Glorious Easter Monday And No House Viewers

The sun is out.  The sky is blue.  There are a few clouds, but no, they do not spoil the view...

Oh, and it is not raining in my heart.  And the few words above are from one of my many favourite songs.  I love music.  For me as a writer, a) readers b) music, go hand in hand.  If either of those two became extinct, I would seriously question my reason for continuing to scribble no matter how thick and fast the ideas kept coming.

As I write this, I can't resist repeatedly looking longingly towards the garden.  I should be out there.  If not mowing the lawn, then at least replacing the dilapidated shed roof.  Much of it couldn't hold its own against the gales recently (not that it had been doing especially well prior to it), however, it really does need help now.  So a trip to the nearest, best value, d.i.y. store soon.  A nice man will be asked to help put the felt into my vehicle and then...well, after that it will be a case of 'living on a prayer' and probably a few expletives.

My house has been up for sale for over a year now and so far has only had three viewings.  The last one cancelled.  It is a beautiful, old, individual place.  Upon entering you know it is loved.  And on days like today, every room is bright.  This place is deceptively big and is often likened by those who know it to the Tardis.

Not Part 2

Here it is.  Another post – difficult for me to believe it too.

It is not part 2 to the last post and I had hoped to do it within seven days, but because, 1) I did not promise I would, and 2) encouragement is the way to go these days, I have not actually failed.  Therefore that pink pig should be let out of its pen and allowed to fly.

Numbers, writing, and stuff...

Seven is a great number.  I love it.  And the number three.  There are a few others such as birth dates that I wouldn't ignore on pain of death, and others that refuse to be forgotten/ignored no matter how hard one tries such as events/anniversaries.

As a writer, I like paying heed to the role numbers play in literature.  I enjoy using them every which way I can.  Often I sneak them into my novels and short stories, ensuring that they’re not as obvious as 'X marks the spot' but that they will be noticed/discovered by some similar like-minded soul to me who reads between the lines.  My first ever novel, Seven Stops, had a few ‘sevens’ that were obvious.  For instance the story is told by seven voices.  Then there are forty-nine chapters and my little Jack Smith, who is seven years old, lives seven bus stops away from my protagonist, Anna Culpepper's house.  There were other 'sevens' dotted about.  And I had great fun with each and everyone.

Writing the sequel to Seven Stops has begun...finally.  However, I am only 1500 words in.  Although the plot is known in its entirety, and the chapters labelled, (that's the closest I will probably ever get to being able to plan), the only definite about it from now until it has left the nest, is its title; Eighth Stop.