Thursday 24 December 2015

CHRISTMAS DAY 2015

All good things come once a year.  Like great art, an amazing idea or fabulous music, is that not so? The more rare and infrequent something is, the more appreciated.  That's how Christmas should be too.

My family and visitors arrived safe last night. Some came by car and others by train.  At this early hour of 7.10 a.m. everyone is still asleep.  Apart from me; obviously.  Having woken up around 3 hours ago, I could have done a significant amount of work by now but the body and mind weren't keen, so I decided to indulge them as they've got a busy day ahead.

I love 25th December - the tree, the decorations, the presents, the food and the company.  Whether it's turkey, chicken or goose (not that I've ever had that), the wonder of it all coming together after the non-military way it is prepared, (some call it chaotic), is quite something.  In this house we take it easy.  I can't think of anything I've forgotten and if something has been then it doesn't matter.  Anyone who thinks it does, then shame on them.  Here there's going to be noisy chatter and everyone mucking in.  I know that if I ask for help when needed, it'll be given.  It is exactly what it should be.  Hasn't always been so but life can be turned around.

As it is an occasion of giving gifts, my offering is the following 200 word flash fiction story from my 'She Dreamed Of Flash Fiction' collection.  I had set myself a challenge and loved meeting it.

Happy Christmas everyone!


Insignificant


On days when rain and traffic were friends, they were like demons fresh out of hell, going around whipping up anything they could infect, especially humans, and turn them into mindless cattle.
Pushed to the back each time a taxi arrived by elbow-using jostlers, and aware of her shortcomings, insignificant Jessica was considering returning home without going to the interview when another taxi arrived.
The passenger grimaced at the impatient, leashed crowds looking like they would haul and maul him if he dallied.  Leaning forward he paid the driver.  Getting out he obstructed the red-faced individuals with fangs at the ready.  He pointed to Jessica, a parting cleared, she came through.  ‘You’re drenched.’  He helped her in.  ‘What’s your number?’
Numb and unthinking, she quoted her destination, soon realising her mistake but he had already disappeared.  ‘Story of my life,’ she muttered.  There wasn’t any point to telling reception that should a stranger call, asking for a girl whose name he didn’t know, the message would be for her.
After her interview, she was stopped from leaving the building by the uniformed porter at the door.  Handing her a note, he winked.  ‘For the girl in the wet, red coat.’


The End

Friday 18 December 2015

Control

In my mind I’ve written between 5 and 10 blogs.  This is the only one its allowed.

A week away from Christmas, I wrap up cost-considered gifts to put under the tree.  I’m one of the fortunate ones.  I’m an Indian woman who left her family, friends and culture.  My shocked, ashamed parents told people that knew them, I’d emigrated.  They could have hired someone to kill me.

I happen to be listening to a programme on BBC4 of which I’m a fan.  Desert Island Discs.  Kirsty Young is in conversation with Kylie Minogue.  Kirsty’s questions draw out laughs and revelations that delight and enthrall.  I’m not ashamed to admit to being naive about many things.  The interviewee’s musical taste always surprise, and occasionally leave me filled with regret.  My taste in everything, food, friends, books etc is eclectic, and I feel that there’s so much I’ve missed along my life’s road. 

Radio shows are edited/controlled.  As are our lives. 

I grew up in a very strict Indian environment.  Even when I was eighteen my television watching was restricted.  But when it came to radio, provided I cooked and cleaned (my mother was a home machinist), I was permitted to listen to the radio.  Whether it was Indian music or English, I had complete freedom.  Radio 1 was my absolute favourite as a teenager.  Remember Tony Blackburn?  Wonderful happy voice that came through the air waves, cheering up households filled with people who didn’t understand English.  The ones I knew weren’t living, just existed.  My childhood memories are extremes of light and dark.  Thankfully, no longer.

Louis Armstrong’s ‘What A Wonderful World’ is playing.  And indeed it is.  Living on this wonderful planet is a privilege.  We only have one life.  My thoughts are always on microcosm and macrocosm suffering around the world.  Where humans inflict pain through control/abuse, from parents over children or vice versa, abusive husbands/wives, to governments/dictatorships leaving those who care, feeling frustrated and helpless.  I want my writing to help.  I'm not the only writer who wants to make a difference. 

Many years on, I am still determined never to be a copy of my parents.  The Indian culture has some great values, one is respect.  Duty is a strange one.  There are many others I cover in my books.  Strangely though, the need to please my parents never leaves me.   'Echoes Across The Water', the Indian short stories published in India required a lot of adjusting because I didn’t want to offend anyone.  Plus I hoped to make my mum proud.

When I telephoned and told Mum about my success, her response was instantaneous. ‘Why can’t you get a proper paid job like your brother and sister?’

Wednesday 9 December 2015

LOSING VIRGINITY

With all the other interesting blogs bouncing around the ether at the moment, I didn't want mine, a) to detract from them and b) to get lost among them. Therefore, Losing Virginity is delayed until 2016.

As I've already entered blogger world, I’ll offer up some small portion of my latest musings.  A ‘free’ mini gift that won't clutter the home once all the festivities are over.  And one that won’t involve you having to get it out and display every time I visit or pop up on-line, or make you think about which black bag to slip it in to!  Coherent thinking can often become difficult after Christmas exhaustion, but choices do abound from donating unwanted items to the numerous charity shops, permanently losing them into council bins, to hunting out the receipt in the hope of returning ‘it' for a refund, etc.  Some people keep a cupboard specially for ‘presents’, and find it a good money saver.  Of course there are many more inventive ways we 'dispose' of the above.  If you have a few minutes, I would love to hear about them.

So, around this time of year, how do most of us show the measure of genuine affection for one another?  Is it evidenced with hours spent on comparative price searches for what can't be afforded by either one or both sides?  Just a little cheeky suggestion from me, and in return it is possible you'll still feel the tips of the ears burning, but does that matter because at least it won't have cost you anything?  Okay it's this.  How about instead of the usual commercial route, you do the communicative one.  I love using the telephone and pressing buttons.  So I'm going to use these skills to talk about my book, Seven Stops.  It’s now available in paperback.

I’m already imagining how fantastic a Christmas it’ll be if family and friends buy my book.  Being cheerful and gushing won't be difficult because the January bank statement won't make my eyes pop out and my heart palpitate when I look at it.

The great Bard wrote, 'Such stuff as dreams are made on' and that's what I'm going to do.  Imagine and dream about the approaching New Year and how amazing it's going to be.

Thursday 3 December 2015

A Great Man In A Kilt


What's not to love? Seumas is funny, clever, a great wordsmith and I bet he has the best looking knees in the world.  Had he been wearing his kilt in November when I met him, I would have checked them out!  Seumas, thank you for allowing me to share your words.  Now over to you...

…the name’s Gallacher… Seumas Gallacher… License to KILT…

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…there are some remarkable benefits to be had from merely being a Scotsman… the WURLD seems to have made its mind up about how we Scots look, behave and sound… closer to home in Caledonia, we may have a different view on some of that, but nonetheless, we are an unmistakable breed and distinctive brand… adopted Scot-by-film-osmosis, Aussie actor, Mel Gibson, has to take some of the more recent blame for the stereotype of Braveheart, stamped indelibly in the minds of million of cinemagoers across the planet… woad-painted-blue St Andrew’s Crosses on faces, marching to battle against… well… well, against emb’dy, really… I’ve worn my kilt for special occasions most of my adult life… whenever society events call for formal attire, and in some countries,  National Dress, the kilt is a standout couturial winner… recently I was honoured to attend  an American Women’s Association meeting here in the Middle East as a Guest Speaker, and I was particularly requested to, ‘please, please, please wear your kilt’!... it seems our cousins from across the pond have a ‘thang’ about men in kilts… turned out I spent as much time indulging requests for selfies’ as I did in the rest of the presentation put together… the strange thing is, whenever I wear the kilt, I never feel anything but properly, formally dressed… for me there is no ‘casual kiltie wear’… p’raps that’s why it sets its own standard of fashion… the inevitable question gets raised anywhere from twice to a coupla dozen times per events where I do wear it … ‘what’s worn under the kilt?’… the response ranges from the cliched ‘NUTHIN’s worn… it’s all in perfect WURKING order’ to more raunchy replies not suitable for this blog (I have some sensitive English followers to consider, Mabel)… I’ll leave yeez with this clip which may or may not put yer minds at rest… see yeez later… LUV YEEZ!
http://seumasgallacher.com/


Saturday 21 November 2015

NO BEER



Life is especially busy at the moment with birthday's and of course...ahem...writing. There are even a few friends that want to meet up. Given the amount of times I bemoan fate (it doesn't answer back) about how plain a life I lead; how lonely; how no-one remembers me; no-one's left a review of my book/s (there's seven); no-one calls...and then the phone goes...  

So, back to juggling life and writing.  In my world they do appear to be two separate things. I know I can multi-task but the writer in me likes to make everything quite a challenge.  Hence I become my own worst enemy.  

It was the birthday of someone very dear to me, (not cost-wise), and they happen to like beer.  I don't.
One of my life-long searches is to find the alcohol that I will actually enjoy the taste of.  I'm fortunate enough to have friends that let me taste their drinks.  The suspicious writer in me always checks that they've had a sip out of the glass first before I sample.  The 0 - 10 scale of how my taste buds have reacted is told  through the resultant grimace, shudder or occasionally worse.  Hopefully their kindness is in fact exactly that, because otherwise they could only be pampering me in order to laugh at my face pulling.  No...they wouldn't...would they?  Hmm...

Anyway, this particular friend is often trying to persuade me to buy beer and I adamantly declared that I never would.  Occasionally I make such declarations and come to regret them.  This was one of them.  Buying the beer, even making a gift of it would have been a dawdle, cheaper and less time consuming.  I came up with the idea of beer as the birthday theme.

Thursday 19 November 2015

THE MOST EXCELLENT WORLDWIDE BOOK TOUR #9: Meet author ELIZABETH HORTON-NEWTON

 
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Author Name:  Elizabeth Horton-Newton
Book Title:  “View From the Sixth Floor: An Oswald Tale” and “Riddle”
Genre and Sub-Genre: Romantic Thriller/Alternate History
Book Content Rating:  Adult (18+)  Based on language, violence, sexual content.

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Meet our charming author, ELIZABETH HORTON-NEWTON

About the Author:

Elizabeth Horton-Newton was born and raised in New York City. She began writing when she was a child, writing stories for friends and family. In the 4th grade at P.S. 151 in Manhattan she wrote an essay about her dream job- she wanted to be an author. While attending Hunter College High School she often cut classes to sneak off and work on writing her first novel, a love story about her favorite Beatle, Paul McCartney. It has long since been lost to time. Continuing to write short stories over the following years, she married, raised a family, divorced, set up housekeeping with her four children, and returned to school.

After attending Long Island University in Brooklyn, NY majoring in Media Arts and East Tennessee State University earning a degree in Interdisciplinary Studies with concentrations in Psychology and Sociology, she worked in the social work field for thirteen years. She currently lives in E. Tennessee with her husband, author Neil Newton, and a collection of rescued dogs and cats. Her first book "View From the Sixth Floor: An Oswald Tale" was published in October 2014; a love story that revolves around the assassination of President John Kennedy on Nov. 22, 1963 and the ensuing conspiracy theories.

​This was followed in June 2015 with the release of "Riddle" a romantic thriller about a Native American convicted of killing his high school girlfriend. Returning to his hometown he struggles to readjust to life in a town divided in its belief of his guilt or innocence. Suddenly accidents are happening and people are dying in the town and some eyes turn suspiciously toward Kort Erikson. She is currently at work on her third novel, "Stolen", a romantic thriller about kidnapping, gypsy crime families, and the Witness Protection Program. 

Friday 13 November 2015

FRIDAY 13th TRIES...


In this post I'm not even going to tell the truth about the types of 'lazyblogitis' I've suffered from.  For I doubt not that you're all going to be fairly cognisant of how it all goes.  There's always myriads of ideas waiting to burst forth like spring flowers.  That's in a couple of months by the way.  Almost decent, (I'm only speaking for me and my characters) sensible sentences formed these past weeks but like dreams in the night quickly hide from the light.

For the here and now – yummy lunch time – I have cooked a delightful dish.  To some it may appear somewhat green.  Never fear.  It ‘tasteth somewhat different to how it doth looketh.’  Or maybe it does.  My word versus the onlooker’s eyesight = a trip to some very fine buildings.



This is how I ‘magicked’ up the sensation on the plate: Peeled 1 medium onion and hacked it. It cried.  Not me.  I did something similar to an inch of ginger – sliced it with a sharp knife. The 3 cloves of garlic I made mincemeat of.  Then with the rapeseed oil bubbling I stood over them as they sizzled. I smiled cruelly at their steaming cries. Finally, deducing they were getting browned off, I threw in half a dealt-with fennel, 3 lots of chopped pak choi, 3 cracked-on-their-head eggs, 2 jaggedly cut carrots that had been sweet on me and stirred like crazy. Midway to resting my arms and wipe the forehead of the 'ladies glow' I poured in a tablespoon of Worcestershire sauce, darkly dangerous soy sauce and hot (I know how to handle it) chili pickle (confession: not my homemade).  Rested I took up the spoon once more.  Then, no way am I going to admit to having forgotten, I thrust in a third of a packet of kale. Apparently it’s really good for the insides.  As it’s my first time...(very shy admission), I'm not sitting in judgment.

Thursday 12 November 2015

THE MOST EXCELLENT WORLDWIDE BOOK TOUR #8: Meet author GLEN BARRERA


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Author Name:  Glen Barrera
Book Titles:  The Assassin Who Couldn’t Dance and A Capable and Wide Revenge
Genre and Sub-Genre: Thriller/Action
Book Content Rating:  Adult (18+) Language and Violenc


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About the Author
Glen, a former partner in a real estate appraisal company, who still takes appraisal assignments from time to time, now writes. Over the years he's edited a company newsletter, written short stories (one a contest winner) and poetry. It wasn't until he divorced a few years ago, however, that he finally found time to take a writing course while working on his first novel. The Assassin Who Couldn't Dance and a follow-up novel, A Capable and Wide Revenge (now available), were tutored by Michael Mirolla, a published Canadian writer.

​He is now working on a third novel with the working title, Sweet Peach. Glen grew up in Chicago, with college at Western Illinois University, College of DuPage and the University of Illinois, Chicago. He studied Isshinryu Karate for fourteen years, sailed for seven years out of Burnham Harbor, practices Tai Chi and plays classical guitar. A Chicago boy at heart, he now lives in a western suburb.

Thursday 22 October 2015

MOST EXCELLENT WORLDWIDE BOOK BLOG TOUR #5: Meet author MICHELLE MEDHAT

Meet author MICHELLE MEDHAT

10/12/2015
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Author Name:  Michelle Medhat

Book Titles:
Connected: The Call
Connected: The Shift

Connected: The Call and The Shift (Author’s Cut)

Genre and Sub-Genre: Spy, sci-fi, love story, thriller, political, fantasy

Book Content Rating:  Adult (18+) Based on language, violence, sexual content.


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Author Bio Michelle Medhat, BA (Hons) FRSA FIoD FIKE MCIM
Michelle Medhat has had an exciting career that spans over 26 years in technology, science, education and marketing. Currently, Michelle is Director of Operations and Strategic Development at NEF: The Innovation Institute, an educational charity and professional institute that she co-founded with her husband Professor Sam Medhat in 2004. The Institute has donated millions of pounds to the science, engineering and technology education sector, and has helped to improve the lives of over 500,000 people.

In her time, she has headed up an e-learning company, an events and media company and a management consultancy. She has even created (from scratch) an educational institutional overseas (in Dubai) with her husband based on the UK educational system. Over the years, Michelle has worked with clients from BBC, Channel 4, EDF Energy, GSK, Walkers, Whitbread, and the NHS. Michelle has always tried to stay ahead of her time.

​A case in point being, back in 1995 she orchestrated the first international conference in the UK on multimedia communications (MediaComm) when the Internet was at its infancy. Backed by leading media and press organisations (BBC, ITN, The Independent, Times Higher) and technology companies (IBM, BT, Philips), the event introduced the public then to an unknown technology called ‘entertainment on demand’.

Thursday 17 September 2015

MOST EXCELLENT WORLDWIDE BOOK TOUR #2



Author Name:  Claire Stibbe

Book Title:  The 9th Hour

Genre and Sub-Genre:  Crime, Psychological Thriller, mystery

Book Content Rating PG13

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Author BioOriginally from England, Claire lived in Hong Kong for three years before eventually finding a second home in New Mexico, USA. Her genres include Historical Fiction and Crime.

She has written two historical fiction novels, Chasing Pharaohs and The Fowler's Snare, both set in ancient Egypt during the 18th Dynasty. She has just completed a psychological thriller, The 9th Hour, the first of a detective series set in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and published by Crooked Cat Publishers in November 2015. She is currently working on the second in the series which will be published early 2016. She has also written short stories for Breakwater Harbor Books, a publisher of anthologies. The collection won Best Anthology of 2014 in the Independent Book Awards hosted by eFestival of Words.

THE MOST EXCELLENT WORLDWIDE BOOK BLOG TOUR



Trip#1 with SUZI ALBRACHT

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Author Name:  Suzi Albracht
Book Title:  Death Most Wicked
Genre and Sub-Genre: Horror, Thriller
Book Content Rating:  Adult (18+)  Language and Violence


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Author Bio: I love to write horror thrillers with intense personal relationships between characters. I started reading earlier in life than most of my friends and spent many hours hidden in closets and under beds, sneaking in just another ten minutes of whatever book I was reading. As soon as I was old enough, my mother would send me to the library to pick up books for her. This delighted me because it opened up a whole new world of books not available in school. 

I read everything I could get my hands on but was drawn to sci-fi, horror and thrillers. As I matured, I would say my main influences became Stephen King, Dean Koontz and William Faulkner. My writing definitely reflects those influences. I can honestly say my twitter bio describes me to a T - Write, scare myself, turn all the lights on, write some more. Take a break, play pool, kick butt/get butt kicked, go write more horror, double lock door.

Sunday 13 September 2015

Seasonal

Over the past fifteen or so years I have been regularly forced out into my garden. When I say its a big one, I'm not boasting.

Okay, that isn't it but...

I could say that on occasion, when I've been out there to mow, it has brought tears to my eyes.  Nope, not because I ran over the electric wire.  I found a temporary solution to that problem, again nope, its nothing to do with cows, goats or sheep.  Which still leaves several other options, but that isn't what this post is about.

In fact, my blog does say 'a writer's musings' and I have to stick to it.

I had decided to write about having been published in India for the 7th time and how fantastic it was when I heard.  Actually the feeling of euphoria hasn't diminished one iota since the first time in October last year.  That is probably why I continue to submit.  I find it amusing that my resultant 'high' always has me searching to get a similar fix from other publications, and then I do nothing.

C'est la vie.

During the last few weeks, along with writing for Indian Short Fiction magazine, ISF I've also managed to publish my novella, Devil's Crochet (which has already had its first 5* review), discovered how to turn another of my books into a paperback, and started the draft to a sequel.  There's been other writing related stuff going on too but they can go into my 'blogs for the future' treasure chest.  And that sentence is written with fingers crossed; there is no such wonderful container.  Everything is haphazardly left in 'safe' places and never seen again.

Tuesday 8 September 2015

200 Word Challenge

2014 was a year of challenges. I was published for the first time in India in ISF magazine, a little story I called Internet Cafe.  I went to India in November for the first time since coming here as a child and met the family, and we did some touring.  Incredible experience, especially meeting the family.  No, that isn't them.



In the Autumn I started editing a novel that was way overdue.  Plus I ventured into flash fiction.  I wanted to see how few words I, who likes to use a dozen words when less than half that would suffice, could be happy capturing a story in.  Starting with 500+ I kept tightening until I'd got down to 300.  From there my determinism kicked in.  It resulted in a collection which I called She Dreamed Of Flash Fiction.  All the stories were 200 words each.

This cynic discovered she loves writing flash fiction.  Below is one of the more experimental ones about popcorn.  It requires a deep breath.

Popcorn Maker


Writing incessantly day in and out to earn her pennies to feed the family, to keep the roof over their heads, because the bills came in higher than the estimates said, the only way she could keep going was to plug in the last remaining electric appliance that continued working, and it was her loyal, faithful popcorn maker, for which she gave thanks every day, despite the fact the corn had to remain flavourless as the ingredients to make it similar to commercial products were beyond her budget, so she had grown accustomed – as was wont to happen – though her taste buds still remembered and yearned for tastier times as the machine buzzed and whirled, then spat out its insides into the cone shaped white plastic, from where a few self-delusional, still escaped and jumped, bouncing from the worktop to the chair and then the floor, it mattered not, until one true escapee, had to have its moment and because it believed it was different and non-conformist, but not a leader, tried a different tactic by leaping out and high and straight, catching her in the eye, resulting in the Popcorn Maker being labelled non viable and taken away immediately.

The End

Friday 21 August 2015

To Eat Or Not To Eat?

I've just slipped away from a great virtual launch party, Mr Seumas Gallacher's, (where there is lots of food and drink), to be really good and do something not quite as virtual, but hopefully virtuous, as this.  My over-due blog.

As I'm a writer who loves to write stories, and invariably, almost always, from home, how can it (eating), be avoided?

I don't mean the usual type of sustenance sort of eating:

Or even the type where you're observing the rules:


Thursday 18 June 2015

Sciatica Your Honour...


Hand on heart my failure to blog, in part, has been due to sciatica.  I may have had it before, but clearly it must have been so horrendous, (wonderful word), that I erased it from my memory.  We all know about backache.  It's my very special friend (going to refer to it here as Jack) but it's a bugger (forgive my French).  I've known Jack for years.  I can even sense when Jack is nearby and contemplating not just visiting, but staying for a period.

Jack and I first met when I worked in Sheffield.  I hadn't quite liked the layout of my office.  After waiting (can't remember how many days went past) for male colleagues to help move a couple of items, I grew impatient and decided what the heck, blow health and safety.  Actually, I'm not sure it had as big an image in those days hence I've not headed it with capital letters.  Certainly don't remember the solicitors persistent advertisements that we're inundated with currently.

So I rearranged the office and was ecstatic.  Definitely easily pleased.

Not long after...
Doctor's orders...
The floor.

Spending time on ones back is not funny.  Especially when alone all day with no-one to bring sustenance.  Watching television wasn't possible, and this was prior to eReaders, (not that long ago thank you).  Some books don't look heavy at all.  But there is only so long that a paperback can be held in that position without getting some version of RSI.

Monday 6 April 2015

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.

Wednesday 1 April 2015

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.

Monday 23 March 2015

Where to lay the blame...Part 1

'Well hello stranger.'
'Oh, hi.'
'Fancy seeing you back here!'
'Erm, yes...'  Feelings of awkwardness expressed on the face.  Perhaps by fiddling with the hair etc...

All of the above is not just me talking to me.  It is life.  Moments like them happen every day.  For me, to be doing this today, I am experiencing a plethora of emotions.  Anxiety being one because there is so much to do today, such as the lawn to mow because the past few days have been dry and the clouds are gathering. Relief is another, because I am going through another decision making disorder; where to start the new novel.  All that aside, and referring back to the start of this post...if nothing is ever said to someone you haven't seen in a long time, and it is their fault, then why greet them at all?  If it matters, vocalise it.  Make it noticeable immediately in some way, otherwise the emotion will be absent.  It makes an impact.  Writing needs it.  Life needs it.

See above again.  Let us ditch the exclamation mark.  Whilst they're very useful, in my ever such humble opinion, so many writers saturate their writing with them. Children are allowed, but as adults...nope, just as there is no excuse for writing 'a lot' as 'alot', and 'thank you, as 'thankyou'.  Oops, grammar is not what this post is about.  Sorry. Moving on quickly...

I've never really thought about it but the word 'fancy' in the sentence means the speaker missed you...surely?

Was the last time I blogged really that long ago?  Doesn't time fly.  I love cliches but do try to avoid their usage by the narrators in my novels and short stories. However, out of the mouths of the characters it is a totally different kettle of fish.

So, where to lay the blame for my non activity on here?  Where do I start?  Hmm, first of all my trip to India actually, and finally happened.  It had been on the cards for years.  See below.  Yes, I took that picture!


Last November, 2014, the month when I try and join the millions on NaNoWriMo, I accompanied my mother and sister and went back to the country of my birth.  It was the first time since coming over to the UK in the 1960s, (a very, very, long time ago).  It's all right I still got a good few years left in me.  At least here's hoping because I've a lot of novels still to write.