Flooding

Well I managed to get the hang of hula-hooping in the end. It involved buying a heavier one, which pervesely is easier to keep up (as it were.) Who says size doesn't matter?

So now I have a tiny 19" waist. Okay, I don't. Expending all that energy means I need a tasty treat afterwards, to keep my strength up. Obviously.

The writing's going well too I'm pleased to say. I've sold some stories, written some more, I've started sending Novel 2 out to agents in the hope of snaring a new one, and I'm ploughing on with Novel 3. The words are flooding out. I'm still not acheiving the kind of daily wordcount I KNOW I'm capable of, or would like to acheive (10,000 at least) but it's all going in the right direction.

It doesn't help when Real Life gets in the way. Our kitchen ceiling came down yesterday, thanks to a burst water pipe courtesy of the freezing weather we've been having. Luckily Lovely Daughter saw it dripping and we were able to move things out of the way and throw some towels down before the deluge. So it could have been worse.

And yes, I've thought of a story about it too!

Resolutions and Hoops

I shouldn't be here.  My mum is staying, and she can't understand the lure of the computer and the typing of lovely words.  I haven't done any writing at all since just before Christmas, which is unheard of.  What if I've forgotten how to do it?  

I have this horrible feeling that if I don't write every day my creative muscle will grow weak and flabby - I need to exercise it and get it toned up again (a bit like the rest of me).

My New Year's writing resolution is to increase my output in 2012 and to stop worrying about 'the market' so much as it freezes me up, but I've lots of catching up to do already.

Talking of exercise, we've been hula-hooping like mad.  Or trying to.  

It started as a laugh, but I'm getting frustrated now.  Lovely daughter makes it look simple, and can practically read a book at the same time. My mum's got the hang of it and she's nearly 70, but me?  

Let's just say Lovely Daughter's threatened to film me and put the results on You Tube, she finds my efforts so hilarious.   It's like I'm fighting the Invisible Man - badly - while rotating my hips like granny on the dance-floor, as the hoop lies listlessly round my feet.

Tips anyone?

And if you think there's a story in it do let me know.  I haven't got time to be creative - I need to put the kettle on.

Festive Greetings

Thanks for your support and for following my blog this year - even though I haven't posted that often over the last few months. Will do better next year!

I hope Christmas is filled with your favourite things, and wish you all a happy and healthy 2012.

Sprechen Sie Deutsch?

I was chuffed to little mint balls - as we used to say Up North - to see that my novel has finally appeared on my German publisher's website. It's real. It's got pages. My name is on the cover. Okay, so it's not out until next September, but it exists and that'll have to do for now.

I called it My Future Husband, but the German interpretation is quite different and roughly translates as 'Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained' (I think!)

There's no hint of the time-travel contained within its pages, but I'm not complaining. Oooh no. I'm just really happy to see it.

Tears and Laughter

Tears and Laughter and Happy Ever After is the project I mysteriously referred to a while ago - a short story collection now available on Kindle at a very reasonable price. Hurray!  Not that you HAVE to buy it, but you'd be mad not to. Oh and I'm in it, by the way.

The paperback version will be out in time for Christmas - which is rather handy and I hope, if you do fancy a peek, that you find something to your liking.

All the contributors are members of the short story writing group I joined three years ago, and without it I'm certain I wouldn't have gone on to sell so many stories (*cough, seventy-five, cough*) and I'm very proud to be in such good company.

And now for the blurby bit ...

"Tears and Laughter and Happy Ever After" is a vibrant and varied collection of tales from writers who between them have had hundreds of short stories published in women’s magazines in the UK and around the world. Contributors have also won or been placed in dozens of competitions, published novels and written non-fiction for many UK magazines.


As the title suggests, the twenty-six stories encompass the heights of happiness, the depths of sadness, and every emotion in between. Within the pages are a housewife with a surprising secret, a beekeeper with a problem and an undertaker with something unusual on his mind. You’ll encounter angels, ghosts, aliens and other intriguing characters. And, in the end, may just find the path to happy ever after.


“This anthology has something for everyone. It’s a delight.
I only wish I was in it!”
Della Galton


“Like diving into a big box of Quality Street”
Kate Long

All I want for Christmas

Beth Prince has always loved fairytales and now, aged twenty-four, she feels like she’s finally on the verge of her own happily ever after. She lives by the seaside, works in the Picturebox – a charming but rundown independent cinema – and has a boyfriend who’s so debonair and charming she can’t believe her luck! There’s just one problem – none of her boyfriends have ever told her they love her and it doesn’t look like Aiden’s going to say it any time soon. Desperate to hear ‘I love you’ for the first time Beth takes matters into her own hands – and instantly wishes she hadn’t. Just when it seems like her luck can’t get any worse, bad news arrives in the devilishly handsome shape of Matt Jones. Matt is the regional director of a multiplex cinema and he’s determined to get his hands on the Picturebox by Christmas. Can Beth keep her job, her man and her home or is her romantic-comedy life about to turn into a disaster movie?

The lovely Cally Taylor's new novel, Home for Christmas, is out today and although it's normally my policy to put off thinking about Christmas until the very last moment, I'm going to make an exception and read it as soon as possible.

All the main character, Beth, wants for Christmas is to hear the words "I love you", which got me thinking about the things I wanted for Christmas when I was growing up.

To be honest, it was mostly a puppy - but we weren't allowed one because my mum (quite rightly with hindsight) felt she'd be the one who ended up looking after it, and she already had four children to contend with. (They were hers, I hasten to add - not four random children she'd taken in especially to avoid having to buy a dog.)

Books always featured highly on my wish lists, and I definitely got plenty of those. We didn't have a TV growing up so reading was our entertainment. That and pestering our parents for a puppy.

But my best-ever present was a camera when I was fouteen. I'd put one on my list, not holding out much hope, and was over the moon to find one in my stocking. (Pretty uncomfortable, I can tell you. HO HO!)

It was an old-fangled one with a cube-flash on top. PLEASE tell me you remember them? Barely a step up from my gran's Box Brownie, but it led to a love of photography that's stayed with me.

I now have a fancy-pants, all-singing all-dancing digital SLR, but I still remember the thrill of that little plastic one - not to mention the look of glazed boredom on people's faces when I begged them to pose again, one last time ...

These days, all I want for Christmas is for everyone to be happy and a plentiful supply of food. Oh and an offer to publish my novel would be nice. Harrumph!

Sunshine and Tinsel

An incongruous sight while out shopping during the recent heatwave. Cloudless blue sky, people flashing flesh in summer clothes and ... tinsel. Oh and a hanging teddy bear. I was quite disorientated, I can tell you. I still don't know what the bear was doing up there.

I keep thinking there's a story in that picture somewhere, or at least a caption, but I haven't come up with anything suitable yet. (Call yourself a writer? - Ed)

I've been shimmying around the country on trains for the past two days. Up to York to spend a day with family - typically the sky went surly and a breeze sprang up the second I stepped on the platform - and today to spend time with writing friends, to discuss an exciting new project (top secret at the moment! Don't you hate it when people put that on their blogs? I know I do.)

I love travelling by train, I find it genuinely relaxing. I got more writing done than I would have at home, which made me think I should take a long journey every single day. Then I realised I'd be broke by the end of the week and quickly came to my senses.

Does anyone remember when train travel used to be cheap, or am I imagining that?

Crossroads

So, what's happening on the novel-front? I hear you cry. There was the German deal you were rattling on about over a year ago (God has it been that long?!) and then ... everything went quiet. What's happening?

Well ... not much is the answer. Apparently, my timing is off. No reflection on me or my writing, just that publishers have over-bought in the romantic-comedy (chick-lit) genre and aren't taking on anything new right now - or for the forseeable future.

I'm sure I don't need to tell you how that news has made me feel after my excitement last year, having allowed myself to believe it could actually happen. 'It' being an actual book on a actual shelf in an actual bookshop with an actual cover and everything. *pauses for a prolonged bout of teeth gnashing, hair-pulling and general weeping session.* In the UK that is. Thank GOD for my lovely German deal. It gives me hope.

So, what to do? Well, I could keep writing in this genre and wait for the market to pick up, then trying submitting again down the line. Try and find another agent. Did I mention I no longer have one? (Sob.)

I do understand. It's business after all, and if a client isn't making you money you have to let them go.

I've been advised to try writing for Young Adults - a growth market right now - but it's not for me. I read and enjoy YA books; there are some brilliant ones out there and Meg Rosoff is one of my favourite writers, but I don't think it's possible to write convincingly in a genre you don't feel completely comfortable with, or passionate about.

I do have a psychological thriller all mapped out though, so I could try that.

I'm dithering. I feel a bit jaded. A lot less sure of everything. Not about wanting to write - I'll always want to do that, and the short stories are going well so I do have that, but -

I still believe in my novels.  I'm six chapters into novel 3. Another romantic comedy. I'm enjoying writing it, so maybe I'll plough on and finish it for my own satisfaction then pop it in a drawer with the others.

Remind me again why I do this ...

Hope I haven't come across as a self-pitying whinger. I know it's a brutal business and it's one I entered into with my eyes wide open. I just wanted to explain, in case any of you were wondering.

I kind of feel better for it.

Cake-free summer

Hello August - what the heck happened to July? I must have blinked and missed it.

I know it's summer because it rained, hailed and thundered yesterday, and then got dark quite early.

Also my mum's staying which she does every year, and oddly I manage to squeeze in quite a bit of writing while she's here as she likes a lie-in in the mornings, so I get out my net-book and type away in bed before she gets up. Maybe if she moved in permanently I'd be sure of doing some writing EVERY single morning.

They say it takes 3 weeks to make or break a habit, but I'm still pretty bad at establishing a routine where writing's concerned - though I have managed to give up cake.

This is no mean feat, as I'm sure regular readers will know, and I have to confess it's all down to hypnotism. I don't mean I looked into someone's eyes while they were swinging a gold watch in front of me (do hypnotists still do that anywhere outside fiction anyway?) but rather I've been listening to a download recommended by a friend, of a reassuring chap called Trevor from thinkingslimmer.com who assures me every night before I go to sleep that I actually DON'T NEED cake at all. Unbelievable, I know.

Of course I despised him at first, wanted to punch him in fact, and even tried to argue with him, but slowly, surely his monotone words have dripped into my sub-conscious and I've found myself not even wanting to eat anything remotely sugary AT ALL. For a whole month now.

I'm highly suspicious and doubt it will last, but in the meantime my bottom has shrunk, I'm saving money (I used to eat a LOT of cake, especially those lovely ones in Costa - and I can type that now without drooling)and if I ever meet Trevor I might have to take him out for a coffee and say thank you.

 Just a coffee. I won't even look at the cakes ...

Horses for Courses

My lovely writing friend Helen Hunt is holding a short story workshop at the end of July, aimed at the women's magazine market. She's had plenty of success in this area and knows her onions, so if you're looking to break into the market ... don't sign up. There's enough competition out there already. I'm kidding. No really, I am. DO sign up - I know you'll have an enjoyable and informative experience.

I once did a creative writing course at a local college, when the children were little. My ex-husband didn't believe me and thought I was having an affair. With three children under five, I can't imagine how he thought I had the energy to cheat on him AND write a short story to show him when I got home. But I digress...

Several people on the course were, in my opinion, genuinely talented - one young chap in particular had us in stitches every week with his inventive, off-the-wall tales, and I was certain that one day I'd be either reading his bestselling novel, or seeing a screenplay he'd written. We all did.

I bumped into him in Boots the other day. He works there full time now, and gave up writing soon after the course ended and I couldn't help thinking what a shame. Writing obviously wasn't for him and yet ... I'd bet my life that if he'd persevered he'd be wildly successful by now, because he was a hell of a lot more gifted than most of us in the group - myself included.

It made me realise whoever said writing is 99% perspiration and 1% inspiration is absolutely true for those who stick with it, and the rest?

I guess they'll never know.