Autumn

The long, hot, dry spell of summer feels like a long time ago now that autumn has arrived, with rain, wind, cool air, and green, green grass once more. Hard to imagine that a couple of months ago, I was sitting outside to write, wearing as few clothes as possible (sorry for the visual) periodically watering the plants, until the hosepipe ban hit, but time keeps flying along.

On the writing front, My Husband's Secret has been published in paperback and audiobook, and my publisher ran a competition for readers to win a bundle of my titles, which was fun. 

I've signed a new contract for two more novels (hurray!!) both scheduled for publication next year. The first is written and with my editor, and while I wait for her notes I'm planning my next book and working on a new thriller with Amanda Brittany. Our next novel THE NEW WIFE is due out at the end of November and we're eagerly awaiting the first sighting of the cover - always a big moment.

Writing aside, there's not much to report, other than I'm already hooked on the new series of Strictly Come Dancing - despite it reminding me that Christmas is on its way - which makes me think I need to get out a lot more!

I hope you're having a happy and productive October 😊🍂

And Another book is almost ready

It's been an exciting time author-wise since my last post, as My Sister's Child achieved a bestseller banner on Amazon, something of a holy grail for authors, giving sales a further boost due to whatever algorithms are triggered (or something else technical I don't really understand!) The book has had some lovely reviews too, and feedback like that, knowing readers have been entertained and taken away from reality - in a good way - means the world and inspires me to keep writing.

On that note, I've now seen the cover of my next book My Husband's Secret, which will be out in ebook on June 30th (audio and paperback a couple of months later) and I think it's my favourite to date. The cover designer has done a great job in making it stand out, something that's vital for potential readers skimming through books online, looking for their next read, when there's so much great competition out there.

I'm now working on my next book and getting to know the characters and am excited about the story unfolding, which often ends up being just as much of a surprise to me as I hope it does to the readers.

Meanwhile co-writer Amanda Brittany and I are waiting to hear from an editor who may be interested in publishing our next book, so we're keeping everything crossed for that.

Spring is pushing towards summer now and everything in the garden is blooming. I'm trying to resist dashing out there too often and be more disciplined with my writing - not easy when my writing corner is in the lean-to conservatory overlooking the garden, but I love it here, away from the main house, where I can hear birdsong, and, occasionally a lawnmower - or, more annoyingly, a chainsaw - and I don't have far to go to put the kettle on.

We're still hoping to take a couple of days away by the sea at the beginning of June, but I tend not to make too many plans these days, never quite knowing what's around the corner, though maybe it should be the other way round - I should be making lots of plans, because you never quite know what's around the corner!

Whatever your plans are, I hope they work out for you ☺

Nearly spring

                                                              Bench at Gaynes Park Mansions Wedding Venue

March is well underway, which means spring is on its way (bit of unintentional (bad) poetry, there.) Not that the weather has realised yet, it's very cold at the moment. I went to a wedding over the weekend, my first for 30 years (apart from my own!) and how the bride coped with the outdoor photo session without turning into a block of ice is testament to the power of love (or maybe she was wearing thermal underwear.)

I've finally had the okay to write 2 more books for my publisher, which is both a relief and a thrill, and has given me a big burst of motivation. Knowing my writing efforts will be rewarded with publication and - most importantly - be read by actual people fills me with inspiration. I can't wait to get going. I have the plot worked out, but will probably deviate slightly, as usually happens - though the ending rarely changes once I have it fixed in my mind.

I've worked out another two stories as well, but am unsure yet which of those will be next. I'll need to break off soon to complete edits for my already-written book, out later this year, but that's always how it works - one being written, one being edited, and a later one swimming about in the recesses of my mind.

Meanwhile, Amanda Brittany and I are in the process of submitting our next novel to publishers, which is exciting and a bit daunting as there are no guarantees, but we're confident it will find a home, and soon we'll be embarking on our next book as we have the outline ready. 

Marking out these things brings home the passing of time and how quickly it flies, but there will hopefully be other nice things happening apart from writing - maybe even a tiny holiday at some point.

One thing I'm looking forward to is getting back in the garden, which I barely look at during the winter months. The grass desperately needs cutting, and the pots need replanting. My inner teenager is telling me I must be getting old - gardening is what my granddad used to do - but I've  reached the age where the attractions are obvious: being in nature; exercise that doesn't feel like exercise; the reward (that word again) of seeing the seeds that were planted last year grow into something beautiful - just like a book ☺

                                                                                     Spring is springing...         

Here's hoping your spring is mild and fruitful!

New Year

So, it's 2022, a year that looks and sounds futuristic - the sort featured in an old episode of Star Trek, when it was imagined we'd all have flying cars and be dressed in silver jumpsuits.

I like the promise of a new year, a blank page waiting to be filled. I don't make resolutions as such when it comes to writing, but picture myself being more productive/disciplined and focused though - in truth - it'll no doubt be more of the same: lots of procrastinating, interspersed with deadline-panic-motivated writing followed by a sigh of relief and a burst of housework.

I'm currently finishing a thriller with co-writer Amanda Brittany and we've outlined a new idea which is being submitted to our publisher in the hope we'll be offered a new contract. So, that's exciting.

In the meantime, I'm waiting on edits for my latest book, and for the paperback and audiobook publication of My Sister's Child on February 3rd. The Works is taking 5,000 copies which is a thrill as all writers love to see their books on shelves. I'll be darting into various branches taking 'shelfies' and grinning inanely - and perhaps strong-arming customers into buying copies. (I won't be doing that.)

The weather's typically cold and frosty for January, but it doesn't stop me walking every day, working off the Christmas Quality Street and mince pie excesses, fixing plot holes as I go and enjoying the scenery when I look out from the imaginary world in my head.When the sun's shining as it has been today, it doesn't seem too long now until Spring, which these birds - pictured in a tree in our garden - also seem to be looking forward to.

Whatever you're doing this January, stay warm and safe.

Still writing

September has appeared without warning. Hard to believe we're this far along in the year. It doesn't seem long since I was jamming the Christmas tree out of sight and wrangling the fairy-lights back into their box. 

The weather already feels autumnal, the July heatwave a distant memory. The leaves are starting to turn, and there's a chill in the air. It's hasn't been the best summer weather-wise, but other countries have had it worse - flooding in Germany, wildfires in Greece - so in a way, we're lucky. (I'm still craving sunshine though.) 

I haven't yet received my edits for my latest book - my editor is overworked after a busy summer - but in the meantime have continued writing with Amanda Brittany, enjoying the process of getting words down and seeing them grow at twice the usual rate; a benefit of having a co-author! 

One of the pleasures has been researching prop hire companies as our main character runs one, and we're hoping to pay a visit sometime to see how it all works. 

My next solo book - which I've started well ahead of deadline for once - is set in Robin Hood's Bay in North Yorkshire, so I've been wandering around there virtually thanks to the wonders of Google Maps. I had hoped to visit the area on a recent trip to see my family in Scarborough, but didn't have quite enough time. Luckily, I have vivid memories of visiting the bay growing up, and took my children there when they were small, so at least have something to draw on. 

Robin Hood's Bay

As usual, when working out plots, I seem to spend a lot of time doing things unrelated to writing - baking and gardening in particular - but my mind is ticking over all the time and when I eventually sit down to write, I find the words are there. At least, that's what I tell my husband and children when they see me hacking at the ivy on the garage roof, or making yet another batch of scones. I think I've perfected the recipe now! In the interests of... well, no one really, I think I ought to sample one (or two.) 

Whatever you're doing, stay well, and have a happy autumn.

Midwinter

The 'bleak midwinter' seems a fitting description of the weather right now - below freezing, snow and ice on the ground, a bitter chill in the air; bare branches etched against a bone-white sky. And we're in lockdown again, albeit with the promise of better things to come in the shape of a vaccine. 

I'm thankful to be in the business of writing, something I can do anywhere though the mindset isn't always right during the current circumstances. Walking helps with that, even when it's snowing - especially if it's sunny at the same time.

A bright spot this month was seeing the cover for my and Amanda Brittany's second thriller THE PERFECT NANNY, due out on March 31st. It's been receiving good comments on NetGalley, where new books go to be reviewed before release.

Hearing what readers think - and that they're enjoying our book - brings home how much we love telling stories, which are needed more than ever at the moment. I'm reading far more than I usually do (and I read a lot!) but I've put that aside, for now, to work on the edits for my next psychological thriller - title and cover to be revealed soon - which will be out in April. I'm hoping by then, the sun will be shining and life will be returning to some kind of normality. 

In the meantime, I feel lucky that my loved ones are safe and well and I hope you and yours are too.

Ooh, and here a few of the books I've enjoyed, if you're looking for recommendations: 

Sneezing and scary

I got sent home early from work today, because I look so hideous. Can you believe it?? Okay, nobody actually said that, but I do. I was scaring the customers with my giant, swollen red nose, leaky eyes and hacking cough. In case you think I normally look like that, I've actually got my first cold in nearly three years, and it's a corker. I'm single-handedly keeping the tissue industry afloat. Because I can't taste anything I thought I'd eat something healthy for dinner last night that would normally make me gag, but it didn't work because it was spinach and I realised it's the texture I'm not keen on (slimy.) Ho-hum.

My plan for getting on with it, now I've got more writing time, was given a boost at the weekend by my lovely mother-in-law flying off to Australia for a month. As she doesn't live far from us, and we're keeping an eye on the house anyway, I've been popping round there in the mornings with Laptop and being Productive. It's very peaceful there. There's no Internet. It's spotlessly clean and tidy. There are plenty of teabags. There are no teenagers lurching about demanding food and lifts. There's no Molly-dog nudging my hand for a game of grab-the-sock (we know how to live in our 'ouse), although I don't mind that so much.

The trouble is, it's bloody freezing. She lives in one of those lovely, big old rambling places that are hard to heat in the first place, with proper sash windows (none of the wussy double-glazing that we've got) and gappy doors, and only a couple of radiators. I tried wrapping up well in a big coat, fluffy earmuffs, fingerless gloves and thick socks and taking a flask of soup with me yesterday, but her neighbour (who's also 'keeping an eye out') peered through the window at one point, after spotting me propped in the 'old lady' chair by the window, and practically had a seizure.

So unless the weather warms up over the next three weeks I'm just going to have to brave it out at home. Maybe if I keep the earmuffs on I'll be able to ignore the distractions.

Heartwarmer

Read in the paper today that author Lorna Page (left) has had her first novel, Dangerous Weaknesses, published at the grand old age of 93!! Yay, there's hope for me yet. The best bit is, she's spent all the proceeds on a house large enough for her elderly mates to move out of their care homes and come and live with her.

Altogether now.... Awwwwwwwwwww! Warms your cockles it does. Not to mention your heart.

Mum's here 'til Sunday so I'm posting this Surreptitiously. Not that she'd mind in the least, but you know what it's like when you've got visitors. You can't possibly sidle off to sit in front of the PC for eight hours straight.

Can you?

Withdrawal

Got family staying at the moment, and for the next week or so. Couldn't get this week off work, so I'm seriously strapped for time. I'm having blog-reading withdrawal symptoms. When I eventually get round to it (and I will - oh yes) it'll be like butting into a conversation that's carried on without me. Everyone will be chucking me filthy looks and wondering who the hell I am. Not that I'm insecure or anything...

Lovely brother and family have gone to a Dr Who exhibition in London this afternoon, and when I got back from the library I fell on the PC like a hungry woman on a Twix. (I had one of those as well.) I've been writing LOADS, weirdly, in between everything else (what's that saying about asking a busy person if you want something doing? Well, actually I think that is the saying...) so my progress bar will be making a comeback soon and I can hold my head up in the writing community again, instead of scuffing my shoes like a naughty child when I see everyone else's shooting towards the million mark.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, my sixteen year old neice asked if I'd have a look at some writing she's done. It's a fantasy type story, she said and I thought 'uh-oh, not my genre,' but naturally I said - rather patronisingly probably - that of course I'd take a peek. She's done six little chapters so I sat down with a coffee at 7.30 this morning, wondering what I was going to say if I didn't like it, and in seconds was hooked. BLOODY HELL, I thought enviously. She's Good. Too many lovely adjectives, naturally (see what I did there) but she has a flair for a story as well as a way with language and I'm not going to have to fib at all when I tell her later, it's Fab!

OBVIOUSLY she takes after her auntie...

Timewasting - part 58

Found some "fun" writing tips in an old magazine yesterday. One was to pick some books off your shelves at random and copy out a sentence from each one, until you have an "amusing" passage to play with (matron.) Like that party game where everyone adds a sentence to a story until it all goes pear-shaped and someone starts crying.

Ooh, I thought. I've got nothing to do today apart from working, shopping, cooking, cleaning, washing, dog-walking, lawn-mowing, preparing the house for a family visit this weekend (including the redecoration of an entire bedroom ), shave my legs, wax my 'tache, lose ten pounds, negotiate the lowering of fuel prices with the Prime Minister before supper and - oh yes...do some writing - so I think I'll give it a go. Never let it be said I haven't got my priorities in order. Not within earshot, at least.

Anyway, this was the result:-

"It seemed to have completely escaped Mick Farley's notice that it was Harold Farley, his father, who had died.

'Who is that gentleman on horseback?' said she as they proceeded - speaking more to assist Mr Weston in keeping his secret, than with any other view.

He thought of the big man he and Stonewall had found, hung like a donkey, skin so white, dead like his attributes.

'Nicking some kindling,' he called. 'Don't want to freeze tonight, do we?'

When I think about it now, I think that our eagerness to assimilate the horrors and our desire to make everyone else aware of them was in fact repulsive.

In the hallway, someone's being sick and Dorothy, also ravaged by drink by now but still immensely practical, gets the vacuum cleaner out and starts hoovering up the vomit.

'I'd like one of those,' I told him."

Hmmm. So was it a useful exercise? Well, seeing me frowning busily surrounded by books the Teens have mowed the lawn and done some housework for me, so in a word, yes!

I was going to turn this into a Meme, but came to my senses in the nick of time. I am offering a million pounds though, to anyone who can tell me which books those lines came from...

The 'B' word

At work a colleague approached me in a manner normally reserved for bad news to ask in hushed tones about the book. She hoped I didn't mind her asking because she knows it must be annoying and put pressure on me, but she was just...well - wondering how it was all...you know - going?

Blimey, I thought, watching her wring her hands and wince apologetically, she's had to pluck up courage to ask me. My writing has become a topic Best Avoided. It took me back a few years to Mum telling people not to mention Wayne while rolling her eyes at me quivering brokenheartedly on the sofa.

Okay, so I was a tad overenthusiastic back in the day, when I told anyone who'd listen I'd written a novel and was waiting to hear back from a couple of agents. We were all overexcited and naturally everyone kept asking about it. That's when I was in Blabbergob mode.

When rejections and reality flooded in I soon became Evasive. I stopped mentioning the book, and mumbled things in a tiny voice if it couldn't be avoided until one member of staff actually shouted, "I bet she's got a publishing deal and isn't allowed to say anything!!" Oh dear God. I put her right on that score and things became Awkward.

There followed a reverential Silence on the subject.

Luckily since then, I've Wised Up. After realising, in a nutshell, it's going to be a whole lot harder to get published than I first thought, I was able to say to my colleague, "oh I'm still writing, still enjoying it although whether I'll ever be published's a different matter, but no there'll be no giving up, ha ha ha!" without sounding either demented or defensive. (amazingly.) Cue relief all round. "That's the main thing," she said gaily, shoulders dropping. "Don't all writers say they'd still do it anyway?" she added giddily. "I read an interview about it." I get the feeling she may even ask again one day.

And I probably won't mind.

*************************************************************
Elsewhere, I'm embarrassed to say that lovely Lily Sheehan and fab menopausaloldbag (mob) have both given me awards recently for Excellentosity (it IS a word - in my head) while Milla at the marvellous Country Lite has tagged me as one of her favourite reads...too, too kind - I'm not worthy etc - well, only a bit. You should check out their blogs if you haven't already - they're much better than mine. I think I'm meant to tag my favourite reads, but instead I'll direct you to my Blogroll - honestly they're all great - with a special mention to spiralskies who has just been told off by non other than cuddly Keith Chegwin himself. How many of you can say that? Hilarious.

Highlights

I got to thinking when I woke up, about the highlights of my writing - can't call it a career, so let's say journey - to date.

First off was the poem I had published in Judy comic aged 11. I was thrilled and stunned in equal measure, as were my family. I'm sure Mum started thinking thank God, one of them can keep me in my dotage. WRONG!! I can't even remember what it was about. The poem. Ballerinas probably. I was desperate to be one at the time, despite having no discernible talent. Hell, I'd never even had a lesson. I performed an arabesque in my bedroom once and toppled into the wardrobe. Mum bawled, 'what the hell's going on up there?' and that was that.

Next highlight was meeting author Valerie Blumenthal. For a small fee you could book a one-to-one writing workshop at her gorgeous farmhouse in Oxfordshire, with lunch and chit-chat thrown in. Off I trotted, a few years ago, clutching a short story for her to critique, as nervous as anything. She greeted me on horseback in her driveway- an impossibly glamorous creature, with flowing dark hair. Valerie was quite impressive too (ker-ching). "Ooh I love horses!" I simpered. They terrify me really (bad experience as a teenager) and I immediately thought, oh bugger, what if she invites me to go riding or something ridiculous? "Maybe we could go for a ride after our session?" she breathed (she was quite actressy) and I was forced to say, "actually, I only like looking at them," like a complete mentalist. Luckily she didn't hold it against me, and was Kind about my writing, reading it aloud like somebody on Radio 4 so it sounded good instead of inane, and a year or so later let me interview her for an article which ended up in Writers' Forum - another highlight.

Signing up to The Writer's Bureau home course was another positive move. They advertise in the back of supplements and I thought they might be dodgy, but they weren't. I'd never considered writing non-fiction before, but they figured you were far more likely to succeed in this market. Therefore, the first part of the course was devoted to features and articles and, to my amazement, my first two attempts sold. The first was an interview with a lovely lady called Patzi Gooch, God love her, who I read about in the newspaper. She'd given up needlework to be a singer and had auditioned for the X-Factor and I thought it would make a nice piece for CHOICE magazine's Change of Direction series. All our correspondence took place via email - the wonders of modern technology - and it sold straight away, as did a completely random feature about the meaning of April Fool's Day for The Lady magazine. Cripes, I thought. This is a chuffing doddle. Mum started planning a world cruise. Needless to say, it wasn't. I've not matched that early success. Mostly because I wanted to focus on fiction writing and, as predicted, it's a MUCH harder market to crack. That's my excuse anyway.

Another highlight was a lovely lady phoning from the Frome writing festival a couple of years back, to tell me a story I'd entered into their competition had come sixth out of 400 entries. So what? was my immediate thought. Fancy phoning to tell me that. More like rubbing salt in the wound. 'I'm ringing everyone in the top ten,' she said, 'because you deserve to know how well you did,' which on the whole I thought was rather nice. Afterwards. When I'd hung up on her. (I didn't really.)

Another highlight is this whole blogging malarkey, which I've already 'bigged up' in a previous post, but of course the biggest, shiniest, most perfectly sun-kissed highlight is still to come.
Published Author.

All I can say is, Mum - don't hold your breath.

Discombobulated

Cor, what with ferrying Teenagers to and from A levels and GCSEs and work, and tearing around hiring prom suits and helping choose a dress for a leaving ball and extravagantly high wedges for a music festival, plus working overtime at t'library and occasionally flinging bleach down the loo, I haven't written more than my piece for the Story a Fortnight blog, and m' book review (Love Falls, by Esther Freud...vair good. Made me want to visit Italy and I don't even like travelling.)

As if to reproach me, I came home to find Molly-dog protecting a copy of Writers' Forum. She even growled when I approached. Either she's taken up reading it on the sly, or she's writing a novel of her own and is looking for tips. (Ask me love. Talk about knowing everything there is to know. In theory.)
Perhaps she's looking to give her own spin on an old classic.

A Tail of Two Cities, anyone? Pride & Pedigree Chum? Moby Stick? Molly Flanders?

Is that a Tumbleweed I see before me?

I need to Make Time To Write. Surely the height of embarrassment would be the dog getting a publishing deal before I do?

******************************************************

By the way, I only have three children despite making it sound like I have 17, and it's Teen Daughter going to the music festival, not me. I'm Too Old for camping. Actually, there isn't an optimum age for camping. Camping sucks.

Granny complex - the sequel

I've got Carrie Bradshaw Envy. After swooning over the Sex and the City film yesterday afternoon, it hit home that there's a world of difference between Carrie's writing style and mine.

For instance :-

CB - Slips between expensive looking sheets wearing tiny knickers and a silk camisole, and cuddles up to Big with a weighty looking book about famous poets, as research for her next book.

Me - Slithers under grubby duvet wearing faded jim-jams and a frown and tries to think about Chapter Seven, before getting distracted by the growing certainty that I've forgotten to buy dog food. Again.

CB - Sits at a pristine desk under glowing lamplight, lightly fingering her expensive keyboard and Musing.

Me - Stands at a crowded desk in the half-light, rummaging around in overflowing drawers for a memory stick and Swearing.

CB - Narrows her steely-gray eyes and stares out at snowy, New York skyline while she thinks about Love.

Me - Squints through sleep-sticky eyelids at the garden thinking, how can I ruddy well write when the grass has grown ten foot overnight?

CB - Reads a meaningful excerpt from her latest book to hangers-on at a lovely bookshop.

Me - Re-reads what I've just written out loud, to myself, and considers buying a shotgun.

So. Not ONLY do I have to live with my Inner Granny I have to live with the knowledge that I'm never, EVER going to be Carrie flamin' Bradshaw.

It's SO not fair.

************************************************************

Update: There's a silver lining. I think I may have nicer hands than Carrie Bradshaw.

Granny complex

It seems I have an affinity with old folk. In a rejection from a magazine yesterday, I was told that I "write well for a mature audience." My theme was a little familiar, but they'd like to see more of my writing.

When the initial glow wore off, I felt a bit miffed. I mean, for heaven's sake. My writing appeals to Elderlies. I'd guessed this already to a certain extent as I have a story with Yours magazine, awaiting publication. And thrilled to bits I am too!! (In the unlikely event the editor's reading this.)

Then I realised that there is a theme in my writing. My First-Ever Novel involved a mad, ageing mother-in-law and hi-jinks in an old folks home. My current one features a funny grandma. I've also written stories over the years about winsome children reaching out to grumpy grandparents, and elderly folk having a final shot at Happiness. Hmmmmmmm. (Strokes chin thoughtfully.) What's going on here? Admittedly, I was closer to my grandma than anyone else, growing up. I also used to run errands for the old lady who lived round the corner. Old people liked me, goddammit. People used to say things like, "ooh, she's got an old head on young shoulders has that one," about me, and to this day I clean one morning a week for my friend's elderly mum. I even like Werther's Originals.

This is such a depressing realisation. There's me, thinking I'm firmly in touch with my inner sex kitten/domestic goddess/music guru/teenager/yummmy mummy, when in fact I'm channelling a bloody pensioner.

It's not fair.

Eliminate the negative?

I was having a declutter today, with a view to moving Stuff back into the room with the shiny new floorboards and almost completed fireplace. I didn't mean to. I was searching for an orthodontic appointment letter and got carried away.

In the midst of a ton of paperwork I came across some rejection letters from my First-Ever Novel. Curious, I read through them thinking, bloody hell, I don't even remember some of these. They were oddly positive. One agent wrote a good two pages suggesting possible changes and suggested I re-submit when I'd done them. Trouble was, at the time (nearly five years ago) all I saw in those letters was Get Lost, You're Not Good Enough. I wasn't experienced enough to know that receiving anything but a standard reply-slip from an agent was a Good Thing. I simply thought bloody charming that is, had a cry, went all negative, deleted (yes, deleted) the manuscript from my PC, stuck the letters in a drawer and didn't do much else for a while.

Honest to god! I could kick myself in the teeth. What was I (not)thinking?? It also struck me like a boxing glove that those agents/publishers thought I was on to 'something' and, try as I have since then, it's a something I can't seem to replicate. What was it? I enjoyed writing it, that's for sure. I also wrote it at the speed of light because I stupidly sent out the first three chapters before I'd written the rest and got 2 requests for the full ms. I didn't even edit the damn thing.

There's a lesson in there somewhere. I didn't find what I was looking for, but I found something.

I'm hoping someone can tell me what it was.

Authonomy

Has anybody else joined HarperCollins' new community for readers, writers and publishers? They're not fully launched yet, but if you signed up to their newsletter months ago you'll have received a Special Invitation today. The idea is to set up your profile, build a page for your manuscript or book, and start showcasing your work. You get to read other members' chapters online and leave your opinion, search out the best of the books on the site and use space on your personal 'bookshelf' to tip them for success. The idea is that writers should be judged on the quality of the work they produce, not on their ability to pitch, market or publicise themselves and that personal recommendations are the most effective way of building support for a book.

It sounds interesting, and a good way to get your novel noticed by a reputable publisher, but in the blog section comments Lee makes a good point when he says :-

"...long-term I'm not sure whether this sort of approach to crticism and editing is truly helpful, unless the writer is appealing to mass taste.

If your work isn't published conventionally, most people seem to think it's a work-in-progress - and that they know how to fix it. I'm rather skeptical about the criticism of those who are 'writers first, readers second' - the sort of thing you're likely to find at such sites. Everyone is looking to make themselves feel better about their own work..."

There were plenty of follow-up comments along the lines of, yes, but at least it's another chance to get noticed, and an opportunity to see what the other unpublished writers are doing.

There's a good section on copywriting your work and overall it sounds rather interesting, but I wonder what everyone else thinks? Waste of time? Good Idea? Couldn't care less? I'd rather take the conventional route to publication?

I don't like to have thoughts on my own, damn you! I need Feedback.

Busy, busy

It's funny how, now I'm working overtime at the library, as well as doing my weekly book review and writing a story a fortnight for my other blog -set up by the lovely Calistro - I'm actually doing more writing than when I had less to do. If that makes sense, which it doesn't. Actually, it does. If that makes sense. Which it doesn't. Etc.

When I have lots of time to write, I seem to fill it with fluff. Washing, faffing, baking, gardening, cleaning fluff. Expecially cleaning fluff. Literally. There's tons of the stuff. I blame Molly. She sheds fur like we need it to live on.

I suppose having less time focuses the mind. I've had two more novel ideas for a start, this week. One is another romantic comedy and the other a psychological thriller, and I've made a start on both while they were fresh in my mind. I miss writing when I'm at work and figure if I don't make time, I'll never get anything finished. Dur - as the Teens would say. When I have time I always think, well there's plenty of it - I'll start writing as soon as I've finished...fluff cleaning. Except I don't, always.

What's that saying? If you want something doing, ask a busy person. Or in my case - if you want me to write a novel, give me a full-time job. Not that I'd take it. I'm too busy writing.

I AM a writer, goddammit!

Now that things are back on track in the DIY department (thank you for asking) it's time to get back to the important stuff. Having barely touched a keyboard in three days, I realised how much I missed writing. Typing? Whatever. Maybe I really am a writer after all, I thought and promptly came up with the following list. Well, not promptly. I had some serious cake-eating to catch up on, plus half a day's work at the library and some blog visits, but THEN I came up with the list.

You know you're a writer, when...

you see a story in every situation - even cleaning up dog poo (or draining radiators)

you're still in your jim-jams when the children are due home from school

your Google searches include words like 'how to join the circus' and 'arable farming'

you dream about writing

you check film credits to see who the writer was

you devour 'how-to-write' books like they're about to be banned

you always see the 'angle' in family dramas

in conversation, you swap adjectives for ones that sound more meaningful (ooh, look at those clouds...they're so fluffy, er, I mean, they look like balls of cotton wool scudding across a picture perfect sky..)

you call your husband 'Jed' by mistake. Jed's the central character in your novel (not mine, I hasten to add. I would never call a character Jed)

you automatically tune in to media news of lucky bitches ladies landing book deals

your catch-phrase is 'I must write that down'

you can't stop reading blogs by other writers (and feeling jealous that they're far more talented than you are)

you're deaf to children pleading with you to Get The Dinner On

you come over all peculiar at the sight of a lovely notebook

the sight of your favourite writing magazine snaps you out of a foul mood

you mentally edit and correct everything you read

the children think you love the computer more than them

you can't imagine not doing it. Which is the most important one, of course.

I'm sure there are many more, but I really MUST go and get the dinner on now.

Title role

Every now and then I dream up what I imagine will be a SUPER title for a novel or short story, and write it down in a lovely notebook. It tends to happen after I've popped a paracetamol, oddly enough. For a headache or a cold. Or, if I have the remnants of a song swishing about in my brain. Which could explain things.

I was skimming through said notebook earlier, looking for the number of a handy-man (it's not all observations and whimsy you know. Sometimes I write shopping lists), and on various pages came across the following ...

Poss. novel title -

Marmalade Days
Whistling for Lettuce (??)
Elephant Moon
Truth for the Jellyfish
Radio Happy (ahem)
Harriet Gets a Life
Glitterballs and Gladrags (hangs head in shame)

Good SS Title (Short Story, not German combat unit)

Under the Gumbo Tree
Office Politics
Old Faithful
End of Season
Hats off to Harry
Over the Rainbow
Silly Season

As far as I know I haven't used any of them myself so, please. Feel free to help yourself...