing and not feeling sorry for myself.

Poetic transference

2009-07-08T16:46:00.005+01:00

Me and Poetry. Bit of a disappointment. I love reading it and hearing it. It has made me laugh and cry and blush and once (thank you Rosie Lugosi) choke on a drink. But I can't write it for toffee.

Everytime I've felt stirred to give it a go I have produced little beyond adolescent mush (not that I'm criticising adolescent mush when written by adolescents, but when written by a woman of 40, it's just crap).

But things may be about to change. Last night Carol Ann Duffy (aka Poet Laureate aka Fab Poet) made an appearance at our local Arts Festival. She read from The World's Wife and other such luscious volumes and all the while she rested her books, and her finger tips, and at one point her arm, on - my daughter's music stand!

(The venue was lacking a lectern of any sort and at the last minute the music stand was called into action.)

Afterwards Carol Ann thanked me profusely and signed a copy of her book with some lovely words of thanks to The Daughter (who was the chuffedest 9 year old in the school at 'show and tell' this morning)

So. The plan is to stand at the, erm, stand and wait for the muse to land on my shoulders. Will I feel vibrations, a resonance? Or just a complete prat?

Only the poetry will tell.

Back to Life and Blogging

2009-06-26T14:35:00.007+01:00

Phew, tis over. A 13 week contract that sounded like a bit of a doddle way back in March but which ended up taking over my working life and giving me some very bizarre dreams. I feel like I suddenly have an extra three hours in my day and can finally get back on track, especially with my writing.

No news yet from The Agent but I have been reliable informed that up to three months is a normal wait time so I am trying to be patient and not going all dry throated and choky when the phone rings in the middle of the afternoon.

Had lovely time last night at the Calderdale Short Story competition prize-giving evening. There were 430 entrants and mine was one of the 30 shortlisted so I was pretty chuffed. The three winners read from their stories and they were all excellent, especially the winning story which I hope ends up being published somewhere as I want to be able to recommend it to people to read. The judges were the writer Jane Rogers and the publisher Ra Page (of Comma Press). They both talked about what they look for in a good short story and it was really useful and inspiring. I managed to talk to both of them afterwards too, over wine and nibbles.

Our local Arts festival is about to start and there are lots of literary delights on offer. I have a ticket to see Carol Ann Duffy and also for a talk by Katie Fforde and Eleanor Moran. There is also an opportunity for a 'literary lunch' with Katie and Eleanor which could be fun.

Next week I'm going to a 'Writer's Roadshow' - a full day of workshops, forums, readings and 'meet the authors'. As part of the day I get a 'one-to-one' hour with the author Mark Illis. I have to send him some of my work in advance and then we will discuss it. It's a great opportunity, but I'm a bit nervous. I know Mark as our daughters go to school together and the thought of him reading my novel is a bit daunting (number of people who have read any of it so far is still very small). But I love his writing (just finished Tender which I can highly recommend) so his comments and criticism will be very valued.

But before all that there is a weekend of costume fittings, dress rehearsals and performances - not for me but The Daughter who is in both a dance show and a play. And I also only have two days to get my oufit ready for the DIY fashion show in town, which is also part of the festival. I have a dress in many pieces and several lengths of ribbon. Now I just need to get sewing.

Eeek!

2009-05-06T10:58:00.002+01:00

In the middle of a tidal wave of work deadlines and after one of my worst workdays ever I was stopped in my tracks this morning by... a request for a full manuscript of my novel! And it was from an actual agent, not my mum or anyone :o)

Totally over-excited now and completely unable to concentrate on the finer points of Renaissance Art wot I am meant to be researching.

Yippee - it is only a tiny fairy footstep but at least it's in the right direction

Delusions of glamour

2009-04-19T17:37:00.012+01:00

Every now and then in Italy I get a flash of La Dolce Vita, those moments when I suddenly feel as though I'm on the set of a classy film and something wonderfully romantic is about to happen. There was a drive along the coast last year, when everyone we passed seemed impossibly glamourous and carefree (and were they really all driving sports cars and wearing big hats?(maybe I'd had too much sun)). Anyway it happened again this week in the Garzoni Gardens near Collodi.

The gardens adjoin the Parco Pinocchio and our 'Biglietto Unico' admitted us to both. For the benefit of the daughter we headed for Pinocchio Land first. As theme parks go it is fairly tame, but the daughter loved it and there are some lovely sculptures and mosiacs telling the story of Pinocchio (although I suddenly realised I only knew the Disney version and felt a bit lost). There were pointed hatted grinning Pinnochio's everywhere including a giant 16m high one one that towered above us watching our every move.

After becoming pinnochioed out and foolishly eating our picnic in the midday sun (it's true what they say about Mad Dogs etc) we headed for the tranquility of the Garzoni Gardens.

They were designed in the 16th century and are heavy on marble sculpture, sweeping staircases and hidden corners. It was a beautiful blue sky day, which set it all off perfectly. It has been used as a film set and backdrop lots of times and I confess, in my vintage '50s sundress and big shades I had a Dolce Vita moment. I leaned against balustrades and gazed wistfully up at the muscled marbled gods on display while the daughter and Hubby reclined under the orange trees. Just think Gregory Peck, Audrey Hepburn and a young Judy Garland ;o).

Sadly it was the one day so far that we forgot our camera so instead of pictures of a pasty English family looking a bit sundazed and confused, and wearing considerably less clothing than any of the be-coated and be-mused Italians, I thought I'd share this with you instead (this is what it looked like in my head!)

In lieu of photographs I bought lots of postcards including the above and this one of some rather scary looking Spanish ballet dancers

The above pasted above my computer today has kept me jolly as I'm not feeling quite so be-glamoured anymore. Hubby and daughter flew back to England yesterday so now it's just me and the dog. And they even took the sunshine with them! Apparently they were frolicking naked on the allotment this afternoon (or maybe that was just the daughter) while here the skies have been an Eeyorish grey and threatening rain. Still I've got loads of writing done and have a whole week of only dogwalking and writing to come, so I can hardly complain.

Buona Pasqua!

2009-04-13T17:05:00.004+01:00

Easter Monday is picnic time in this part of Tuscany.

Like everyone else we headed for the hills this lunchtime with a basket of goodies, which included, amongst the bread and cheese and tomatoes, an enormous panettone in the shape of a dove. Our destination was a large meadow, which when we last saw it was being used as a football pitch by a bevy(?) of nuns (sorry not sure of the correct collective noun). Today it was blanketed with picnickers including families with dogs and footballs and teenagers with sound systems. All a bit mad and loud but good fun.

Afterwards we stopped at a small mountain village intrigued by posters announcing a 'Sagra da Ouvo Sodo' - a Festival of Hard-Boiled Eggs. In the centre of the village, surrounded by stalls selling pecorino cheese, handcarved crucifixes and assorted funghi, the local priest blessed several large boxes of hard-boiled eggs. The eggs were then handed out to everyone in the crowd in individual paper bags each containing a pinch of salt . As everyone munched away a saxophone-harmonica duo struck up a tune and couples began dancing. As we watched we were approached by a clown who presented the daughter with a beautiful flower twisted from balloons.

As we were leaving I spotted a wool stall with a half price sale, and bought lots of gorgeous boucle wool (completely forgetting that a. I have no knitting needles with me and b. I would have to squeeze it all into my suitcase (along with the bottles of limoncello already stashed there)).

We've been invited out to pizza tonight at the 'Circolo' in a neighbouring village. It is basically a social club that everyone in the village contributes to annually, and which, in this case, has a pizzeria, bar, gelateria and dance hall - and also apparently serves up some wicked grappa! What more could you want? More and more of the local small bars seem to be closing, so the Circola seems like a good way of maintaining a social centre in a village.

Just like the Hard-Boiled Egg festival reminded me of our local summer fair, the Circola reminds me of the bowling club in a village near home which hosts various community events from Belly Dancing evenings to Whisky Tastings - not at all glamorous but providing a much needed gathering point for the community

West Yorkshire and Tuscany not so very different after all - except of course for the sunshine :o)

Pizza Heaven

2009-04-09T19:44:00.006+01:00

It’s a dirty job but...

2009-04-03T21:13:00.006+01:00

So, you know how I was moaning a while back about being snowed under with work, not having any time off blah blah. Well I may have forgotten to mention that I had a little reward planned for myself. Another job, of sorts, but ever so slightly less arduous. I’m dog-sitting in Tuscany. Well someone had to do it! And no-one else offered (although it may have slipped my mind to widely advertise the vacancy).

So here I am or rather here we are. The daughter and I have been out here for a week so far and it’s been gorgeous. We’re in a small village clustered on a hilltop looking across wooded valleys to several other similarly huddled collections of pan-tiled roofs and precipitous walls.

We’re having lots of lovely long walks in the woods, olives and cheese on the terrace and a daily ice-cream. We also seem to have the dogsitting bit sorted. We walk her (Eilidh, a sweet-eyed collie who thinks cars are sheep) a couple of times a day, water and feed her, play ‘Where’s the bone?’ and give lots of cuddles (the daughter’s particulalrly good at this). So far have succeeded in not losing her on aforementioned long walks, have remembered to save her some pizza crusts and stopped her eating next door’s cat. In return she has honoured us with choosing to sleep in our room and snore softly.

Hubby is joining us over Easter and then later I’m going to be here all on my ownsome for a week. Hoping to get lots of writing done, especially in that final week, but so far have been a bit distracted by scenery, ice cream and vino.

Our neighbours are lovely (and quickly forgave the near cat-eating episode). They don’t appear to mind my creaky attempts at Italian conversation (mainly lots of nouns strung together with smiles and ‘Si, si’). I lived out here for a year a while ago and was pretty fluent but most of it seems to have deserted me and I have left my trusty phrase book behind in England. I’m hoping that my fluency will start to return over the next couple of weeks as the neighbours do seem very keen to chat (hope they’ve not been trying to tell me anything really important).

Looking forward to tomorrow as it’s market day in the nearby town and I get really excited by the piles of fresh fruit and vegetables and the lovely shoes. Will also need to stock up on Tam Tams – little spongey chocolatey cake things to which the daughter and I are now addicted.

My internet connection seems a bit temperamental but I’m really enjoying catching up on blogs and news in the evenings when I can (and when I’m not being further distracted by the extensive DVD collection in this house – think I’ll have a bit of The Mighty Boosh tonight.)

Eilidh is now licking my leg – either she loves me or needs to go outside for a wee. I quite like our late night mini-walks – the view is very sparkly at night as all the other little hilltop villages are lit up like Christmas trees. Just hope next door's cat isn’t lurking behind a wall.

Faffing and footling (ahem I mean editing, of course)

2009-03-18T11:26:00.002Z

Hmm cold pizza for breakfast. An odd start to the day. But it was in the fridge when I was fetching milk for my cereal, and so I ate it. Just realised it was supposed to be my lunch, but I suppose I could always have coco pops instead.

Still twiddling with my novel while awaiting a request for a full ms / compliments slip saying ‘No Thanks’(delete as appropriate / most likely)

Have discovered a couple more glaring inconsistencies - a house by the sea in ch 2 is ten miles from the beach in ch. 16. An intriguing subplot involving an old recipe book raised in ch.3 is never mentioned again. Oh and a boy called Sam becomes Adam. How could I have not spotted these before? Anyway, they are righted now. I have also done a find and replaced of ‘giggle’ after my reader (Hubby) said he didn’t see my MC as the giggling sort, (more of a chortler with a couple of hearty guffaws perhaps),
yet she was constantly doing it.

Will there ever come a point when I’m done fiddling? Even if and when I send off a full manuscript to an agent I imagine I will continue faffing and footling in anticipation of their response. In the end think I will need a big lockable box to put it away in so I can leave it be for a while and start on novel #2

Anyone still there?

2009-03-13T16:29:00.007Z

Wouldn't be surprised of you'd all given up and wandered off elsewhere by now. Anyway if anyone is still out there - I'm Back. Frazzled , dazed and requiring an 'I must never do anything like that again' sticker on my forehead, but back nonetheless.

I'll spare you the details (I've saved them for hubby dearest and my coffee morning friends who keep promising me I'm not boring them, honest). But basically I've been working too much and playing too little. Culmination was two weeks underground (well in a TV studio gallery with no natural light which amounts to the same thing in my limited experience) for hours on end with about ten zillion quiz questions flying past me as I shouted: "Correct!" "Wrong" "Erm, give me a minute on that one".

'Tis all done and dusted now though and I'm back to normal (Ha!).

In amongst the madness I have passed a major milestone in my writing career - on Tuesday I submitted the synopsis and first three chapters of my novel to an agent - Eeek. I now have to do what I am most rubbish at - be patient. I know that even a flat rejection could take months. So I really must stop jumping up every time the phone rings and checking my emails every two minutes.

I'm filling the time in going over my manuscript with a beady eye, tweaking and twaddling - and thank goodness I did because yesterday I discovered that my character's brother who is two years younger than her at the beginning of the story transmogrified into her elder brother by the end. How did that happen? It's not meant to be sci-fi. Have now righted that particular wrong (opted for the younger brother option as that was what I originally intended.) Just hope I've not missed any other major inconsitencies along the way.

Next job is to wade through my womag resubbing opportunites and get them sent out again, write my first SAF story in about three months and have a look through Sally's excellent comps calender to see what's coming up. Oh and then there's the tricky issue of Novel #2 - I really must start scribbling down some ideas.

I Am A Writer

2009-01-30T20:57:00.002Z

Just thought I need a little reminder seeing as I haven't actually written anything for the last three weeks. Time was that many three weeks would pass without me writing anything of significance, but for the last two years writing has become increasingly part of who I am. And the last three weeks have left me feeling - empty.. When I eavesdrop on my fellow writers on the SAF blog I feel like a ghost haunting a much loved place that I long to go back to. Ok bit over melodramatic that, but I am seriously missing the whole writing thing. Grrrrr.

Still only 3 weeks max to go. Meanwhile my novel, sits in a bag at my feet. I daren't look at it in case it is looking back with big beseeching eyes "Edit me! Edit Me!".

Actually I did write something today. I had just spent half an hour speed researching Carry On Films/Anatomy of the Human Body/Algebraic Formulae/British Generals and popped downstairs for a cuppa, when a voice started up in my head. It was one of my characters mid-monologue. She continued as I brewed up and searched fruitlessly (or more truthfully biscuitlessly) for a mid-afternoon snack. I got back to my desk and started to scribble. Ten minutes later I had two sides of A4 which I fed into the novel bag in the hope that it will keep my grumbling manuscript happy for a while.

Meanwhile (part 2) - Hubby is reading the novel. Other than myself and my mentor no-one else has read more than a brief snippet and hubby is the first to read it from beginning to end, as a novel, with no prior knowledge of what is going on. Ongoing reviews include: "Exciting!", "A real page turner" and "I couldn't put it down (apart from when I got to my train station)" and best of all (if said in a bit of a surprised voice) "It's like a real novel!!!"

My first reader. And I married him!

Life is good

2009-01-20T09:46:00.004Z

Thank you for all your kind words on my printing nightmare and apologies for the scantiness of my blogging, both here and in my comments on everyone elses blogs. I am truly swamped with work at the moment having taken on about a years work to be done in two months. The end is in sight but only at the end of a long tunnel of many houred days.

Anyway enough wingeing; life is good. I had a fantastic meeting with my writing mentor last week. She has now read the latest draft of my novel in full. My head will explode with boastfulness if I repeat all the lovely things she said about it but basically the keywords were 'very publishable' and 'I love it'. The latter coming from a many times published and highly respected author / intelligent well-read woman makes me very happy indeed. The former (for all the same reasons) makes me very excited. In fact we were both very excited over our coffees last week . She is keen for me to get my first chapters out to an agent asap, but there is still some tinkering to be done with the rest. I don't want to risk being asked for a full manuscript and then feeling that it's not quite ready and not having any spare time to get it ready.

It may all have to wait until the end of Feb / beginning of March when I can give it my best. Just wish I wasn't so impatient. Meanwhile my mentor has helped me draft my covering letter and given me loads of help with my synopsis about which I was formerly clueless. What a star. Can highly recommend her and the mentoring scheme that she runs - if anyone wants more details let me know and I will send links etc.

Hurrah I've run and blogged this morning. Now I'd better do some work

Note to Self

2009-01-08T17:21:00.002Z

Next time you plan to print off your entire novel (revised 2nd draft) with the intention of getting it in the post by 4pm (for guaranteed next day delivery to eagerly awaiting mentor who was quite possibly expecting it to arrive today) REMEMBER your printer takes 1 hour to print 150 pages. If you only have forty minutes to print 400 pages - IT IS NOT GOING TO HAPPEN.

Happy New Year!

2009-01-01T20:29:00.005Z

In case anyone was wondering I haven't disappeared in a tide of festivity.

There has been lots of the old wine swilling and cake and pie troughing of course (and carol singing, barefoot dancing, paper chain making, walks in frosty woods etc) But there has also been a shed load of work with an impending deadline of February and my novel edits. I have been writing from 6-8 every morning and then working at the computer til 5 or 6. So sadly I have not been feeling up to blogging (my eyes scream at me 'No more screen, please, no more screen.')

I've popped back in today because I've had a day off from both writing and working (Long walk among frost-dipped trees, pint in tinsel dripping pub and New Years Day tea with friends) and suddenly realised that I would actually quite like to spend half an hour or so at the computer.

Lots of other people have summarised/reviewed their writing year and it's been fab reading about everyone's efforts and successes and determination.

Personally I have had my best writing year ever - having finished the first draft of my first novel, submitted 14 stories to women's magazines and had a story shortlisted for the Fish Prize. My only (!) resolutions for 2009 are to get the final draft of the novel finished and sent out to an agent, to get back on my womag story writing horse and to survive my current work contract (only 2 months to go!).

Last year I made two resolutions. The first was to write a novel. It's the same resolution I have made every year for ever and I'm chuffed as chuffed that I actually acheived it.

My second one was not to buy any new clothes. Lots of reasons for this one, including - having too many clothes already, being skint, and guilt about the exploitation of labour generally involved in clothing manufacture and its environmental impact. And I did it. A whole year without buying new clothes. Emphasis on the 'new' as I was allowed as many secondhand clothes as I liked, because only the the first reason counted against it (and I made up for that by bagging up lots of clothes I no longer wear and taking them along with me to the charity shops.) I didn't go quite as mad in the charity shops as I thought I would though, although there were a few bargains (and a couple of non-bargain but fabulous vintage dresses) that I couldn't resist.

So now its 2009, am I going to go on a shopping blitz? Probably not, I've sort of gone off the idea. It was really liberating not even being tempted by the outfits on display in shop windows and I've enjoyed rediscovering items that I had shoved to the back of the wardrobe and forgotten about.

Also the combination of work and writing is going to keep me at my desk and away from the shops the next couple of months. Maybe after that a shiny new pair of boots wouldn't be too bad an idea.

Happy New Year everyone, hope it brings good things to you all.

Being there

2008-11-30T19:59:00.004Z

Really odd today.

I went for a walk through my novel.

By that I mean I visited the actual place where it is set - the North York Moors around Farndale and Rosedale. It’s been a long time since I had a good wander around up there, although it was a major part of my growing up. I have been writing it into my novel this year purely from memory and from similar (but not really) scenery in my now local South Pennines.

As we drove across the moors this morning I began to have second thoughts. Was this really such a good idea? Would my fiction crumble to dust when confronted with the reality? Would my plot become a geographical impossibility? Would I have to relocate it to Devon?

When we arrived I was overwhelmed, partly by how much I had accurately remembered (including the location of roads and markers) but also by how much I had forgotten. The place in heavy fog is even more atmospheric than I recalled and is completely fitting for the magical realism elements of my novel. I spent a long time in the freezing fog scribbling in my notebook and touching the real things - such as the waymark stones - that have been fiction for me for twelve months. In the shifting mist and silence (broken only by the maniacal cackling of the grouse) I lost track of what was real and what was fiction and I just knew that I had chosen the right location.

One of the central elements of my story (yes this super secretive writer is actually going to give something away here!) is the waymark stone known as Fat Betty.

I have this picture of it pinned above my desk and I have strong memories of visiting it as a teenager but actually being there was fantastic. I even got hubby to re-enact one of the scenes there - with partial success. (Interestingly the stone is about half as tall as I remembered it - chest height on a man not head height (maybe my boyfriends were smaller then :o)).

So definitely a successful reconnaissance and we rounded it off with lunch in one of my favourite pubs- The Red Lion at Blakey Ridge. It doesn’t feature properly in the novel, but its car park does and amazingly it was just as I’ve described it (amazingly as my memories are based around teenage trips up there on Friday nights with a designated driver while the rest of us drank cider.)

Very glad I took the plunge and did some proper research. Can’t wait to get on with the edit tomorrow.

Yee-hah!

2008-11-14T21:34:00.003Z

I’ve been bitten by a bug - of the drama variety. As part of Children in Need parents were invited to attended my daughter’s Friday drama class tonight. The improvisation was about cowboys and of course we all were encouraged to come in costume. As usual we left it until the last minute but managed to scrabble together something vaguely appropriate. As I looked at myself in the mirror in my jeans tucked into boots + checked shirt + tassly neckerchief/scarf combo I had a major flashback and realised that this was how I dressed for most of the ‘80s.

When we arrived at the drama class it was like a sixth form disco circa 1986. Lots of mums revisiting their wardrobes and quite liking what they found (majority of dads had made their excuses, hubby had an optician’s appointment for exactly the same time as the class. Funnily enough)

As we got started (yes we had to join in the class not just sit on the side) I found myself wishing I’d had an early evening drinky. I felt horribly self conscious as we were asked to play out being a pilot in a plane that suddenly experienced engine problems (this was a warm up before the cowboy stuff got going). It wasn’t the zooming around I couldn’t cope with, I’m OK at a bit of mime, it was the dialogue that was supposed to accompany it. “No screaming,”we were told, as we hit emergency buttons and wrestled with joy sticks, “I want to hear big fat sentences” While the children articulated the fear, panic and capability of pilots in a mid air crisis, the parents jostled around mumbling ‘oh dear, oh dear.” What made it even more embarrassing was the mum and dad who had turned up without a costume between them but with a video camera. Mortifying. Desperately hoping they haven’t heard of YouTube.

But, as the session progressed I really got into it, and well, ended up getting a bit carried away. If there was an award for overacting I think I would have won it for my fainting fit at the point in the saloon bar scene (yes we’re onto the cowboy bit now) when a cowhand was gored by a bull (or ‘bored by a gull’ as one of the parent-actors enunciated)

I did however get three stickers (Creative Work, Good Movement and Beautiful Voice if you’re interested) and ooh how I wore then with pride (still wearing them actually)

It was a really good fun event and raised lots of money (especially from sticky bun sale and raffle (prize - a free term of classes (worth gazillions).)

So now I’m dreaming of greasepaint and bright lights and have been googling the local am dram group. Hubby has been muttering darkly that if I take up acting “something will have to go” and I don’t think he means the cat. Still, having giving up knitting for the sake of me health I’m sure I can squeeze in a bit of board treading. I will be there next week with my stickers and my red sparkly cowboy hat - how can they not let me in?

Knitwit

2008-11-07T17:23:00.011Z

I have been taught how to knit lots of times - by my mum, my Gran and a couple of years ago even did a course on knitting with wire and plastic bags at Art College. I've never really taken to it though. I have a problem with wool. The thought of wet wool -yeesh, it just makes my teeth go all fizzy. (And knitting with wire was really tough)

But when a couple of friends said they wished they had more time for knitting I suggested we start a knitting club. So now ten or so of us meet every Monday morning in a café with squishy sofas and - we knit. Actually the knitting bit isn’t compulsory, some people just turn up for a chat. But four weeks in I have made the obligatory scarf (thin wool on ginormously fat needles so it's sort of lacy (and you can’t see the unintentional holes)) and a bag.

(My bag being modelled by someone who is not me)

Very chuffed with myself and manage to grit teeth whenever thought of damp wool enters my head. Hurrah I am a born again knitter, there will be cardigans and hats and scary clowns…

Except, last week, I was suddenly struck down by agonising pain in my back and cramps in my arm. The doctor prescribed super strength pain killers and sent me to see a physio.

“Done anything different in the last few weeks?” physio asked.
“No,” I said thinking hard. “Same old, same old.”
Just as I was leaving she commented on my bag.
“I made it myself,” I said proudly.
“Recently?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said still proud, “Just finished it, and you know what, I’ve never knitted before.”

Her diagnosis was swift and decisive - ‘tis the knitting what’s done it. After 30+ years of avoiding wool based craft activities my month of ribbing and gartering has done for me. I may never knit again!

Will have to start new club - paper maché anyone?

Adolescent muse

2008-10-24T20:19:00.006+01:00

Some days my writing is like a truculent teenager. I have to coax it out of its fetid den with promises of biscuits and cake.

Today was like that. I avoided looking it directly in the eye, just let it amble at its own pace across the page. I edited tentatively around it, made sure it was fed and watered, brushed the crumbs off its jumper, and resisted the urge to smooth down its hair. Kept my critical lip buttoned up.

And it worked. 2,000 words crept onto the page. Then it said "Can I go now?" and I let it slink back to its room taking the last of the chocolate hobnobs with it. Hope its in a better mood next time I knock on its door.

It's That Time Again

2008-10-23T21:45:00.003+01:00

Aaah eight o’clock on a Thursday night! My favourite time of the week.

I love being a Woodcraft Folk leader but I find preparing for and running the sessions a bit of a stress (especially as I have a day job doing something else and no child-wrangling training what-so-ever). Tonight was our Halloween party and it all went really well (Fancy dress, Zombie Games, a Pumpkin Assault course, Apple Bobbing (“You have to hold his face under” “No you don’t!”) and a Baba Yaga story at the end. Now I can relax with a glass of wine and not think about the darling little Woodies again ‘til after half-term.

This time last week I was still on a high from our writing group’s night of “public readings of our stuff” at a local wine bar. It was fab. A couple of hours before it started I was having big concerns - I knew that half the group weren’t actually that keen on doing it and I was worried that they either wouldn’t turn up or would have a horrible time. I was asking myself "Why are we doing this?” and couldn’t remember the answer.

In the end everyone turned up and did brilliantly. Having to read to an audience had really made us focus on our writing and the pieces were all polished to their shiniest best. We started with a couple of poems about pants then went on to ‘Duelling Haiku” - two men reading out alternate haiku - to great effect. We had stories, poems and excerpts from novels (one of which is to be published next year).

I read one of my SAF stories (about a woman dancing naked in her conservatory) and a micro-fiction piece published in a Leaf Books anthology last year, about a woman who gambles away her lover. I was also the compere and I was in my element. It was my birthday, I was wearing my favourite floaty green nylon vintage dress (how did they manage in the ‘70s with all that smoking in close proximity to flammable material?) and I had a microphone.

Everyone seemed to really enjoy themselves and we had some wonderful feedback from the audience. We all ended up on a big high, feeling really confident about our writing. And that’s when I remembered why we had done it.

There are more questions than answers

2008-10-17T10:28:00.006+01:00

Actually in this case that's not true, I have answered all the questions below as required. But I remember hearing a homeless man singing the above in a bus stop late one night - very poignant (and totally beside the point, get on with it girl).
Okay, thank you, thank you to Tam, Sally Q and Helen MH for this lovely award.

And in return here's a bit about me:

1) Where is your mobile phone? Downstairs, I just heard it go ping.

2)Where is your significant other? At work and possibly reading this

3)Your hair colour? Ask my hairdresser - I just known that it's a number not a name

4)Your mother? B&B landlady is her latest incarnation, which I can't wait to see

5) Your father? In Italy (and possibly reading this)

6) Your favorite thing? My daughter (is it alright to call her a thing?)

7) Your dream last night? Being exposed in a public toilet. A recurring theme, this time the walls collapsed around me one by one.

8) Your dream/goal? To have a novel published.

9) The room you're in? We call it 'the study, but its really a glorified landing that is also home to drying washing, stuff that needs to go up to the next floor and our harmonium

10)Your hobby? Writing, running, making stuff

11) Your fear? Illness (in me and in others)

12) Where do you want to be in 6 years? On the shelves in Waterstones

13) Where were you last night? Woodcraft Folk - We had an Australian themed night - Had a serious discussion about land rights and emigration, then painted our faces, made boomerangs, and told stories

Edited to add: This is a kids group that I help to run, just in case you were thinking it was some bizarre cult

14) What you're not? Patient

15) One of your wish-list items? A gadget that will give me (genuinely) free unlimited access to the internet and will fit in my pocket, yet will also magically have a (genuinely) usable keyboard for me to tip tap on.

16) Where you grew up? North Yorkshire and North East coast

17) The last thing you did? Coffee and chat with friends this morning after we'd dropped the kids at school

18) What are you wearing? My favourite stripey velevet skirt and a purple top and socks with holes in

19) Your TV? Very small

20) Your pets? Old saggy cat

21) Your computer? Temperamental

22) Your mood? Up. It's Friday. Enjoyed my coffee time this morning, looking forward to writing all day then people coming round this evening for supper

23) Missing someone? Often

24) Your car? Smells

25) Something you're not wearing? Sunglasses

26) Favorite store? Charity shop

27) Your summer? Gorgeous. Relaxed, fun, but too short

28) Love someone? Lots

29) Your favorite colour? Blue, unless it's food

30) When is the last time you laughed? This morning over coffee

31) Last time you cried? I'm prone to tears spilling over all sorts of stuff but I haven't had a full on bawling session for ages.

I need to pass this on and having had a look around realised that most of the blogs I read have already been awarded it. I love lots of blogs and could just give it to you all but I've narrowed it down to the five that I always read as soon as Google Reader tells me they've posted something new - Spiral Skies, Karen, Womag, Helen MH and Sally

Oh Happy Day!

2008-10-15T09:23:00.008+01:00

Mmm pain au chocolat for breakfast, a pile of new books and DVDs, a beautiful silver ring, a bottle of homemade perfume that smells of bubble gum and something cake-shaped hidden in the cupboard for later - it must be my birthday!

I'm having a lovely time so far and I'm planning to spend the next couple of hours walking in the woods. I went for a run there yesterday morning with the idea of clearing my head and came back with it full of words. So I'm going back again today and this time I'm taking my notebook and pen.

In the heart of the woods is an old cotton mill, now belonging to the National Trust. It has a fascinating history, first as a working mill, then an 'entertainment emporium' with dining saloons, a dancing hall, a roller skating rink, refreshments kiosks and boating on the mill pond and now as a 'model of sustainable development', with working models of water power and other green technologies.

Standing in the mill yard on a cold damp day when there is nobody else around you can just about here the footsteps: the clogs ringing on the cobbles, the dancing shoes slipping across the wooden floor, the thunder of the wheels on the rink. All the lives that have passed through there, the long hours and hard labour of women and children, the links with the wider world as cotton was brought in and fabric sent out, the courtships and friendships of Sunday and Bank Holiday jollies by the river and the pond, and the stories that must have blossomed on the dance floor and in the tea rooms. In the still and the quiet the place seems noisy and bustling with the past.

A good place to spend a birthday day I think.

My birthday night will be spent firmly in the present. My writing group is having a 'showcase' at a local wine bar as part of a Readers' and Writers' festival. I enjoy reading out loud (I'm a performer at heart) and have chosen two pieces that I'm pretty confident with, so I'm really looking forward to it, although it will mean holding off on the birthday cocktails until I've finished.

And finally (you can tell it's my birthday, I just can't shut up!). Thank you to Tam for this lovely award which added an extra smile to my day.

There are conditions attached to it - ie a questionnaire to complete and blogs to nominate, but this post is long enough - I promise to do it tomorrow.

But that's not me!

2008-10-13T13:59:00.006+01:00

A few years ago some friends from Uni that I thought knew me pretty well got all excited about me meeting up with another friend of theirs.

“She’s just like you,” they said. “It's uncanny, you just won’t believe it.”

I didn’t. She was the most annoying person I’ve ever met. An over the top loud mouth, whom I basically wanted to slap. I didn’t. But I also didn’t spend quite as much time with those friends anymore, and when I did, I was very quiet.

So, it was with some trepidation that I sat down to watch Mike Leigh's Happy-Go-Lucky last night. Three separate people had commented that the central character Poppy - “is just like you”. Given that I am not a primary school teacher and am about ten years older than she is, I knew they meant something a bit deeper.

At various points through the film hubby nudged me, raised his eyebrows and gave me a “you do that” look (When she piled all of her materials for her art and craft preparation on the living room floor, talked inanities to uninterested shop assistants, babbled hysterically to the commuters she was squashed with on the bus, fell backwards off a chair, seemed oblivious to the fact that not everyone was on her wavelength etc.).

“Am I really like that?” I had to ask at the end.

“Well,” said hubby, “You’re not quite so breathy and your laugh is less high pitched”

I waited for more.

“And you’re clothes aren’t quite as bright?” He was looking a bit desperate at this point so I let him off.

Of course no-one is ever 'just like' anyone else, but I decided that after all that there are worse things than being compared to an easy-come , easy-go optimist with a love of high heels. And at least I didn’t want to slap her.

Virtual Headpoppingness

2008-10-06T10:49:00.004+01:00

At about 2pm last Friday I really did think my head was going to pop. Surrounded by books and paper and envelopes and a flashing email box and a hungry cat, a half packed suitcase and a pile of washing I'd forgotten to wash. I just wanted to throw my hands in the air and shout , "Ok, Ok, I give in . You're right I can't Do it All."

But I didn't because I would have been letting too many people down. So somehow, by five o'clock, I met all three work deadlines that had horribly coincided; I packed the daughter's rucksack for her weekend away in the Dales and my suitcase for my working weekend in Cardiff; I paid my credit card bills, fed the cat and sent out my CV to three prospective new employers. And. I finished the first draft of my novel.

It was only when I was standing on the train platform saying goodbye to hubby and daughter that it sank in. It was when the daughter said 'Mummy have you really written a whole novel?' just before waving goodbye. I sat on the train in shock. I'd done it. The one thing I have really wanted to do ever since I could first cobble together a sentence. I've written a novel. It's a first draft and it needs soooo much work. But I've done it. Milestone reached. Tick. I spent the rest of the five and a half hour journey in a bit of a daze.

I'm really keen to get get on with the rewrite but fortunately have an enforced time/space away from it, first the weekend in Cardiff and now a couple of days working in London. Next Monday should be just right for taking a fresh look. It's been months since I looked at the first chapters - I almost have no idea what I'm going to find!

Meanwhile I did have a sneaky peak this morning at the the chapters I hurriedly sent off to my mentor on Friday (just catching the last post) and was horrified by the number of typos, some of which made a couple of passages difficult to understand (gulp) - I have sent her an apologetic email. Looking forward to hearing what she has to say about 'The End' at our meeting on Wednesday.

Bowie Fest

2008-09-25T11:59:00.005+01:00

Yesterday and today I've been researching David Bowie for work and, oh dear, just had to watch all his videos on YouTube. Bliss.

This is particularly wonderful

Might just have to watch it again :o)

Wordless Wednesdays

2008-09-24T09:25:00.006+01:00

(Photo by Tort at http://www.pbase.com/tort/solfest_2008)

Pinched this idea from GreenJello (I landed on her via the Black Box) who freely admits to having borrowed it from elsewehere. Yes I know I've used words this time but there won't be any on future Wednesdays - they're Wordless you see :o) (But feel free to suggest a caption)

How to Write

2008-09-23T09:36:00.010+01:00

Anyone else collecting this week's give-away in the Guardian - a series of 'How to Write' booklets?

I've really enjoyed the Fiction one (Saturday's) and today's Plays and Screenplays. Interesting and useful info by experienced writers - its got to be a good thing. If you've missed them Sunday's was Poetry, Monday's Comedy and there's Memoirs, Journalism and Books for Children to come) they're all available on-line too at

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/series/howtowrite

I haven't read many 'how to write' books (I'm not great with non-fiction) but I'm mainly enjoying the Guardian ones because they're well written and very readable. The same can be said of Teach Yourself Creative Writing of which there is a recent new edition by Stephen May.

An enjoyable read and bang up to date with useful exercises and tips from published writers. It covers a broad scope - feature writing, poetry, short stories, plays and screenplays, novels, blogging, travel writing - so it's not massively in depth, but it manages to pack a lot in.

Excellent if you are starting to write and a good comprehensive recap if you've been writing for a while. Stephen is the current Director of the Arvon Foundation at Lumb Bank, conveniently located just up the hill from where I live. He's had tons of experience as a writer - of plays and a novel - and of working with other writers and would-be writers at Arvon. It really shows in this book (and no I'm not on commission, but I am looking forward to going to the launch of his novel Tag next month (there has been promise of cake :o))

While I'm on the subject - I'm also looking forward to this Saturday - I'm going to a 'Short Stories Day' organised by Manchester Libraries. I've booked in for a couple of workshops - and there are speakers and discussions and a bookstall and - cakes. Fab.

Feathered friends

2008-09-19T06:10:00.011+01:00

Found a website today listing all the bird names of the world.

There are some gorgeously poetic ones and some ridiculously odd ones; some that sound like endearments ("My little Dusky Antbird") and others that sound like insults ("You Scaly-breasted Honeyeater!"). It's worth reading through for the loveliness of the words. No images, but the names are pictures enough.

I had no trouble envisioning a Lattice-tailed Trogon, and a Cinnamon Frogmouth and a Rufous Potoo, although in my head they were more fantastical than a living bird could possibly be.

But can’t you just imagine the expression on the face of an Enigmatic Owlet-Nightjar as she is approached by a Moustached Treeswift. Though I reckon they would both be bedazzled by the Sparkling Violetear and the Glittering-bellied Emerald.

I was going to Google Image some of them but didn’t want to spoil my imaginings. Might try to turn it into a drawing game with the daughter - lots of bright coloured crayons I think.

Meanwhile my favourite bird poem:

The common cormorant or shag

Lays eggs inside a paper bag

The reason you will see no doubt

It is to keep the lightning out

But what these unobservant birds

Have never noticed is that herds

Of wandering bears may come with buns

And steal the bags to hold the crumbs.

Christopher Isherwood

I Saw Esau

2008-09-17T13:38:00.011+01:00

I took time off from work and writing yesterday to spend the day with my Dad who is over from Italy for a couple of weeks and travelling around visiting the geographically disparate members of our family.

We headed off to Saltaire to visit Salt's Mill, which has a fasciniating place in the history of textiles and philanthropy, and which is now mainly a huge bookshop, cum David Hockney gallery cum café.

Spent ages browsing through the books which was lovely, and helped Dad choose birthday pressies for my niece, hubby and me (hurrah - the much longed for Little Black Book of Stories by A S Byatt and a gorgeous writing diary for next year)

I also spotted a hardback copy of I Saw Esau: the schoolchild's pocket book edited by Iona and Peter Opie with ills. by Maurice Sendak (pictured above). I was tempted but feeling a bit skint gave it a miss. Well, hurrah again, because I found a copy of it on the market this morning for a pound.

It’s fab. Beautifully printed on thick creamy pages, and with the original 1947 text. Lots of playground songs, skipping and clapping rhymes, riddles and apparent nonsense all accompanied by Sendak’s fantastically disturbing pictures.

Parts of it reminded me of the meanness and horror that can be present in the school playground (gulp, where my daughter is right now) but also the innocence and fun, and the sense of belonging that comes with all knowing the same songs.

The editors aimed to cover the whole gamut of playground songs (as Iona Opie says in the intro, not the ones 'a grandmother might sing to the grandchild child on her knee'), and to capture the 'oomph and zoom' of the rhymes, so they haven't censored out the ones that reference murder, or fighting, or boiling naughty children (see below).

I particularly like:

I saw Esau kissing Kate
The fact is we all three saw;
For I saw him,
And he saw me,
And she saw I saw Esau

and

Don’t care was made to care,
Don’t care was hung
Don’t care was put in a pot
And boiled till he was done

and

Charlie, Charlie, in the tub,
Charlie, Charlie pulled out the plug.
Oh my goodness, oh my soul,
There goes Charlie down the hole.

And finally

Truth, Truth, nobody’s daughter,
Took of her clothes
And jumped in the water.

Which I fancy as a quote at the beginning of my novel (the one I haven’t finished writing yet)

Favourite illustration has to be this one

I one my mother
I two my mother
I three my mother
I four my mother
I five my mother
I six my mother
I seven my mother
I ate my mother

Which apparently isn't a hideous warning of the perils of breast feeding :o)

My daughter and her friends have a whole selection of songs with accompanying actions that they share in the playground. It always amazes me when we meet other kids that these songs are known all over the country. Maybe they will make it into a modern version of I Saw Esau. (I would reprint some of them here but I always forget the words (which both exasperates and, I think, secretly pleases my daughter).

Procrastinating Acts

2008-09-12T13:02:00.003+01:00

Doing some research today I found myself scrolling through Wikipedia’s lists of ‘Acts of Parliament 1800-1899’. It gives an intriguing insight into 19th century life and also sparked off some ideas for historical story writing.

Some of the titles that tickled my fancy were the

Smugglers' Families Act
Anatomy Act
Hanging in Chains Act
Piracy Act
Bastard Children Act
Rogue Money Act
Burning of Houses Act
Madhouses Act
Relief of Certain Bishops Act
Coalwhippers Act
Threatening Letters Act
Aliens Act
Absconding Debtors Arrest Act,
Arsenic Act
Baths and Wash Houses Act

The actual texts of most of these would probably prove v. dull, but fortunately (as I haven't started my 'If you like Sarah Walters and Michel Faber you'll love this' masterwork) I didn’t have to read them.

My absolute favourites however are the

Frivolous Suits Act 1841
Unlawful Combinations Act 1848
Petty Bag Act 1849

- surely crimes against fashion that we’ve all been guilty of ;o)

Help!

2008-09-10T20:25:00.003+01:00

My widget has melted. It is now a black box (hmmm interesting)

Is this supposed to happen? Oh no I've just checked and everyone elses has melted too. I need my widget fix!

Bet it's the fault of that bloomin hadron collider. Never mind the end of the world - we have black holes on our blogs

Hope it comes back soon. Missing it already

Ten Minutes Later: Hurrah its back Hurrah. Let the procrastination continue til bedtime

I'm Addicted

2008-09-10T09:43:00.004+01:00

To Caroline's Black Boxes widget. What a great way to travel blogland. I've ended up in some truly lovely places - fab.

I've added it on the right here - why not see where it takes you!

Books etc

2008-09-03T21:01:00.014+01:00

I had a lovely meeting with my mentor Mavis today (no she's not one of the Wurzels, that's for later).

We met in the cafe in the British Library for a change as I was in London anyway. There were at least three people reading those new-fangled ibook things, which I thought at first was a bit odd as we sat surrounded by books written on vellum, parchment and various forms of paper. But then I realised it made perfect sense, it's just another medium after all.

I used to work in the BL when it was in the British Museum and I remember feeling both comforted and overwhelmed by the tall toweredness and plump stackedness of the book shelves. I tried to imagine today how many ibook thingies you would need to store the contents of the library and then thought how boring they would look all stacked in a metallic row and how they wouldn't have that special smell or be nice to stroke, and I found myself hoping that printed books stay around long enough for my own novel to be available as one.

Because yes, I am believing in my novel now. Maybe it was the fact that Mavis mentioned the word 'publishable' three times in relation to it today and started talking about agents and whatnot. She's not an agent or a publisher but her faith in what I'm doing is a huge boost. I've got miles to go yet (still haven't finished writing the bloomin’ thing) - but I intend to send her the final instalment before our meeting in October, then there'll be the mega rewrite to take into account the fact that I've completely rethought the plot half way through, but there's definitely a speck of light ahead, and if it's the on-switch of an ibook then that's OK with me.

I felt a bit guilty when I turned up to our meeting this morning as I was nursing a tired and addled head. It was our end of series ‘party’ last night - which amounted to an excess of Becks and Rose wine and a gathering around an ipod, which amongst other things had the The Wurzels Greatest Hits on it (see above) . You can't say we don't know how to have a good time (well you can but I won't believe you).

At some point in my life I may decide that dancing and drinking (and there may have been some singing) until 4am is a bad idea but I don’t think it’s going to be anytime soon.

Let's Move To...

2008-08-27T23:08:00.007+01:00

Every now and then someone out there spots how fab the town where I live is.

In the past it's won awards / hit the headlines for being funky, having independent shops, being the 'lesbian capital of Yorkshire', saying no to plastic bags etc.

It's always fun to see the place as others see it. So I enjoyed this in the Guardian this weekend. It's almost recognisable as the place I know and love - not sure about the 'clog museum' though and there's no mention of our lovely National Trust woods or the surrounding hills and moors, but then if they made it sound too attractive everyone would want to move here and then we really would have to mention the parking.

At this point I really should say 'of course its nothing special at all, just an ordinary town that the Guardian gets excited about every now and again." But when I tried to write that I realised it wasn't true, or at least I didn't believe it. It's got as many problems as any small town but overall it is pretty special, so I think I'll just enjoy being proud of it a little bit longer.

The HB Handmade Parade

Mentoring

2008-08-20T19:40:00.006+01:00

OK, so hubby liked the new idea for the novel. And after writing a whole chapter yesterday so, I've decided, do I. The section I'm writing at the moment is building towards the tippy most peak on my story arc. Just hope I can do justice to it when I get there.

In a couple of weeks time I will find out what my writing mentor thinks. I haven't mentioned her before now, but thought it was about time I did in case you all think I've managed to write almost 60,000 words without someone regularly whipping me.

Plenty of people manage to write entire novels without the help of a mentor/ whip wielding person but being a major procrastinator and having blinding moments of self doubt where I decide everything I've written is rubbish and have to start all over agiain , I decided I needed a helping hand / boot up the bum.

I considered doing an MA - I've a couple of friends who completed novels on an MA course and one of them has just found a publisher. But the cost and time commitment made that a no-go. When I heard about mentoring I realised it was just what I was after. There are various schemes out there. I chose this one - Gold Dust -because I wanted a particular mentor ( I love her books and was taught by her on an Arvon course).

We meet about once a month and discuss the 10,000 or so words of the novel that I've sent her in between. I've found it amazingly useful and inspiring having such an experienced writer to talk to. The deadline thing has worked a treat too- I have written 50,000+ words of my novel in five months - which is about 45,000 more than I've managed in the preceeding several years.

I'm not guaranteed a publishable book at the end of the 12 month scheme but even if this novel doesn't make it into the shops , I think the experience will have massively helped my writing.

Of course the downside is that there are very few free mentoring places out there. I applied for a grant for mine but didn't get one. I couldn't afford the course myself but was helped out by someone very wonderful and generous who believes in what what I'm doing (and to whom I am very grateful and will of course dedicate the novel if it ever does get onto the shelves in Smiths).

Anyway what with holidays and festivals and other such glorious stuff on the horizon I appear to have a deadline of tomorrow evening to get my next couple of chapters sent off to Mavis (not her real name but it will do for now), complete with new developments and an explanatory note about why several characters have completely disappeared and a brand new one has merged.

So I'd best get writing.

Premenstrual woman tries to hoover room that she can't stand up-right in.

2008-08-15T20:47:00.002+01:00

It was never a good idea. Especially when said room had corners that haven't seen the light of day for months. The daughter sat a safe distance away and after ten minutes of watching me huff and swear and growl said "It's really sunny outside, why don't we go to the park?"

The park was lovely - I stood tall, breathed fresh air and ate ice cream, and crucially, didn't have to lug a hoover about. Now it is dark and nobody can see the dust anyway. The daughter really does have much better ideas than me.

I may have to consult her on the novel. As of yesterday morning I have 'completely rewritten' the central bit of my plot - there are new characters and everything. it seems a bit radical at this point - 50K words, but I just felt it was lacking something, that it was a bit 'so-what'. Tonight I am going to present the case for the new story line to hubby , who is very objective and incisive yet kind about these things.

Meanwhile I have been inspired by Tam, whose output on the womag story front has made me determined to try to increase my own. As have the successes of Calistro, womagwriter, Helen MH, Maddie Moon , Sally Q and Bernadette. Well done everyone.

Harlem River Blues

2008-08-06T19:41:00.007+01:00

Is the title of the Fish Anthology 2008 - and I'm in it! Five copies arrived on my doormat this morning (well actually I had to open the door to the postman cos they were too bulky to fit thorough the letterbox, but you know what I mean) along with my Runner-up prize of 100 Euros. Hurrah!

The book is lovely - packed with short stories, poems and flashes. I haven't dared read my story yet, I'll save it til I've had a glass of wine or two. I've got a biog at the back too, which compared to everyone elses is a bit dull and straightforward, but I think my thrill at having made it to the anthology is pretty clear. The accompanying photo makes me look like I'm away with the fairies, but then maybe that day I was.

One quibble. It's not a big one, really, and I am honoured etc to be in the book and very grateful for my prize - but, they've spelled my surname wrong.

It was spelled right on the website and in all our correspondence, but has somehow lost an 'n' when it came to the printing of the book. Ah well, hubby says it will make the copies even more valuable when I'm a rich and famous author.

What to do with the five copies? Well there's one for me, obviously, and one each for mum and dad (after warning them about subject matter of story, although the title - The Job of Sex - might be a bit of a give-away). My local library is also getting a copy - the librarian is keen on short story collections and has already said she would like to add this one to the shelves. I think I will make the fifth one a generally borrowable copy - not that I think people will be queuing outside my front door desperate to read my story, but I know my writing group will be interested to see the stories that made the anthology and I might risk passing it round at book club, as long as they don't give me the forthright/incisive/no nonsense and usually spot on criticisms they give on the books we read (I'm published, it's enough, I'm not ready for reviews yet :o))

Also to be celebrated on the writing front, yet another day passes without the six stories I have sent out to womags being returned rejected - hurrah (again)

Shoe warning of the day - Don't let your children go paddling in rivers in crocs (or even fake crocs). They float far too well (the crocs that is not the children). One of Daughter's lovely streaky blue fakeys slipped off mid-paddle and disappeared downstream. It is currently caught in an eddy unreachable by arm or stick or oar from any bank. Unwadable to cos of steep drops on every side. Lost forever. Hoping it will become home/boat to small creature. Suspect it will become plastic pollution. We are going to grow cress in the remaining shoe in an attempt to redeem ourselves.

Running in Birkenstocks

2008-08-05T14:42:00.005+01:00

Is not recommended. Not even when they are the flowery blue funky kind

Running in Birkenstocks is a bad idea, especially when your route takes you over cobbles still wet from the rain and you catch sight of a him and a her that you didn't realise had become a 'them' and you fail to see the cobblestone that is slightly bigger than all the rest. There is little consolation in being the owner of a juicy piece of gossip when you are prostrate on the floor with a bruised knee while the subjects of your gossip float by oblivious.

Running in Birkenstocks is particularly to be avoided at train stations. I was waiting patiently for my delayed train when there was a platform alteration at the last minute. Forgetting what was on my feet I ran, an extra-large not-yet-even-sipped cappucino in one hand, a stuffed to busting suitcase on wheels in the other. It had been raining (again). One minute I was running, the next I was flying - all limbs in the air suspended above the ground, then whoompf. The platform was very hard, and covered in hot coffee, and one of my sandals had disappeared. The guard blew his whistle and suddenly strangers appeared bundling me onto the train, mopping at my skirt with hankies, heaving my suitcase after me and, thankfully, one of them handing over the missing Birkie. They oohed and aahed at the blood oozing from my knee, but all avoided my eyes. I think they suspected I was drunk.

Ah well love them though I do I won't be running in my Birkies again soon. I did however find them very useful on my hols at the seaside. I clambered over rocks in them, played tennis, cycled, did a spot of archery and practiced handstands with my daughter (it's the modern Birkenstock pentathlon!). They also came in very useful as an anchor for a bodyboard on a windy day at the beach (anchored on the sand not the in the sea :o)) and as a holder for my cup of tea in the morning and my glass of cider at night (we were camping, if that makes that bit make more sense).

No more shoes in my next post I promise. I have things to say about writing . I really do. Honest.

Shoes and other important stuff

2008-07-16T21:39:00.011+01:00

On my to-do list this evening I had 'make outfit for Sex and the City Night on Friday.' Our lovely independent cinema has finally got hold of a copy of the Sex and the City film and are having a special 'theme night' with cocktails and costumes.

Now, I'm a bit scruffy generally, but I do love dressing up. Have a bit of a reputation for it in fact. There will be expectations for Friday night. I can't just turn up in my jeans and a t-shirt. Well I could, but where would be the fun in that?

So I had a plan. It involved my bestest pink shoes,

a bridesmaids dress (pink silk and lots of net petticoats) age 11 and found at a jumbly (definitely a story in there somewhere), a pair of scissors and lots of sewing. I gave it half an hour after which I decided to pour myself a glass of wine and see what I had in my wardrobe that didn't require any effort.

I ended up with three options.

Fab and flouncy orange and green silk skirt with ultra high green stilettos

Vintage dress made out of sort of curtain material with big blue roses on it, with bestest pink shoes

Silky satiny long crimson skirt with bizarre straps-and-buckles shoes

Had to reject one and two as - I can't stand up never mind walk in ultra high green stilettos (a charity shop 'bargain' that I am destined never to wear) and can only just manage to sit down and certainly can't laugh in figure-clenching vintage dress (one for posing in not spending night in cinema watching potentially humourous film)

So it looks like option 3 with the odd shoes. I bought them twenty years ago (gulp) at yet another jumbly and I have never worn them. They have lived under my various beds since then (another story there I think, thank goodness they can't talk ;o). Friday night is going to be their big night. Will have to buff my feet with a brillo pad to get them up to scratch, but what's a bit of pain?

So a big tick on my to-do list and an evening free to edit some stories, make a start on the next chapter of the novel etc. Except I've now noticed it's 10 oclock and I fancy reading not writing now. A friend lent me Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman yesterday so I think I will give it a go.

This post was supposed to be about something sensible and writing related - I will put it on my to-do list for tomorrow.

A meme

2008-06-30T09:52:00.004+01:00

Thanks for this Spiral Skies and Karen. I've not been able to focus on blogging for days but I can just about manage a meme

What were you doing 10 years ago?
Same job, same town, same man. I'm not a big one for change, although daughter is a wonderful addition. This week ten years ago my feet were covered in blisters and I was half way along the Coast to Coast walk. Feet covered in blisters again today, this time from overexcited barefoot dancing at party on Saturday night

Five things on your to-do list for today:
Pamper feet and wear comfy shoes
Watch lots of Blake's 7 episodes back to back (this is one of the days when I love my job)
Print out latest three chapters of the novel and see if they make sense
Make Victorian outfit for daughter in time for school trip to museum
Ring swimming pool and rant about, I mean discuss, their proposed timetable changes

What are three of your bad habits?
Arguing for the sake of it (usually after drinking too much coffee - watch out Mr Swimming Pool man I've just had a large cappuccino)
Leaving clothes, books, dirty crockery lying round all over the place and then nagging my daughter about the state of her bedroom
Never being able to say no to free alcohol (or even the stuff you have to pay for)

What would you do if you were a billionaire?
Buy a ginormous house with lots of separate 'wings' and acres of land. My little family would have one wing and I'd invite my friends and their families to move into the others. There would be a big party room in the middle. I'd write all morning and grow chickens and herd cabbages in the afternoon, and go horse-riding with hubby and daughter and any one else who wanted to join us of an evening. It would be like a commune but without actually having to live with other people, which I've always thought was a bit of a drawback.

What are some snacks you enjoy?
Salt and Pepper cashews
Green and Black's Butterscotch choc (Spiral snap!)
Olives of all shapes and sizes

What were the last five books you read?
Ladder of Years by Anne Tyler - Just started it but I've loved all of her other books so am expecting to enjoy it
Talking to the Dead by Helen Dunmore - can't quite make up my mind about this one, looking forward to discussing it at book club
Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood - amazing, one of those 'I might as well give up writing now' books
Watch Me Disappear by Jill Dawson - excellent writing but I preferred her Trick of the Light
Tracy Beaker trilogy - moving, funny, brilliantly written, wish Jacqueline Wilson had been writing when I was a kid.

What are five jobs you have had?
Sausage packer
Education officer in a cemetery
Gardener/Decorator/Child minder/General Handyperson in Tuscany
Librarian
TV Researcher

Five places that you have lived?
Tuscany (it seemed then and still does now, like a garden of Eden - stuff just grew and grew, unlike here where apart from the spuds everything has to be mollycoddled from seed to harvest (sorry to sound grumpy but the allotment is looking a bit sad this year))
York (gorgeous, I'd happily live there again)
Manchester (as a penniless student, the best way to do it I reckon)
Harrow (my missed opportunity to live in London!)
Redcar (where they filmed Atonement)

That's me! Anyone else not done this? Go on, you know you want to :o)

My novel wandering as a word cloud

2008-06-20T17:44:00.009+01:00

I couldn't resist pinching this from Calistro's blog. It's my novel (or at least the first 40,000 words) as a word cloud

My main character is obviously grabbing all the attention but I'm a bit alarmed about the size of 'said' - maybe my characters talk too much. Also interesting to see 'back' so huge as it was big on Cal's cloud too - what are they all doing 'looking back'? thinking back'? 'lying on their back'?- I'm going to check it out and maybe do a bit of search and replace.

If you want to submit your writing to the same go to: Wordle where there are also lots of example of stories that are much more balanced word wise than mine :o)

Buy this Book

2008-06-19T21:55:00.004+01:00

It's fab, it really is. And Lovely Leigh is in it and so is Spiral Skies. I love it even though it has already made me cry. It's not all sad, or even mostly, there are lots of uplifting heartwarming stories too.

If you buy the £12.50 paperback £6-7 goes to the charity WarChild - an international charity that works with children affected by war in Afghanistan, Iraq, Democratic Republic of Congo and Uganda. They work with former child soldiers, children in prison and children living and working on the streets to give them support, protection and opportunities.
If you go for the download they get a whole £10 ('fraid I opted for the pb as I have yet to read any book that I have downloaded except of course for Disraeli Avenue which somehow worked that way (buy that too!))

Short post but it is Thursday and I was on Woodcraft Folk duty tonight. Helping to supervise twelve children as they leapt shrieking into the murky pools of a woodland river seems to have exhausted me for some reason.

They did look lovely and carefree though - I wanted to photograph them and send the picture to those Grumpy Olds who say children don't know how to have fun anymore. But my phone memory was full because of the videos hubby took of him and daughter faking skateboarding accidents for You've Been Framed. If I had the right sort of brain I would upload said vids here and you could rate their chances of ever making it on to the show. Let's just saying I'm not making plans for spending the £250

Characters

2008-06-07T19:36:00.005+01:00

Have I got too many in the Novel?

If I feel like I have then maybe it's true. I've just introduced a couple more and I'm feeling that I have to really justify their presence. Maybe it's nothing to worry about too much at this point though (half way through first draft) I'm still just trying to write the story down and see what comes.

I had a lovely conversation with another writer this weekend (he's written two novels, unpublished, and ghost written several others, published). When I said that I had reached the half way point and felt that the rest of the novel was, if not writing itself (I wish!) then at least letting itself be seen - he said he remembered that moment exactly with his most recent novel and had the good fortune for it to happen at a time when he was doing nothing but writing and could easily clock up 6-8,000 words a day! I was very jealous, knowing that I will have to do my best with my two hours / 1,000 words each morning (no let up in work for the forseeable future - financially good news, creatively a bit of a bummer). It did inspire me though.

Is it really June already? Blog has been neglected partly because of work (which recently included a week of fourteen hour days made bearable only by the company of lovely people and a plentiful supply of tasty treats, and I suppose the fact that I love my job really :@))

And then a much needed holiday in Italy visiting family and friends. A gorgeously relaxing week with lots of splashing in the pool, eating amazing food, and meeting several new people with connections both in my present and my past. The latter filled my head with ideas for stories which between the sunshine and the wine I somehow failed to write down. I really must try to make some sense of in the next couple of days before the intensity of it fades.

Holiday included one of those 'perfect moments' that keeps you glowing through the tougher times - cycling round the walls of Lucca, hubby and daughter just ahead on a tandem, the air filled with the scent of jasmine and the sound of church bells. That should keep me going through the next couple of months of work madness at least.

Title

2008-05-21T12:54:00.003+01:00

I have one! A title that is, for The Novel (note that I now capitalise it instead of putting it in inverted commas, a step forward I think)

I’m hopeless at titles, even for short stories. I always worry that I’m either being too obscure or giving too much away. Karen had a great post about some of her spare titles recently and I would have been tempted to pinch one of them but sadly although there are both lettuces and jellyfish in my book neither Whistling for Lettuce or Truth for the Jellyfish quite hit the spot :o)

One of my favourite books from ages ago is The Abortion: an historical romance 1966 by Richard Brautigan. It is about a public library in California where authors can bring their unpublished manuscripts, ‘the unwanted, the lyrical and haunted volumes of American writing.’ The shelves are stacked with works such as My Trike, Leather Clothes and the History of Man, Bacon Death and my absolute favourite Growing Flowers by Candlelight in Hotel Rooms. All titles that perfectly fitted the books they were meant for.

I was hoping a title would just present itself in my writing - an obvious theme or a unforgettable line - sadly this hasn’t happened yet. So instead I had a brainstorming session with my writing buddy Mavis who has read all my completed chapters. We discussed trends in titles especially the long titles that are sort of sentences The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time and If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things and the one I can never remember in the right order - A Staggering Work of Heartbreaking Genius (?). I decided I couldn’t go down that route as I would have trouble remembering it myself, never mind anyone else. Also pondered on the need to have a title that people could pronounce so they wouldn’t be afraid to ask for in a book shop (Having stumbled myself over Sepulchre, The Algebraist and even Miss Smilla’s Feeling for Snow).

All other options having been struck off we were finally left with a single word title - the name of one of my central characters, and I suddenly realised that was It. It sums the book up, says what its about, has a hint of ambiguity about it AND is easy to pronounce. Unfortunately to reveal it here would be to give too much away (how paranoid am I?) but The Novel is hereafter to be called E***

Hooked on haiku

2008-05-15T09:21:00.005+01:00

After failing miserably at my haiku homework for my writer's group and feeling fazed and befuddled at the prospect of writing a sonnet for next time, I was suddenly seized yesterday afternoon by poetic inspiration.

Watching my daughter having her swimming lesson a haiku appeared in my head. Then and another and another. It's like Maltesers, once you start you just can't stop. I was joined by the friend who had produced several haiku the night before and he confessed that he was addicted. We found that for the rest of the day every turn in the conversation had us counting syllables on our fingers - 5-7-5 - It's a haiku! Now I know there is more to a haiku than getting the right number of syllables (and apparently some people have dispensed with the whole syllable thing and just write three lines of any length) but it helps you focus and limit your word usage. A good general writing exercise I reckon.

I was going to post up my efforts here but have discovered via Sally Q's fab competitions calender a Haiku comp that will donate half its profits to literacy projects for kids in developing countries and in the UK. It's £10 for ten haiku so I only need to write another four :0).

Meanwhile here is one I won't be entering in the comp but which I enjoyed writing:

"Does it?" she asked me
"It does" I replied sadly
"Bigger than a bus."

Story prompts

2008-05-14T13:11:00.007+01:00

Had an inspirational night last night at our monthly writer's group. (We are the group with no name at the moment, something that will have to be rectified when we get our new (private) blog up and running.)

Our assignment last month was to write haiku. I tried and failed miserably, as did most of the group but the three who managed it put us to shame, producing haiku that were funny, thoughtful and witty. My aim this month is to write at least one decent haiku (not necessairly one that is funny, thoughtful or witty, it just has to make sense) to put up on our new blog (and maybe to share with the wider world).

Lost as I was in thoughts of haiku I managed to miss the discussion about this month's 'homework' and returned to reality only when I heard the phrase "Ok so it's sonnets then". We have to write a bloomin' sonnet! Everyone else seemed very cheerful at the thought, and they were all supportive of my suggestion a couple of months ago of writing pieces on 'Pants and other underwear' so not wanting to be a wet blanket I had to agree. My previous attempts at poetry have been fairly lamentable - they tend to be soppy or rude - hmm a rude sonnet, there's a thought.

Spent the rest of the session doing a writing exercise that got us all scribbling furiously. Between us we came up with a list of 12 nouns, then each wrote a piece containing as many of them as possible. It's amazing what you can do after a large glass of Rioja in the company of fellow writers. My effort, 'Obadiah Plum and the Case of the Diamond in the Custard', managed to incorporate all of the following:

Diamond, Custard, Sign, Cenotaph, Plum, Cavalier,Petit Pois, Earth, Cloak, Diary, Photograph, Hedge

with minimal cheating ;o)

... Obadiah turned and looked out of the window. A poster advertising Laughing Cavalier Mouthwash mocked him from the wall opposite.

"Tell me," he said. "Who was this letter from?"

"That's the strangest thing," said Mrs Hedge-Simpson. "It was written in dark green ink and signed simply with two letters - P.P."

Damn it. He should have known. Petit Pois was back in the game

I'm Back!

2008-05-12T17:47:00.006+01:00

Though to be honest I never actually went away. I just didn't blog, for a whole two whole weeks. Then today I realised how much I was missing it so have returned with vigour and vim and - a moan. I know it’s been said before, and to a better tune, but I Hate Mondays. No matter how hard I try to think positively and ignore the fact that it’s the first day of the week, I just never get very much done. It’s so frustrating when I'm overloaded with work, and want to get on with my writing and have seven tonnes of washing to do from camping holiday (OK so I was a way for a bit). I sat down this morning at 9.30 determined to get all of today’s work done by three so I could get on with Other Stuff. Here I am at ten to six and I have just finished the barest minimum of what I'd hoped to get through. I just know that tomorrow, being Tuesday will be better.

On a happier note, since I last blogged I have written another 5,000 words of my novel, sent off a story to the Momaya SS competition and got a very nice 'sorry you didn't win but we gave your story serious consideration' note from the Story Quarterly people. I also wrote my Story a Fortnight blog contribution - my first attempt at a womag story. I am going to spend my early morning sessions this week brushing up the latter for submission to a magazine and also working on a couple of other stories I found lurking on the computer which might also be suitable for sending off. I know from reading about the submissions and rejections of my fellow bloggers that the womag market is a tough one to get into but I'm excited at the prospect of giving it a try.

Three sentences meme

2008-04-29T10:42:00.010+01:00

Found this on Karen's blog and decided to have a quick break from work

1. Pick up the nearest book.
2. Open to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people, and acknowledge who tagged you.

Well, I'm researching Christina Rossetti at the moment and the following is from the biography of her by Frances Thomas (and is about Christina's brother Dante Gabriel and Lizzie Siddal)

Cathy Brown remembered Gabriel sitting in an armchair, murmuring 'Guggums, Guggums, Guggums,' in a kind of trance. Brown calling at Chatham Place one day in 1855 found Lizzie looking thinner and more deathlike and more ragged than ever, a real artist, a woman without parallel.' Gabriel was drawing 'wonderful and lovely "Guggums" one after another each one a fresh charm each one stamped with immortality.'

How sad that their friend thought Lizzie's emaciation made her a 'real artist', unless she was being tongue in cheek, in which case, still very sad, and how annoying was Dante Gabriel! I just want to shout at him - she's dying you idiot! (She actually lived for another seven years but was very very ill)

I would like to tag Calistro, A. Writer, Moondreamer, Leigh and Maddie Moon.

Life is a Cabaret

2008-04-27T20:06:00.007+01:00

At least it was last night, when Cabaret Heaven came to town. It's a monthly event and is always a good excuse to get dressed up and drink too much cider.

Last night was particularly fine - we started off with a game of bingo (the house speciality) and then five amazing acts including
Mik Artistik who was fantastic - had us all crying laughing (and buying his CD at the end). He's at Glastonbury and a couple of other festivals this year, so catch him if you can. (If this doesnt make you smile then try it after a couple of bottles of Westons Organic cider - it's a winning combination.)

Also on the bill was Mr Tundra who did an amazing 'tongue throwing' thing (had to be there) and seemed to be able to hypnotise members of the audience to do his will (like a silent Derren Brown).

All of this rounded off with a foot stomping disco and some wierd and wonderful encounters with people we didn't know we knew. One of the best things about the cabaret nights is that they attract a whole range of ages - so as overexcited teenagers pranced around on the stage, old men smooched together on the dance floor, a wild eyed beauty waved her arms like a windmill and everyone else danced like it was the last school disco ever.

Even better, I woke up without a hangover AND with two story ideas and the fourth charatcer that I need for novel #2 (he wasn't in the bed with me you understand, just in my head.)
Quality stuff, which made up for me having to work all day today. I did manage to shut my books up at 4 though and slope off to the cinema with the daughter to watch Spiderwick Chronicles- (mini review - very enjoyable, good effects, beautiful flower fairies but it felt at times like they were trying to cram too much in to a short time (but hey maybe its aimed at faster paced minds than mine). The little one enjoyed it- though she found it a bit too scarey).

Also today I compiled a 'story table'. This was brought on by me finding a story the other day that I had forgotten I had written and which hadn't yet been sent out looking for a home. I decided I needed to get organised. I now have a table of all my stories, where I have sent them, how they fared and colour coded according to their current availabilty. OK, so I was procrastinating, but in a positive way, and I felt very pleased with myself as at the end of it all I had three stories in need of a home - they will be dispatched forthwith.

Story arcs

2008-04-24T07:40:00.007+01:00

At least I think that's what they are called. Anway I plotted one this morning. I thought it was about time as there is lots of stuff coming up in The Novel (ooh very excited that I may have come up with a title too!) and I was getting a bit bogged down in what was going to be revealed when and where and to who, and it was getting in the way of the writing.

I've used a lumpy parabola-shaped one with a gradual climb dotted with crises up to a climax at about 65,000 words and then a steep descent in the aftermath. Sort of like this

Having never written a novel before I am only just getting to grips with large scale plotting and I have found this has really helped. I was very relieved, I have to say, to discover that my novel does have a plot! And it's one that, according to my story arc, can be sustained over 80,000 words without, hopefully, peaking too soon.

The details of the arc may change of course (I did it in pencil just in case) but for now it looks lovely in my notebook with stars along its curve marking significant events and the whole thing neatly divided up into chapters. Now that I've got it in down in grey and white I can get on with writing the bloomin' thing, which is the bit I enjoy

Where do stories come from?

2008-04-23T09:24:00.006+01:00

I got a story idea from a dream this morning . I jumped out of bed when my alarm went off at six in the middle of a fairly lucid, if a bit weird, dream. As I was making my cup of tea to drink while I got stuck back into The Novel I was still thinking about it and it formed itself into a story idea - a short story maybe or a segment of something longer (novel #3?). Anyway I typed it up straight away and have it now for future reference.

I introduced a new character into my novel this morning. He is key to the whole thing so I want to get him right and I was really pleased how parts of his character unearthed themselves as I wrote. The next chapter is looking a bit blank in YWriter at the moment but its going to be a biggy story-wise so I'm looking forward to getting stuck in - I'm going to go for the "just write it all down and see what happens" approach and see if I can surprise myself!

If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things

2008-04-20T20:22:00.011+01:00

by Jon McGregor is wonderful. A fantastic example of keeping your reader guessing but tying everything up beautifully at the end so that you think 'but of course'. Gorgeous writing too - I found myself copying down some of his images in my notebook. I finished the last three chapters tonight while My Man was making tea - I just couldn't put it down. Definitely a recommended read.

My Man let me off my unhelpful-at-teatime behaviour because I am in recovery - from a weekend away with 20 children, only one of which was mine. I help run a local Woodcraft Folk group and we had a residential weekend at a camping barn. It was, to copy the thread of a popular meme, in six words - inspiring, heartwarming, energetic, exhausting, friend-making, cold. The 'cold' bit was particular noticeable in the middle of Friday night when my sleeping bag was proving inadequate

and the 'exhausting' hit when I got home and realised I only had to be concerned with the needs and energies of one child not twenty and suddenly felt my body collapse with the relief. I wasn't on my own with them all of course, there were five other adults there who were all fantastic and we had a really good time. The kids were amazing, as was the location, the food, the company and the campfire on Saturday night with the beautiful lanterns and apple crumble we had made that morning. And yes we did sing.

I think it's been good for my head having a weekend of no writing at all and very little reading (until teatime today). I'm really looking forward to hitting the novel again tomorrow - but tonight I'm settling for a warm bath, a glass of wine and catching up on Doctor Who.

Six Word Autobiography

2008-04-17T17:28:00.003+01:00

Thanks for this challenge Calistro, although the results may be just the product of a long day rather than a meaningful insight into my life:

Me in six words:

Is tired, would like to sleep

or

Tries to do to much and...

or, on a more upbeat note

Optimist, will not give up, yet

and

Loves family, friends, writing and parties

and, now that I've had a cup of tea, written a to-do-list and decided that everthing is really going to be pretty fab:

Let's dance, eat chocolate, drink wine

Slush

2008-04-16T20:08:00.006+01:00

Daniel Clay: How I escaped the Slush-Pile

Found the above article by the author of Broken following a link from Sally Qs post about the "How To Get Published" masterclass at the London Book Fair. I haven't yet reached the sending my novel out to agents point yet but I have reached the bit where I can imagining it happening at some time in the near future.

This, and Sally's link to an account of the Conference certainly gave me stuff to think about.

I'm here!

2008-04-14T21:06:00.003+01:00

Well done if you have found me in my new home. I haven't changed the decor just the name. It feels exciting to be anonymous - I can say anything I like! But not yet, not while there is still a link from my named blog (don't know who I'm kidding myself is reading this stuff!)

Anyway, I thought that as I had made the move I should at least write a new post for anyone who finds their way here.

Being doing lots of the writing stuff. In fact the still-to-be-named novel is moving along so merrily that I have reinstalled my word-ometer, I am now using one designed by the Lovely Leigh and I am looking forward to watching it fill up. I also sent off an entry for the Harpers Bazaar / Orange short story comp. Was a bit shocked to discover, almost too late, that I had to send a 'passport photograph' along with my entry. I'm not a great one for photos, especially of the passport kind, but I eventually found one that I hope will satisfy their requirements. One friend suggested that they ask for a photo to prove that you are female - I'm not convinced that the photo I sent will do that!

I then received an email from Fish Publishing asking for a short biog to accompany my story in their anthology and, yup you've guessed it, a photo. What to do? I'd already sent off my best one to Harper's Bazaar (and yes it was a real photo not a digital one so I don't have a copy)

I decided to take action and so spent yesterday afternoon and early this morning in the garden with My Man having a 'shoot'. Took the 36 results (some of which may even include me looking at the camera/ having my eyes open/ not looking like a man) off to the shop today and will be able to pick them up on a CD tomorrow. Now that I am anonymous I may even include one of them on this blog.

The number you have dialled is engaged ....

2008-04-07T20:50:00.008+01:00

Has it really been a week since I last posted. Oh dear, I knew something had to give in the new regime. I'm managing to fit in writing and working into the day but at the expense of my blog. I haven't even been reading other people's blogs and feel quite out of the loop. Never mind hopefully I can catch up.

I actually spent most of today neither writing nor working but frustratingly trying to buy tickets for a lovely festival up on the Solway Firth. Not much point me promoting it here as the ticket sales web site has crashed (in fact it crashed within minutes of it being wound up/ prodded awake this morning and it takes on average nine hours to get through on the phone (seriously folks!)). But at 5.30 this afternoon I became the proud owner of two and half tickets and we will be there August Bank Holiday, rain or shine. Good luck to any one else out there still pressing the redial button.

(not a very relevant cartoon but it made me smile)

Got up for my early morning writing session today and - didn't write a word of my novel! No it wasn't the delights of Spider Solitaire or the pile of dirty washing begging to be stuffed into the machine that distracted me - it was my planned entry for the Harper's Bazaar / Orange Short Story comp.

I already have a story on the theme (Ambition). I've had it for a while, it's never been submitted anywhere else and I really like it, BUT - it needs some tinkering. Quite a bit of tinkering actually, besmattered as it is with my trademark [,,,,] and [????]s which stand for 'something brilliant will be inserted here, at some point, I just don't know what it is yet'. It might be something as irrelevant as the name of the cat or as important as the whole reason why somebody has acted the way they have. Sometimes I find the right words, other times I just give up and delete the brackets, neatly sew up the sentence and hope nobody spots the join.

Anyway I tinkered away quite happily for a couple of hours this morning. It felt really good to be working on a short story for a change and I plan to do the same tomorrow, when I might just get it finished- deadline is Friday and I don't particularly want to hear this one wooshing past.

Flying penguins

2008-04-01T17:42:00.001+01:00

This is gorgeous!
You will believe that penguins can fly

http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/page/item/epeng001.shtml

Happy April Fools!

I'm a runner up!

2008-03-31T11:00:00.006+01:00

In the Fish Short Story comp. I am so, so pleased. I get published in the anthology + 100 euros. I'm especially pleased as I really like the story - The Job of Sex - and I'm thrilled at the thought of other people reading it. Its not quite as risque as it's title sounds, but I was a bit daunted at the thought of reading it out at the launch event in Ireland if I had made it to the final three. Now I just have the dubious honour of my name and the words 'job of sex' being googleable together. Talking of which, somone landed on my blog a couple of weeks ago having googled "karen's dog sex story" - hope they weren't too disappointed.

I had a good two hours writing this morning before the family descended for breakfast. I've been really struggling with one scene that happens quite early on and had left it fairly blank with lots of ???? and ..... Somehow this morning it all just clicked and I thought 'of course that's what she would do'. I think moving on with the rest of the story and developing the characters has really helped. That and the large mug of tea and the peanut butter and jam on toast that fuelled my scribbling.

Today is the deadline for the Fish One-Page Story comp, so I think I might just roll with it and send a story that I've been working on recently - it just happens to be the right size!

Chocolate and coal

2008-03-30T19:46:00.007+01:00

Well that was nice. Two lovely weeks of Easter hols. Not that it was all play. I had to do a bit of work here and there, including two 14 hour days in 'the office'. I didn't mind the long days though. As a freelancer who works on my own I really like the rare opportunities I have to work face to face with people and be part of a team - also there is always great food on offer and lots of choccies and jelly babies, so no complaints at all. Rest of hols was sea, sand, chocolate and a smidging of sunshine in Anglesey, very relaxing.

Back at the desk in earnest now though. I've found the hols really inspiring writing wise. Things are moving on nicely with the novel and I have completed a couple of shorts that have been hanging around looking impatiently at me for a while. I even managed to send off three flashes to the Biscuit competition, with which feat I was mighty pleased.

Also pleased after spending a couple of days of hols with my brother and his wife to discover that they are nothing like the brother and sister-in-law in my novel, phew what a relief, though I was going to have to change my name and deny my authorship to my family.

Talking of changing my name I am planning to make like a womble in the near future and go underground. Various reasons, mainly work related, but I think it will make sense. My name is seriously unique (my great grand-dad's teacher made up the spelling of our surname and everyone with that name is descended from him.) Anyway as soon as I can think up a decent pseudonym I will make the move (Cal has kindly given me the know how).

Got a nice parcel in the post from Leaf Books just before we went away:

Very nicely produced and with my story 'A Strong Hand' in it. There's something very lovely about being in print in a book with a glossy cover.

Still waiting to hear the results of the Fish Short Story competition of which I am on the short list. They have delayed the announcement until 'after Easter' Which I reckon to be about now.

Books etc

2008-03-19T21:42:00.005Z

Nearly two weeks in and the new getting up early regime is going well. Which is good, as I have so much work on at the moment that I don't see how else I could have got any writing done.

I'm really getting into my characters and I'm loving how the story is flowing from them - I put them in a situation and they react, and they react the way they do because of who they are not because I think that's what they should do. And so new unexpected elements of the story are developing, but it all seems to be making sense, and sometimes there are connections between things that I hadn't intended but which have just happened and again, it seems to be making sense. I dunno maybe one morning I will wake up, read through what I have written and realise that it is all nothing more than the incoherent ramblings of a half-awake tea-sodden wretch - but for now I am happy.

Have you ever read a book, decided you hate it then been shocked and dismayed when all your friends think it's great? I am in a book club, in fact I am in two. Which is odd as I'm not really a book club person - I hate being told what to read and when, and will always leave the book club(s) book(s) at the bottom of my TBR pile and wait til I am good and ready to read it (ie a couple of days before the meet up.) Also I get very protective of books I like and don't like people criticising them. So, not ideal book club material. Anyway last week I finally got round to reading this month's book. It was a novel written by a well known comedian. The person who chose it said it was 'hilarious', 'witty', 'profound'. I was quite looking forward to it.

I hated it. It was one of the most badly written books I have ever read. In fact at one point I thought that he had written it so badly on purpose to annoy wannabe writers like me. Reading it in bed, I kept My Man awake by harrumphing - "but he's changed POV mid-paragraph", "he's just used the same word four times", "nobody speaks like that!" To each of which he sleepily replied "Well I liked it', "That bit made laugh out loud" and "You just don't get it."

The actual story was really strong but I couldn't concentrate on it because I kept getting thrown out of it by a sudden lengthy piece of exposition in the middle of the action or the introduction of a character with their complete backstory, who then disappears and isn't mentioned again.

Everyone at Book Club loved it and was full of the reasons why. The room rang with praise and enthusiasm. It was all very jolly. My Man kept looking over at me as I sheltered behind my wine glass. At last there was a silence and I said "I really didn't like it at all".
Ever popped some one's balloon? Ever took the last piece of cake that everyone was leaving for the hostess? Ever said a rude word in front of a vicar? That was me. I could almost hear the room deflate. As I tried to explain why I didn't like it I realised I was sounding more and more pedantic as if writing was just about rules, rules, rules and if you break them you shouldn't get a book deal - which wasn't my point at all (I like breaking rules, look I'm doing it now!!!!!).

I was outnumbered 7 to 1 (actually at least 17 to 1 as all the reviews I have read of it said it was great too). I gave up. "Maybe," I said at last, "maybe I just didn't get it." The room sighed with relief. There were nods all round, a refilling of glasses, and some agreement that bits of the dialogue were weak and that the ending was disappointing. "It was shit," I bubbled into my wine glass. Like I said book clubs are probably not my thing.

And finally, I read a review of a book the other day which sounded like a good read and one I might get out of the library - Shadowing the Sun by Lily Dunn. It was a generally very positive review but I was really struck by the final paragraph which seemed like a warning about my own writing - so I tore it out of the paper (the Metro of course!) and have copied it here in case it rings any alarm bells with equally guilty fellow writers

"The observations are acute, the characters well-drawn and the story engrossing, but there are times when the language, which at times feels self-consciously writerly, slows down an atmospherically sinister story."

"self-conciously writerly", who me? Yup I've spotted at least a couple of bits in my novel where everything is getting very tense and exciting and then a bit of the old purple comes wafting in all lyrical like and before you know it you've forgotten what everyone was getting so excited about. Well those bits have been struck out now and I promise not to do it again.

Writing this novel is turning out to be an amazing learning process, which I think will have been worth it for itself, no matter what else comes of it.

A new regime

2008-03-14T13:42:00.009Z

I have decided that it's time to kick ass on my novel. None of this trying to write it after work malarkey (I'm freelance, I work from home - just when exactly is 'after work'). And evenings (which seem to be starting later and later these days) only occasionally work for me as writing slots. I was in despair as obviously what I needed was a time machine - one that could make more of the stuff for me. Then a comment by Jen at Spiral Skies about the loss of her 5am writing slot made me realise that I have been wasting two hours a day - lying in bed, sometimes asleep but mainly thinking about getting up and wondering what the weather's like. So, for the past week I have been getting up at 6 and writing until 8, at which point the family descends the stairs and the rest of my life kicks in.

And you know what? - it's really working. Getting out of bed has been no problem - it's not as if I'm having to don dubiously whiffy running gear and sprint out into the streets (which I have been known to do at that hour) and I'm not having to catch a train, get dressed up smart or apply make-up (especially not in that order). I just sit down at the computer in my dressing gown with a cup of tea and - write!

I've noticed three major advantages of writing at this time of day:

As I have only just stepped out of bed the world has not had time to intrude and my mind is in that blissful optimistic 'new day' state (just before I remember the hundreds of things i have to do before its bedtime again). I am more focussed and less woolly.

I have got up early specifically to write so I don't do any of my usual procrastinating, otherwise I know I could have just as well stayed in bed.

Starting the day with my novel means that it stays with me for the rest of the day - I am becoming more absorbed in it and this has really helped with my characters and the plot development

Result - lots of words, many of which I am very pleased with. Am I tired? No, not really - six isn't that early really. I have been going to bed slightly earlier but not by much. Ok so this is week one and maybe it's like the first week of anything new - you say you can do it for ever but by week three you're wishing you hadn't been so rash, and could everybody please just forget that you ever mentioned it. But we'll see. I know it's worked for lots of other people - one friend wrote her entire novel between 5-7am over eight months - so I'm prepared to give it a try (But if this post does mysteriously disappear in the middle of April you'll know why).

A note on notebooks

2008-03-12T19:41:00.009Z

I have too many of them, its official. I need a new notebook to keep a note on all my notebooks.

I have:

My beautiful cloth bound writing diary which goes every where with me and is a good companion in pubs when I arrive half an hour before anyone else

My everyday diary filled with the minutiae of life - "Dentist 3.30", "Allotment AGM, bring cake", "pay GHB now!!" (still no idea what that one means)

My dream diary, sadly neglected but still technically part of the gang

My novel notebook, with character sketches (and magazine pictures), plot thoughts and plans, explorations of new angles - the 'loss' of which this afternoon prompted this post

My 'overheard snatches of dialogue' book - very small but quite handy. A friend recently advised me that if I was going to write down descriptions of people and their conversations in public places I should always include some sums and mathematical diagrams, then no-one will try to read what I am scribbling

My WEA Writing course notebook, now sadly to be put aside until the course starts up again in September

My ideas for quiz questions notebook (it's what I do for a living and its so infuriating coming up with a potentially great idea for a question and then totally forgetting it by the time I've found some paper )

My work log book - as a freelancer it really helps me focus on who I'm working for, what I am doing for them, what resources I need etc

And a spiral bound jotter for the meetings of various local bodies of which I am a bod.

In addition I have reams and reams (and yes I know what a ream is, its lots) of scrap paper on which I actually do my writing.

I know what I need - a gadget. One that can combine all of the above in a handy portable format, that can be backed up elsewhere, connects to the internet and preferably has a stylus so I can kid myself that I am still writing everything down. I'm sure it exists, in fact I know it does, but the technological options befuddle me everytime I look - do I want a camera with it, er no, though I suppose it would be useful. What about a phone, but I've already got one, in fact I've already got a camera too. And then there's Kindle.

I know what will happen I will go from too many notebooks to too many gadgets and I still won't be able to find the one I want when I need it.

And anyway I like my books and the collection of biros that go with them. And hurrah I've just remembered where I put my novel notebook - it's in the bathroom where I left it last night after I had been doodling in it in the bath.

A catalogue of stories

2008-03-12T11:38:00.015Z

For some reason I am still on the mailing list for a certain 'out of my league' clothing catalogue. It is one that specialises in 'anonymous chic' ie simple cotton/linen clothes in muted colours that are very expensive.
I once bought an organic cotton t-shirt in the sale and they have been trying to tempt me back ever since. The catalogues however always end up in the recycling bin and I really should do something about getting off their list to spare the tree-worth of paper that they send me each year.

But meanwhile I am fascinated by their catalogue and by the 'life style ' they portray in it. It's all very much 'the simple life' with rough stone, unvarnished wood and unglazed pottery (a bit like my house come to think of it minus the piles of books, bikes, toys, wellies and unfinished art projects). And the pace of life in their little vignettes is so slow, the women are so calm and patient. They are all quietly busy, but most of all they seem to be waiting. They each seem to be at the beginning of a story in which the next thing that happens is a stampede of horses, or a whirlwind, or a bush fire or the sudden appearance of a naked man. Meanwhile they are just - waiting. All very passive and ever so slightly annoying, but I have to confess it has given me some story ideas and some character outlines (once I have de-beautified the models).

The same catalogues also make me Laugh out Loud. The current 'Home' one being a prime example. I mean obviously you would turn to a posh catalogue when you need a new scrubbing brush (£15) , their long handle dust pan and brush (£45) promises to 'facilitate more elegant housework' and how could you dream of living your simple calm muted life without a 'pretty brush in oiled birch with horsehair bristles' (£19). Maybe it's all just a big expensive joke.

They do promote renewable / recycleable resources over plastics and other synthetics, which is great, but there seems to be a lot of cynical marketing there too and I wonder how many of these things will be bought for displaying against a rough plaster wall rather than actually being used. Not to mention the fact that similar items are available much more cheaply elsewhere but without the life style marketing.

Phew enough of ranting (although hope you notice the writing ref which sort of legitimised it). Have to mention the item below though before I go (100% linen, £145).

I want one. On rainy days, when the internet keeps crashing and my keyboard keys get stuck and I've lost my cordless mouse, I will pull the hood low over my face, and drift slowly around the house making a soft moaning noise, refusing to stop until someone brings me a cup of tea.

To infinity and beyond

2008-03-11T10:17:00.005Z

I managed to resist this bit of procrastination for 000h a full five minutes. It is after all writing related.

You Should Be a Science Fiction Writer

Your ideas are very strange, and people often wonder what planet you're from.
And while you may have some problems being "normal," you'll have no problems writing sci-fi.
Whether it's epic films, important novels, or vivid comics...
Your own little universe could leave an important mark on the world!

What Type of Writer Should You Be?

Strange ideas? Who me? Husbands made from marzipan, 19th century sex manuals, manifestations of ancient deities and women who gamble away their lovers in card games are all perfectly normal around here.

Can a universe make an impact on a world? Surely that would hurt.

Overheard

2008-03-09T19:31:00.004Z

In the steam room at the leisure centre:

Man to woman reading a book: “Is it a good steamy one?”

She ignored him and turned the page.

He tried again: “Or is it just hot and sticky?”

She put her finger on the page and looked up.

“No,” she said, “Just nice and violent.”

Fish

2008-03-06T16:55:00.008Z

Ok so I am really excited now. Here I was enjoying, appropriately enough, a nice piece of smoked trout, when I decided to check up on the Fish Short Story comp (yes I do eat while sitting at the computer, and yes I know its not good for my keyboard, but for some reason on Thursdays time seems to run away and I end up having to do several incompatible things at once.)

Anyway where was I? Oh yes, Fish. Well they've only gone and posted up the short list - and one of my stories is on it! I really did think that the long-list would be my limit, but knowing I've made the last 27 (yes I have counted them) is fab. More than anything else it means that David Mitchell author of the amazing Cloud Atlas and the fabuloso Black Swan Green, as one of the judges, will be reading my words. He may hate them, he may mock them, he may cast them to one side (the side where the bin is) but the important thing is - he will read them. Oh dear I really am far too excited and have written this too soon after my discovery (ie immediately). I have given myself the hiccups.

I am going to try to recover by finding out the likelihood of my survival if I crash-landed on the moon.

44%

Apparently this counts as a FAIL, which on the moon probably means a slow lingering death. Ah well so much for my new career as an astronaut - I'd better stick to sitting on my bum at the computer trying not to lose bits of food in the keyboard.

The film of the book not yet written

2008-03-05T09:25:00.009Z

Thanks to Writing about Writing for this great idea. I claimed in a comment on WaW's post that all my male characters are based on fanciable actors, which on some fantasy level in my head they possibly are. But in reality I have a little 'characters' notebook filled with pictures of models torn from clothes catalogues and magazines. They are all still 'too beautiful', but they do help me visualise my characters. If I knew how I would scan a pretty collage of them here, with their character names. I have the technology but it continues to bamboozle me.

Meanwhile I have given some serious thought , over my coffee this morning, to who would play who in "The film of the book that hasn't even got a title yet and is still to be written (although I am getting there)". Here are a few of the major characters

Bea - likes running, has big secrets, can't really believe who has just turned up in her life
- Keely Hawes, perfect but without the 80s hairdo she is sporting in 'Ashes to Ashes'

Erica- in there to stir things up, I think 'catalyst' might be the word I'm looking for
- Miranda Raison ('Spooks') - her eyes are just right

Paul - Bea's step-brother who has been away travelling for years, Bea isn't too happy to see him again
- James McAvoy - attractive but edgy, can do a good shifty look then smile and be all innocent and lovely

Robert (Bea's Dad)
-Alan Rickman - I'm not having a film without Alan Rickman in it

Hmmmm, that still leaves Russ and Patrick, sod it they'll have to be Sean Bean (original 'Sharpe' era) and Josh Holloway ('Lost') - a girl can dream can't she?

War Child - 6 days left

2008-03-03T19:43:00.007Z

There's only one thing I like better than a deadline, and that's an extended deadline. Its like you're getting a second chance, its fate saying, go on you can do it. So, with six days to the new deadline of 9th March to go I have submitted a piece to the War Child 'You're Not the Only One' project.

The big list of submitters on the website lists many of my fellow bloggers but if any of you out there haven't done it yet - go on give it a go, that extended deadline is meant for YOU . It's for a really good cause and I think the book itself will be excellent.

And you get to stick this nice bright button on your blog:

A shaft driven straight into the heart of experience

2008-03-01T19:16:00.011Z

Sometimes I really love my job - I spent the back end of this week researching Edith Wharton, Life and Works. She had such an interesting life - born into high class New York society, she had a frustrating marriage to a wealthy philanderer who was eventually diagnosed as psychotic, moved to Paris, had a passionate affair or two, was best mates with Henry James, spent four years helping refugees during the war and produced over twenty novels and eighty-six short stories.

She also designed houses, was the first woman to win the Pulitzer Prize, was very fond of her pekinese dogs and met the young Indiana Jones (OK I know that's not true but I think its cool that she was included in the series!).

I am concentrating on my novel at the moment but I'm still drawn to short stories. I'm always scribbling down ideas and trying to develop them. In her book The Writing of Fiction (worth a borrow from the library) Edith Wharton says that a good short story "must not be a web loosely drawn over many aspects of life but a shaft driven straight into the heart of experience."

I like that and will try to bear it in mind in my scribblings.

She is also the author of Ethan Frome, in my experience the most depressing novel ever. Beyond crying into a hanky and/or wiping your nose on your sleeve, this book just make you feel so, so sad - approach with caution!

I am babysitting for a friend tonight and am planning to use the time to start a new short story - hopefully not deeply depressing, hopefully not 'a loose web' and possibly inspired by the Winter Witch 'Nightmares and Dreams' competition which Sally has just posted about.

I also came across this book during my Wharton researches and thought anyone out there with their own 'Shaggy Muse' might find it appealing.

Shaggy Muses: the dogs who inspired Virginia Woolf, Emily Dickinson, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Edith Wharton, and Emily Bronte by Maureen Adams

Personally I find Tangerine my shaggy tortoiseshell cat totally un-muselike, but she is good at keeping my toes warm while I write.

From bleugh to woohoo!

2008-02-27T20:13:00.012Z

I was feeling a bit bleugh today. Lots of work to do, re-emergence of rotten cold/sore throat thing, disturbed sleep caused by inconsiderate earthquake (I though it was child falling downstairs and leapt about the house in a panic), and Eric whispering non-constructive criticism in my ear.

Cheered up slightly by gorgeousness of David Mitchell's Black Swan Green - although it nearly ended in disaster as I was so absorbed in it on the train on the way home that I almost missed my station and had a mad scramble for the doors with scarves and gloves and sandwich boxes flailing.

Then I logged on this evening and found this lovely award from Moondreamer

Thank you m'dear for once again making me smile and sharing that fuzzy feeling, and for your lovely comments (and the gorgeous flower pictures on your blog). I shall pass this big 'Mwah!' (with added smile and fuzziness) on to
SpiralSkies for her humour and zip (not the one on your jeans dear), to HelenMH for her warmth and excellent writing and to Cally for top blogging and for getting me involved in this whole blog thing in the first place.

So, already beginning to leave bleurgh-dom behind, I then discovered that two of my stories have made the Fish Short Story Prize Long-List! Now, it is a very long list - 120 stories to be exact and Eric has just composed a new song that goes 'There were only 120 entries anyway, tra la la la la' (to the tune of 'Brown Girl in the Ring'). But I know that's not true cos I entered 3 (so there were at least 121!). According to their judging criteria page the long list consists of stories 'graded A or B+' and are all 'of publishable standard.' So even if my two get no further I'm still pretty damn chuffed.

I now feel so inspired to just sit down and write that that's what I'm going to jolly well do.

Bread

2008-02-22T11:37:00.009Z

When I worked in a library one of my favourite browsing books was a dialect atlas. You could look up a word or phrase - ‘argument’, ‘daft’, ‘money’, ‘left-handed’ - and find out the local word for it in Sheffield or Gloucester or Torquay. Invaluable to anyone wanting to add a bit of authentic dialogue to their writing.

I could have done with it this morning. I live in Yorkshire and was born in Yorkshire, but, crucially, not the same part of Yorkshire. The town that I live in has a solid local base with a geological trifle of 'incomers' layered on top - I'm somewhere near the top of the custard era just before the whipped cream piled in.

Anyway, the cupboard was bare this morning so I went to the bakery to buy me some bread. There on the shelf behind the solid rank of women who run the place was a tantalising array of baked dough products. I spotted the ones I wanted - small round brown things with bits in. The Keeper of the Bread waited, arms crossed across her pinny. She needed the code word, the one that would have her reaching for the right stuff.

I could see what I wanted and I could imagine them split and toasted and spread with butter and marmalade. They were lumps of bread, small round brown things with bits in - but were they buns, rolls, baps, cobs, barms, breadcakes, crinkled muskets, scufflers, teacakes, muffins? I suspected they might be Double-Skinny-Granaries-Easy-on-the-Malt. I wished I was back in my home town where a stotty was a stotty, and that was that.

I was hungry. And the queue behind me was muttering. I thought of pretending to be French, but remembered tortourous times in boulangeries when just sayng 'pain' rarely got the desired result. I thought of going home and having Ryvitas with peanut butter. I even thought of asking for a ciabatta (I know they’ve got them in there somewhere.), but that would send me skittering down the few rungs of the ladders of local acceptance that I kid myself I have won.

I cleared my throat and…I pointed, “Two of them please.”

She gave me one of those ‘Tim from The Office when he’s exasperated with Gareth looks’, unfolded her arms and reached for ... some small white ovals covered with poppy seeds next to my small brown ones with bits in.

I took them, paid and left, muttering apologies as I shuffled past the line of locals already stridently shouting out their orders like dealers at the Stock Exchange.

At the end of the line I passed a woman who despite her tell-tale ART trainers and Matt and Nat vegan bag was looking relaxed, confident even. And then I saw it, clutched in her hand, a grubby piece of paper printed with the words ‘One Large Split Tin, one Landlady's Loaf and half a dozen Nobblers”. She had the code!

I on the other hand had a couple of ‘poppy-topped mini Viennas’ (thank you Google) and a determination to find a copy of that dictionary.

And the answer is..

2008-02-18T09:26:00.002Z

So, they're sitting round the fire all bearded and befurred and the riddler has told them his latest. They scratch their beards, swig their ale and mutter, "Two ears one eye and twelve hundred heads?" They give up.

With a triumphant flourish the riddler announces...
"It's a one-eyed garlic seller!"

Then runs away.

Poetry

2008-02-16T20:12:00.003Z

Comes in many different forms. I love it when you hear words that, whether technically poetry or not, just do it for you.

There is an Anglo-Saxon riddle that always makes me shiver:

I am fire-fretted and I flirt with Wind
and my limbs are light-freighted and I am lapped in flame
and I am storm-stacked and I strain to fly
and I am a grove leaf-bearing and a glowing ember.

I love the rhythmn and the soft alliteration. When I read through my own work I'm often surprised how much alliteration slips in. But, I find it works best when it is unintentional. When I use it on purpose it sounds forced and unwieldy, and turns into clumsy tongue twisters.

I heard a Willie Nelson song on the radio tonight (as you inevitably do when tuned to Radio 2, which has become our weekend listening of choice - got to face it, we are OLD now). The lyric really stuck in my head and set a story idea going:

Gravedigger
When you dig my grave
Could you make it shallow
So I can feel the rain

It's a kind of poetry I think (certainly better than any verse wot I ever wrote).

The answer to the riddle by the way is - a beam of wood. My other favourite from the same collection is one that I like cos its funny (and rude!) rather than poetic:

Swings by his thigh a thing most magical!
Below the belt, beneath the folds
of his clothes it hangs, a hole in its front end,
stiff-set and stout, but swivels about.

Levelling the head of this hanging instrument,
its wielder hoists his hem above the knee:
it is his will to fill a well-known hole
that it fits fully when at full length.

He has often filled it before. Now he fills it again.

Now then. Calm down - its a key of course. What were you thinking?

I love a bit of Dark Age humour. Imagine them all snuggled round the fire chuckling and sniggering and someone at the back shouting out, 'Willy!'

And finally...

Many were met, men of discretion
wisdom and wit, when in there walked...

Two ears it had, and one eye solo,
two feet and twelve hundred heads,
back, belly, a brace of hands
a pair of sides and shoulders and arms
and one neck. Name, please.

Answer, tomorrow.

All you need is..

2008-02-15T18:17:00.005Z

I know it's a day late, but hey, Love isn't just for Valentine's Day

Found this tree stump in our local woods the other day and it made me smile.

Contrary to blogworld appearances I have actually still been writing and will return to writing related blogs once the glow of Valentine's and me being Gwyneth's twin sister (see below if you don't believe me) have worn off {:)

Lookilikeemee?

2008-02-15T14:13:00.007Z

Pinched this from Karen (thanks!). Not too convinced myself, but if the clever old computer insists this is my lookilikee celeb then who am I to argue?

We could be sisters!
(In case you're wondering, yes you can have more than one go at this and yes I did reject the photo that morphed me into Alice Cooper)

If you fancy having a go yourself, when you get to the 'save to your blog' bit I would recommend NOT entering your Blogger username and password(!) but instead opting for 'step by step help' as this just gives you the code to cut and paste.

Next I'm going to try out the rest of my family - hmmm now who is that My Man reminds me of again?

Quick update - eek apparently he is either Justin Timberlake or Reese Witherspoon! Can't show you the full morph - its far too scary

Good vibrations

2008-02-14T19:52:00.009Z

Thanks for this tag Karen, it's just what I needed. I've been plagued with a horrid cold this week and returned to my computer last night to discover that the monitor has some horrible disease that causes it to fade into blackness and then go ping (I have a feeling that the disease is 'old age' and the days of fading and going ping are coming to us all.)

But on a lighter note - here are five ways that I raise my vibrations. By the way I'd like to cheat before I even get started and add reading, finding bargains in charity shops, watching my child turn somersaults in the swimming pool, leisurely weekend breakfasts with my family, morning coffee with friends, sleeping, Bloody Marys ...

Running
Hard to beat a good run across the moors on a bright cold day (especially the bit after the gut wrenching, lung bursting, legs-heavy-as-lead first couple of miles). Only to be beaten by running through the woods in the snow.

Music
Some very loud Led Zeppelin always sorts me out, especially when coupled with jumping (I can hardly call it dancing) around the room. Followed by something a bit more relaxed - Seth Lakeman, Nick Drake , War of the Worlds (aargh can't believe I just admitted to that)

Italian Food
Mmmm pasta with a rich seafood sauce and lots of tomato and garlic. A big glass of chianti. A sticky dolce, and some limoncello. Not forgetting the espresso. First time I had an espresso I thought it was alcoholic - but I was only 14

Swimming in the sea
Not many opportunities for it in the middle of the Pennines (hence the fell running) but I love that plunge into the cold, the battle with the waves, then floating and looking up at a blue sky. I grew up on the North East coast where the sea and the sky were mainly grey and we used to swim in the sea on Boxing Day for charity. I did it every year and never once remembered to get any one to sponsor me. It was worth it for the free hot soup and barley wine afterwards

Sex
Got to admit it girls, when it's good it's hard to beat.

Better go now before either me or the monitor goes ping.

Picture this

2008-02-10T15:45:00.000Z

I did do the picture meme that has appeared on several blogs. In an attempt to protect myself from phishers I chose images that would not give away any vital info, then for extra security this morning (after reading Cally's blog) I tried renaming all the pictures with 'neutral' file names. I ended up causing mayhem , mess and general untidiness and have decided to give it up as being beyond my technological skills. For a discussion of the wisdom of doing the picture meme see discussion on on Cally's blog).

Meanwhile all that remains of my original meme is this interpretation of my first job

Here is meez

2008-02-08T20:33:00.000Z

Enough of Balzac and all that serious stuff. Here I am according to Meez

It's fun (if a bit slow) but I might need to tweak it a bit for 'body size' - I didn't quite fit their templates.

Another way of working

2008-02-08T13:58:00.000Z

Many of us are writing, re-writing or maybe even proofing novels at the moment and we all have our own means and methods. I came across this lovely nugget today and wanted to share it with you:

"Balzac would set off for the printer's with his camp-bed and manuscripts...for nineteen hours a day he took the pages hot off the presses, made corrections, handed them back, then wrote the next part of the novel while the corrected pages were reprinted. Twenty workers were kept busy for a month and two novels were completed. ....One of the workers worked so hard that he began to spit blood."

(from Balzac by Graham Robb)

I have seen pictures of his 'corrected' proofs and they are basically rewrites of his first drafts. Those poor 'workers'. The author of the above extract observed that Balzac was the first example of a writer using a computer,"with human beings and hydraulic press instead of microchips and a laser-printer"

Makes sitting in front of an actual computer for hours on end with cups of tea, some choice CDs and the delete key seem an absolute joy.

An award!

2008-02-07T19:58:00.000Z

Thank you Cally for this lovely award. Its really heart warming being part of such a generous and sharing writing community - ooh it makes me go all gushy. But seriously, thanks.

I am now supposed to pass this on to ten more bloggers. I have no trouble finding lots of excellent ones, only trouble is you have all already received it.

What is a girl to do? Nothing for it but to award it to you all again. So Cally (bit of a boomerang sorry) , Karen, Spiral Skies, Sally Q, Helen, A.Writer, Leigh, Sarah *G* and Moondreamer please all take another bow (and no tears this time please!). And to try and stay in the spirit of passing things on, an Excellent Bogger award for someone who as far as I know hasn't had one yet - Neil for his seamless interweaving of music and politics.

What do you wear?

2008-02-06T10:06:00.000Z

There has been talk on other blogs about what we wear when we are writing. A lot of people seem to go for the jim-jams option and so far no-one has owned up to doing something I was once recommended (but have never tried)- 'dressing as if for the office'. I am with Karen in agreeing that waistbands hinder writing (unless of course they are the comfy sort found on jim-jams)

I decided to do a bit of research and am now the proud owner of the following trivial information, which I would like to share:

Victor Hugo wrote in the nude in an attempt to fight writers block (on the principle that if all his clothes were taken away he would have nothing to distract him (spot the obvious flaw in that idea), Ernest Hemingway wrote naked , standing up with his typewriter at waist level (maybe he had learnt from Hugo's mistake) and Agatha Christie wrote in the bath (maybe naked, maybe in a wet suit, maybe fully dressed lying on cushions). Honore de Balzac, of bawdy story fame, wore a 'monk's robe' (actually a white dressing gown but everyone chose to humour him) when writing and of course Barbara Cartland wore pink. Don't know about Charles Dickens but apparently he practiced his dialogue by jumping up and down in front of a mirror pulling faces and talking in silly voices.

So, what do I wear? Well, without wanting to get too personal I have to confess to not owning a pair of jim jams, and as my house is generally freezing that does mean I have to get dressed before sitting down to write. In fact I am usually completely clothed, if a bit scruffy, and 'shock horror' have even been known to have applied mascara before I begin. I should add that this is not for the purposes of writing but because I often have a social interlude of a morning (ie an early coffee with friends in trendy cafe in town) and the mascara helps my eyes stay open before the coffee kicks in.

Time for some discipline

2008-02-04T20:09:00.000Z

I've had it easy the last month or so - no work and plenty of writing time. Result - lots of novel written and four stories completed and submitted (Hurrah!) and big echoing hole in my bank balance (Boo!)

I'm freelance so the work flow can be a bit up and down. Well it's suddenly shot up again. I am inundated with stuff and deadlines are looming like towerblocks on my horizon. My hungry bank balance is cheering but as the work piles up on my desk I'm losing sight of my plot lines and story ideas.

Today I decided to take action. If I'm going to work (which I have to) and write (which I want to) I'm going to have to be more disciplined with my time. This is a two part plan, involving

1) demarcating specific work and writing time, and sticking to it.

2) mopping up those odd half hours in the working day which I fill with mooching around charity shops, playing spider solitaire, stopping too long over morning coffee with friends, sorting socks into pairs (the last inspired me to start a website called Socks Reunited, but then I found it had already been done!) and generally not using my time productively.

I'm also going to try to write more in the evening (although I will have to fight over the key board with My Man who has a whole load of fell running/weather watching/ local politics forums what-not going on on the internet of an evening.)

Last part of my plan is unlikely to begin tonight however as I have on my desk a video of the brand new episode of Lost. We don't have Sky but a kind friend does and managed to tape every episode for us last time and is going to do it again this time.

Hurrah for Discipline, Plans, Lovely friends with satellite television, Lost (especially Sawyer) and Still having coffee with friends on a morning but just not hanging around for quite so long

A toast to...

2008-02-01T19:27:00.000Z

...everyone who participated in the Your Messages project. Last night's launch of the book was a fitting celebration of the 115 people from all over the world who contributed during November. The event was in the spirit of the original idea - warm, generous and welcoming. In the preface to the book Lynne and Sarah say that they "truly wished we could put them all in here, but failing that, we love the idea that they are still up there altogether on the Your Messages site where they all belong." It is fantastic to be able to revisit the site and read favourite pieces, including the many wonderful ones that aren't in the book.

Lynne and Sarah annonced that bluechrome are donating all the money from the sales of Your Messages to the Kids Company charity, which is fantastic. They raised £500 from sales at the launch, and it's now available on Amazon.

It was great to meet fellow bloggers in the flesh and a shame to miss those who were unable to attend. I met the lovely Leigh, was initiated by Caroline into the world of In Search of Adam (I now have a badge!) and would have bought the paperback today if Waterstones had been open at a reasonable hour (ie before my train left London), was enticed by Oz Hardwick's description of the forthcoming York Literature Festival, made note of a couple of blogs I had previously not encountered (Three Beautiful Things and Mercs World) and generally met lots of fantastic people.

Had an uneventful journey back, immersed in Sarah Waters' Fingersmith (what an amazing book). At one point though I got totally distracted by the mobile phone conversations of the woman sitting next to me - to the extent that I started to just pretend to read so I could have a good listen, and then when I realised I wasn't very convincing I pretend to doze off. It was fascinating stuff - a world of seriously rich partying , exotic holidays, dastardly exes, finanicial crisis that 'I'll just have to ride dahling' and invitations to 'the house in Chamonix'.

Wish I'd made notes but that might have been too obvious and anyway I don't think I'll forget her in a hurry. It was also interesting in light of my Messages piece - which is about an Internet stalker. By the end of the journey I had so much information about her and her life that I am tempted to Google her and find out more - does that make me sound really creepy?

Off to that London

2008-01-30T21:30:00.000Z

Very excited about my trip to the big city tomorrow for the Messages / Your Messages launch. I have a to-do-list a mile long which has worrying things on it like - 'Pay Tax Bill' and 'Find out where this Covent Garden place is'.

I found this lovely picture of The Book on Sarah Salway's page - it's so very beautiful and so very purple.

It's available from Amazon and all proceeds go to the charity Kids Company

It's too late for me to take up the suggestion of wearing purple to match the book, I always plan well in advance what I am going to wear and cannot be moved on the subject (unless I discover a big stain down the front / can't do up the zip/ realise it makes me look like a frog).

I am reading my 'message' at the do and am third on - after published author Caroline Smailes!! I'm a wee bit nervous but I'm taking my step-sister along for support and she is going to make sure I don't succumb to the vodkas beforehand. Talking of which, it is the last day of my not-drinking month tomorrow but I think I may permit myself a premature tipple (or two) after I have read my piece, rather than waiting 'til midnight.

OK I've got a to-do list to deal with and it seems to have 'Polish boots and buy some nice tights' on it which both seem unlikely before I catch my train in the morning.

A carpet of books

2008-01-29T10:21:00.000Z

The books are off the shelves and I can't see the living room floor anymore.

We had a lovely time last night making piles of As, Bs, Cs etc . So many 'H's (a shared student obsession with Robert Heinlein) and 'P's (Still love Terry Pratchett) and only one U (Barry Unsworth - Sacred Hunger which I read lying in a river in the Sumatran jungle while My Man was in bed being horribly ill for three days (I know this because while clearing the shelves I found my Indonesia holiday diary)).

Lots of the books sparked off memories of what we were doing when we read them and how obsessed we were with particular authors at certain times in our lives but would we ever read them again (see Heinlein).

The fiction was pretty easy to sort - alphabetical by author (although we got a bit tired towards the end and I've just found Charlotte Gray by Sebastian Faulks filed under 'G'.)

There was some debate over the definition of a 'classic' - We have a bookshelf that only fits Penguin Classics and I made a separate pile of these to which My Man added several other books which he also deemed to be classics (yes I too loved Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and Graham Swift's Waterland - but they don't physically fit on the shelf!)

Biggest cause of discussion was the non-fiction. I have an extensive collection of Reference books, for my work, on the shelves above my desk. They are arranged in 'most used ones nearest to hand' order. The rest of the non-fiction is scattered haphazardly around the house.

In an attempt at order I made 3 broadly grouped piles of 'Arts and Social Sciencey stuff', 'Science and Nature and Machines' and 'Everything Else'. I went to make a cup of tea and came back to find thirty-six separate piles, labelled 'Environmental Ecology', 'Political Science', 'History-Modern', 'History-Medieval', 'Meteorology', 'Popular Science', 'Travel-Britiain', Travel-Abroad, 'Maps' etc, etc.

I trained and worked as a librarian years ago but never really got into the whole fine tuning of cataloguing (tending instead towards the, admittedly frustrating, 'it's a big blue book with silver writing on the spine - you know the one', approach.) It was one of the reasons for my career change (that and an offer to work as a gardener in Tuscany). Anyway, I think My Man missed his true vocation. I'll be getting him some Dewey Decimal stickers for his birthday.

Didn't find that missing library book but have tagged seven books that I am prepared to part with via Bookmooch. If you haven't already discovered this site its worth a look. Its seems a great way of exchanging books (and cheaper in the long run than Amazon Marketplace).

Now, where has he put Worms Eat My Garbage? I'm sure it should be at 631.875 (Composting), but as he is very fond of our friends in the wormery I had better check under 636.08 (Pets), where I have a horrible feeling I might also find Hugh Fearlessly Eats it All

(only joking Hugh we love you really).

This is MeMe

2008-01-27T19:21:00.000Z

Just got back from a lovely weekend in Scarborough to find I had been tagged for my first ever meme, appropriately enough by Scarborough lass Karen.

The small print: Link to the person that tagged you. Post the rules on your blog. Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself. Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs. Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on his/her website.

1. I was once a security guard on the Royal Yacht Britannia and had to search the Governor of the Bank of England’s briefcase. I wasn't allowed to step out from behind my desk because I was wearing Doc Martens boots, the only black shoes I owned

2. The eaves of our house are stacked with boxes of wool and felting fleece. I have two linen baskets and six bin liners filled with fabric and items of clothing that 'just need a bit of alteration'. Behind my desk there is a rag rug that I began two years ago. I sometimes feel haunted by my unfinished projects.

3. Whenever I write anything autobiographical my Nana turns up in it. She even features, thinly disguised, in my novel. She was an artist rather than a writer but she was a big influence on my creativity

4. I am overexcited by the prospect of spending the next couple of evenings with My Man taking all the books off our bookshelves and then putting them back again. The idea is to remind ourselves of which books we've got and where they are, find all those books that belong to other people and should really be returned, track down a couple of long overdue missing library books and eventually create some kind of order on the shelves so we won't have to go through the whole process again in the near future (I used to be a librarian and while I normally welcome randomness into my life I get very frustrated when I know I've got a particular book but just can't find it.)

5. I live in the hills miles away from both the east and west coast, but would love to live by the sea and eat fresh fish every day

6. I used to hold the record at school for the 100m sprint and raced at county level. I now run much more slowly over much longer distances, don't take part in races and hold no records whatsoever.

I've checked through all the blogs I read regularly and I don't think you've had this one Spiral Skies, so consider yourself tagged.

Introducing...

2008-01-24T13:04:00.000Z

Eric.

He's my Pixie of Self Doubt (yes I know he looks friendly but there's a water pistol lurking in that bouquet). He lives under my desk and sometimes under my bed, he has even been known to lurk in the library (in the 'How to Write Properly' books section) and on trains (talking loudly into his mobile phone about 'wannabe writers who haven't got any original ideas and over use semi colons ;)

I had him locked in his box on Tuesday and had a blinder of a writing day. This included completing and sending off my first ever submission to Mslexia. Whether they like it or not it feels like an achievement to have done it.

Our writing group met in the evening and we had a guest writer, the playwright Linda Marshall-Griffiths (listen to her play broadcast on Radio Four last Friday under the name Jude Hughes). It was very generous of her to share her wealth of experience with us. She has such an obvious passion for writing that we couldn't help but be inspired. She did some workshop stuff with us that worked really well. So well that the next day I revisited what I had written, edited, tweaked etc and found I had - a poem! I'm not a great one for writing poetry, I tend to go all slushy and limp. But this one is different, it's actually quite edgy and creepy.

Eric managed to escape yesterday afternoon and told me with glee that my writing was irrelevant nonsensical chatter with no meaning or purpose. Not wanting to wallow in such feelings I distracted Eric with my poem (I have no expectations of being a poet so he can say what he likes about it) and did some sewing instead. I found a dress at the secondhand market in town that was so gorgeous - and only cost £4 -that I bought it even though it was two sizes too big. I spent last night tucking and turning, and voila! - a dress fit for a trip to the wine bar with my mates tonight. (Eric knows nothing of the cunning art of dressmaking so has no say in the matter).

Right Eric back in your box, I've just remembered some good things about my novel and need to get back to them before I forget.