A Likely Story

500 Word Comp for Kids!

2012-01-28T10:12:00.000Z

Last year Chris Evans launched a writing competition for kids on BBC Radio 2. It attracted 30,000 entries. Isn’t that great?

It’s happening again this year and he’ll be announcing it on Monday. Details here. There will also be video clips from the judges with tips, so bookmark that page for the youngsters!

Stories have to be a maximum of 500 words and the top 50 will be invited along to the Hay Festival in June.

Talking of Old Photos...

2012-01-24T13:55:00.004Z

A few years ago I found my old camera and it still had a film in it. I must have discarded it when a new camera came along – how cruel!

Not holding out much hope, I had the film developed. These are a couple of photos from that film taken at a heavy horse centre which may have been in Dedham, but honestly it was so long ago I can’t remember.

I’m the one in the dreadful blue jumpsuit. It was made of quite thick corduroy and – no honestly, it’s true – I wasn’t that plump, it was thick fabric! I was quite a slim thing in those days. I think I was about 16 or 17.

I like the way something has caught my sister's attention and she is unaware the photo is being taken.

I’m sure the sky wasn’t really that colour, but that is the only real sign of the film deteriorating.

The horses, of course, were lovely!

Sweet Stuff

2012-01-23T17:45:00.003Z

Thanks to Patsy and Carol (fellow sweetie pies) for awarding me the Sweet Blogger Award.

Now I have to think of seven things about me – hm, what to say? What can I say about me that I haven’t already bored you to tears with?

Maybe as the award picture is of something rather delicious looking, I should make it foody.

1. My favourite dinner is a roast with all the trimmings, but no meat and strictly veggie gravy.

2. My favourite dessert is – well how long have you got? Can’t make up my mind between chocolate pud and custard, lemon cheesecake, Tiramisu or fresh fruit salad and then of course there’s trifle and apple cake so let’s just say for no. 2, I love desserts.

3. I only ever made Christmas puddings once. It was back in the day and I put them on to boil and forgot about them. They were in plastic pudding basins. The saucepans boiled dry, the pudding basins melted, saucepans got ruined and from then on Mrs Peek’s fine puds were considered an investment.

4. I used to make my mum huge gateaux for her birthday and smother them in fruit, cream and nuts and put a candle on the top. One year we got her a candle that played happy birthday, but it wouldn’t shut up so we hid it in a drawer and it still wouldn’t stop. It had to go in the bin in the end. You could still hear it gamely playing away as the bin man hurled it into the back of the truck - well no you couldn't really, but the bin man might have heard it. For the purposes of this post, I'll assume he did and then couldn't get the tune out of his head for the rest of the day. In fact it was his birthday and he thought everyone had forgotten and so the singing candle put a smile on his face.

5. I miss my mum’s cooking more than I can say, specially her roast dinners.

6. My grandad used to pickle onions and fill huge sweet-shop jars with them. I used to go to the chippy with my friends and we’d all buy a bag of chips, then I’d dish out Pop’s pickles to everyone. I did not do this many times before I was forbidden to touch the pickled onions. I have never tasted pickled onions as good as Pop’s.

7. I love tutti frutti ice cream and can’t find it anywhere. Sob.

Now to pass it on (you’ll have to do the drum roll) :

Lydia’s Log

Klahanie

Living Between the Lines

Novel Moments

Romance Writer in Waiting

Ten Lives and Second Chances

Wanna be a Writer

Something New, Something Old

2012-01-20T17:41:00.005Z

Frances has set up a new blog. It’s called Real Nurse Campaign and I think you’ll find what she has to say very interesting.

That’s the new thing.

With this post I’ve done what I sometimes do when writing – found the title first. Now I’ve got to think of something old – and a clip round the ear to that person who said that would be me!

So I’ve had a look through the photos in my computer archive (oo get her) and I was going to put up an old black & white photo, but then I came across this.

I took this photo with my Kodak Instamatic camera (isn't it sad about Kodak filing for bankruptcy?). I was about 9 I think and the camera had been a birthday present. My pocket money would only run to the occasional film (I think it cost 12/6 to develop 12 black and white photos, but I could be wrong) and in those days black and white film was cheaper. Then I must have come into money because I bought a colour film which I’m pretty sure had 24 exposures and this was one of the photos I took with it.

The dog standing on the roundabout is Nikki. I have very few photos of him and this picture is the best one, but it was lost for about 40 years and I had often wondered about it. When you’ve taken so few photos you never forget your favourite ones.

My mum kept all the cards ever sent to her. She liked the ones that came in boxes with padded fronts and lots of meaningful verses. Quite a long time after she died, I went through them all and when I opened a Mother’s Day card from me, I’d included the photo of Nikki as a gift to her. And there it had been all those years. You can imagine how I felt when I rediscovered it.

He was a beautiful dog. He died after eating rat poison (someone it seems thought it was okay to put rat poison around their precious beach hut - we never did find out who) aged only 6.

I have wonderful memories of him. I’m sure I’ve blogged about him – I certainly have a long post written in my blog archive in Word (oo get her again) but I can’t find it on here, so maybe it was one of the many I wrote in draft and never published.

What I did find whilst trawling through was a blog post entitled Something Old, Something New – I’m really going to have to start putting more thought into titles!

Your face...

2012-01-18T18:51:00.004Z

On the cover of Stephen King’s latest book, The Wind Through The Keyhole.

Go to the Facebook page, here, upload your photo before 23^rd January and you’re in with a chance.

And if the idea of that doesn’t grab you, how about one lucky entrant winning his entire Hodder backlist? Swoon. Oh, but what am I on about – I already have all his published books – but what a prize for those that haven’t!

There is a reason for the shorter posts of late. Adhesive Capsulitis and/or IVF encroachment (that’s what my chiropractor has written on the note I have to give my doctor - I know Adhesive Capsulitis means frozen shoulder, but I've no idea what the other thing is). Whatever it is, it hurts and I can’t wave my arm about – not that I usually go round waving my arms about, but I couldn’t for instance send a semaphore message to the woman on the other side of the field as there are some letters I just couldn’t do – definitely couldn’t do an E or an F.

Maybe I’ll have to stick to Morse code.

Anyway don’t let me keep you – go and find a photo and I hope to see you on the jacket!

Win Book Tokens!

2012-01-15T11:46:00.003Z

The Telegraph are running a competition to win £400 of book tokens (two runner up prizes of £50) here and while you are there why not nominate your favourite book shop and leave a comment to be in with the chance to win £25 of book tokens - you can do that here.

If you care...

2012-01-14T13:15:00.003Z

About our countryside and how billions of pounds of our money - yes our money - is being spent, please go and read Gail's post at The Writing Bug and if you agree with what she says, please follow the link and sign the petition.

While I've got my soapbox out, did you know that the government is planning to cut payments made to authors through ALCS (The Authors' Licensing and Collecting Society)? More details about that and what you can do at ALCS.

Eve of Spring

2012-01-10T09:11:00.001Z

How are you now that everything has settled down after the Christmas holiday? Doesn’t everywhere seem drab and dark now all the Christmas lights have gone? I left mine going till the very last minute and considered leaving some of the indoor lights up until spring, but then I thought they’d only gather dust so away they went.

I remember one year when my kids were small I refused to put the decorations up until they broke up from school. It was terrible. I never left it that late again. I had some romantic rosy vision of all the family getting together to put the decs up once we were “in” for Christmas. The reality was three unhappy children gazing miserably at the lights and trees in other windows as we walked to and from school.

This week I finally got my Christmas sewing machine out of its box. Ooh it’s pretty and quiet and so light. Until I actually had it on the table in front of me, I hadn’t realised how much I’d missed using a machine. It was all going very well until Indy stood on the foot pedal and I sewed myself to the tablecloth…

No I didn’t really. The machine wasn’t even turned on at the time and there wasn’t a tablecloth on the table anyway, nor did I have long sleeves. You can’t help it when you’re a writer, going off into the realms of what ifs can you?

Indy had a good Christmas. He had quite a pile of presents including a box of Dogteasers which look like Maltesers and it says on the box that they’re not harmful to children. He really likes them and doesn’t swallow them in one gulp like most things, but munches and crunches and rolls them round his mouth savouring every last crumb.

I did tell you about the time I was smacked for eating all the chocolates off the Christmas tree when I was a child didn’t I? Not smacked for doing it, but for lying about it and for being stupid enough to leave the empty wrappers behind. Then my mum saw our Boxer Zulu gently removing chocolates and unwrapping them. Now that one is true!

Anyway we’re well into January now and it seems old hat to still be talking about Christmas. We have spring to look forward to, light evenings, flowers and sunshine. The dawn chorus has already started tuning up – usually between 6 and 6.30am. No matter what winter throws at us now, the end is in sight!

Happy Eve of Spring!

In conversation with... Diane Fordham

2012-01-06T18:20:00.008Z

Ever thought about being imprisoned in your dreams? Well I hadn’t until I read Dream Keeper by Diane Fordham.

Diane is a successful short story writer, novelist and fellow blogger and I am thrilled that she has agreed to pop in to talk to us about her supernatural novel Dream Keeper and about writing in general. As you will see, Diane is passionate about writing and whether you are a published or unpublished author, I think you will find her answers inspiring.

How did you feel when your first short story was accepted and who heard about it first?

I persisted for a long time before that first short story acceptance arrived and when it did the rewards I felt within myself was a celebration in itself. At the time I lived with my husband, Ray and my children Amy and Jared were very young. I remember the kids jumping up and down and excitedly shouting, 'Good on ya Mum!'

Like me, I know you’re a fan of Stephen King and Dean Koontz. Do you have a favourite book?

There are so many I can't put my finger on one particular book, but Duma Key by Stephen King is a favourite of mine.

And what is it about those particular authors that you like?

I admire the way these authors keep you entertained right from the first page to the very last - that's got to say something.

Where do you write?

I write everywhere. My favourite place is the beach. I'm a notepad and pen girl which doesn't limit me to where I can write. I find writing in different places, especially outdoors inspires me in different ways; characters, scenery, dialogue and ideas. I type my notes on my laptop in my lounge room at a huge desk which I am quite fond of.

You write a great deal. Do you ever suffer with the dreaded Writer’s Block and if so, have you any tips on how to deal with it?

Writer's Block is easily solved - I go outside. Whether I'm walking along the beach or around the block someone or something inspires me. Even reading a batch of short stories or a novel will trigger something inside of me that will jog an idea to work with. I think the key to overcoming Writer's Block is not believing in it, or if you can't manage that put yourself somewhere different so you can experience different things.

I mean this in the nicest possible way, but the night I started to read Dream Keeper, I awoke from a nightmare (perhaps not surprisingly about an unsavoury character stalking my dreams) to find Indy staring at me, asking to be let out. I’m not kidding, I was scared to get out of bed for a while and when I finally went downstairs I was constantly looking over my shoulder. Did you have nightmares when you were writing the book and if so, were you tempted to give up?

I had already met Dream Keeper in my own nightmares and to be honest many of the scenes were from my own dreams, especially those tunnels. I was never tempted to give up because there were fears that I needed to work through and the novel helped me to do that.

The nightmares sound frightening, but writing about them was clearly cathartic. Have you ever had a dream which has then become a short story?

I certainly have. There have been a few. One in particular was quite bizarre. The dream was the beginning of a short story (in my mind I had no doubt of that) and the dream made me ask a lot of questions about this character and why she was where she was and where she was going. I typed that story out the next day and submitted it that afternoon. In the evening I checked my emails and the story was accepted. I have never had a story written, submitted and accepted so quickly... never! So bizarre.

That’s fantastic, Diane. Sometimes a short story can be a gift from your dreams. It’s happened to me too, but it has never resulted in so swift an acceptance. I have to ask as you are a short story writer and a novelist, which do you prefer writing?

Can I pick both? I like novels because of the intimacy you achieve with your characters. In a novel the characters become a part of you, the good and the bad. You are able to explore stories within stories which entwine with the main story. Basically for me, I get to keep my fictional world for longer. I like the challenge of writing short stories. To create a piece of fiction with a beginning, middle and end in a limited number of words is quite exciting for me. Also I enjoy the flexibility of short stories; one day I might be writing a ghost story and the next a twist story. Actually, I just love writing!

Your love of writing is obvious, but finally what is the one thing you wish someone had told you when you first started to write?

'Keep your note books Diane.'

That made me smile. I’d never thought about it before, but looking back I wish I’d kept my notebooks too. Thank you for visiting my blog, Diane. Those were great answers and your love of writing really shines through.

About the book:

Dream Keeper the king of eternal sleep is building his kingdom in the dream tunnels of human minds and he wants novelist, Tiana, to be his queen. People all over the world, including Tiana’s family are falling into comas and the only way Tiana can save her family from eternal sleep is to join Dream Keeper in his world.

Enter Senior Investigator Macarthur T Egan, but how can he stop someone who exists in dreams? Well you’ll have to read the book to find out!

About the Author:

Diane Fordham lives where the rainforests meet the sea on the mid-north coast of NSW in Australia doing what makes her happy – writing.

It is her dream to one day write something that changes the lives of people in an uplifting and positive way.

Writing is Diane’s passion, what brings out the best in her and she has had more than 50 short stories published and of course her novel, Dream Keeper.

You can read more about Diane over at Reading and Writing where she is Rosemary’s first Author Spotlight of the year.

Visit Diane at her blog here.

Dream Keeper is available through Diane’s website and at Amazon UK.

New Years Past and Present

2011-12-31T10:10:00.001Z

Don’t talk to me about resolutions. I always end up with egg all over my face. I haven’t forgotten the series of books I was going to write for children and various other projects that sounded such a brilliant idea when Big Ben chimed but had lost their sparkle before the decorations came down. That’s not to say I don’t have something special up my sleeve, but maybe if I keep my trap shut I will actually get somewhere with it!

There’s the losing weight one too. In 2012 I have added incentive to lose weight – a family wedding. I lost a stone when Tilly was ill - not through dieting, but I would rather be double my weight and have her still sitting beside me in her chair, but you know that.

November for me is the worst month of the year and January should be sitting beside it, but I cannot dislike January. Many bad, sad memories in January, but how can I ever hate a month that brought me three of my grandchildren.

It was at New Year eleven years ago that my lovely Tilly came to live with us after her first few unhappy months with people who didn’t understand the needs of an active, intelligent puppy. She thought her name was Naughty Girl (which was by no means the worst of it) and it means so much that my last words to her, the last she heard as she went to sleep were “Good girl, good girl.”.

When she joined our family it was a very happy time for us – adding her to our family at the same time that Indy was well on the road to recovery after we came so very close to losing him. That must rank as one of the best New Years ever. But I never imagined at this time last year that she would be gone by now.

Last New Year was one of the best. On New Year’s Day we will be celebrating Noah’s first birthday. What a nerve wracking time it was leading up to his birth with the worries about being snowed in and him being so late, but he was worth every bit of it.

So Happy Birthday to little Noah and Happy New Year to you. May all your dreams and wishes come true and I hope the coming year brings you much peace and happiness and of course lots of writing success.

And also there’s a cyber New Year’s Eve party going on over at Frances’ place. You can take an unwanted Christmas gift and a partner of your choice. Hope to see you there!

Lost and Found and Happy Christmas

2011-12-21T12:44:00.005Z

My Poor Husband. I think what he needs for Christmas is a new missus. Just this past week I have accused him of throwing away my Fiction Feast and my rubber band. Not just any rubber band you understand, but a red rubber band that I use to hold my Special Christmas Notebook closed.

For some reason I always think the rubber band will stop anyone peeking to see what delights or otherwise I will be stuffing in their stockings this year. They wouldn’t be able to decipher my writing anyway. I know I can’t.

In my Special Christmas Notebook, I write down what I have bought and for whom. When things arrive (I do most of my Christmas shopping on t’internet – a blessing for a shopophobic like me) I tick them off the list and when I wrap them up, I strike through them in red. I also keep receipts in the book just in case something needs to be returned after the festivities.

I do tend to overdo things – I keep three separate records of the stories I submit so if I forget to note one in one place, I’ll usually have a record to refer to in another. This is not because I am uber organised, but the opposite – if I didn’t write things down I’d be right up that creek without a paddle.

So anyway, I was wrapping up downstairs a few days ago and when I’d packed away all my rolls of paper, tags etc etc I went to wrap my band round my book and it was gone. I went on about it so much that the poor man went and looked in the bin in case he really had accidentally thrown it away.

Luckily I had another red rubber band up to the job. So today I did a bit more wrapping and when I shook my gift tags out of the bag what should fall out with them but my red rubber band. Oops.

As for the Fiction Feast, I hunted high and low for it. “Have you thrown it out by mistake?” I asked darkly (this would involve use of scrunched up fierce looking eyebrows if I had any). He swore blind he hadn’t, but I later heard him rifling through the recycling just in case. There was a great deal of head scratching and “I’m sure I didn’t throw it out” every time I flung an accusing glare in his direction. I’d given up all hope of finding it when I went to scan some photos yesterday and there was the Fiction Feast in the scanner. Oops again. What makes it worse is that it isn’t the first time I’ve lost something only to find it there, nor even the second.

I’m hoping to get a sewing machine in my Christmas stocking (no comments please about it being entirely possible with the size of my stockings!).

In other news, my new Large Print book Cherish the Dream is out in January. The heroine runs an animal sanctuary and the hero is a vet and although you’re not supposed to have favourite children, this is one of mine.

And I kept meaning to post a link to a post my son did about Tilly. I go back and read it every so often as I find it comforting.

So all that is left to do is wish all my lovely friends out there in Blogland a wonderful Christmas. From the bottom of my heart I thank you for the support and kindness you have shown especially over these past few months and I wish you joy and happiness and lots of it! Love Teresa (and Indy) xx

Tears and Laughter and Happy Ever After

2011-12-18T11:05:00.006Z

I received an early Christmas gift – well that’s how it felt when Debs Carr sent me a review copy of Tears and Laughter and Happy Ever After.

It occurred to me as I read that it would make a brilliant gift for anyone who loves reading short stories and when you see the names of the writers, many of whom you will recognise, you know you are in good hands! And if you’re looking for a book to take on holiday or curl up with in front of the fire, then look no further.

The very first story by Helen Hunt draws you in with the title alone, A Single Strand of Spaghetti, A Single Drop of Olive Oil. Brilliant! That’s before you even get to the story which is a feast in itself.

Next up is How Deep Is Your Love by Cally Taylor. This one about the perils of internet dating made me laugh. And so I began a roller coaster ride as I travelled through the stories meeting a whole variety of characters. It does what it says on the cover, taking you through a range of emotions.

All the stories are enjoyable, but for the purpose of this review I picked out a few of my favourites: Hive Talking by Leigh Forbes – I liked Gerald and his quiet passion for his lovely bees and I very much liked the satisfying ending. At Death’s Door by Jill Steeples – a thought provoking tale which anyone who has suffered with a partner with the dreaded man flu will appreciate, but perhaps not in the way you’d expect. Never Too Late by Deborah Carr came close to my heart, reminding me of how much I worried about my mum after she was widowed which is something so many of us go through and identify with. Karen Clarke’s powerful story, Ghosts was beautifully written and really tugged at my heart – a story that haunted me long after I finished reading it. And the last story in the book, The Girl in the Yellow Dress by Bernadette James – a lovely one to end the book with as you say a contented “Ahhhh”.

You can read more about the writers and how the book came to be born here and buy the kindle version here .

The writers of the 26 stories are, Deborah Carr, Karen Clarke, Sarah Dunnakey, Leigh Forbes, Helen M Hunt, Bernadette James, Helen Kara, Jenny Maltby, Kathleen McGurl, Tamsyn Murray, Sally Quilford, Jill Steeples and Cally Talor.

If You Sit Still Long Enough

2011-12-08T09:37:00.004Z

Thanks everyone who signed the petition included in the last post. I’ve put a link on Facebook (thanks for the suggestion Jacula).

Sorry for the lack of posts. To be honest I don’t know what I’ve been doing with myself the past few weeks. I haven’t written much, haven’t read much – haven’t really done anything at all.

But I did take Indy to see Tom this week. He agreed to do a blood test to put my mind at rest and while we were there I mentioned that he’d had some stiffness in one of his hind legs. I was worried that he was showing signs of arthritis and once my thoughts turned in that direction I started thinking of even worse things it could be - though heaven knows arthritis is devastating enough. And it’s never a good idea to look these things up on the internet.

When I got home, the phone was ringing. Tom had done the bloods straight away and was calling to say everything is fine. I was so relieved. It’s no guarantee of course, but for now there are no signs of anything sinister. He’d also checked out Indy’s vision and spent ages manipulating his legs.

The stiffness is just a minor strain – it probably happened when he was chasing the ball. He does tend to throw himself heart and soul - and four wildly flailing legs - into it.

He says Indy is in great shape for an eleven year old. Well I can’t ask for better than that can I?

I have got a copy of Tears and Laughter and Happy Ever After to review, but I haven’t been able to concentrate on reading and I want to be able to enjoy and therefore review it properly. Once I have my head back together I will and I hope to make that my next post.

Oh and Indy says “If you sit still long enough in this house, you get decorated – ho ho ho!” (he's smiling really!)

Flowers in the Window

2011-11-18T09:21:00.009Z

I woke up this morning to Flowers in the Window by Travis. Nothing remarkable about that, but it brought back memories for me because my mum had loved it. In the weeks before she died, she used to say to me, “That lovely song was playing on the radio again this morning,” and she’d sing a little of it.

I don’t know why she loved it so much, but it really touched her.

The song begins, “When I first held you I was cold.” Maybe I’m reading too much into this, but perhaps it made her think of my dad and his time on the Russian Convoys on the heavy cruiser HMS Kent.

This photograph of him was taken around that time. He would have been in his early 20s. The same age as my youngest son now.

Sometime during this last horrible week I watched a BBC programme about the veterans of the convoys going on a trip to Russia. They really are forgotten heroes. I know my dad used to freeze to his gun, that a hot drink would freeze in the mug before he could drink it, that he had to watch ships going down and countless men dying in those awful icy waters.

Churchill called them suicide missions and the most dangerous of the war. Without those convoys, the outcome of the war could and probably would have been very different.

Here’s another photo from the time. I don’t know who the men are in it.

I just can’t imagine what it must have been like, the unrelenting cold, the knowledge that at any moment they could come under attack from the air or the sea. I can’t imagine it and my dad never spoke of it. All I know is what my mum told me.

The Russians awarded a medal to the men who served on the convoys. What did we give them? Well eventually, after more than 60 years, they were given the Arctic Emblem, a tiny little star, but no medal.

In January this year, David Cameron said that the veterans should receive medals. They endured “Incredibly harsh conditions.” You don’t say? But he’s changed his mind. They’ve already been recognised with the Atlantic Star apparently and that will do. No matter that 95% of the men who went on to serve on the convoys had already earned their Atlantic Star.

And in his election campaign, Cameron promised to order the Tories to introduce an Arctic medal if they came to power. So much for promises. Good job the sailors didn't turn round in 1941 and say "No thanks, we've already done our bit in the Atlantic."

I know they didn't do what they did for medals or recognition or glory - they did it because they had to. Would it really be so difficult to finally thank them properly?

There are about 200 veterans of the Arctic campaign left. My dad is not one of them. Today is the 36^th anniversary of his death and I wanted to write this blog in memory of him.

There is a petition on the government website to give the veterans the medal they deserve. So far it has attracted fewer than 700 signatures. It seems a shame.

If anyone would like to sign, here’s the link to the petition.

2011-11-14T17:57:00.002Z

Today we said goodbye to Tilly.

Such a special, brave, loyal little dog. I am so glad for the time we had with her.

Upwards

2011-11-03T16:57:00.001Z

First of all isn’t the Woman’s Weekly Centenary Special fantastic? I got mine this morning and I can’t wait to get stuck in! I’m going to send for the free pattern and dust my old sewing machine off. It’s years since I made anything.

At a quick skim through I saw Facebook quotes from Karen and Jo and a lovely picture of my friend and visitor to this blog, Sue. And there is a complete copy of the original magazine from 100 years ago inside. How cool is that?

Now for Tilly news. We saw Tom again today and he remarked on how bright she is and how lovely and glossy her coat is, all things considered. Last time her weight had dropped to 17 kilos and this time she was up to 17.1.

Things have been very up and down. At one point I was torturing myself wondering if I was doing the right thing. It was a very bleak day and my mood was the lowest it’s been since this all began. If she turns her nose up at a meal, my spirits immediately go into free fall.

I realised I couldn’t go on like this, waiting for her to get worse or for a new symptom to manifest itself. Her treatment is palliative, but she’s doing okay at the moment so from now on I’m taking one day at a time, enjoying our time together and giving her the best life she can possibly have.

When the phone engineer called she told him to clear off and she’s even turned up at mealtimes with Indy a few times now wanting to know when hers will be ready! Today she was trying to persuade Isabel to share her beans on toast with her at lunchtime. She’s going a bit further for her walks and I’ve noticed a few times that instead of being in here with me she’s taken herself to the bedroom to sprawl out on the bed in the sun.

She had a horribly upset tum for a few days, but – touch wood – that seems to have righted itself. Now we have to try to wean her gradually off the steroids and hope her appetite doesn’t diminish. Then, all being well, back in two weeks for more blood tests. She’s still jaundiced, but as Tom says, not quite as luminous as she was.

Thank you for all the support and lovely comments over the past few weeks. You really have helped more than I can say.

Out of the Loop!

2011-10-28T14:03:00.003+01:00

That’s where I feel I’ve been for the past few weeks. The world has passed me by. I’ve been trying to keep up with blogs and such, but my head has been elsewhere most of the time.

On the news I saw that wonderful moment when a baby was rescued from the rubble after the earthquake in Turkey. What a shining moment that was.

I have been watching Barbie DVDs. My four year old granddaughter loves them and brought them with her when she came to stay. Every night we watched one before bed and she fell asleep halfway through and I found myself sitting up to watch to the end.

I looked up the voice actors and the prince/leading man in the films is often played by the guy who is Joshua in V. I love bits of trivia like that. When I found out, I phoned my husband to tell him. He pretended to be suitably interested and amazed bless him.

When I was a child no one had Barbie dolls. It was Sindy or Tressy. Remember Tressy with the hair that grew? I had Sindy and Paul and they used to go round in Sindy’s red convertible which had a stone for a steering wheel. I’d broken the original plastic wheel and my honorary uncle said he’d have something in his shed to fix it and he emerged with a round flat yellow stone with a hole in the centre that fitted exactly on the steering column.

He had loads of stuff in that shed. He used to collect the silver paper off Kit-kats and make them into balls which I think used to go to Guide Dogs. He also kept rubber bands in a ball which was huge. He had the tidiest, most organised shed I have ever seen in my life.

And a new blog has been born. It is called The Pocketeers and is written by writers of Pocket Novels. A great resource with plenty of information for anyone interested in writing for My Weekly and The People’s Friend pocket novels.

Finally I want to thank everyone for all the messages about Tilly. Things change on a daily basis and one day I’m in despair and the next full of hope, but we can only do what we can do and keep hoping.

Tilly Update

2011-10-26T12:06:00.001+01:00

We went back to the vet yesterday and saw Tom. I thought it would be a matter of yippee the steroids are working, have some more, but it doesn’t work that way.

To find out for sure what is wrong with Tilly requires a proper biopsy. She reacted badly when she had the minimum dose of sedation so a full anaesthetic would be very risky. And the chances are high that a biopsy wouldn’t be any help anyway.

So first decision – no biopsy. I cannot put her through the risk and the subsequent long stay at the surgery to recover after. Whatever time she has left, I want her to spend at home where she feels safe and happy.

We then had a talk about her quality of life. She is in no pain and is happy enough, sleeping, going for short walks, getting excited when visitors come. We had grandchildren staying from last Friday till yesterday so cuddles weren’t in short supply (and it also stopped me spending hours on the internet searching, obsessing and worrying).

Before any more medication could be issued, she had to have another blood test. Tom phoned later with the result. At her first blood test her liver enzymes were so high, they were off the scale and couldn’t be measured. This time they were very high, but measurable – so they have come down somewhat. Good, yes? The liver support pills are helping.

But – there is always a but – another enzyme has now risen as a result of the steroid. Bad.

She is still jaundiced so Tom has given her Destolit which he hopes will reduce that. He is also hopeful that it will improve her appetite – she went off eating again when the steroid injection ran out. Her protein levels are low too, so she needs more protein.

We are trying her on the Hills i/d which is the same food that Indy had to have 11 years ago when he was so very ill and close to starving to death. It smells and looks far more appetising than the liver diet which she wouldn’t touch (all this food is driving poor Indy mad – he’d eat it like a shot). But does she want to eat it? No. Warmed? No. We are trying to feed her little and often and this morning she had a small bowl of porridge which isn’t ideal, but was all I could tempt her with.

If she’s still not eating tomorrow, I have to start her on steroids.

The best case scenario is that something has damaged Tilly’s liver, but that whatever it was has gone and she now needs support to recover. At the moment all we can do is buy her time and hope it pays off and she comes through.

Good News and Bad News

2011-10-19T16:15:00.001+01:00

Well the good news is that the bloods, scan and biopsy didn’t show up any cancer or infection. The bad news is – without a diagnosis where do we go from here?

Tilly can’t survive on a couple of dog biscuits a day. She had a bad night last night, but mid-morning she decided she wanted to go for a walk. Now! Hurry up! So off we went. Not far and she wore a woolly jumper as it was very cold, but she was very perky and waggy. She ate half a Markie and a Shape while we were out.

I made her some porridge, but she said no thanks.

There is only one thing left to try. Tomorrow she is going to have a steroid injection which may stimulate her appetite and if we can get decent food into her, well who knows. It is a controversial treatment in liver disorders for obvious reasons, but in some cases it can work wonders. Jo thinks as there is no sign of infection it’s worth a try and we should know in five days or less if it has worked.

Thank you for all your kind thoughts and wishes and messages of support. I can’t begin to tell you how much it means.

Tilly

2011-10-18T13:15:00.003+01:00

Nearly two weeks ago Tilly refused her breakfast and alarm bells began to ring because of what happened when my last dog, Sweep stopped eating.

We got an appointment the same day to see the vet. Becky checked her over and couldn’t find anything amiss. We came away with some tablets to settle her stomach as she’d been sick a few days before and Becky thought it might be a virus.

When we went out for a walk, Tilly kept asking for Shapes which is something I take out on walks with me. I’d tried her with chicken and rice, eggs and that expensive dog food that comes in posh little cartons, but all she wanted was Shapes, Markies – and the occasional hot dog sausage.

I normally feed her on Burns dry food, but I got some of their moist food as it is good quality too, but no, she didn’t want that either.

Clearly she wasn’t eating properly and she threw up a load of water she’d just drunk. So back we went and this time we saw Jo. She took some blood and when she shaved her, she noticed her skin was yellow. I knew that meant liver problems and jaundice is not good news.

Later she rang to say that Tilly’s liver enzymes were the highest she’d ever seen. We needed to take her for a scan and that would be at one of their other branches, a 40 minute drive away. But first they had to check her blood was clotting as they might want to take a needle biopsy. Back we went for more blood tests.

I asked if I should give her special food. I had the Hills special diet, but Tilly didn’t want to know. At this stage anything you can get into her is good, Jo said.

The blood clotting result came back fine, so her scan was booked for yesterday.

While all this was going on, Tilly was being sick a lot more and her wee was bright orange and by Sunday she wouldn’t eat anything at all. The only way I could get water into her was with a little dropper in the side of her mouth. At least she didn’t spit it out.

Sunday night she was restless. She threw up twice and we ended up sleeping downstairs with her from 3am Monday as she seemed to want to be there rather than on the bed.

Yesterday we took her in for the scan. They didn’t plan to sedate her because of her liver problems, but she got too stressed and they had to give her sedation. We should have picked her up yesterday afternoon, but she was too woozy from the sedation so we had to leave her in overnight and they put her on a drip to boost her up a bit.

When we took Sweep in, our last vet kept him in overnight and he died. Later the vet told us he’d been almost certain that would happen. That weighed heavily on my mind. What if the same thing happened to Tilly? But I’d changed to these vets a few years ago because I trusted them and I had to do just that.

She follows me everywhere. I can’t move from one room to another without my little shadow. She’s next to me now, curled up in her chair. I ached for her every moment she was away.

This morning we waited for the phone call. I was sure it would be bad news.

My husband answered the phone at 8.20. The nurse said she could come home. He said we’d be over right away. She seemed pleased. “That’s good,” she said. “She’s barking quite a lot. I think she’s ready to leave.”

Indy was very pleased to see her. He sniffed her all over and he’s been with her ever since. He’s here too, on the floor draped over the bottom of my chair. He’s been giving up the chair for Tilly since she got sick.

We are in a lull at the moment. Waiting for the results of the biopsy and other blood tests. The scan didn’t show anything untoward on her liver, but that could simply mean that the whole thing is compromised. Jo has yet to examine the scans. She may be able to see something. We just don’t know.

Since she’s been home she’s had about a third of a hot dog sausage and a drink and she’s been sleeping.

I haven’t been able to do anything for the past few days. The internet, which is such a distraction when I’m trying to write, has been no distraction at all – unless you count all the hours I’ve spent looking up various liver problems in dogs. I know that some conditions are manageable with the right medication. I know that some conditions are fatal.

She’s been mostly asleep since we got home which is hardly surprising after the sedation and the fact she was probably awake early barking! She doesn’t seem to be in any pain or discomfort at all and I know if I put my dog walking stuff on, she’ll come to life and be keen to go out.

Her fur is as thick and beautiful as it ever was. The only obvious signs of her illness are the fact she won’t eat and that she throws up occasionally.

I haven’t even been able to write any of this down until now. My diary has just a few sad scribbles in it.

I am just hoping they can do something to make her better.

Friendly Bloggers

2011-10-08T17:56:00.005+01:00

Thank you so much, Rosemary and Patsy (two of the friendliest bloggers I know) for passing on this lovely Friendly Blogger Award.

When I first started blogging I was extremely nervous about posting comments on other blogs and I still dither and worry and think I've nothing of any interest or relevance to say, but everyone in Blogland is so kind and most of all friendly!

First of all I'd say that all the bloggers I follow deserve this award. You're all lovely! If you're reading this and I'm reading you, then please take a Friendly Blogger Award. Go on - you know you deserve one!

But that's just being lazy, so here are some friendly bloggers I am passing the Friendly Blogger Award to, Eileen, Penny (oh and Gary), Karen, Maria, Joanne and Suzanne.

If You're Going To Make Notes...

2011-10-04T18:52:00.002+01:00

Yesterday I had one of those flashes of inspiration. Yes that would make a great idea for a story thought I. But I was too busy to make a start on it so I did the next best thing and wrote a line down to remind me.

Today when I was ready to write, I reached for my notebook. I must confess here to feeling rather smug. I’d completely forgotten my idea, but I still had that feeling that it - whatever it was – would make a great story.

Unfortunately the good feeling was all I had.

The smug was on the other side of my face when I looked at the illegible ink splat on my notebook. Normally a few words are all I need to revive an idea, but for them to do that I need to be able to read them.

What I can read is “Maybe the scrawl is the scribble”

I have absolutely no idea….

Scrawl may begin with the letter "d" and scribble may start with an "s", but apart from that I'm clueless.

So if you are going to make notes, make them legible. It helps.

I also had an idea for a blog post about writing. Where is it? Well it went the same way as my story idea except I didn't bother to write it down. If you should see either of them knocking around on your travels, direct them this way, ta!

And you know where this is leading don’t you? I know I’m not the only one who fails to write things down sometimes, but please tell me I’m not the only person who can’t read their own writing!

Happy October

2011-10-01T08:58:00.007+01:00

I want to put the record straight. I am not the helpless blind little bat that Indy makes me out to be and I’m not the only one who spends a lot of time in bed.

So there Indiana!

I rest my case – rather like he’s always resting his head – on a pillow!

I am getting along fine. They’ve solved the problem of me falling off the end of the bed by putting a huge bean bag on the floor so now instead of landing with a thud, I land with a rustle.

And they’ve been taking me to new places which used to scare me, but now I love it. I can’t see or hear danger (hearing’s gone a bit) and so I trot along in my dim little world and feel safe. Unless she lets me off the lead. Then I do panic a bit. Well a lot actually, so it’s the extendable lead for me and I love it.

But as far as that narrow log bridge goes, let’s not even go there. In fact I hope I don’t ever have to go there again. We only went there because they managed to get lost in the woods and went down the wrong path. Took a wrong turn at Albuquerque apparently. Indy went crazy, rushing about chasing leaves, squirrels and falling chestnuts – fool.

They’ve tried buddy strapping me to the dopey one, but frankly I don’t want to go in the sort of places he goes and I certainly don’t want to be there when he’s rolling around in dead stuff waving his legs in the air like an idiot.

They tell me it’s October and hot. And they talk about my eyesight being poor, but herself sat there this morning gazing out the window and admiring the misty view before realising the mist was on the window and beyond it the sun was shining.

Before I go, I must just tell you about the monster in the garden. The other night Indy went out and before I knew what was happening, this ball of fur was flying through the air. I’m told he leapt all four feet off the ground, spun round in mid-air and landed in a heap before running off and hiding behind the bushes.

Well I don’t pay much heed to his silliness so I got on with having a wee and had a little sniff at the same time – as you do – and suddenly my nose touched something prickly. Did I leap up in the air? Of course not. I carried on and just stopped sniffing the prickly thing.

It lives in our garden and from my investigative sniffing I’d say it’s the size of a small melon but not quite as round. Indy tells me it’s as big as the house, has huge pointy teeth and claws of steel. Well I tell him he’s been listening to the Gruffalo too much and he goes off and sulks.

Look at me posing here, note the raised paw - classy eh?

Herself is in a good mood today. She’s turned all her calendars over and says there’s nothing like a new month for a new start. And now she’s telling me to get off the computer so she can get started on her new start. How many times have I heard that one before?

Happy October and may the muse be with you (don’t know what that means, but herself likes it when people say it to her).

Why Can't Real Life Be Like Casualty?

2011-09-23T19:04:00.002+01:00

Long title for a blog, but I didn’t know what else to call it.

Picture the scene. Someone collapses in the arms of her husband right outside the doors of a large (and famous) hospital. A nurse who just happens to be passing rushes to their aid, yelling for help. Before she even reaches them, a porter is hurtling out of the doors with a trolley, doctors are stringing their stethoscopes round their necks and hurrying to help.

“Don’t worry, love,” a lovely, kind nurse says. The unfortunate person is hurried into the hospital and is taken care of. Another nurse steps in to comfort the distressed husband.

Oh, if only.

Yesterday my husband was waiting outside this large, famous hospital when he saw an elderly man pressing an elderly lady up against the wall. He went over to see if he could help and saw the woman’s eyes were rolling back. “Please get help,” the man with her said. “She’s fainted.”

So he rushed into the hospital and the first people he saw were two porters. “Can you help, please,” he said. “A lady has collapsed outside.”

Sharp intake of breath. “Sorry, mate. Not our job. See the person on the desk.” Can you imagine Big Mac saying that?

So he went to the desk. “No, sorry, I can’t help you. You’ll have to go to A & E.”

So off he went to A & E, all the time aware that the poor man outside was trying to hold his wife up.

“You’ll have to wait till I’ve finished my phone call,” the person on the desk said.

“But someone has collapsed.”

Shrug. He said it wouldn't have been so bad if they'd been rushed off their feet, but there were plenty of staff standing round doing nothing and they just looked the other way. Nice.

Eventually, one of the porters turned up and said it was being sorted. When my beloved went back outside, a nurse was walking out to see what was happening. The lady was now on the ground unconscious. I’m sure they took care of her, I hope they did. But why wait so long?

“I should have just helped him get her to a bench,” Beloved said. “I didn’t think it would take so long to get help.”

Maybe he should just have run into the hospital screaming and shouting until someone did something. That might have worked.

It seems to me that the people who are pushy and make the most noise are the ones who get on. Those who quietly get on with it and keep their heads down go unnoticed.

At school, the naughty kids are rewarded with stars and when they get enough stars they get a prize. What do the good kids get? The ones that don’t go round thumping people or disrupting the classroom or cheeking the teacher or swearing? They get nothing. Does that sound right to you?

NAWG Open Writing Competition

2011-09-17T16:51:00.003+01:00

For those who like entering competitions, here’s a good one.

The National Association of Writers’ Groups are holding their first open short story competition. The competition is open to non members and the entry fee is £5.

And if you would like a short critique of your story from judge and successful short story writer, Linda Lewis, this will only be an extra £3.

Prizes are 1^st £250, 2^nd £100 and 3^rd £50. Entries should be between 500 and 2000 words and the all important closing date is October 31^st.

Details and entry form can be found here.

What a Week!

2011-09-17T14:29:00.008+01:00

I have had a terrible week. I have been half drowned, stabbed, insulted, you name it. You don’t know the half of it, but you will dear friends, you will.

On Monday Herself ran a bath. Tilly, who as you know is mad, woke up and rushed off to have her bath. Don’t do it, I said, but too late, she was up to her armpits in suds with a blissful look on her face. I snuck outside and hid behind the washing line. I’ve no idea how they found me. I was as still as a statue out there.

I was scrubbed to within an inch of my tail. The indignity of it. Tilly went straight back to bed after and left a damp patch. Now you’re for it I said, but all Herself did was say, Aww isn’t she sweet, she's gone back to bed, look - and took a photo of her!

On Wednesday I heard her say we were off to the v-e-t. She thinks I can’t spell, but I can. Trouble is, when we left home I’d forgotten about the v-e-t and thought we were going for a ride in the car so I dragged her out of the door and leapt onto the back seat.

We passed the fields, we passed the woods and yet still my hopeful heart insisted we were going on an adventure. I ignored the voice of doom – Tilly’s. You won’t be laughing when you’ve got a thermometer stuck up your nether regions she said.

I did my serious face – like this – to show I didn’t believe her.

No one was more surprised than me when we arrived at the v-e-t. Herself weighed Tilly who stood so still on the scales it was easy. She practically got a round of applause. Huh. When it was my turn I fidgeted a bit and it took a while. I’ve no idea what it means, but she said, He’s quite skinny under all that wool. Wool? I don’t have wool. You wouldn’t believe the insults I have to put up with. After my bath she said I looked like a Highland Cow.

You think that’s bad? Well. We then went into the surgery and saw Tom, who I like. I like all the v-e-ts really. It isn’t their fault that they are what they are.

He said he’d check Tilly out first. He spent ages looking in her eyes. I hid under a chair. He looked at me and said I would have to look after my sister now she can’t see. Me? How can I look after her when I can’t look after myself? I’ll do my best I muttered. Then – and you won’t believe this folks – he said they ought to get me a bell for my collar so that Tilly will know where I am. A bell? What am I? A cat?

He said the lump on her chest that he’d tested a couple of years ago felt different and that he’d like to do another test. You should have seen her. Talk about panic! I can’t see you fool, she squeaked when I told her to take it like a dog, I don’t know what’s happening to me.

He got all these slides out ready, then stuck a needle in Tilly’s lump. When he drew off the fluid he actually laughed. Well that’s a relief, he said, we won’t need to send it off for testing. It hasn’t changed. Still a cyst.

So she’s got a cyst, so what? I’ve got Pancreatic Insufficiency, but you don’t hear me harping on about it. I scrunched even further under the chair. Herself asked Tom if he could snip a couple of Tilly’s toenails. Well, I didn’t realise we were coming here for a manicure I thought! He started snipping and I was nearly maimed by bits of flying claw. That’s when I decided to try to escape through the door. You don’t want to go through there, Herself laughed, that’s not the way out! (Mockery you see, adding insult to injury).

It got worse. He examined Tilly all over, then he gave her a booster vaccination. All this took about 25 minutes. That’s 25 minutes of running- round-a-field time I’ll never get back.

Your turn, Indy, Tom said. Me? No, I said. You’ve got it all wrong. I’m only here as moral support for Tilly. I don’t… Too late, I was up on the table. I did what I always do in such situations and went boneless. I draped my head over Herself’s shoulder, leant against her and prepared for whatever pain and indignity was to come.

He felt me all over and do you know what he kept calling me? A fatty lump! Just a fatty lump, he kept saying and every time he said it, he was fiddling about with one of my mysterious bumps.

By that time all I needed was for Rolf do-you-know-what-it-is-yet Harris to come in with a film crew, then I’d have known I was doomed.

You’re a handsome fellow, Tom said. I’ve no idea who he was talking to. I was too busy looking for Rolf.

Next thing he stuck a needle in me and said I could go. What? But what about my manicure? What about my eyes? I’d only been on his table for a few minutes. Why did Tilly get all the attention? All I got was a jab.

Would they like a biscuit, Tom asked? Do bears do that thing that bears do in the woods? This was more like it! I remembered why I didn't mind seeing the v-e-t after all.

He gave Tilly hers and had to poke it right in her mouth (she can find half a chip in the bottom of the bin, but put food in front of her and she’s got no idea), then he offered one to me, but I was in such a state of terror, I barely managed to take it from him by the skin of my lips. He looked at me and said, Are you sure you’re a spaniel, Indy?

When we left, Tilly didn’t do her usual screaming thing. She walked sedately to the door and then tried to walk through the panel at the side. She doesn’t scream at cats when we’re out any more and she doesn’t bark at other dogs. Maybe Tom was right and I need to start looking out for her. She’s not a bad old thing as sisters go and I do love her really even if she does snore a lot.

Ten Random Things

2011-09-10T09:40:00.005+01:00

Thanks to Patsy for the tag!

Ten random things about me - here goes.

1. My mum was a witch.

2. My great aunt owned an opal mine.

3. My grandad was born in Dublin.

4. My favourite crystal is Ocean Jasper. This is a particularly nice piece and the photo doesn’t do it justice, but you can see right into it, like looking into a glass cavern – trust me!

5. I’m a Taurean.

6. I’m also a Rooster.

7. I walked round for six weeks in agony with a broken foot before I had X Rays by which time the fracture had started to heal itself.

8. I like green sweets best. Yummy. Here is a picture of some Fruit Pastilles. No green ones. I’ve eaten them all.

9. I fall over a lot.

10. The first time I rode a motorbike I was pregnant and forgot how to use the brakes. It was also the last time I drove a motorbike.

And now your mission should you wish to accept it Wanna be a Writer, Gail, Penandpaints, Suzanne and Caroline – you know the drill!

Teresa's Adventures in Kindleland - Part 1

2011-09-03T13:58:00.002+01:00

I don’t mind admitting that my eyes glaze over and my mind wanders off somewhere all on its own when it comes to matters of technology, but Kindle – well now. It is simple I was told. Easy as pie. Well I can make a pie along with the best of them.

So I chose a book to e-publish – one that I had in a new version of Word, already published as a pocket novel and by Linford Romance. Book chosen, I set about designing my cover at which point I learned that designing book covers isn’t easy. Easy, that word again.

I set up my account and decided to ignore the bit where it said about downloading this-and-that to convert the file so Kindle could read it. In my poor little mind I had heard that it was easy to publish straight from Word and so I thought this was what I would do. Just like that.

Oh dear.

I know patience is a virtue and all that, but I only have a small supply and I’d used it all up so I uploaded my book and checked the preview. Hm. Well some of the Tabs were there. Some weren’t. It looked terrible. No one would want to read something so badly set out. So I deleted it and went back to the drawing board where I learnt that you should save your Word file as an html (web) document before uploading.

This I did. Better. The tabs were there, but some were big tabs of several spaces and some were small ones of just a couple of spaces. Still I had ignored the advice about downloading this-and-that.

This is just the beginning of the Kindle story – I hope! I’ll let you know how I get on in part 2.

Part 2

There you weren’t expecting it to be that quick were you? Neither was I!

I downloaded this-and-that – this being Mobipocket Creator and that being Kindle Previewer. And what I found was that my book was full – nay heaving – with hidden stuff and that about three chapters at the end were underlined. No matter what I did it was still there, but only in the html copy. I don’t do well with html.

My beloved suggested I save the Word document as plain text which I did, then re-saved it as a new Word document and there it was, without all the unwanted bits.

So there it is. I think I sorted out the formatting – I hope I did because I published two books to Kindle with my own home made covers. Gulp! They looked okay on the preview anyway. Yet still I managed to make a mistake. I set the price higher than I intended because I forgot to take into consideration that they add VAT, but I’ve put that right now

One thing I have learned from this experience – no, not the good old “Read the manual” thing, I will never make life easy by doing that – is that I will always endeavour in future not to overload my Word docs with formatting. Now I understand why publishers ask for things to be presented in a certain way and I have no wish to give editors stress, angst and headaches!

Now don’t laugh, but I’ve put a link to the Kindle books at the side on the right. So far so good. All I need now is for someone to be kind enough to buy them – cue hysterical rather desperate laughter. And now I think I need to go and lie down to recover and ruminate a little on the wonders of technology.

This is Me!

2011-08-27T10:02:00.002+01:00

No, not that me – me me. Indy Me. She can’t type – you should see her right hand. You know when people blow up a rubber glove? That’s her hand that is!

She says something bit her. Well it wasn’t me. Her beloved asked if it could have been a snake, had she seen one at all when she was throwing the ball for me (I might have known there’d be some hint of blame thrown in my direction). She said she thought she might have noticed if she’d grabbed a snake instead of my tennis ball, apparently they don’t go as far or bounce as well. Not that she’s ever tried throwing one you understand.

Personally I think it was one of those winged buzzy things that come in the bedroom at night. It got her on the back as well

But you don’t want to hear about her.

It’s not easy for a dog of a certain age to keep little people entertained, looked after and clean, but I do my best.

So you’d think I’d get time off for a little R and R (Rolling and Rolling) without being shouted at wouldn’t you?

Well it started a couple of weeks ago when she came home with two of her little people and fell flat on her face in the front door on top of a pile of bags. Luckily she didn’t land on any little people – or me, so that was all right.

I volunteered to sleep in with her and the girls, just to keep an eye on things you understand. I hardly got any sleep the first night. She kept getting up to check the little one in her cot – presumably in case she’d decided to climb out and go wandering about or something. In the end I had to get up myself, so she took me out to the garden. Boy was I thirsty – I nearly emptied that bird bath.

Goodness knows why she was hopping round outside in her bare feet waving her arms at me and shrieking in a loud whisper. What’s wrong with birdbath water? It’s not like anyone was using it at the time. When I got in she tapped her dirty foot and pointed at my full water bowl. Huh , she just doesn’t get it. I mean why would I want to drink clean water from a bowl when I can drink smelly water full of feathers and bits of leaf from the birdbath? I ask you.

Then I got an itch. Well you’ve got to have a scratch haven’t you? And my foot needed a good licking. And then… you’re not going to believe this… she accused ME of keeping HER awake!

The next night I hardly got any sleep. She’d realised the little one was fine, but this time she reckoned she heard a mozzie buzzing. So she got up and checked the girls weren’t smothered in biting insects. Then it happened again. Up she got. Well honestly, a dog needs his beauty sleep you know. But she might have been right about the mozzie – I was very itchy.

This went on half the night, then she remembered she’d got a bottle of citronella oil so she tip-toed round the room sprinkling it everywhere. That was it. I’d had enough. I went off to sleep with someone else. Someone who doesn’t keep getting up and wandering about.

But towards the end of the holiday I decided to give her another chance. This time I took up my rightful half of the bed so I could cuddle the little person in the middle while she, for reasons best known to herself, slept with one foot on the floor moaning because I’d got all the covers – tuh! Anyway, she hadn’t given up the night time wanderings. This time she decided some passing burglar was going to climb in through the window, kill me and steal her granddaughters while she slept. Slept? So she shut the windows. So it got hot.

Honestly, what I have to put up with – you’ve no idea.

So anyway there was this dead crow. Well it was more like a pile of feathers really, but it smelled brilliant and so I got my shoulder down into it and was just about to have a good old roll about when she bellows at me and starts thundering across the field like some sort of mad cow – that’s if mad cows have red faces and bulging eyes.

Mooo she said. Or maybe it was “Get out of that you disgusting little beast!” But she wasn’t that close so I carried on until she was about two feet away when I sprang up and put on my innocent, “Oh were you talking to me?” expression. She knows she can’t tell me off once I’ve stopped doing whatever it was I was doing when she started ranting.

Anyway next day she forgot about the dead crow. But I didn’t. I managed to get my shoulder into it again before she stopped me. Now she’s started taking a different route round the fields, but there will be others! I know there will. And when there are, I am ready, with my shoulder for a bit of R and R.

Meantime, just wanted to let you know what a hypocrite she is, moaning about me doing something one minute, then doing it herself the next. No, I didn’t catch her slurping out of the bird bath or rolling in stinky corpses (I bet she’d like to really), but she kept Tilly awake half the night with her scratching. Maybe she should have got up and sprinkled her citronella oil round.

Just thought I’d put the record straight anyway. She’s the one with all the foibles (not sure what they are but I’m sure she eats too many of them) not me!

Sorry Indy - my turn again!

2011-08-23T09:03:00.002+01:00

There was a comment, later deleted, made on my last post about me not posting things on my blog because I wanted to use them as short story ideas.

I realised it would be a good subject for a post – and if anyone didn’t see it, the writer said that they didn’t mind if people pinched their ideas, but seemed to think I did. Wrong. I don’t mind at all.

I’ll explain and I’m sure a lot of you will identify with this. When I get an idea for a story, the minute I start talking about it, 99 times out of 100 the story idea will die stone dead. I don’t know why. It’s as if while it’s inside, festering in my mind, it’s safe, but the minute I let it out – it’s gone!

I think only once since I’ve been writing this blog have I later successfully turned the subject of a post into a short story.

And along the same lines, if I have an idea for a blog then turn it into a story I don’t then blog about it because it’s gone. I’ve used it up.

It does work to my advantage too sometimes because if I am angry about something and I write about it, I find I can lose a lot of the anger, even if the writing is never seen by anyone else. Maybe that is what is meant by leaving something of yourself on the page.

So I’m not being precious about my ideas. A story can be written from so many different angles and in so many different ways. If anyone finds an idea from this blog, they’re welcome to it!

I have countless projects started on this computer that have stalled simply because I couldn’t keep my big mouth shut and felt I had to discuss them with – or even worse – show them to someone. I might just as well have shoved them in a wooden box and taken them up the bone yard with a shovel. They’re dead now. They sit here on my computer, corpselike and dusty.

Yet I know writers who can talk about what they’re doing in great detail, show their work to others and their ideas live on.

So, out of interest, how many of you can’t talk about what you’re working on and how many can talk as much as they want without losing it?

Free Writing Advice

2011-08-21T10:27:00.003+01:00

Where? Well everywhere you look! In the old days you had to go to the library, put in an order for one of the few books about writing then wait for weeks until you got to the top of the queue.

Or you could buy a book, but books were more expensive then so if you were hard up you had to put up with the dog-eared, coffee stained, cigarette smelling, crumb carrying, grease marked tomes from the library. And why do people feel they have to underline things, turn over the corners of pages and even cross things out and make comments in the margins? I wouldn’t do that with a book I owned, much less a borrowed one.

But I’m sorry, that title is a shameless device to lure unsuspecting writers to my blog. Sorry unsuspecting writers!

But it is true, there is a plethora of advice on the worldly web and it’s all free. But I don’t think you can beat a writing book if you're looking for advice to be honest. You don’t want to spend all your life trawling round t’internet when you could curl up on the sofa with a book minus distractions. So that is the free writing advice in this post - buy/borrow a book about writing and sit somewhere quiet with it, away from computers and televisions.

And of course most important of all - far more important than reading about it - just do it!

There’s been a distinct lack of blogs from me lately – mainly because every time I start one I think it might be an idea for a story, so there it goes. Like the woman with the wiggly bum walking her dogs round the playing field… She would have been a perfect star for a Take a Break story back in the day, but where to put her now? I’ll think of somewhere.

Apart from that I’ve been a wee bit busy.

Apparently when he’s stopped laughing, Indy is going to write a blog. You have been warned. Laughing at me by the way, the cruel thing! It’s not my fault I tell you in advance, I can’t help the way I am. And I still have a big bruise on my leg! I didn’t laugh at him when he fell down a hole over the fields the other day, nor did I laugh when he got his shoulder into the rotten corpse of a crow!

On a writerly note, I’ve had rejections forming a disorderly queue, acceptances arriving rather more sedately and a commission after several weeks of no news at all – and all this happened while two of my granddaughters were staying here.

And my cabbages experiment – well it didn’t seem to make any difference. The posts getting the most hits are still weird. A bit like me really.

Cabbages in Bowler Hats

2011-08-07T16:36:00.003+01:00

Nude shoes. Apparently the Duchess of Cambridge – have you noticed how now she’s one of the royals the press don’t give her nasty little nicknames any more? – has started the trend of nude shoes. I think they’re horrible! Give me a pair of white stilettoes any day, I’m an Essex girl – no that was a joke! I am an Essex girl and I did own a pair of white stilettoes once, but I also owned black ones, grey ones and red ones. This was before I broke my foot and had to stop wearing high heels. Personally I think those nude shoes look as if someone’s pulled their tights on and forgotten to take their shoes off first.

And the cabbages in bowler hats? Tis an experiment. Frances has noticed on her blog stats how some posts get a lot more hits than others which prompted me to look at mine and it is indeed strange. Just a bit of silliness for a wet Sunday.

Tilly says she would have written a post but she’s very busy – as you can see. And yes, that chair really is as grubby as it looks!

I Don't Believe It!

2011-08-03T17:16:00.003+01:00

Greyfriars Bobby a myth? All made up to bring in business? I don’t believe it. I don’t want to believe it. To be honest I don’t care if it was made up. So there!

And also in the I don’t believe it category – The Royal. Anyone else watch that? I love it. I love Doctor Ormerod and his lovely wife, Doctor Weatherill. I love Sister Brigid and Matron and the pipe smoking Mr Rose. I love that it is set in kinder times.

If you’ve never watched it, well it’s too late now because it’s gone. Every series finished on a cliff hanger and the last one of the latest series ended with… well I shan’t say in case any Royal fans are reading this and haven’t watched the last one yet. But I cried buckets and I can’t believe they left us hanging like that. It would have been kinder to us faithful viewers never to have shown that last episode at all so we could imagine life in Royal-land going on as ever it did.

I know one of the nurses has got a job in Holby City – and she hasn’t aged a bit!

I received a free copy of a fat glossy magazine with a hefty price tag in the mail today and so far all I’ve found in it are adverts. I don’t believe that either. I’m going to keep looking – there must be something in there to read! But it was free, so it’s mean of me to moan isn’t it?

This week I bought a heat gun which keeps cutting out. I read the reviews online after I bought it and apparently no one would recommend it. The cheaper one had much better reviews. I don’t believe it! A wise man once said “You can’t afford to buy cheap”. Well he obviously hadn’t bought a blankety-blank heat gun!!

Here’s a picture of Indy in the woods this morning. When we got out there he said I don’t believe it – new smells, squirrels, no other people – fab! Tilly said it was very nice, but she prefers the lane and the fields thank you very much.

Other People!

2011-07-29T15:14:00.005+01:00

You know what it’s like. You flop along for ages with nothing to say, then along comes a whole ton of things you want to get off your chest.

No, it’s not about the chair. She doesn’t ask for much in life except food, walks and cuddles so I’ve decided Tilly can keep the chair.

We had a planned day out yesterday, but because one of the kids was sick – oh boy was she sick, poor little thing – we changed plans and I took the two eldest out to different places on my own leaving Grandad with the poorly one (who was feeling much better, but not up to a day out).

The day was largely unplanned, but we had fun. I packed a picnic and we set off on our adventures. There was the animal sanctuary (I could write reams about that wonderful place and maybe I will, but not today), then the play park.

It’s quite a new park, all lovely wooden structures and playthings and it’s out in one of the villages miles from anywhere. So you’d think “other people” (I am trying so hard not to use bad language here) wouldn’t be a problem wouldn’t you?

There were a lot of people on the park and I counted eleven cars including mine (you’d have to drive there as it’s only within walking distance of a few houses). Not a problem.

They wanted to go on the zip slide (well so did I if I’m honest, I’ve always fancied having a go on one, but too many people about) and queued up with the other kids, taking turns, passing the seat thing back to the next person.

It was a lovely display of sharing. On the big wooden climbing frame a little boy was lying down blocking the wobbly bridge and Imogen was waiting to pass. The little boy’s grandad said, “Move out of the way and let the little girl pass.” Imogen said a ringing, “Thank you!” as the little boy moved as soon as being asked.

All very nice don’t you think? Kids and adults behaving beautifully and considerately.

Then they declared they were starving – “Starving to death,” in fact. Both picnic tables were in use so we moved a short way from the play area and sat on the grass at the edge of the adjoining field.

I hadn’t unsnapped the lid of the lunchbox before two cars pulled into the car park and discharged a load of adults and kids. They had the whole field, but they put out their blankets near us. It’s like in car parks isn’t it – you get a whole empty car park and you park and you always get someone who has to park right beside you, so close you can’t get your door open.

Okay they weren’t right beside us, but they could have been a lot further away!!

Anyway, the kids were all of the larger variety, 10 and upwards I imagine, and the boys started a game of football and it seemed to me they were using us as goalposts! A man walking nearby with a toddler told them to be careful. Did they take any notice? No. They kicked the ball even harder. The man with the toddler moved away.

The girls in the group weren’t much better. They went off rampaging round the play area.

When the ball whizzed past my head so close I felt the whoosh of air, I packed up our picnic and said we’d move on elsewhere – to the beach maybe.

It would have been one thing if the field had been small, but there was a huge area unused they could have kicked their football round in. I’ve got nothing against older kids having fun and playing ball games, but they need to take care around smaller ones.

Just over a week ago we went to my youngest granddaughter’s belated 1^st birthday party at one of those soft play areas (six hours of non-stop fun!). There were several older kids there, 9 and upwards and they ran around like kids do BUT when they were with the littler ones, they couldn’t have been more considerate or helpful. Watching them with the toddlers, helping them climb and getting them out of the tricky corners they’d got themselves into was amazing.

They didn’t have to be told to take care. They just did.

Anyway, we were going to go back on the play park after lunch, but it was so overrun by these kids now, barging all the smaller kids out of the way and not letting them get near stuff, there seemed little point. We weren’t the only ones packing up and leaving.

You wonder if such behaviour is deliberate to get rid of everyone else. Well it worked! Then again, in a week when it comes out that nearly 900 children are suspended from schools every day for attacks and abuse and there are children starting school who don’t even know their own first names – well it doesn’t bode well for the future does it.

You know I thought it was pretty bad when we got Tilly and she thought her name was “Naughty girl” – but to think of four year olds, some not even knowing they HAVE a first name. Well it makes you want to weep.

When I worked as a classroom assistant over 20 years ago, one of my main jobs was to talk to the children. “Sad fact, some of them just don’t get talked to at home,” one teacher told me. I knew some started school unable to use cutlery or dress themselves. But that was then and things are worse now.

In the grand scheme of things a few inconsiderate kids aren't that terrible and now I've written this I'm thinking that maybe I'm just too far gone into Grumpy Old Womandom. Most kids seem well behaved and able to have fun without spoiling it for everyone else don't they?

My husband said I should have said something. I know I should. But would you? What would be the point? It doesn’t change the behaviour of these people.

It wasn’t until I’d packed up and we were moving away that I realised one of the fathers was playing football as well and it was probably a kick from him that had nearly had my head off (oh I know, but I’m a writer, I’m supposed to exaggerate). Sigh.

So off to the beach, watched tiny crabs in the rock pools, found some interesting green stones with red spots. I wish I’d taken a photo. I’ve lived here all my life and I don’t remember seeing them before.

Lachlan picked up a large lump of something that looked as if it might once have been metal. We’d picked up Grandad on our way to the beach and he asked him what it could be. “Fossilised poo,” he said. It was only when I looked back and saw the lump of whatever-it-was on the sand and Lachlan staring in horror at his hands that I told him it was a joke.

We went in search of ice creams and found the LV18 – the lightship used in the film “The Boat that Rocked” now in its permanent berth off the Ha’penny Pier – so we went aboard.

Fascinating. And scary! Going up vertical ladders with a 6 year old and a 4 year old is worrisome. We went right to the top deck which feels really high once you’re up there. (The photo was taken a couple of years ago - I had my hands too full to get my camera out yesterday!)

Coming down wasn’t so easy. Imogen was scared (and who could blame her – unlike the park there was no soft landing here if you fell) so I carried her down, backwards. “Don’t drop me, Grandma,” she said as I made my slow way down, “or I will die!” I should say I don’t do ladders, I never have, but I didn’t even think about it. I was more concerned about getting her down safely.

We went down into some of the living quarters below decks. We gave the galley and other cabins a miss. Perhaps we’ll go aboard another time for a proper look round.

Oops, went on a bit there didn’t I and my name isn’t Disgusted and I’m not even from Tunbridge Wells, although I have ancestors in my family tree who were. And that’s not everything I was going to rant – er I mean talk about.

But I’m going to crawl back into my corner and shut up now.

Lists

2011-07-19T14:59:00.005+01:00

All this talk of lists has got her going again. Despite what she says about giving up lists I can tell you she has several on the go. There’s the list of books she’s read, another list of books she wants to read and a list of things she’s got to buy next time she’s internet shopping.

I can’t tell you how many times she puts in an order and before the confirmation has appeared in her inbox she’s wailing that she’s forgotten something. Last time it was poo bags, but not to worry, our chewy bones and bumpy crocodiles and dental treats were ordered, so who cares about poo bags?

When we went out this morning, Indy jumped in the dyke and had a swim – then he couldn’t get out again (you can just about see his scared face in the picture). I didn’t laugh, honest. They were just about to rescue him when he hauled himself out.

“Are you all right?” I asked him.

“Shut up,” he said. “I’m fine. I wasn’t having a problem, okay!”

I said, “You’re all wet now.” I shan’t tell you what he said. Rude it was.

Anyway, I was saying about notebooks.

She’s got this posh one that she’s been saving for something special and she’s decided to use it for more lists. This time she’s listing what she’s done and between you and me sometimes the days are blank, but she reckons it might motivate her to actually do something instead of sitting there drinking gallons of coffee and moaning that she hasn’t got time to do anything.

Anyway I’m here to ask for help. She’s talking about getting rid of my chair. She says it’s dirty and takes up too much room and she worries because sometimes when I jump into it, I don’t quite make it. She’s talking about getting me an old person bed and I’m not old! I’m only eleven. And I’m not the one that jumps into dykes and can’t get out again am I?

Threaten to boycott her stupid blog if she gets rid of my chair! That’ll teach her.

And she keeps moaning about spam. I suppose it’s because she’s a vegetarian. “Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!” she says. “My arse.”

Anyway, best go – I have some serious sleeping to do - In My Chair!

Stylish!

2011-07-12T17:17:00.002+01:00

Thank you Eileen over at Life’s Hard, Wine Helps for awarding me a Stylish Blogger Award. Almost forgot to do it, but life is getting back to normal so here goes with seven things about me with apologies if I’m repeating myself (I’m allowed to, I’m getting on a bit).

1. I have recently become allergic to codeine which is a pain (literally).

2. I am allergic to permanent hair dye.

3. I can swim a whole length of the pool holding my breath with my face in the water – what I cannot do is swim like a dolphin . There I was swimming up and down with Imogen sitting on my back and she said, “Come on, dolphin, leap out of the water.” Isn’t it wonderful when children are young enough to believe you can do anything?

4. I don’t like sentences that begin with “I”. A way around this I have to find.

5. My twin died in the womb and I have always felt as if a part of me is missing.

6. When I was a child coming home from school at lunchtime, I used to sometimes cadge a lift down the hill with the bread delivery man. It is very exciting riding in a van with neither seat nor door – well it is when you’re little and fearless. And I still remember the lovely smell in that van.

7. Which reminds me, at around the same time I had to be rescued by a lady at the top of that same hill from the attentions of an amorous golden retriever called Sandy (lovely, friendly dog, but on that occasion too friendly). She ushered me through her house and let me climb over her back fence so I could run home through the allotments.

That got me thinking, can you imagine those last two things happening these days?

And I’m going to be horribly lazy and instead of nominating fifteen blogs I am going to ask you to cast your gaze to the right (I think – I’m not good with left and right) and visit some of the very stylish blogs in my list if you haven’t already. And if your blog is there, consider yourself nominated! These seven "things" are a good prompt if you can't think of anything to blog about.

This morning as I walked down the lane (fields on the right, caravan park on the left) with the dogs, I suddenly realised I couldn’t see quite as much of Tilly as I should. She’d found a small hole at the base of the wire fence (well she’s spent the past ten years looking for one) and zipped through.

She went off rather purposefully and disappeared behind a caravan while I was leaping up and down in a panic – rather like a headless chicken really. Without the feathers.

She was heading in the direction of a caravan where a couple of bull terrier types had gone mad at her through the fence at the weekend. She’s a plucky little soul and stupid enough to think she can take anyone on and she’s got the memory of an elephant.

I was jumping up and down, calling her, panicking, wondering how the hell I could run to the park entrance and get there before she did, if she did – it was all going through my mind, roads, traffic, people, dogs – or if she went in another direction she’d end up on the marshes. All the camp exits are at least a ten minute run from where I was and I don’t do running.

Then I remembered my whistle and gave it a blast. Almost immediately she came trotting back to the hole in the fence. No sooner was she through it than she was running ahead down the lane looking for another. I put her on her lead then until we reached the fields where there are no fences for her to squeeze under, just dirty ditches to jump in.

She’s lost 200 gms so far on her diet and she seems to have a lot more energy. Whether it’s the food or the cooler weather or second childhood I don’t know.

Anyway I’ll be blinking glad when the other fields have been harvested and all those ear- and paw- invading grass seeds have gone so we can forget the lane and start going round the fields again.

My intention when I started blogging was to write about writing so I’ll make an effort to do that next time. If I can think of anything to write about. Writing Avoidance Techniques perhaps which is what I am indulging in right now.

Words of Wisdom

2011-07-08T12:26:00.005+01:00

Reported this week – one in three of us is desperate to cut down the time we spend doing emails, Tweeting, Facebooking etc.

I can see why. There are always new and interesting things to ail us. With the dawn of computers came repetitive strain injuries from sitting at a keyboard or clutching a game pad. Now we have Facebook Fatigue, Blogger Burnout, Forum Fag, Email Exhaustion and Twitter Tiredness – that’s before you even start on the lure of interesting sites, the latest news at your fingertips and surveys.

My main activity on Facebook is playing Farmville. That’s the latest in a long line of games I’ve temporarily become addicted to. I’ve played everything on FB from knocking out bubbles to complicated word games. Now I put pretend trees in pretend orchards and every two days I harvest them. It’s an undemanding pastime and while I’m harvesting my orchards and watering my mystery seedlings or feeding love potions to my sheep, my mind takes a little break. It goes away all on its own and thinks about stuff.

And I don’t even have to go to FB to play it. I can cut out the middle man and go straight to Farmville. So do I need to cut down on Facebook? I don’t think so. I took a load of photos Tuesday and put them on FB, made them visible to the people who would be interested and that was it, done. And what’s more it’s easier and less time consuming than shrinking them to a sendable size and attaching them to emails.

So there you go, Facebook saves you time!

I sort of fell into Blogging. I follow so many I can’t keep up with them all, but when I look through the list and see if I could cull any – I can’t. I like all those I follow too much and don’t want to lose any of them and would like to follow more, but I sometimes miss posts and that annoys me somewhat because I just don’t have time to go back through them all and dammit I don’t like missing anything.

I’ve resisted Twitter. I’m not even going to go there. I think Twitter would be the straw that had me running down the street screaming that I can’t take any more.

Forums. I belong to a small number and find it hard to keep up with the posts on those, but I can’t let them go – I just can’t. They are, on the whole, such friendly places, somewhere you can go for a bit of a chillax.

And emails. I’d go mad without them and so, probably, would some of you. Not only do they keep you in touch, they make everything so much faster – and cheaper. Emails must save us a fortune in postage and brown envelopes.

Moving on to the business of writing. I had a sort out yesterday of all the folders, magazines, notes etc beside my desk. It had become such a huge tottering pile that I couldn’t use my printer without transferring it all. I transferred it to the chair behind me last time I had to print, forgetting that the dog that cannot see was damp and muddy – the result was a pile of soggy, grimy, falling apart pieces of paper and a very uncomfortable looking Tilly wondering what on earth had happened to her comfy chair.

She’s in there now sleeping peacefully, unmolested by piles of paperwork.

It led me to actually look at the projects I have on the go. There are five folders on the floor beside my desk – five projects there. Indy is taking care of those for the moment.

Then there are the notebooks scattered about the house. One with started greeting card verses in, one with Indy’s story, another with notes for something bigger. Yet another has writing websites written down that I must visit and one more on my desk with ideas for short stories. I haven’t even started on the folders on my computer with half started this and that. There is one into which I have transferred the stories I am going to one day – one day – publish on Kindle.

And there is of course the painting waiting to be finished, but that is unrelated to writing. At least I got the windows cleaned this week – very weak Yayyy.

So I haven’t done much. I would blame the dentist, but I have to say his lovely eyes went some way towards compensating for the pain.

The only person to blame is myself. I’m trying to do too much and in doing so I’m actually achieving very little. I used to make lists until the day I cracked, tore the list into tiny pieces and stamped my feet vowing never to make a bloody list again, so that’s not an option now.

Does anyone else feel overwhelmed by it all? I used to be overwhelmed by the mountain of ironing or the windows that needed cleaning or the grass that was as high as an elephant’s eye or the dust that settled the minute you finish dusting. Now all it takes to overwhelm me is the arrival of a writing magazine which I simply must read – just as soon as I’ve read last month’s.

Anyway, Words of Wisdom – I almost forgot. In fact I have forgotten. I’ve waffled on so long and talked so much self-indulgent twaddle I’ve forgotten what I was going to offer in the line of wise words. So let that be a lesson to you… I think.

I could easily and do easily become addicted to things. I can stop any time. I can turn this computer off and go and do something else. I can. You just watch me. I’m going now. See. I’m moving the mouse towards the sleep button or perhaps first I’ll check on my orchards, read a few blogs, reply to some emails and visit a forum or two and then I’ll switch it off and sort out some of those notebooks…..

How about you? Where are you off to now? Please, please tell me I’m not the only one to feel this way…

New Computer, New Router, Old Excuses

2011-07-02T10:29:00.003+01:00

I’m sorry about the last post. Indy got on here when she wasn’t looking, but never fear, I am here now and using the keyboard despite my hairy paws and the fact I am visually challenged.

Unlike my brother, I am not one to moan. Take yesterday – there we were walking down the lane when I got a sharp pain in my paw. Did I make a fuss? Did I hell. I limped bravely on until she noticed and examined my paws.

I’d trodden on a twig with added thorns and one of the thorns had dug into my pad. I didn’t as much as flinch when she pulled it out. I’ve seen Indy with thorns in his paw and he stops dead and waves it about until someone sorts it out. She says I should do that, but you know me, I don’t like to make a fuss.

But there comes a time in every girl’s life when she has to make a stand.

Oh, the computer? Yes – she’s not keen. The screen is too long and thin, the new version of Word too scary and she says why has Explorer put everything round the wrong way – like her favourites on the right instead of the left.

Photoshop didn’t work – new computer said no - so she’s had to get a new version and she hasn’t even opened the box yet which is why there isn’t a picture of me to accompany this post.

And the new system doesn't support the Canon Easy Photo Print thing she uses. Amazing isn’t it how many things new systems don’t support.

How is it progress, she said, to make everything more complicated and upside down? And why doesn’t it end with buying a computer? Why do you have to buy all the extra programs to replace the programs you know, love and are used to?

As for the painting, she did the downstairs loo and half the hall then said her knees, back, neck, arms etc etc hurt too much to continue. Poor old soul. Maybe she’ll start a new trend in half painted rooms. Then she thought the gloss had given her a sore throat, but it turned into a full blown cold. As you know I’m not one to complain but she’s keeping me awake half the night with her coughing.

Anyway, someone said I looked as if I was putting on weight. Me! Well I’m not doing the running around that I used to that’s for sure. It’s hard when you can’t see where you’re going and a tad scary. I do have the occasional sprint when I get carried away, but I prefer to stay close to the rest of the pack now.

So she got out the scales and weighed me and according to her I’ve put on over a kilo. The scales are wrong I told her. My fur is heavy. I suggested removing my collar, but it was too late, the diet grub was ordered.

It’s only a kilo I said and she said on a dog of my small stature a kilo is a lot and that being overweight won’t help my aches and pains. Huh, you can talk fatty, I said, but she didn’t hear me. So I’ve got this high oat stuff from Burns and it’s really nice! But don’t tell her I said that.

The router? Well since it arrived she hasn’t been screaming about things going down so much, but just occasionally she’ll groan “Not again.”

And if she would but admit it, this new computer is so quiet she thought something was wrong with her mouse because she could hear every click. And it takes up a lot less space on her desk. And when she switches it on, it takes but a few seconds to be ready – the old one used to take several minutes and one of its fans had to be started with the aid of a screwdriver. She’s coming round to it anyway.

When she was checking to make sure all the stuff from the old computer had arrived on the new one, she found loads of started novels. She found a book she’d started to write about writing, a book about me and Indy, stories for children, romances and all kinds of everything. She had a quick peek, then quickly closed the folder with a shake of her head and an “I can’t look at all that now. It’s doin’ my head in.”

Well, as I told her, if she shed a few of her excess stones (which put my kilo and a bit in the shade – literally) she might lose some brain flab and be able to finish some of that stuff she’d started.

It's Not Over Yet!

2011-06-25T14:30:00.003+01:00

Hello it’s me. Apparently she’s too busy to talk to you – get her – so she said I could have a go.

Well it’s been all topsy turvy in this household of late. I mean the tearing out of hair and gnashing of teeth that’s been going on, you’d think I was living in the midst of a biblical epic of mammoth proportions.

But the joy and jubilation when them “up there” phoned on Thursday and agreed there was a problem with the phone line. You’d have thought she’d won the lottery.

On Friday an engineer turned up on the doorstep. Tilly and I realised the gravity of the situation so refrained from barking at him and let him do his work.

He opened something up and declared there was a loose wire which came away in his hand. It wasn’t me, that’s all I’m saying. I don’t eat wires any more.

The engineer fixed the wiring, tightened everything else up and you should have heard the whooping and cheering when the internet started working at speed.

It was almost as loud as the weeping and wailing that went on this morning when the internet started going up and down like a wh… oh, apparently I’m not allowed to say that. Well it went up and down a lot.

So Himself got back on the phone and there was a lot of plugging in and unplugging and using different phones and sighing until eventually them “up there” said it sounded like a problem with the router.

I thought Himself was going to go off like a Roman candle. That was what he’d said to them when he first phoned them weeks ago. Anyway, they're now sending out a new router. Do you think that will fix the problems once and for all? Time will tell.

In other news, she went down to Focus for its closing down sale – you should have seen Himself’s face when she came out carrying ten gallons of paint. He went pale. I thought his beard was going to fall off.

But she’s clever. She said the magic words. “It’s magnolia.” Well, the face lit up, the beard settled down and he embraced the one-coat matt with open arms. If he had his way the whole house would be painted magnolia and judging by the amount she bought, that is her intention.

She also got a fancy little shelf bracket to hang the birds nuts on. I’m saying nothing!

Now her new computer is here, she’s leaving Himself to get on with setting it up and she’s going to get on with painting. Not sure what that entails, but last time she did painting I heard a lot of words I don’t often hear and ended up with white stripes.

She got her tin of white gloss, her paintbrush and her masking tape and she was all ready to go when someone said “preparation”. Well I don’t know if that sort of word is as bad as some of them she uses, but she went an unflattering shade of purple.

Last I saw of her she was stomping round with a sheet of rough paper and a bucket of warm water muttering something about moving into a ruddy tent (she didn’t say ruddy) where you didn’t have to do ruddy (again that isn’t the word she used) decorating.

Anyway, the sun is shining, the birds are singing and we’ve been running round with our legs crossed so she just said she’d do the “preparation” later when she’s “in the mood” and in the meantime she’d take us out. At least she has her priorities right.

Has The Light Come Back On?

2011-06-18T19:24:00.002+01:00

This is my 200th post. It feels like some kind of milestone as if I should mark the occasion in some way – but I’m all out of ideas.

The ISP said they’d sort out the internet connection problem – or should I say lack of connection problem. Phone calls were made every few days and vague promises to look into it were made. Eventually they said it would be sorted out in 48 hours. It was like seeing a light at the end of the tunnel.

48 hours came and went and the problem was considerably worse – it was down more than it was up. Terribly sorry they said, but it will be sorted. They were monitoring the situation.

More phone calls, more apologies – but rest assured it has been passed to a higher level team to sort out. Was it possible to speak to these higher level people? Alas no, they are terribly busy and not answering their phones – they will ring you. It should be within 72 hours.

The goalposts were being moved it seemed. The light at the end of the tunnel had dimmed.

72 hours passed. No one called. The problem got worse. The connection would come up long enough to download emails – but perhaps not all of them if there was a backlog. Nothing more frustrating than seeing you have 4 emails downloading only for it to die before the fourth one comes down so you’re left wondering. It’s like knowing the postman has delivered a letter for you to next door by mistake, but they’re out and you don’t know when they’re coming back.

Apologies gushed forth – they’re so busy “up there” those mystical internet fixers; they’re not answering their phones.

Flash here to a room full of people wearing party hats and blowing those noisy unravelling things with feathers on the end. The music is deafening. There are sausage roll crumbs all over the desks and the bins are full of empty bottles. They’re cavorting about, playing and partying and they’re not fixing my internet.

More apologies and the news that it could be up to NINE DAYS before they get in touch. NINE DAYS? Sorry, I know that’s shouting but it’s been weeks, the goalposts are practically out of sight now and the light at the end of the tunnel went out some time ago.

They might be able to arrange a refund of part of the broadband fees in the meantime. Oh might they? How generous. Well that’s big of them isn’t it, offering to maybe not charge us for the service we aren’t getting.

In the grand scheme of things a dodgy internet connection is not of major importance, but it is bloody frustrating.

For instance, I was ordering three e-books. Simples. Yes and it took me two hours to complete the order with the connection coming and going. Well no, I wasn’t sat there waiting for two hours; I did a bit of writing while I waited – but annoying – yes it was.

I’ve left comments here and there – or thought I have, but the connection vanishes before the comment appears.

So here I am, 200th post, and having a rant. Sorry folks.

But… my new computer is ordered along with all the new-fangled gubbins to go with it which means I may be able to get on with stuff without having to restart my computer every so often because it’s gone into meltdown. In an ideal world, this time next week I’ll be using my new computer and I’ll have a broadband connection I can actually use when I want to use it.

I do want to say thanks to Jarmara for identifying the mystery plant from my last post. Salsify. Now I know. Several of us do. In cases like this the internet is wonderful.

I’d also like to direct you to Diane Fordham’s blog. I can’t comment unfortunately, Blogger says no, but if you want to see fiction restored to women’s magazines, Diane’s blog is a good place to start and she's already had some positive feedback.

And also in case you’ve missed them, check Lynne’s blog for the Yesterday posts by Josi – they are not to be missed. I promise you won't be disappointed.

I’m going to post this while I can and hope normal service will be resumed as soon as possible. Having said that, it has been running now for a few hours without cutting out. Is this a sign of things to come? Or is it a last gasp from the router before it blows up? Time will tell, but I am feeling quietly optimistic and the little light is staying on. Perhaps those people "up there" have fixed it after all.

Before I go I should just say that every cloud has a silver lining. Without the distraction of the internet I’ve been writing, seeking new horizons and for the first time in months I don’t owe anyone an email! So maybe I should stop moaning now and look on the bright side!

Any Idea?

2011-06-09T11:16:00.007+01:00

What this is? It grows in abundance along the dykes down on the marshes.

And here is a picture (don’t say you weren’t warned) of not-so-little me wearing my prize T shirt and reading my prize book, Bound to Love by Sally Clements – thanks to the lovely Minxes.

Actually I’m not reading the book yet, but it is next in the queue in my To Be Read pile.

Not blogging much at the mo. Just wait till I get my new computer – you’ll never get me to shut up, but for now everything is such an effort.

I can’t even get on Julie P’s blog - sorry Julie. Computer says no apparently. Computer is a pain in the whatsit. You wouldn't believe how long it took me to post this!

Is It Worth It?

2011-06-03T09:13:00.005+01:00

Problems with Blogger continue and I’ve tried doing all the recommended things like getting rid of cookies, logging in & logging out, unticking keep-signed-in boxes and restarting the computer to no avail.

Meanwhile I can comment on 2 or 3 blogs as me, a few as anonymous and not at all on others. What with my computer seizing up every 10 minutes or going so slow it would be quicker to write a message on a passing snail and send it - and the internet going down every 5, I could scream.

I have come worryingly close to banging my head on my desk in sheer frustration. So when I am without internet, do I get my head down and get some writing done – of course not, I keep clicking on websites and send/receive just in case I can bully it into working again.

I’ve used a few choice words lately about the internet, my computer and Blogger. I’ve considered ripping my computer from its wiring and hurling it out of the window.

So is it all worth it? Well I was looking back to a time BI – before internet and thought about it and I have to say it IS worth it.

First of all I have made so many friends via email, good friends, people I have come to care about more than I thought possible. I have met some of them in Real Life too, something I never dreamed possible twelve years ago.

I have learned that I am not the only writer to receive rejections – and yes, I really thought I was and that the other names I saw in magazines were selling everything they submitted.

BI I had only ever met one other writer, but he is my cousin-in-law and family so of course I’d met him.

And speaking of rellies, I have recently been reunited with a cousin I hadn’t seen for over 40 years – thanks to the internet.

For someone with an aversion to telephones, email is – well not a lifesaver because I’ve never felt like dying over making a telephone call, but it is wonderfully liberating.

And shopping. Being able to do it from the comfort of my own chair, not having to fight the crowds in shops as well as the panic that often accompanies me on shopping trips is wonderful.

Once I started thinking of the advantages, I stopped getting wound up about the problems. In a few months I will be able to get a new computer and perhaps then things will start working as they should and hopefully by then Blogger will have got its act together.

I haven’t been completely wasting my time while things have been going wrong. I went through my Favourites folder, got rid of some websites that are defunct and found a few treasures I’d forgotten about.

While I was sorting out, making new folders etc. I thought I’d share some of my favourites with you, my fellow Internetians.

So what do you think? Is it worth it?

Popular names over the past 130 years. Handy if you want to name characters from the past.

The Mystery Place - now accepting email submissions.

Common Errors in English - useful!

Meet the Author - see your favourite writers talking about their books.

Dr Hadwen Trust - if you're against animal experimentation.

Unusual and bizarre - take a look, it's fun!

Save me - group founded by Brian May - yes that Brian May.

Daily Puzzle - from the NYT. Mini workout for your brain.

Our Planet - loads of facts.

I'm a Winner!

2011-06-02T09:30:00.001+01:00

I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw I’d won the Grand Prix competition over at the fabulous Minxes of Romance blog.

I’ve won loads of brilliant stuff.

The only blight on my delight is the fact that I can’t comment on the blog to thank them, but luckily lovely Suzanne and Sally came to my rescue and posted for me.

I’m very excited about it all and I can’t wait to read Bound to Love signed by the author and minx, Sally Clements. And if you’re lucky (or unlucky depending on your point of view) I may post a photo of myself modelling my prize T shirt!

Tag - You're It!

2011-05-27T08:50:00.005+01:00

Thanks Suzy for tagging me. I have to answer some questions and then tag three more people.

Q1 Do you think you’re hot?

Only when I’m not cold.

Q2 Upload a picture or wallpaper you’re using at the moment

I was going to put my desktop picture up, but it’s already here on the blog somewhere so I thought I’d put the last one I took yesterday instead. This is Indy – he dragged his bed out onto the landing, flung it around, shook it, beat it into submission then left it for dead.

Q3 When did you last eat chicken?

At my daughter’s wedding in 2003 – it was an accident. I helped myself to some rather delicious looking creamy stuff from the evening buffet – goodness knows what I thought would be in it, but I certainly didn’t expect it to be chicken and in my defence I have to say my judgement was impaired. It had been an emotional day. And as it was a wedding I couldn’t spit it out so I had to chew it up and swallow it - it was only one mouthful, but it might just as well have been the whole chicken. It may have been Coronation Chicken, but I was so far gone by then it could just as easily have been Coronation Street.

Q4 The song you listened to recently?

Indiana Wants Me by R. Dean Taylor. Always loved that song and now I have it on CD along with a load of other R. Dean Taylor songs. And as I only currently have two CDs up here because I’m too lazy/forgetful to bring any others up, that is what I listen to.

Q5 What are you thinking as you do this?

Doesn’t it feel lovely and fresh after the rain and don’t the birds sound happy?

Q6 Have you any nicknames?

Loads. My first one when I was very small was Charlie Macey. A neighbour once said to me, “Hello Teresa, what’s your name?” So I said “Charlie Macey.” Poor man went and told my mum that it was a tragedy I didn’t know my own name. There have been others.

And now for my three victims! Hm, who shall I choose? This is the fun part.

Should you choose to accept it, I nominate…

Novelist in the Making

Caroline

Pat Posner

Your turn to answer the questions and pass it on, girls - if you so wish!

Commenting - and Message for Suzy!

2011-05-26T11:12:00.003+01:00

Humph! I am tearing my hair out at the moment - so many blogs out there I'm trying to leave comments on and Blogger won't let me! It won't even let me comment as Anonymous.

I am feeling quite miffed to put it mildly. It asks me to log in even though I am already logged in, then asks for the wordy thing which I put in and it takes me straight back to the log in page so I end up going round and round in circles.

Suzy, if you're reading this, thank you for tagging me and for what you said. I'll put my answers up in a day or two. I loved yours - and I loved your picture - they look like ballerinas!

Win a copy of Ghostwriting

2011-05-22T08:54:00.003+01:00

If you'd like to nip over to I Should be Writing and answer a simple question about ghostwriting, you'll be in with a chance to win a copy of Ghostwriting, signed by the author Lynne Hackles.

If, like me, you've ever wondered about exactly how to go about writing for others, this book has all the information you need. I know because I've read it!

With Bells

2011-05-21T14:08:00.004+01:00

I dog and puppy sat yesterday and with a quiet house to myself, several hours without internet, my laptop and two notebooks I thought I’d get loads done.

Silly me. Poppy is such a joy. Quick and willing to learn – she already understands several basic commands and adores praise. Of course I played with her. A lot. I didn’t write a word!

Tilly has been wonderful with her which surprised me as Tilly generally doesn’t like other dogs. But Poppy is very respectful and courteous around Tilly and doesn’t keep jumping all over her as she does the other dogs.

Today I realised that that clever little pup probably knew what was wrong with Tilly before I did. Or at least before I admitted it to myself.

She’s always had poor sight. Before she came to us, she was scratched across her eye by a cat. Wasn’t the cat’s fault. The two of them had been left locked in a conservatory for hours on end. The cat probably got fed up being shut in with a bored energetic pup.

We only found out about that when we had her vet records transferred to our vet. I thought she'd get over her fear and hatred of cats and despite my cats being gentle and kind, she never trusted them.

Over the years she’s hurt her eyes twice more – both times rummaging round in bramble bushes.

In recent months she’s been quieter, calmer. At times contemplative and wistful. She’s fallen off my bed a couple of times during the night and has taken to raiding the kitchen bin. Silly old thing I thought.

Yesterday she walked into the frame of the garden swing.

Out on our walks, she barks and bounces waiting for me to throw the ball, then when I throw it she leaves Indy to rush off after it. Getting lazy in her old age I thought. I even teased her about it.

The signs were all there weren’t they?

Today I realised she cannot see the ball. That is why she doesn’t chase it. She can’t see. That is why she walks at my side instead of running round the field like she used to. That is why when she is on her lead, she walks pressed up against Indy’s side. Why when she hears a dog barking she flies into a panic and starts to pull like a steam train.

She is coping with this better than I am. I am devastated thinking of her in a world of darkness. But she’s always been a problem solver and despite spaniels having a reputation for being daft and a bit scatty, she’s very intelligent. As long as we don’t move any furniture and everything stays the same, I think she’ll cope fine.

My friend had a blind dog. They learned never to move furniture as he knew precisely where everything was, but they had an interior wall knocked through and for the rest of his life, her dog used to walk very carefully through where the doorway used to be.

I feel very sad right now, but if there’s one thing I’ve learnt from dogs it’s that they don’t do self pity, not really. Indy will have a go now and then at playing the old soldier, but on the whole they accept what life throws at them and get on with it.

I’m going to find her a ball with bells – after all, she still wants to play and she hasn't gone deaf yet - except when it suits her.

Casting Clouts

2011-05-15T16:18:00.007+01:00

When I was a child a clout to me was a smack from my mum. But when you’re talking about old sayings a clout refers to clothing so the saying “Ne’er cast a clout till May be out” means don’t be in a hurry to shed your warm clothes.

Whether May refers to the month or the tree is unclear.

But anyway what I’m getting round to is that when I was a child I was never allowed to swim in the sea until June or until we had spotted the first jellyfish – a sign that the gulf stream had “discharged its filth” as Pop used to say.

But when I was twelve I knew better than to pay attention to folklore and I went swimming. My mum said I’d pay for it. There was a cold easterly wind blowing and I’d probably catch my death. You know what mothers are like.

Well she was right. I didn’t exactly catch my death but I came down with a bout of bronchitis that took several courses of antibiotics to clear and I ended up not being able to go swimming for ages. My mum’s “I told you so” button had never been so active.

Last week my youngest son’s two little girls Roxy and Charlie came to stay for a few days and for once the weather was with us. I took Roxy and another of my granddaughters to the beach – no swimming costumes (my mum’s warnings ring in my ears still), but Isabel had other ideas.

“No going in the water,” I said and I got on with making sandcastles safe in the knowledge that the shingle between beach and sea would be too harsh for tender little feet. I should have known that a determined two year old would find a way – she made the journey on her behind.

After all the effort I hadn’t the heart to refuse her a paddle so I rolled her trousers up. Well of course she fell in. And so did Roxy. There was no nasty easterly wind blowing though and the sun was warm, so no harm done and they thoroughly enjoyed themselves.

We had a lovely time while the girls were here – including a visit to the animal sanctuary at Mistley where the girls fed friendly goats, cuddly sheep and dozens of assorted chickens that crowded round their feet.

What is so special about May 2nd?

2011-05-02T09:21:00.003+01:00

It’s May Day bank holiday this year!

It is also the day on which Richard I gave Portsmouth its first Royal Charter, Anne Boleyn was arrested on charges of treason, witchcraft, incest and adultery, Baron von Richthofen was born as was Catherine II of Russia and Peggy Mount.

Alan Titchmarsh, Phil Vickery, Jimmy White and David Beckham celebrate their birthdays.

Died on this day, Leonardo da Vinci, Oliver Reed, J. Edgar Hoover and Nancy Astor.

2nd May is Flag Day in Poland, National Education Day in Indonesia and Teacher’s Day in Iran.

On 2nd May Good Housekeeping magazine went on sale for the first time, Tennessee Williams won the Pulitzer Prize for Drama for Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and the King James Bible was published for the first time by printer Robert Barker. Mary, Queen of Scots escaped from Loch Leven Castle and the De Havilland Comet 1 made its maiden flight from London to Johannesburg.

Of course a lot more people you will have heard of were born or died on this day. And a lot of things happened and go on happening as they do. You could look up tomorrow and find it is World Press Freedom Day and a lot of other things besides.

Tomorrow is important for me because it will be Indy and Tilly’s eleventh birthdays. Today it is mine. Not my eleventh I am glad to say. When I was eleven I broke my arm, started at secondary school which I hated and lost both my great grandfather and my dog. It was not a happy year for me.

This is little me. I don’t know how old I was, but I think I was happy then – except for my fringe. My mum used to cut it wonky then she’d try to correct it and I’d end up with a wonky fringe about half an inch long.

And Indy has asked me to tell you that the rumours about him swimming in the dyke and then not being able to get out last week are untrue. He did not look scared out of his wits, he did not have to be helped out and he was not dreadfully embarrassed by the whole thing. That is his story and he is sticking to it, but he says there should be a sign for dogs at that particular spot pointing out that the bank is steep and also that the water level is lower than usual and he’s planning to write a long letter to health and safety about it. Not that he had any problems of course, but he feels a lesser dog may well get into difficulties. Tilly says she could have got out of it with her eyes shut, her legs tied together and a frog sitting on her back and that she hasn’t had such a good laugh for years!

Awards, Awards, Awards!

2011-04-29T10:21:00.007+01:00

Perri from Lesser Apricots and Rosemary from Romy’s Regency Romance have both awarded me the Versatile Blogger Award – I’m so chuffed. I love Blog Awards, especially when I’m on the receiving end, but giving is better than receiving so I shall be passing it on.

First of all seven things about me. Hm. Well what to say that I haven’t already waffled on at length about.

1. I’d go mad without my emails and the wonderful friends I’ve met through the internet. Whenever I moan and grumble and swear and curse about how pissed off I am with computers and/or the internet, I remind myself that without them I would never have met some of my dearest (what an old fashioned word) friends.

2. I can’t bear to be away from the sea for long. I can only see a tiny bit of it in the distance from my bedroom window, but I spend far too long gazing out at it and wishing I could have a house on the beach.

3. I am a blog addict. My only complaint is that there are so many brilliant and wonderful blogs out there and that I don’t have time to keep up with them all. Or, back to moaning about computers, I try to leave a comment and it starts playing silly buggers, then I go back a few days later and my comment isn’t there and then I think so long has passed and no one likes to be late at a party so I end up not commenting at all. I wish blogs had a little tick box so you could leave a calling card so to speak and let the blogger know that you’d called by, even if you didn’t have time to leave a comment – or else couldn’t think of one! But yes, blogs, I love them. I’ve just added a load more to my blog list. I can’t help myself.

4. I love the moon. Hard to explain, but the moon has accompanied me on many difficult journeys and I only have to look at that silvery white presence in the sky to feel a sense of peace and the certainty that things will turn out all right. However sad I am, heartbroken even, however worried, I find comfort in the moon. And no, I am not a werewolf.

5. I love books. Well that goes without saying really doesn’t it? I can get excited over a book in a way I can’t get excited about anything else. As soon as my hands touch a new book and open the first page, there’s a feeling as if I’m about to embark on an adventure. And in all honesty I’d rather have a book than chocolate and if I really had to give up one or the other, it would be chocolate, no competition.

6. I love Star Trek. The original series, DS9, Voyager, Enterprise, Next Generation – the films. Love them. Love the characters and the stories and I wish they would make a new series.

7. I am lactose intolerant. Doesn’t cause me problems because I use soya milk and tend to steer clear of animal products.

And now – drum roll – I’d like to pass the award to some versatile blogs.

Jarmara at A Mission Impossible for the Dark Fantasty Nightwriter

Tilly the Rescue Dog's Blog

Suzanne at Suzanne Jones

Sally at Quiller's Place - the View from the Shed

Lynne at I Should be Writing

Karen at Get On With It

Gaelikaa at Gaelikaa's Diary

For reasons I can't figure out, Gaelikaa's Diary doesn't appear in my bloglist and I can't comment on there - so if anyone out there could let her know about the award I'd be ever so grateful, ta.

And the reason for the three Awards in my title is that Deirdra awarded me this Creative Blog Award – thank you Deirdra. Her fab blog A Storybook World has interviews and all sorts! Isn’t it pretty?

Fantastic Fiction

2011-04-26T14:41:00.001+01:00

It occurred to me today when I was visiting this very useful site that some people may not be aware of it.

The site is Fantastic Fiction and it is a fantastic resource. For example if you are buying a series of books one at a time, it isn’t always clear which one comes next, but on Fantastic Fiction the books are listed chronologically.

It also gives the pen names of authors so you may find that a favourite author also writes under another name.

Look at that, a short post from me with no photos of flies. Whatever next!

More Flies!

2011-04-23T11:30:00.005+01:00

Yes just what you needed on a gorgeous day like today – more flies (see last post!).

Not very good pictures of them, but for anyone who has been lucky enough not to encounter them this is they. It’s quite hard to take photos of flies whilst ducking to stop them flying in your face.

The St Mark's fly is the largest of the Bibionidae family and the males are about 10mm long – the females 3mm longer than that. These are the flies that you sometimes encounter joined together – male and female mating – still flying round.

I’m not going to get into a birds and bees discussion, don’t worry! The female looks quite different to the male. She has a much smaller head and smaller eyes. I must say the male is the more attractive when it isn’t trying to fly down your throat that is.

Anyway while I was clicking away trying to get a decent shot, I got this one by accident which I rather like.

And somehow the picturesque Mr I managed to get in this one and I had to pretend I was looking for a good shot of him and not trying to photograph flies at all.

Happy Earth Day

2011-04-22T11:55:00.008+01:00

A walk through the woods this week turned up something interesting. Well more than one something actually.

First there were the flies. Blinking great black things with their legs dangling down. They look rather creepy as they dance about in front of your face. We get them over on the fields by the hedgerows, but not in such huge numbers as I saw them in the woods.

Turns out they are called St Mark’s flies as they often appear around St Mark’s Day (25th April). They’re not creepy at all and like everything in this world (except perhaps humans) they have an important role to play.

Apparently they do all this dancing round with their dangly legs whilst looking for females. They land on anything that happens to be in their way and I suppose we were – I mean the last thing you want when you’re out on the pull is a load of humans getting in the way, but if they are and you fancy resting your wings – well why not.

Their larvae feed on leaf mould and the flies are thought to be important for pollinating trees. I bet you always wanted to know that didn’t you?

The woods used to be full of primroses and bluebells years ago before people started digging them up and taking them home. Now there are just a few here and there.

A week or so ago the wood was carpeted with white, but now only a few wood anemones remain.

We saw a tiny bird disappear into a hole at the bottom of a tree and waited for it to emerge. It was a coal tit. I didn’t know until I looked them up when I got home that they prefer to nest close to the ground. Sounds a bit risky to me but I daresay they know what they’re doing.

We walked for miles then the dandelion clock said it was time for lunch so we came home.

I love our planet don’t you? Quite right it should have its own day.

Tilly - Bitch of Mystery

2011-04-16T10:20:00.013+01:00

Hello, Tilly here. You may have seen me in photos looking pretty glum and sad. It’s a look I’ve perfected since puppyhood, guaranteed to win me cuddles galore, toast crusts, bits of banana and anything else that takes my fancy.

I’m not like Indy with his tummy troubles. I have a cast iron constitution, well except when it comes to leftover pizza, but perhaps I was wrong to help myself from the bin, but I was right to wake her up in the middle of the night or she’d have had a disaster on her hands or at least the bedroom floor.

No one forced her to run across the garden in bare feet to stop me drinking from the bird bath…

Anyway I’ve no idea why she’s a bit off with me today. It’s not my fault if they put food in the bin is it?

So my brother. They named him Indy after Indiana Jones because being a springer spaniel, they thought he’d have an adventurous spirit.

Yeah right! I wasn’t around for all of his early months, but Oakley has whispered a thing or two about my brother. Not so much Indiana Jones as Corporal Jones.

I love Oakley.

He’s my hero.

You should have seen Indy when I got into the bin. Did he help eat the spoils? Did he heck. He ran upstairs and hid on the landing and kept muttering, “Don’t panic, don’t panic,” whilst panicking profusely.

We went for our usual walk yesterday, played ball and got hot. He usually gets the ball. I tend to let him get to it first after the time we bashed heads and the world wouldn’t stop spinning.

Anyway, hot spaniel, cool, smelly, full-of-rotting-vegetable-matter ditch – in I went.

“Eurgh! Go away,” Indy said. “You stink. And you’re filthy. I only had a bath last week.”

I shook all over him and he had a hissy fit because a blob of mud landed on his leg.

“That’s it,” he shrieked. “I’m all dirty. Must get clean. Don’t panic, don’t panic!” So he went and jumped in the dyke and had a swim round.

Show off.

“Come in,” he said to me. “The water’s lovely and it’ll clean you up.”

He knows I don’t care for water unless it’s warm, in a bath and full of bubbles.

“Who wants to be clean?” I said. “I am happy as I am.”

And I was. Happy as a happy dog in muck.

This week I was introduced to Poppy.

She’s Oakley’s new little sister.

Everyone said I’d have to be watched, that I don’t know how to relate to other dogs and that I was an unknown quantity.

Bitch of Mystery, that’s me.

Well I thought she was quite cute. I don’t go in for this jealousy lark. It doesn’t bother me if Oakley cuddles up to Mum on the sofa. Indy’s the one who glares daggers at him.

To me Poppy’s just another member of the family, someone to chase under the bushes and fossick round in the crispy leaves with. I think I may have a new best mate.

I can’t wait till she’s big enough to come out on walks and I can show her The Way of the Spaniel. I know all the smelliest, dirtiest ditches in the area and I know them well.

Come with me little Grassmuncher I will say. Embrace the mud, soak up the stink.

Your humans will adore you for it.

Losing Sleep!

2011-04-14T17:33:00.004+01:00

There I was thinking I hadn’t read anything I wanted to recommend over the past few weeks and suddenly I’m bowled over by not one, but two books one after another.

Thanks to hydra for recommending The Coroner’s Lunch by Colin Cotterill on her blog a while back. Intrigued, I bought it. And I am so glad I did. The characters – oh the characters!

I read too many so-so books and eke out those by authors I love and now thanks to hydra, I’ve found an author to add to my loved list. And I was practically dancing round the room when I found out that there are seven more novels in Colin Cotterill’s Dr Siri Paiboun mysteries. SEVEN!!! It felt like Christmas – or it will do once I start adding them to my collection, if you can call one a collection…

Siri is a 72 year old Coroner in Laos and he is one of the most endearing characters I’ve read in a long time. Dr Siri isn’t just my cup of tea, he’s the whole flipping teapot!

Colin Cotterill also has a damn fine website here. See if you can find the naked bookseller if you visit. I spent far too much time there wandering round enjoying myself. Not because of the naked bookseller I hasten to add.

Also my cup of tea - John Harding’s Florence and Giles. I’ve read all his previous books so knew this was going to be good – what I didn’t expect were shivers down my spine.

Florence and Giles is a hugely atmospheric book set in 1890s America and told from the perspective of 12 year old orphan Florence in her own imaginative language.

You soon get into Florence’s flow and some of her phrases are just breathtakingly beautiful. You even start thinking in Florencespeak. The tension builds as Florence strives to protect her little brother Giles from the new governess who appears to possess supernatural powers.

It’s hard to know how to describe Florence and Giles – sinister, charming, spooky, Gothic – none of those words do it justice, but all I can say is that I know a book is doing its job when I wake up in the night and find I’m scared to open my eyes. It isn’t often a book gets under my skin like that. I loved it!

So there we have it, not one but two books that have kept me from my sleep because I just couldn’t put them down.

All Change!

2011-04-08T10:41:00.002+01:00

I have finally succumbed and bought a new mobile phone. My dear old Nokia used to make calls, take photos and send texts – what more could I want? Okay so I dropped it a few times and once or twice drove off the drive with it on the bonnet and sent it flying across the road.

I used to do that with my purse – I’d put it on the bonnet while I got the kids into the car and I’d be driving merrily along the by-pass when one of them would point it out to me – “Don’t take your eyes off it!” I’d shriek as if they could hold it in place with eye power until I could safely pull over and rescue it.

Occasionally a kindly sharp-eyed neighbour would be waiting for me when I got home, “This flew off your car as you drove off,” he’d say handing my purse back to me.

And yes, I’ve driven home from the shops with a bag of shopping on the roof. Once.

Back to my phone. The rubber bit protecting one of the lights peeled off and there was a large crack in the case which used to catch on my clothes. And sometimes it went silent on me and refused to ring, but I am fond of that old phone. It’s been all over the place with me and it has brought me a lot of happy news.

I dreaded getting a new one. But I love my new phone already. It’s easy to navigate round and best of all, when it beeps for a message, it doesn’t send Tilly into a panic. For some reason when my other phone used to receive a message, she’d leap up, run from the room and hide. In the end I had to have my message alert on the quietest setting possible.

It may be because the beep used to mean I’d have to rush off somewhere to pick someone up and perhaps she associated it with me leaving. Who knows what goes on in that funny little head of hers.

When I get a message on the new one, she doesn’t even bat her eyes.

The phone isn’t the only thing that’s being replaced. My computer has been playing up as you’ve probably gathered from previous moanings!

One of the fans packed in. It was replaced and the replacement was just as ineffective so the broken one was oiled and put back and every morning it has to be opened up and started with the help of a screwdriver – all very technical - like the prop on an old plane.

Then a second broken down fan had to be replaced and a third sounds as if it’s on its last legs. The computer rattles and clanks and at least once a day it has to be restarted because everything freezes.

I am quite fond of it – it was my eldest son’s Alienware computer and has a smart black shiny case and a silver alien head on the door and blue lights shining from within, but I think it has had its day.

So begins the task of finding a replacement.

My first computer was an Amstrad and over the years since then I’ve had several, mostly inherited or that have been cobbled together with bits and pieces.

This will be the first new computer I’ve had for yonks and I want one of those flashy see through ones with lights inside. But what you want and what you get are two different things I’ve found.

I just hope this one lasts until I can get a replacement! It’s not so much the new computer I fear as the new software I’ll be forced to use. But if it all turns out to be as easy as the phone I’ll be quite happy.

At the moment I am very happy - I can put paragraphs in my posts again - yay!

First Line Competition Results

2011-04-03T08:09:00.003+01:00

Apologies for the absence of paragraphs in this post - I'm still having problems, but didn't want to delay this posting. Thank you to everyone who entered. I thought this would be an easy competition to judge, but it wasn’t – far from it. It was tough and I had far more entries than I expected (not that I’m complaining – I enjoyed it!) Some entries made me laugh out loud, some made me gasp and some made me nod my head and identify with the narrator at once. Before I go any further, I just want to thank Lynne Hackles for her generosity in sharing her experience and wisdom when it came to the final judging. What I asked for was a line to make me want to read more. I couldn’t come up with an outright winner because as soon as I chose one, one of the other three would call to me. So I have to declare a draw. I will be chopping a copy of Diamonds and Pearls into three equal parts and…. No, I won’t really. Three winners will each receive a copy of Diamonds and Pearls. So without further ado… Congratulations to: Beryl Brown for: 'Outside the door, on the pavement, lay a red umbrella; it was the third one that day.' Susan Wright for: ‘I’m sure my granddaddy told me that human flesh is akin to beef, but Tanya’s leg sure tasted like pork to me.’ Heather Parker for: ‘Sarah trembled as she stared around the empty cell, whitewashed walls hiding the evidence of other interrogations...’ Congratulations Beryl, Sue and Heather on three very different intriguing winning lines. I would love to see where all these are leading. Your books will be winging their way to you tomorrow.

Aargh!

2011-04-01T12:27:00.003+01:00

Having problems posting this - not sure if it is my ailing computer or Blogger causing the trouble, so I'll keep it short. The first line competition is now closed. I’ll post the results on Sunday. A great big thank you all those who entered.

The Further Adventures of Indiana Bones

2011-03-30T18:23:00.005+01:00

I’m not letting her say anything this time. I think she’s said enough. In fact I think she’d said more than enough when she said to the vet, “Okay, let’s do it.”

The day had started off innocently enough. Yay, I thought, a ride in the car. I love going out in the car. It saves my little legs the walk to the fields.

But we didn’t go to the fields. We went to the V.E.T. There was a rather attractive and elegant lady Deerhound in the waiting room. She spoke kindly to me and I gave her a sniff – a very polite sniff I should say. We settled down together in a fug of terrified silence.

I was so glad when Elena came out and called my name. I like Elena. She put stuff in my eye and turned off the lights then gazed deep into my eyes. “Still blocked,” she said, peering up my right nostril. “We could flush the tear duct under sedation.”

Then I heard the word “starve” and I’m afraid I went to pieces. I collapsed in a heap on the table as my bones turned to jelly. I don’t do hungry.

I knew something was up. For the next few days people kept patting me on the head and asking after my health. “I’m fine,” I told them. “Leave me alone. I don’t need no operations thank you very much.”

Then there were the sad mournful looks. Blimey, they say spaniels look sad, but we’ve got nothing on those humans. I mentioned my worries to Tilly and she just curled up next to me and sighed. And she kept sighing sadly and looking all miz and bereft. I told her to shut up.

I don’t know about me having a leaky eye, but that human of mine was leaking a bit by Friday. She kept going on about the internet and things she’d read. Like “it not being worth the risk of an anaesthetic” to “left untreated it can lead to blindness and even the loss of an eye.”

And she said “Are we doing the right thing?” about a million times. Not to me. Oh no. No one asked my opinion.

I had my tea early on the Thursday and no chewy in the evening. I kept telling her she’d forgotten, but to no avail. Then Friday morning I went to have a drink and my water bowl had gone. Hey, I said. I always have a drink after breakfast. By the way, when is breakfast? It’s not normally this late and I am starving. If I owned a watch I would have tapped it.

Would you believe she forgot? Then she took me out in the car again – without Tilly. Ha ha, unlucky, I told her as I sped out of the door. I could hear Tilly howling at home as we drove off.

Then I realised we weren’t going to the fields or the woods or the beach. She told me she was going to be leaving me at the vet’s, but would come back for me later. I wasn’t really listening. I could hardly hear anything over the sound of my stomach rumbling. I couldn’t believe she’d forgotten to give me breakfast.

Elena was waiting. She asked me to step on the scales. I was reluctant. A guy has his pride and anyway, when was breakfast?

Mum dumped me on them like I was a piece of meat. I said look, it’s just the occasional bit of food that falls from the hands of small children. It would be churlish to refuse. How can I say no to them?

She said my weight was fine. I knew it would be. Then we went into her surgery. I looked round. I couldn’t see any food. She listened to my chest, checked my gums and – gulp – said she was going to take my temperature. Mum said I’d have to stand up for this bit. Well I don’t know what it had to do with my temperature, but what happened next was a tad embarrassing.

Elena said I was in good health and they discussed the risks of sedation. What about the risks of not giving me breakfast, that’s what I wanted to know. The next thing Elena invited me to go with her through another door. At last! She knew I was hungry and was going to give me breakfast. I left Mum behind in my hurry to get to some food.

I don’t remember much about what happened next. Someone shaved my leg. The next thing I knew I woke up feeling a bit twitchy. A nurse smiled at me and stroked my head and said I was brave. Too blinking right I am – I hadn’t had anything to eat since the night before.

They left me to sleep it off. Sleep what off? My hunger? That doesn’t work. Anyway my stomach was rumbling so loud everyone else was complaining that it was keeping them awake too. And something else occurred to me. I needed a wee.

I dozed on and off, then the nurse came in and said it was time for me to go. Where? To dinner? My legs felt all wobbly and I followed her out to the waiting room. Mum made a big fuss of me. I was so weak from hunger I couldn’t see straight and the room was spinning. The nurse stroked me and said I was a good boy then she said the magic words, “Give him his tea when he gets home.”

Mum had to lift me into the car. I was on the brink of collapse from starvation. I sprawled across her legs. “Aw,” she said. “He’s gone to sleep.” No I hadn’t. I’d passed out from lack of food.

When we got home she tried to take me in the front door, but I still needed a wee – desperately - and refused to go in. She said I was still dopey. Huh! Talk about adding insult to injury. She let me go into the back garden and I rushed over to the nearest bush. I couldn’t even keep my leg up and had to do it like a girl.

Speaking of girls, Tilly came rushing over and licked me all over my face till I was soggy.

She said breakfast had been great and I’d missed a treat. Bacon, eggs, sausage, fried bread, beans, sweet milky tea …. I think she was lying.

But I had the last laugh. Mum made me scrambled eggs to have with my food. Tilly had some too. She said she was glad I was back and she’d missed me. She said it was a price worth paying if we were going to get scrambled eggs and said she’d give it a few days and then poke me in the eye…

A week later I went back to the vet and we had to wait because there’d been an emergency admission. I got shouted at by a cat and had a conversation with a poodle with Cushing’s.

Anyway, Elena looked deep into my eyes and smiled and said I was fine! I said I’d had my breakfast thank you very much, but I wouldn’t mind something else to eat if she had it.

Well at least I came home with no bits of me missing – I still haven’t forgotten that particular “little operation”! But for now, back to having fun.

People's Friend and Authors for Japan

2011-03-20T08:11:00.003Z

There is good news from Shirley Blair from The People’s Friend over at Womag’s blog. And if you’ve any questions for Shirley, post them over there and she’ll try to answer them. It's a great opportunity, so if there is anything you need to know, now is the time to ask.

Authors for Japan. Now I’ve assumed everyone must have heard of this, but in case you haven’t there are over 100 items on the site and the auction ends tonight at 8 o’clock.

There are some fantastic lots on there. How about a dedication in the front of Jill Mansell’s next book? There are signed copies of books, the chance to be a named character, mentoring and manuscript assessments to name but a few… the list is amazing and it is so easy to bid.

There is also a copy of Diamonds and Pearls which will include the signatures of all 34 contributors. Don't forget you can also buy the book from Amazon for the bargain price of £4.29.

Thanks for all the entries so far for the first line competition in the previous post. They’ve all been great and so different! I’m really enjoying reading them and I don’t know how on earth I’m going to make a decision when it comes to picking a winner. But please keep them coming!

A Bit of a Competition

2011-03-17T12:09:00.007Z

Don’t get too excited, it’s not huge, but it might be fun and I promise it won’t cost you a penny. More of that in a bit.

Lynne Hackles makes a very good point on her blog here about Diamonds and Pearls being a great research tool for anyone wanting to write for magazines (as well as raising money for Against Breast Cancer).

You’ll probably recognise quite a few of the names in the book:

Sue Houghton, Christine Webb, Kelly Florentia, Vivien Hampshire, Fran Tracey, Linda Barrett, Ginny Swart, Sophie King, Teresa Ashby, Gerry Savill, Francesca Burgess, Sue Moorcroft, Kathleen McGurl, Linda Lewis, Elaine Everest, Geraldine Ryan, Paula Williams, Jane Wenham-Jones, Glynis Scrivens, Caz Jones, Sally Quilford, Vanda Inman, June Crowe, Lisa Main
Ann West, Penelope Alexander, Jill Steeples, Catherine Burrows, Della Galton,
Dawn Hudd, Kelly Rose Bradford, Angela Johnson, Katharine Swartz,
Lynne Hackles.

So how would you like to win a copy of Diamonds and Pearls? No strings. Well there is a string, but it’s only a small one and doesn’t involve parting with any money.

What I would like you to do is to write the first line of any sort of story. Beginnings are important so make me want to read more, but all I want is an opening sentence.*

You can put your entry in the comments box or email it to me at Teresaashby at ymail dot com. The only thing I would ask is that you are willing for me to reprint your entry and name (first name will do if you’re shy) in the blog when I announce the winner (or winners if I can’t make up my mind, but don’t worry you won’t have to share the book!)

Winner gets a brand spanking new copy of Diamonds and Pearls. Oh and we’d best have a closing date. Shall we say 31st March and I’ll announce the winner on Mother’s Day, 3rd April.

*Sorry about the post yesterday with the changes - I confused myself let alone everyone else. Put it down to me being in a bit of a tizz - not thinking straight at the moment. Bear with me chaps and please accept my apologies.

Notebooks, Indy's Story and Good News!

2011-03-12T13:43:00.004Z

So there I was wondering what to blog about next when along came Gail from The Writing Bug with another Stylish Blogger award to kick start me. Thank you, Gail!

But I’m not going to bore you with seven more things about me. I wrote them down, deleted them, wrote them again and deleted them again. So consider yourselves lucky.

I had another post drafted and as I started to read through it I thought it may make a story, so that has been moved to my ideas notebook.

Indy’s paw seems, touch wood, to be better. His eye is still runny so I’m afraid it looks as if another trip to the vet is in the pipes.

I bought myself a new notebook this week. New project = new notebook. It’s a new one on me – an Oxford Acts for the Planet notebook and I have to say as something of a notebook freak, I like it very much indeed.

Also got a new subs book. I use a hardback A5 lined book to record all my submissions and have them in various shades of red, blue and black – but this time I went for purple.

I spent ages browsing round the notebooks, project books, this book and that book, but the Oxford one felt right for my New Project.

My new project of course, is Indy’s story. I started to write thinking I’d do a page of notes per year of his life to expand on later. I started writing it all down last night and so far I’ve filled about 20 pages and I’ve only covered 6 months.

Whether it will ever come to anything I don’t know, but I am enjoying it and I’m finding as I write things are coming back to me.

And I’ve saved the best till last - CONGRATULATIONS to Sue Blackburn who has just had her first story acceptance by Ireland’s Own. Well done, Sue!

The Tale of Indy's Paw

2011-03-05T11:24:00.006Z

This week Indy started limping and when he wasn’t limping around he was holding his paw up and looking pathetic and generally miserable.

This week I hurt my foot. I could barely walk, but you didn’t hear me complain. I waved my paw at her occasionally and she told me to stop playing the old soldier. Old? That's me on the right with my pet spider when I was just a child (poor spider - he went to pieces, literally). I still am. I will never grow up.

He’s also got a very runny eye again.

It made me cry.

So off we went to the vets.

So she took me to the Chamber of Horrors.

In the waiting room was a beautiful Rottweiler, a dear little Border Terrier and a gorgeous border collie. They were all so good too sitting quietly and waiting patiently. Indy behaved perfectly.

In the waiting room was a massive Rottweiler that licked his lips and said I looked tasty, a Border Terrier that laughed at my sore paw and a border collie that said I was too inferior to bother with. I was too scared to move so I sat like a statue - except when I climbed on her lap but she called me a wuss and made me sit on the floor.

I had visions of operations for Indy as I hadn’t been able to find anything in his paw and was worried he’d cracked a bone or something. You know how it goes. Your imagination starts running riot and before you know it you’ve got them hobbling round on crutches with their legs in plaster.

I had visions of operations for myself. You know what it's like. She keeps looking at you with a worried expression and you start to think she knows something you don't. Apart from that she kept poking round in my paw and looking at it through her magnifying glass. I mean what an insult - suggesting you'd need a magnifying glass to see my injury. The pain was terrible, although I hid it well.

I’d even made contingency plans with everyone in case I had to take him back the next day for an operation – that’s how bad it had got in my mind.

When we left home I told Tilly that if I didn’t come back she could have my green rubber bone and I asked her not to forget me.

He has been known to overdo the running about at times and he gets a little stiff after, but this was different.

She has been known to overdo the tennis ball games which results in me having aches and pains and her having achy arms. It’s her fault.

Our lovely vet, Elena, took us outside and watched him walking up and down. Did he limp? Did he hell. And here’s the amazing thing – he came back in without a fuss! If it had been Tilly, I doubt I would ever have got her back through the doors once she’d been out of them.

I like Elena. She asked me to walk up and down so I bravely put my best foot forward and tried not to limp. I was keen to get back inside – some of the vets give me treats.

She spent ages looking at his paw and found a tiny scabby spot deep up inside. Something has pierced it – a thorn perhaps. Elena is almost certain there’s nothing in there, but if it flares up again when his tablets have finished, she’ll know there is. So he’s got antibiotics and an anti-inflammatory. That was Thursday and he’s already a lot happier and limping less.

She spent ages looking at my paw and finally found the sore spot. Since I’ve been on the meds, I feel so much better. A bit spaced out at times, but happier.

Next came the eye examination. Luminous green dye was put in and it didn’t appear down his nose so his tear duct is blocked again. He’s got drops for that which hopefully will do the trick, but if they don’t he’ll need his tear duct flushing and I don’t even want to think about that.

She put something in my eye and then looked up my right nostril and said something about a duct. A viaduct maybe? What that has to do with the price of Bonios I don’t know.

Tilly was ecstatic when we came home. I had to get the appointment when I knew someone would be home with her. I knew she’d be upset with Indy not there and she was. She really does love the bones of her brother.

Tilly went mad when I got home. “What are you doing here?” she said, trying to shove me back out of the door. “If you think you’re getting that green bone back you can think again, Buster.” See, she’d already forgotten my name.

He goes completely limp at the vets. He flopped down on the examination table, draped his head over my arm and just relaxed completely. He always has. Even as a little puppy I used to put him on the table for his vaccinations and he’d just go boneless and sprawl. It’s like he’s giving up.

I relax completely at the vets, especially if it is a lady vet. They make such a fuss of me and are so kind, what else is a boy to do?

Stylish? Me?

2011-03-01T11:18:00.013Z

Many thanks to Novelist in the Making for the Stylish Blogger award. I hope you'll pop over and pay her a visit.

Now I have to tell you seven things about myself and then pass on the award to 15 bloggers.

This is a nice way of bringing blogs to the attention of others that they might otherwise have missed and I hope you’ll go along and see some old friends and maybe make some new ones.

So first my seven things.

1. I sold my first story to My Weekly when I was in a lead lined room in Essex County Hospital. My husband phoned and opened the letter and read it to me. I wasn’t allowed visitors, but the sister adjusted the bandages round my head so I could use the phone and wear my glasses!

2. I think I may have Dyscalculia. I was in the dunce class at school for maths and after I left school I got a job in the office of a furniture company. Within six months I was in charge of all the accounting side of things, from cashing up the tills to doing the end of year accounts for the auditor. I got another job before the auditor saw the books. He must have had a heart attack when he opened those big ledgers and found tear-stained pages with so many rubbings out that there were holes in the pages. I was 16.

3. I left there and got a job in the solicitor’s office across the road. My old boss gave my new boss a glowing reference – I daresay he was eager to get rid of me. Within six months I was the most senior secretary in the company’s three offices and because we were the smallest branch I was in charge of all the banking, the smooth running of the building society agency and the petty cash! By then I had learned to check, double check and check my figures again. As long as I make extra sure I am writing numbers down in the correct order I’m fine. I did okay.

4. I was married at 18. Several people said it wouldn’t last. One person gave us six months and here we are 35 years later still together. On my last birthday I was 35. See 2.

5. I am a bit of a hypochondriac - see 2.

6. I have been a vegetarian for about 25 years. The last time I ate meat (except for a couple of buffet accidents) was in December 1986. I was at the Lancaster Gate Hotel in London meeting Liz Smith from My Weekly and I think I had something with beef mince. I was so nervous and rather pregnant and I can’t really remember, but she was – and is – lovely, and put me at my ease.

7. I am a qualified crystal therapist. I also did a Reflexology course, but gave it up before the final exams when I came to the realisation that I don’t like touching other people’s feet.

And now my fifteen bloggers. It is up to them whether they accept the award, but whether they do or not, go along and pay them a visit! It’s a mixed bag – as I said some old, some new, but all worth a look.

I think you will be entertained, informed or find kindred spirits among my chosen blogs.

Edited:

Having just spent hours checking the links work (couldn't get my hyperlinks button to play ball today) and leaving messages for fifteen people I would quite understand if my victims would prefer not to take part. I did enjoy myself though floating round the interweb visiting all those lovely blogs!

Ducks, Books and Summer Time

2011-02-27T09:10:00.009Z

You see the ducks on the little pond in the photo on the right bar? All gone. They vanished mysteriously. They were very tame, very trusting. Some would eat out of your hand and there was a particularly pretty little grey duck that always came over to see the kids even if she didn’t want any food.

A local Estate Agent has donated seven white ducks to restock the pond. I just hope no one steals them. I think most of the people in this town have visited that pond at some time or another in their lifetimes to feed the ducks. My mum or my grandad would take me at least once a week when I was little.

Out of all the books I read in February, I liked the following best:

A Spring Affair by Milly Johnson. I love Milly Johnson’s books. Her characters are warm and likeable – except those who are horrid and worthy of being hated!

This book contains bullies and we all like to see bullies getting their come uppance don't we? Well do they? You'll have to read it and see.

The relationship between Lou and her sister and mother is just a small part of the story, but it is brilliantly done all the same. Lou is being bullied from all sides, but things start to change when she reads an article in a magazine about clearing the clutter from your life. They change even more with the arrival of the skip lorry...

The Dog with Nine Lives by Della Galton. I bought this ages ago when it first came out, but coward that I am I put off reading it because I knew it would make me cry and I was right, it did.

It really is a lovely book. The true story of the little dog Della rescued from a beach in Rhodes. I’m going to be buying more copies as gifts for friends because I’m not lending my copy to anyone! It is a lovely book, warmly and lovingly written and I recommend highly.

The Amazing Story of Adolphus Tips by Michael Morpurgo. Brilliant story. Made me cry at the end.

He is so skilful at taking a real event (in this case the tragedy at Slapton Sands during WWII) and weaving it into a story. It is written as a diary by Lily Tregenza who is one of 3000 people evacuated from their homes so that the forces could practice for the D Day landings.

Finally, The Stone Monkey by Jeffery Deaver. It is the fourth in the Lincoln Rhyme series.

It starts with the sinking of a ship carrying illegal immigrants from China to America and as with all his books the plot twists and turns until you’re tied up in knots. I didn’t guess the main twist at all, but then I never do with his books.

There is an animal sanctuary, Hillside, which is struggling at the moment with the huge rise in costs. Hillside was founded by Wendy Valentine, founder of Redwings Horse Sanctuary. They do a fantastic job as you'll see if you follow the link and it is so easy to donate - and if you do follow the link, do watch the film about Sugar, it really is worth watching and just illustrates the fantastic work they do. If everyone that reads this post donated a pound or bought something from their gift shop it would be brilliant and it's very easy with Paypal. If I could only donate to one charity in a year, it would be this one.

And the Double Summer Time debate. As far as I’m concerned I would love to have double summer time in summer and summer time in winter. It worked well during the war didn't it? Actually what I would prefer is that they didn’t bugger about with the clocks at all and we had consistent time all through the year. What do you think?

Big Birthday, Spineless Me and Pocket Novels

2011-02-25T11:01:00.003Z

My eldest son (or should that be elderly son?) is thirty on Monday. Happy birthday dear… I said HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR. He’s getting on a bit now bless him, and as from Monday he’ll be pushing forty as my mum would have said. Amazing, I was only five years old when he was born.

Hardly seems like yesterday he was playing with our dog big gentle Ben in the garden.

This week I have been discussing making a Living Will – or Advance Decisions as it is now known with a friend. Interesting. I think I shall.

While I was out with the dogs yesterday, the postman who had been hiding round the corner in his van, whizzed round and put a card through my door to say he had a packet that wouldn’t fit through my letterbox.

You know what I thought it was don’t you? Well of course you do. One of those horrendously big fat brown envelopes which has insufficient postage stamped all over it. I gloomed and fretted about it all day – well for four hours until the sorting office opened up.

And spineless coward that I am, I sent the beloved in to get it – just in case the envelope had come open and all my rubbish stories had fallen on and maimed the sorting office cat.

He emerged with an A4 sized morbidly obese brown parcel and I nearly fainted until I realised it was the Amazon order I’d forgotten about. Phew. But there’s always today’s post. Never let it be said that I’m not an expert at this pessimism lark.

You may have heard that My Weekly Pocket Novels are required to be fifty thousand words in length in future - full details here. The pay isn’t great at £300, but there are large print rights to be considered and PLR – well while we still have libraries anyway. And it’s a pleasant way to hone those novel writing skills and get a bit of writing practice in. Well that’s how I sees it anyway.

I’ll have a look over the books I’ve read during February and see if there is anything there to recommend. Until then, enjoy your writing and I’ll see you in a day or few.

Has Spring Sprung?

2011-02-16T08:28:00.004Z

I think it may have. I woke up this morning to bird song and it wasn’t the tentative little chirrups we’ve had over the past few days, but the full on dawn chorus. Not quite as loud as it gets later in the year, but good to hear all the same.

The bird that says “Weeeeeeeeeeeeep,” was there and the doves coo-coo coo-ing and all the other little trills and whistles were going on.

There is one group of birds that never fails to turn up all through the winter for a bit of yodelling and that is the gulls, particularly on dustbin day.

I noticed over Christmas when we missed a collection, the gulls still turned up on the Monday in full voice.

When I was out with the dogs yesterday stomping through the soggy fields, the wind was blowing off the sea and I really thought I could smell a brighter day coming.

And this morning here it is. Bird song. Sunshine. Blue sky.

I like gulls. I like the way if you throw bread up in the air they swoop in and catch it mid-flight. I like that loud noise they make when you can see their throats moving. It makes me sad that they are considered pests by some people. They’ve as much right to be here as we have.

Besides, they’re soul birds. And if you don’t believe they contain the souls of dead sailors you should go out and ask my great grandad. He’s been around since I was a child – he’s out there now stretching his wings on the roof opposite.

A Big Adventure

2011-02-15T13:22:00.009Z

Sometimes something happens that eclipses everything else and makes all the things you were worrying about seem like nothing.

My youngest son has been very ill. He seems to be on the mend now, but it’s going to take time.

The 15th February is the anniversary of my mum’s death eight years ago. It was, as she would have said herself, a happy release. The weeks leading up to her death were hell for her and for all of us who loved her.

She was a great mum. She contributed far more to my education than school, spent endless hours with me in the library, read every single one of my published stories – and wasn’t afraid to tell me what she thought of them.

Throughout her life she had more than her fair share of tragedy and heartache and was hurt more than she deserved to be, but she remained cheerful and always ready with a joke. Every day I phoned her up and asked how she was. “Pissed off,” would come the reply, then she’d laugh and tell me about her day.

She enjoyed the Second World War. It was, she said, a big adventure and she rarely talked of the heartache of losing friends and her first husband just two months after they married and only once of comforting a dying boy sailor who was crying for his mother.

She preferred to remember the good times.

I was so lucky to have her for as long as I did and for most of the year I do remember the good times, but around this time it’s harder and for some reason this year has been harder than usual.

If you’ve ever read any of my stories, chances are you’ve met my mum. She’s been in a lot of them, often in the guise of the rebellious mother. She loved it. “That’s about me isn’t it?” she’d say with a gleam in her eye. How I miss her.

Crime Writing Competition on Alibi

2011-02-11T17:54:00.002Z

I think I may have posted about this competition when it was held last year. Well here it is again.

Alibi’s search for a new crime writer 2011.

Deadline noon on the 1st May so you’ve got loads of time to get your entries in. And they only want between 1000 and 2500 words.

If you follow the link to the competition, you can read the top three entries from last year, go on the message board and read tips from Swedish author Camilla Lackberg.

The prizes are good too. The eight shortlisted writers will win tickets to attend the Theakstons Old Peculiar Crime Writing Festival with bells on. The winner gets a holiday in Sweden, 100 books (100 books!) and a Kindle.

It’s been a worrying week here and I haven’t had my writing head on so that’s why I’m not posting a proper post. You know how it is when you’re worried. It’s difficult to settle to anything.

Anyway, what are you doing sitting there? The story should refer to your local region, so get out there and soak it up then write about it – oh and don’t forget the crime! Good luck!

Don't Give Up!

2011-02-04T18:29:00.006Z

I have talked a lot about rejections with fellow writers and most of us seem to agree on many things. What I haven’t done for a while is talk in any depth to someone as yet unpublished about them.

So now I have and I learnt a few home truths. I have always said that we’re all in the same boat and rejections hurt no matter how many times you’ve been published, but I’ve had a rethink on the subject.

We can have a bit of a laugh about the big brown envelopes thudding on the mat and say how it gets you down but you have to pick yourself back up and start again.

But what I haven’t been doing is going back to when I first started. Until you are published there is always that voice at the back of your mind asking, “Am I wasting my time here?” It’s still there when you have been published, but you can usually shut it up by slapping it round the gob with an acceptance letter.

But before that first acceptance, it is very hard to keep going. And a standard rejection letter really can feel like the end of the world – or rather the end of your writing career which amounts to the same thing. It is worse when you’re unpublished and it is wrong to pretend otherwise. So I apologise to anyone who is still striving for their first acceptance in the face of a seemingly never ending stream of rejections for saying it still hurts. It does, but not as much when you haven't had an acceptance to cushion the blow.

Someone arrived on this blog by searching for “how many rejections did it take before someone accepted you?” I was going to answer this, but I can’t find my submissions records from before 1985. I know it was a lot!

I know some writers who had their very first story submission accepted only for it to be followed by a string of rejections. I know others who wrote dozens before their first success.

I do remember the despair if I let myself. I remember the gut-wrenching sight of my own brown envelope coming back through the letter box. I still feel it, but time and experience do make it easier to handle.

I remember tearing stories to shreds and vowing never to write another thing. I remember my eyes throbbing - yes they actually burned and throbbed - with disappointment as I fought not to cry. There have been occasions in recent years where I have been reduced to tears, but those times have been exceptions.

All I can say to those of you out there who are still trying, still battling a seemingly never ending stream of rejection slips is don’t give up. If you want to write, if your gut insists on it and you can’t live without it, then keep doing it. Don’t Give Up!

And finally I found a picture of me taken a few years ago at my desk at the end of the living room. This is the view my family saw of me every day. Looking back and having them all suddenly grown up and producing children of their own, I wish I’d turned round more often.

Calling 13s and under!

2011-02-02T08:45:00.001Z

Heard about this on the Chris Evans breakfast show on Radio 2 this morning. It’s the BBC’s Year of Books and they are holding a competition for 13s and under to write a 500 word story.

We all know that children, unfettered by the self consciousness that creeps up on adults when they start to take writing seriously, write brilliant, imaginative stories so if you know anyone out there that might be interested send them here.

There are writing tips from Anthony Horowitz, Howard Jacobson and Oliver Jeffers – just check out Anthony Horowitz’s fantastic bookshelves at the start of the video.

The top 50 young writers get to watch the breakfast show broadcast live from Hay on 3rd June – how great is that?

Diamonds and Pearls and January's Page Turners

2011-02-01T10:16:00.009Z

You may have heard that Diamonds and Pearls, an anthology published by Accent Press is now out.

Elaine Everest had the idea to celebrate the 30th anniversary of her own survival from breast cancer and has done a brilliant job as editor. A donation from the sale of each book will go to the Against Breast Cancer charity. The book is selling fast on Amazon and can also be ordered direct from Accent.

On the subject of books I plan to choose my own page turner of the month from those I’ve read.

January was difficult when it came to making a choice because I read so many good books. In fact I couldn’t pick a top one so here are the two I really enjoyed above all others.

First of all Liane Moriarty’s Three Wishes was a brilliant read. I’ve mentioned before on this blog how much I enjoy Liane’s books. Three Wishes was Liane’s first novel, but I’d already read her later two and enjoyed them.

The book tells the story of triplets, Cat, Gemma and Lyn. It’s a book about relationships, family dramas and heartbreak. It’s funny and touching and you get to know and care about the Kettle sisters. It begins with the birthday brawl and ends… well you’d have to read it to find out. She has a gift when it comes to the small details of what makes people tick. Definitely a page turner.

Next up is Bernard Cornwell’s The Gallows Thief. This book has it all, adventure, romance and murder! The prologue drew me in with the vivid description of a hanging in 19th Century London. Rider Sandman, hero of Waterloo is asked to investigate a case on behalf of the government. Is the artist due to hang for the murder of a countess really guilty?

You’re really walking those London streets, meeting the people that lived there – and you will probably smell them as well. I was left hoping that Bernard Cornwell will write more about Rider Sandman. Another page turner.

What do rejection letters really mean

2011-01-28T19:45:00.003Z

I’m quite an expert in this field. I used to keep all my rejection letters until I could no longer climb over them all to get to my desk. The paper cuts on my knees were awful.

I had to buy a shredder because I risked dislocating my thumbs every time I ripped a rejected story into tiny pieces (because as we all know perfectly well if you put your rejected story in the bin whole the dustmen will find it, read it and laugh at you).

It’s the same thing that makes you put ten feet of sellotape round your envelope when you send a story in – just in case the envelope should accidentally fall open and every postman between here/there and London/Dundee will die laughing at your nerve.

Sometimes, if you’re lucky, you’ll get a comment with a rejection. What exactly do these comments mean?

First of all I’ll give you a writer’s interpretation (not all writers will agree with this, but I know some who do) and then I’ll give you the Real Meaning, the one you should take notice of.

We enjoyed reading your story, but:

It gave us all a right laugh. We were rolling round the office. We simply couldn’t believe anyone had the nerve to submit such crap.

Real meaning – they enjoyed reading your story, but it didn’t quite hit the spot.

The plot wasn’t strong enough:

It gave us all a right laugh. We were rolling round the office. We simply couldn’t believe anyone had the nerve to submit such crap.

Real meaning – you hadn’t written a strong enough plot.

The characters were too unbelievable:

It gave us all a right laugh. We were rolling round the office. We simply couldn’t believe anyone had the nerve to submit such crap.

Real meaning – you hadn’t made your characters believable.

We found the main character too unsympathetic:

It gave us all a right laugh. We were rolling round the office. We simply couldn’t believe anyone had the nerve to submit such crap.

Real meaning – they didn’t like your main character. The readers wouldn’t be able to empathise with them.

It was too predictable:

It gave us etc etc (oh you know the chorus by now).

Real meaning – they knew what was going to happen. Saw it coming a mile off and the reader would too. We all know the disappointment of getting a couple of paragraphs into a story and knowing how it will end and editors do not want disappointed readers.

So what should you take home from these comments? If they enjoyed reading your story, but it wasn’t quite right then at least you know you’re on the right track. Maybe they’ve simply had too many with the same theme lately, or bought one with a similar plot.

As far as the other comments go, you can look at your story and see how you could improve it. Could you make the plot stronger? Can you pep up your characters and make them real? Can you do something to that bad-tempered old main character to make them likeable? Or at least give them a damn good reason for being bad-tempered/bitchy/bitter? Could you change the ending to surprise the reader?

And what about that gem - We look forward to seeing more of your work:

Yeah, when hell freezes over (they hate me!) OR Please send us everything and anything you’ve got – now and do it fast because we are waiting… (bored fiction editor drumming fingers on empty desk, chin resting in hand waiting impatiently for your next submission).

Real meaning – they would like to see more of your work. When you next have a story you think would suit them and it has pressed all the necessary buttons on their guidelines, send it in!

Giving you a reason for rejection isn’t an invitation to revise a story and send it back. If they want you to revise it and resubmit it, they will ask you to do so. But there is nothing to stop you taking their comments on board, improving your story and sending it elsewhere.

Given the volume of stories that editors receive, the fact that they give you a reason at all is hopeful. It shows they read your story and if it’s been gone a while before it comes back, it almost certainly means that it has gone to the second readers.

Of course it may have been lost down the back of the radiator or used to mop up spilled coffee or to line the cage of the office hamster, but in most cases you will hear something.

Not all editors give a reason. You are not the only one getting standard rejection letters. Whether you’ve been writing for them for 30 years or 30 minutes if it is usual to send out a standard rejection letter, that is what you will get.

As for rejection letters with encouraging comments – I kept/keep mine. My knees are in no danger from those, but I treasure them.

That's the way to do it!

2011-01-23T12:46:00.003Z

Before I say another word, if you’re looking for magazine guidelines and latest news, then you need look no further than Womag’s excellent blog here.

And for writing competition news, pop over to Sally’s Writing Calendar here and Patsy’s blog here.

I get about a bit, sat here on my not inconsiderable bum and I’ve noticed a few recurring questions popping up and I thought I’d tackle a few of them.

But be warned. This is going to be Daily Eekish – you know, you get all excited when you read, “Earth to have two suns next year” and when you read the article you find out we might have two suns sometime in the next million years - perhaps.

I’m going to tell you what I know and what I do, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that what I do is right, okay? That I believe is what is known as a disclaimer. So when you see my headline up there “That’s the way to do it” – it might not be. With me?

I can’t tell you how to write a story, but I can tell you how to present it – at least for magazines.

First of all I’ll cover what I know and I’d call these the golden rules. A4 paper, clear print Times New Roman 12 on one side of the paper only, wide margins, double spacing and right hand margin never justified.

So set up your story like that and you won’t be giving fiction editors headaches and that is always a good start. Make your work easy on the eye, easy to read and you’re over the first hurdle.

This is where the uncertainty creeps in. Do you indent paragraphs? Not if you’re writing for My Weekly you don’t. But if you write for them, you’ll know that anyway.

I always indent. I can’t help it. I think it looks better and I can read it back easier, but that little Format facility up there on your top bar means you can do it however you like and change it when you’ve finished. Just remove the tabs.

Speech marks. Double or single? I’ve always used double for speech, single for thought or speech within speech. But Take a Break and Fiction Feast do it the other way round. I don’t think they like indents either. Rather than chopping and changing how I do things, I do it my way then Edit Replace and Format Tabs.

So you’ve submitted a story with the wrong speech marks. Should you panic? No (but you probably will because that seems to be the nature of most writers - we're all Corporal Jones at heart). Most magazines, once a story is accepted, will ask for an electronic copy and if your set up is wrong, they’ll ask you to change it.

However, if the magazine in question has produced guidelines which specifically state how they like a story to be presented and you do it differently – ssseeeess (sucking breath through teeth – ouch, shouldn’t have done that) – you are in effect saying you haven’t read their guidelines.

Title page? Should you or shouldn’t you? I know some very successful writers that don’t and some that do. I’ve always done a title page when submitting hard copy. On it I put the title, my by-line and my name, address and the word count.

If you don’t do a title page, then you need to put that information on the story itself. Adding your email address is a good idea too.

At the end of my story I put the word count again and the copyright sign © I don’t know if it’s necessary to do the ©, but I do. From the first time I sent something off that little © made it real for me.

Covering letter? Again that seems to be a matter of choice. I know writers that don't and writers that do. I do. I doubt there is a fiction editor out there who will say "I'm not reading that story - they did/didn't send a covering letter, pah!"

But what about the little details? One space after a full stop or two? Well I always used to put two, but these days I just use one. And if it’s a problem, as I said before – edit, replace – well it works if you’re changing two spaces to one, but perhaps not so well the other way round.

And to show something in italics do you underline it or actually use italics? That is a difficult one. Usually it is clear which words need to be italicised without doing anything, but I tend towards using italics if I feel it needs to be shown.

Do you need a row of *** between scenes? Sometimes. I know that’s not an answer, but it’s the best one I can give you. I think if you are jumping through time, the *** or whatever you choose to use, can be useful. Generally I leave an extra double space.

I was once told off by a fiction editor because of my over use of exclamation marks. She said she was sure fiction editors in the UK would thank her for pointing out to me the error of my ways. Was I miffed? Yes I blinking well was. Did I stop using so many exclamation marks? Yes I blinking well did.

What you do need to be is consistent in your use of speech marks, spaces, font etc. You don’t want to do anything that will distract an editor from your story by annoying them with sloppy presentation.

For a while many years ago (pre-computer) after my ex-office golfball (oh how I loved my golfball) typewriter went to god, I used a cheap portable typewriter. I couldn’t afford a new ribbon for it and I was sending off appalling copy. I’m pretty sure some words were topless. But some of those stories were taken.

I’m not saying that if you send in rubbish copy now you’ll get published, but what I am saying is that if you have written a good story that a fiction editor and the second readers like, the fact that you’ve used the wrong kind of speech marks or too many spaces after your full stops isn’t going to stop them buying it.

I’d be interested to know how you do things.

Consumed!

2011-01-18T09:26:00.005Z

I’ve been consumed. Consumed I have been. Not as you might think by a gigantic fire-breathing dragon which later spat me out, nor indeed by a ravenous whale, but by a magazine.

So what is this magazine of which I speak? The My Weekly Celebration Special. It was My Weekly’s 100th birthday last year and to mark the occasion they brought out the special.

I didn’t see it in the shops so hadn’t bought it, but I went on a trip to the D C Thomson online shop and struck gold.

I’d already bought myself The Very Best of Black Bob. I'd also treated myself to the Bunty for Girls Classic Annual (now reduced to £3.99) – I even remembered a couple of the stories in there from the first time round. And if you are a Bunty fan you’ll enjoy Lynette’s post about it.

Annuals were always a big part of Christmas when I was a child. I loved them with a passion. But as always, I digress.

After Christmas I revisited the D C Thomson shop and saw that they were selling the Celebration Special. So I popped one in my basket, as you do and yesterday it arrived along with the rest of my order.

The Celebration Special is packed with fascinating snippets about all sorts from fashion to film stars. And pictures of the likes of – drool – my three favourite Davids, Essex, Bowie and Cassidy.

There are eleven stories in there and I feel really privileged that one of mine is among them. The writers were asked to name their “inspirational woman” and mine, you won’t be surprised, was Claire Rayner.

The special originally sold for £4.99 but is now on sale for £2.49 (£4.99 outside the UK). There are loads of other bargains to be had whether you’re looking for a bit of nostalgia or a calendar or just something to read.

Find the sale here, but they also sell all manner of gifts from Dennis the Menace T shirts to Desperate Dan mugs.

Road - Hah!

2011-01-13T13:31:00.002Z

I’ve been off on adventures this week. Unintentionally. It was Billy Connolly’s fault. His is the current voice of the Sat Nav.

Now I know the man is a comedian, but did he really have to lead us down a road – hah! Road? I’ve seen public footpaths more roadworthy - a road that led nowhere?

Instinct told us it would be daft to go down there. The sat nav told us it would take us to our destination.

It was narrow. It was muddy. It was full of holes. There weren’t any passing places so if we’d met something coming the other way we’d have been stuffed.

As we bumped along, I wished we had one of those 4x4 things suited to driving through fields or even a tractor. There was an ominous twangggg from the bottom of the car. It kept going though.

Eventually we reached a crossroads with footpaths going off in the other three directions and a sign saying “Road ahead unsuitable for motor vehicles.” You don’t say?!

Luckily the road (and I use the term loosely) widened slightly and there was a small pond in the middle, or perhaps it was a large puddle, but whatever the body of water was, my beloved turned the car round in it and we didn’t sink without trace.

I was in the back of the car with a very car sick little girl! Poor little thing. It was no wonder the way we were bouncing along.

After a while back on a proper road with tarmac and road markings and everything, we were told to turn down yet another dodgy looking road. But there were houses and cars and it all looked fine until it told us to turn left.

Where the left turn should have been was a sign “Road Closed” and yet another so-called road which looked more like a track across a field.

Thanks to the sat nav, it took us an hour to drive 12 miles. And when it said we had reached our destination, we were halfway up a hill on a dual carriageway in the middle of town with high concrete walls on both sides.

Yeah, thanks a lot, Billy!

The sat nav has got us out of a lot of tricky situations over the years, but yesterday we learned that you can’t trust it 100% and it’s always handy to have a map book in the car!

So there’s another writing tip for you. Even if you know where you’re going, you still have to be able to get there without coming to a dead end halfway through! So if your instinct tells you something is wrong, it might be a good idea to listen to it.

Does it have to be perfect?

2011-01-11T09:45:00.002Z

I took up knitting again just after Christmas because I find it soothing. I made a couple of mistakes in the first few rows, but decided to carry on regardless and make the hat (nice pattern from Woman’s Weekly) and hope no one else noticed.

I can hear my mum’s voice at this point when I tried on a jumper she’d just made me. “Take it off!” She’d spotted a tiny mistake in the complex pattern on the back and wanted it back. She wanted to unpick it and do the back again. The thought of undoing all that work gave me the horrors. I said it didn’t matter, I hadn’t noticed and to be honest I couldn’t see what she meant and I didn’t think anyone else would either. “But I would,” she said. And so she had it back and redid it.

The mistakes I’d made in the hat bugged me despite telling myself it gave the thing character and I knew that practice or not, I’d always hate the finished article. Then I dropped a stitch. I can’t pick up dropped stitches. I’ve never been able to. So I had no choice but to unravel the lot and start again.

Sometimes we have to do that with our writing. We know something is wrong way back at the beginning, but starting over again is such a pain and hard work. Worth it though. All that knitting I did before I had to start again was practice, getting back into the hang of it, getting the tension right.

That is why it’s good to write regularly, so you stay in the swing of it and it becomes easier to pick up and put down.

My mum was an expert knitter. She always said she wasn’t at all creative or artistic, but I would tell her what sort of jumper I wanted and she would adapt a pattern or not use one at all and produce exactly what I’d asked for. And my dad, who couldn’t read music, played the piano beautifully – with both hands I might add, something that I never managed (except for the one my dad called The Monkey’s Wedding*). The words “You hum it, son, and I’ll play it,” could have been spoken by my dad, if I’d been a son and inclined to hum.

A knitting pattern or a piece of music is like a plot isn’t it? It’s all there, the beginning, middle and end and it all hangs together nicely – as long as we put it all together properly. There should be no holes in the knitting, no missed notes in the music.

Anyway I finished the hat. I made the bobble far too big – perhaps I should have used a flattened cigarette packet like my mum used to for the pom-pom template instead of a flattened mince pie box (well to be fair I didn’t use the whole box!). I’m not happy with it. If it was a story it would have been deleted.

I’ve put it down to experience and hope that the next thing I knit will be better. Same with writing. Always strive to be better even if it means going back and starting all over again.

So does it have to be perfect? As perfect as you can make it, yes. My hat has received compliments, but that is people being polite, trying to spare my feelings. My mum would have been honest. So be careful who you ask to give an opinion on your writing. Don’t ask someone who will tell you what they think you want to hear.

Which is of course another subject altogether – showing your work to other people. I’ll shut up now.

*The Monkey’s Wedding. I have no idea what the proper name for this is and I’ve tried Googling it with no joy. I can’t even hum it to you. All I know is that it isnt the tune that goes with a song I've found on You Tube called The Monkey's Wedding. So if anyone out there knows what I’m talking about……

What Do I Do? The Uncertainty of Being a Writer

2011-01-03T18:28:00.002Z

Absolute Beginners. From what I can see they fall into three main camps.

Absolute Beginner 1: The Eager Submitter

Writes a story/novel/screenplay, grabs their copy of the Writers’ and Artists’ – the ancient dog eared one the library were selling for 10p on their bargain shelf – and goes through it marking “possibles” with their highlighter pen. Sends off their first three chapters to a publisher then from the moment it drops in the postbox, waits for a phone call/letter/email begging for the rest of the manuscript. Here they divide into two subs. The one who starts writing something else and the one who stops writing and will not write until they have their contract in their hand (just in case the publisher wants them to do revisions). Both expect to hit The Big Time.

Absolute Beginner 2: The Shrinking Violet

Writes a story/novel/screenplay and decides no one in their right mind is going to want to publish it, so they put it away in a drawer. But the Writing Bug is there, so they start writing something else telling themselves that this time, it is the one, but halfway through they lose heart. What is the point? That effort is hidden away and the next one begins because the writing itch has to be scratched and so it goes on for years, sometimes decades. Absolute Beginner 2 may never find the courage to send anything off and they won’t even let their nearest and dearest read their work. How many wonderful books, I wonder, are out there hidden away in drawers?

Absolute Beginner 3: The Eternal Planner

Buys all the books on writing, reads all the blogs, spends hours in the library/bookshop checking titles and browsing the internet visiting publishers’ websites. What is popular? What is not? Who publishes the kind of thing they want to write. They have a white board on the wall covered in plans, names and dates. There are post-it notes everywhere, folders with character sketches and pictures of people who look like their characters. With all this research and planning they don’t actually have time to write anything and by the time they get round to it, the fire has gone out and they decide to start something new and so the research begins again.

So where was I as an Absolute Beginner? Well if I’m honest I was mostly Absolute Beginner 1. Although I didn’t send off my very first efforts I did write a novel of black magic and Satanic rituals when I was 19 – I sent off my synopsis and sample chapters and Robert Hale asked to see the whole manuscript, so I sent it off.

And like Absolute Beginner 1 I waited for the acceptance. Which of course didn’t come. Lesson learned? Well almost. A whole heap of rejections later, my lesson was learned. My confidence was in shreds, but my lesson was learned.

The lesson being to always have something Out There so that when a rejection (or twelve) comes in, you still have hope. And eventually one day I did get an acceptance letter and shortly afterwards I learned lesson no. 2.

Just because you have sold 1 story, 10 stories, 100 stories, 1000 stories, you have not earned the automatic right to be published and you have not found the path to riches. You are only as good as the last story/book/screenplay you submitted.

This post is about uncertainty. Crisis of confidence. Call it what you will.

These days I sit down to write a story and halfway through a little niggling voice (the same little voice that in the beginning used to urge me to submit) starts to tell me it isn’t good enough. So I rewrite. And rewrite. And sometimes I end up scrapping it or putting it to one side because by then I have rewritten it to death. Sometimes I only write a line before deciding no one will want to read it.

And there are the novels I have planned, researched and plotted – but never really started.

I think we are all absolute beginners in a sense. Every piece of work you write is a new beginning.

There are fine lines between the eager submitter, the shrinking violet and the eternal planner. I regularly leap between them all and I’d guess quite a few of you are the same. Either brimming with confidence or drowning in doubt.

I do the same with blog posts. I write them and then delete them before they ever leave the safety of Word.

So perhaps it is time to banish uncertainty, to grasp hope and hang on to it and maybe I will start hurling posts at you willy nilly until you beg for mercy! Or perhaps I should proceed with caution and not inundate cyberspace with my ramblings. Maybe I just need to read more books on the subject…

I think really you need to be a mixture of all three, but in moderation. You have to do your research, but not to the detriment of your writing time. You have to submit, but not until your work is ready. And you have to submit full stop. Faint heart never won a box of chocolates or whatever the saying is.

If you haven’t sent anything off yet, but have been writing for a while, DO IT! There is nothing to fear. Send it off and move on. Go on. Do it now. What are you waiting for? Go on…..

A Blue and Very Relieved Post

2011-01-02T16:28:00.005Z

Noah made his entrance at 2.35 on the morning of New Year’s Day, the first baby of the year at Colchester hospital. He was 12 hours old and back at home having a cuddle with Grandad and Big Sis when I took this photo.

I could say so much more, about the severe problems facing maternity services in this country, about rediscovering the calming properties of knitting, about worry being the best diet aid there is, but I’m not going into one of my waffles.

My next post will be about writing – mwahahaha – you have been warned.

Help - I've eaten too much wine!

2010-12-28T14:34:00.002Z

Apparently this was yelped by me sometime over the Christmas period. I don’t believe a word of it. I haven’t been well. I’ve had a throbbing headache and a cold and I refuse to take responsibility for anything I might have said during the festivities.

Anyhooo, New Year’s Resolutions. I don’t think I bothered last year. I can’t remember, it’s too long ago and too far away. But Russell Grant says Jupiter and Pluto are in my ninth house in 2011 and therefore anything is possible, so perhaps I should grasp the bullet and bite the nettle.

So here goes – and I should point out that I have already eaten too much wine today and intend to eat considerably more so this should be taken with a mince pie and a slice of Christmas cake and probably a large glass of iced water.

1. I will finish one of the novels I have simmering away on the boiler.
2. Okay, perhaps first I should choose which novel I should finish rather than gung ho-ing all over the place about finishing one at all.
3. Well maybe I should actually find the started novels first and look at them and decide which one/s deserve to be finished.
4. I’ll draw up a shortlist.
5. Or maybe a longlist.
6. I quite fancy that really serious one that has turned to murder.
7. But I also fancy doing something a bit light and funny like the one with the exploding suitcase or the one with the… oh never mind, who wants to hear about my what ifs?
8. You know what, I’d really like to start something completely new and not keep going over old ground. I like starting new things.
9. I think maybe I need another glass of wine and then I should give it more thought. But you know what thought did?
10. Perhaps I should stick to writing short stories or have another look at that childrens book I started.

There you have it. But you know what I love about this time of year – anything really is possible. The new year is spread out before us like a great big empty page and we can choose how we fill it.

No baby yet. Next time I blog it will be with news of his arrival – I hope. He’s a week overdue. We’re all pacing up and down, tapping our watches and shaking our heads, but he’s in no hurry.

And then in the New Year, a post about writing. Probably.

Where was I? Oh yes, I hope you had a lovely Christmas and I wish you a very happy New Year with abundant good health, oodles of success and wheelbarrows full of happiness.

Twill be interesting to wake up tomorrow and see just how much I have embarrassed myself. Now dare I post this…?

Happy Christmas

2010-12-18T17:43:00.004Z

I began this blog nearly two years ago with all good intentions of writing a blog about writing.

All too often I stray off the point, that’s if I ever have a point to start with. See there I go already.

Two people in this household are down with the Dreaded Lurgy and I’m not exactly feeling great. My second grandson is due any time and my daughter lives at the bottom of a steep hill where they often get snowed in. Well, only when it's snowing. Like now.

The midwife told her not to worry – if she can’t get up the hill, they will slide down to her.

So anyway, what is this post all about? Writing that’s what. I thought I’d try to end the year on a writerly note.

But I look around at other blogs and there are so many excellent ones for writers, whether they are beginners or jaded old hags like me and I wonder if there is really anything I can offer.

The honest truth is I know little about the forensics of writing – and yes I know that’s the wrong word, but as you know it spoils the flow if you spend ages trying to find the word you want, so it’ll have to do.

I know there is such a thing as voice and I know I have several, but there is only one I feel truly at home with and I wouldn’t know how to start describing it.

So here’s a bit of advice (though why you would want any advice from me I don’t know – but everyone gets presents they don’t want, so just smile and say it’s just what you always wanted and fits like a dream then pass it on to Aunty Doris next year) to end the year with and try to redeem myself as the writer of a writing blog. This is probably all stuff I’ve said before, but I’m old so if I want to repeat myself I will. So here we go.

Write what you want to write. Enjoy it.

If you want to write for a market, study it. That means buy the publication (and I'm not just talking about women's magazines here) and read it – lots of times. Don’t just flick through before tossing it aside with a disdainful snort as you declare that you could easily write rubbish like that. If you think it’s rubbish, bugger off and write something else.

Don’t refuse to buy the magazine you are trying to write for then complain when it folds because no one else is buying it either.

Don’t, for God’s sake don’t look down on your readers. I have heard people sneer and shudder as they say of the publication they write or are trying to write for, “Of course I would never read those magazines myself,” (again I'm not just talking women's magazines) and it breaks my heart. You should damn well respect your reader and it really, really sets fire to my innards when people don’t. Believe it or not, I can sometimes tell the stories that are written by people who think that they are writing beneath their own lofty aspirations.

Write what you want to write and enjoy it.

Forget what your English teacher told you. The reason you are told to say things like, “He blurted tetchily,” or “He exclaimed hotly,” or “She expostulated,” are to teach you, a child, to look for new words and use them. Well that’s my theory. English teachers aren’t there to teach you how to write for publication, but to teach you to write as creatively (as in saying “he said” in as many different ways as you can think of) as you can and as correctly as you can so that you can pass your exams. Nothing wrong with the magically unobtrusive he said she said. If you’ve written your story well your reader will know how they said it without you having to tell them.

Remember that there are exceptions to every rule. But if you’re going to break them, do it with style. If the guidelines state “We don’t need stories about weddings,” but you have a brilliant story about a wedding you think would suit them, send it in. But I stress only do that if your story is exceptional and hasn’t already been done to death (which of course you will know if you have done your research).

If you are entering a competition Read the Rules. And remember that reading the rules and sticking to them like glue is the same as following guidelines to the letter – it won’t guarantee anything, but it will give you a fighting chance.

If the guidelines state “We only consider stories of 2000 words” don’t send in one any longer or shorter than that (give or take a few words, and I mean a few, I don’t mean 100s).

Care about your characters. Care about your readers.

Don’t take rejections personally and don’t assume you’re the only person in the world getting them. Don’t get in a strop because your rejection came in the form of a standard rejection letter. If it is the norm to get a standard rejection letter that is what you will get, whether you have been writing for a month or for thirty years.

Don’t think that it will ever be easy.

And most important of all, write what you want to write and enjoy it.

Well there you are, a pathetic attempt at a post about writing/illustration of how old people tend to repeat themselves.

All that there is left for me to do is to wish you all out there in Blogland a very Merry Christmas and to thank you most warmly for coming by and visiting my blog xx.

Guest Post - Santa's Elf

2010-12-16T14:56:00.005Z

I’ve invited Rob from the Department of Diagnostic Genealogy to come along today to spread a bit of Christmas cheer, but I warn you, he's only after your money!

Tis the season of goodwill to all men. A time for thinking of others, as well as thinking of mince pies, Christmas pud and lots of lovely alcohol.

Beer. Wine. Brandy. Stones Ginger Wine. Snowballs. Port. Sherry. Cider. Have you seen that alcoholic Ginger Beer? Sounds interesting…

I appear to have become sidetracked before I have started.

Allow me, dear reader, to set the scene.

It is a cold day. Snow is falling outside, but fortunately we are inside. Unfortunately we are in Argos.

Not that Argos wouldn’t be a pleasant place to be. I would merely suggest a roaring log fire, comfy armchair and glass of sherry would make for a more festive scene. But that isn’t the story so scrap that thought and picture being in Argos on a cold winter’s day, snow falling etc etc.

Then, like the ghost of Christmas past, we swoop over the throng of oblivious shoppers into the dark recesses of the Argos stockroom.

A shiver runs down your spine as we float into this previously unseen world. What horrors await us?

You needn’t have worried, for it is like Santa’s own workshop, swarming with elves busily scurrying about with more gifts and toys than you’d see at a hundred Christmases.

And leading these industrious elves is a man with a smile for everyone. And a heart of gold.

On Friday 10th December this man, the Stockroom Manager of Argos in Clacton, Essex, put his leg on the line for charity. And he must now live the remainder of his life with the consequences of his actions.

For he has ‘I Love Argos’ tattooed on said leg.

Was it madness that inspired him? Maybe, but it was more likely his generous spirit, for I know this man. And far from being a lunatic, he is the nicest bloke I have ever met.

And so I come to my reason for blogging here. I have heard tales of the generosity of the writing community, especially those who frequent this merry corner of the internet.

So I come before you now, cap in hand, to ask for donations to the Teenage Cancer Trust. I’m not going to bleat on about cancer, as you are all educated, good looking (did I mention generous?) people eager to get back to reading something witty or writing something.

You can read more about the Teenage Cancer Trust here.

And you can sponsor Wayne online until the 18th December here

You can even donate money to the Teenage Cancer Trust in any Argos store anywhere in the country.

Thank you for your time – normal, well written Teresa blogs will follow shortly!

Thank you Rob.

I’m sure some of you out there will be doing a bit of last minute Christmas shopping in Argos stores. If everyone rounded up their purchases to an even number (which is easy to do, just ask instore when you pay) just think of how far all those extra pennies would go.

The Annual Round Robin

2010-12-13T16:11:00.001Z

Readers of this blog who were around this time last year will know my feelings about the newsletters that drop out of Christmas cards.

A couple of lines written in a card mean a million times more to me than a whole stack of neatly printed newsletters.

This year I have only had one. It went straight into the shredder unread (I did offer it round, but they put up their hands and shook their heads as if I were offering them mud pies made with real mud). Why? Because I have neither the time nor the will to waste reading through a load of boring drivel about people I hardly know and care even less about.

I’ve had one so far this year, but I am reliably informed that another may be winging its way to me. Shudder. It is from someone I would not know if they walked past me in the street – and they would not know me either. I could count on the fingers of one hand how many times I’ve met this person in the last 20 years or so and still have enough fingers left over for a rude gesture or two (ah that makes me feel slightly better).

Enough of my annual moan. I’ll shut up about it now. Until next year anyway.

Mince pie anyone?

Night Crawler

2010-12-06T10:08:00.002Z

Isn’t that a great title for a book?

Today I’m delighted to play host to Diane Parkin who is here to tell us about her debut novel Night Crawler. Diane encouraged me to poke my head out of my shell when I first arrived in Blogland. She has been an inspiration ever since.

So without further ado I’ll let Diane tell you a little about Night Crawler.

It is Easter 1996, and a young homosexual junkie has been murdered. His boyfriend is arrested and charged. Marcie Craig, local DJ and good friend of the prime suspect, knows he didn’t do it and sets out to find out who did. Along the way Marcie is beaten up, another friend is murdered, and another is questioned until, in the end, Marcie’s own life is threatened.

Night Crawler was originally a song recorded by Birmingham rockers Judas Priest and can be found on their 1990 Painkiller album. The novel is a story about someone that crawls around at night killing people to cover up his or her own secret. The story opens in April 1996 and runs for just a few months. It introduces Birmingham, the rock club and pub scene that once was there, and of course Marcie Craig.

Marcie Craig (real name Marcella) is a 32 year old female rock DJ that makes a perfectly adequate living from her first love, rock music. She lives in a caravan (trailer) in Meriden, a small town that lies between Birmingham and Coventry, England, on the A45 – although the caravan site (trailer park) is fictitious. She rides a Harley Davidson, drives a Jeep, and has a pet cat called Sylvester and two mice called Thomas and Jeremy. She is 5’ 7”, with long brown naturally curly hair, is quite physically attractive with an athletic body, but she’s a bit immature and can be sarcastic.

Diane has an impressive track record when it comes to writing.

She started writing short stories for magazines in 1985 when the writers’ group to which she belonged advised her not to waste her time and get a proper job. She went on to sell commissioned articles to magazines for many years. She qualified as a broadcast journalist with BBC Radio WM in 1997, took over one of the classes on the course the following year, and continued as a full time freelance photo-journalist for ten years altogether. She joined an international steel company in 2005 as editor of one of their in-house magazines.

Diane has also edited education trade magazines and journals, text books, non-fiction books, and photocopiable classroom resources, and has taught adults creative writing and computer literacy. More recently she has started to produce activity and sticker annuals for children aged 3 – 6.

Diane lives in a South Yorkshire pit village in England with her two cats.

A question all we writers like to ask is how did the novel come about? Diane says, “I knew I wanted to write a mystery novel set in Birmingham but I didn’t know where to start. Everyone told me to write what I know but I didn’t think I knew enough about anything interesting. The only thing I did was work or go out to rock pubs and clubs, so I settled on the local music scene. I needed a protagonist and came up with an amalgamation of all the rock DJs I had ever known, then I made her a female and put her on a motorbike. Marcella was a favourite name and Craig was the professional surname of one of my DJ friends.

“The milieu gave me my scene of crime and it was easy enough to place a victim there, but I needed a reason for Marcie Craig to get involved, I needed her to care. So I had an old friend of hers falsely arrested and charged.

“I wrote copious character notes for all of the main players, I wrote a detailed chapter-by-chapter breakdown, I made timeline notes as I went along. I drew a map of the murder scene and I made a detailed timeline for the actual murder so I knew where everybody was.

“I wrote the first draft by hand, every day, making notes of things I didn’t know, and then I carried out my research interviews. The second draft was also in longhand but this took into account what I had learned. The first typo-free typed draft went out to my “experts” for checking, and all of my factual errors were corrected, most of the feedback was also incorporated. Then the second type-written draft was produced and the polishing process begun.

“I did two more handwritten drafts before the final print-ready version. Then years of submissions began.”

The book was completed by the end of 1996 and in 1997 it started to do the rounds. Diane hawked her manuscript around publishers and agents for more than ten years, building in many of the suggestions they made. While many were genuinely interested, the only company that offered to publish her book ran out of money. Spurred on by mostly positive feedback, Diane decided to have a go herself and “get it out there”.

Enter Lulu.

Lulu is a print-on-demand self-publishing organisation that offers authors various levels of support. With so much editing experience, however, Diane decided to do everything herself. She did all of the editorial and technical work and even sourced her own artist for the cover. Lulu is available to anyone with internet access and offers various distribution services and packages. Every book gets an ISBN.

Anyone who knows Diane or reads her blog will be aware that she is well known for having several projects on the go and not necessarily finishing all of them. However, future Marcie Craig novels already outlined or planned include The Beast Within (by Birmingham rock band The Handsome Beasts), and Snowblind (by Black Sabbath). There is also a prequel, Catch the Rainbow (by Rainbow), which is set against the Birmingham pub bombings of 1974 and features a cameo-type appearance by Marcie Craig, aged 10.

Night Crawler by Diane Parkin was published on 12 November 2010 and is available from Lulu. It can currently be purchased in hardback or as a download.

Find Lulu here, buy the book here, and read more about Diane at her blog

Thank you for stopping by to tell us about Night Crawler, Diane. I can’t wait to read it and I know quite a few others who will want to get their hands on it too.

Bullfighting, Michael Morpurgo, William (no not that William) and Waffle Irons

2010-11-30T09:33:00.005Z

I found a postcard the other day. I’ve never seen one like it before. The sender was Spanish. I was going to post it on here, but then I saw the words “Reproduccion prohibida Brevete. C1963.”

I used the Google translator and apparently it means “Driving Licence reproduction prohibited.” Hm, so to show it on here? I’ll describe it instead. And if anyone can advise me as to the legality of showing it to you, I’ll reconsider.

It is a cartoon picture of a bullfight. The bull is on his knees, his bloody back full of lances, his tongue lolling out and the matador is about to deliver the coup de grace.

On the ground are a shoe, a pumpkin (!), tomatoes and a banana – and a little brown bird watching the proceedings. Behind the matador are several people – I think they’re British. A man in colonial garb waving his walking stick, a woman who for some reason puts me in mind of Miss Jean Brodie is bashing the matador over the head with her umbrella – she has tears running down her face - and five more touristy types, all upset. One blonde woman is on her knees beside the bull, one arm across her eyes, the other upraised as if pleading for the bull’s life.

Phew – they say a picture paints a thousand words. I’m still not sure if the cartoon is anti-bullfighting or anti-bullfighting-hating-tourists. Or indeed if it is anti-anything at all and just tells a story.

Just after I found the postcard I read Toro! Toro! by Michael Morpurgo. I’ve bought several of his books for my grandchildren when they are older, but I’ve been drawn in to reading them myself.

I wasn’t going to read it. I didn’t want to read about bullfighting. I already know what happens and just thinking about it upsets me. But I think it does us good to have our emotions stirred up. Anyway it's about more than bullfighting.

Until I read Toro! Toro! I’d never heard of the massacre of La Sauceda at the beginning of the Spanish Civil War. I’ve since looked it up for more detail.

But back to Michael Morpurgo. He sounds like a very nice man – a very very nice man. I saw him being interviewed a few weeks ago which is what drove me to get the books. I’m so glad I did.

And did you see that the BBC is making a new series of Just William? I was so pleased and even more so when I found out that the talented Daniel Roche (Ben from Outnumbered) is to play William.

I should say that William was my hero when I was a child. I had some of the William books including: William, Just William and William the Fourth which I read over and over, but I used to scour the shelves in the library for ones I hadn’t read and it would be a happy little me that went home with a couple of Williams under my arm.

Hm, maybe I should invest in some of those – for the grandchildren of course.

So this started out as a short post to show you a postcard that I decided not to show you after all. Methinks I have been struck by the waffle iron again.

Improve your writing

2010-11-22T15:18:00.002Z

I’ve spent far too much time here doing the exercises and it’s rather like being back at school, but in a fun way.

Foghorns!

2010-11-16T17:35:00.004Z

First of all I would like to say that I like the sound of foghorns. I like the mournful one note sound and the way it echoes. I like the regularity of it and the atmosphere it conjures up.

Tilly does not.

At the first blast around 3 am she landed on my pillow, a hairy wreck. She sat next to my head, listening. I gave her a cuddle.

Second blast she vanished under the duvet between us. Every time the foghorn sounded, she made little gasping noises. She was convinced there was some kind of noisy monster in the garden out to get her.

It got very hot and rather crowded with a scared hairy dog in the middle of the bed. She got too hot and sat up under the duvet panting heavily, backed up a little and stuck her bum on my pillow.

Eventually around 4.30 am she turned round and had her head on the pillow.

The foghorns were softer and she clearly thought the danger was past. She slept well after that. Unfortunately I didn’t. Yawn.

I don't like foghorns!