Christmas Cake 2024 - testing, testing...

Well, I never thought I'd be back on here, but here I am. And very happy about it.

Erm, I have to own up to driving my daughter mad for a substantial amount of time to help me get on here, and finally she relented. Although, if I'd paid attention, thought logically, would I have been able to do it? Maybe...

Now let me tell a tale about my Christmas cake.

I used an old recipe but made a few tweaks, such as adding coconut. I fed the cake weekly with brandy for a couple of weeks and then put marzipan on it. After leaving it a few weeks, I finally iced it.

It looked good until we cut into it. It was moist, borderline wet.

What could I do given the cost of the ingredients and the effort of making it? Internet searches didn't help. So I got creative and forged ahead, just like writers do when we are cornered.

1. I halved the cake, took out a lot of the fruit and squished it down into a fresh cake tin.

2.  I cooked it at 160 degrees in my air fryer for about 8 mins.

3. It was crunchy and delicious.

4. We've nibbled it; eaten with yoghurt for breakfast;  had it accompany cups of tea and coffee.

5. Sadly it's now all gone!

Did your Christmas cakes turn out all right?    

Love-Hate Technology

Back in the day...

There used to be fog. I remember walking home from high school in thick dense fog. I used to have a little torch, barely a couple of inches in length and it hung on my key-ring that only had one front door key on it. I also remember my ever-watchful relatives ready to report to my parents if I was ever late home. Very strict. There were always consequences.

There used to be snow. Inches and inches of it. So beautiful. Heavy and crunchy and white. During the day if the sun was shining it hurt the eyes. And at night it had an other-worldliness that allowed me to imagine that I didn't live in that dark and dingy house.

The school encouraged most of us girls to learn to type. I didn't want to go and work in an office but it was going to be better than factory work so I obeyed. The old method was to follow the charts and once you put your fingers on the keys of the typewriters, there was an order to follow. Rote learning. It worked.

I became a touch typist. My speed increased and my accuracy improved. I got up to 60 words per minute. Not bad.

I remember tippex. The dry and the liquid. Need I say more?

Then came the word processors. OMG. I hated them and I loved them. As well as faster, my typing got sloppier. However printing, proofing and correcting was so much easier. I remember when I worked for the NHS.  The good-feel atmosphere of the office. The smoke that hurt the throat and the noisy clatter of the keyboards as the girls typed up page after page of policies or minutes of meetings.

For my first attempt at a novel I tapped away on an Amstrad. I loved the tidy look of those floppy disks. We had two boxes of them.

Yesterday I had to change names (there are certain literary rules to follow for good practice), for several characters in my not-out-yet ghost novel. Search and replace took no time at all. I love it.

How on earth did Charles Dickens, Charlotte Bronte, et al manage? I imagine them scribbling night after night, and admire them so much for persevering.

eBook To Paperback

The writer part of me is never happy unless I'm writing something new.

But when you are an author like me, who does everything from writing the book to its final publication, (except for the cover - I don't do the covers), it means much of the time, you can feel like you're not writing.

Recently I've spent over three weeks taking an eBook (a collection of short stories), published six years ago, to make it available in paperback. As I worked on it, I kept feeling that I was losing time. My friends tell me it is still writing. I know they're right and yet...

So to make me feel better, here's fresh writing. This blog is on my recent activity.

Manna For Heaven was published in 2014. A collection of 12 short stories. None of them are flash fiction, which I only started experimenting with in 2014 and therefore can be for another post :).

The cover was designed by someone on Fiverr. There are many designers on there and would recommend the site. Especially if like me, you have to watch your spending.

What I did find was that you never actually spend £5. For me it was always much more.

I liked this one very much. The hand drawn peacock was something I requested. But I soon came to dislike the font but six years down the line, I have become wiser on what I like and don't like about covers; so that's good.

This cover was designed by someone else on Fiverr. Again, I wanted something a little different to what others had out there, but I never used this. Until now. Thankfully I had this made both for eBook and paperback.

A few years ago, I downloaded templates from Createspace, (now KDP), and I still use those for my paperbacks.

1. I used the 5" x 8".
2. My eBook was in Word. Trying to put it into the template didn't work, it kept numbering each paragraph - stuff of nightmares. I couldn't understand what I was doing wrong and wasted loads of days. And then I had an epiphany! Er, not really. I just remembered Notepad.
3. I copied and pasted it into Notepad where it lost all its formatting. Then copying it from there, I pasted it into the template. It worked.
4.  Now I worked through the document. Inserted the title of the book on the left and right pages and the page numbers centre bottom. Then the main stuff. Went through the chapter heading and the body text etc. Paragraph by painful paragraph.
5. When all done, I logged into KDP, filled in the necessary information and uploaded both the MS as a PDF, and then the cover. Which was already in the PDF format.
6. I ordered a proof copy.
7. The feedback from KDP was that I had insufficient pages of text to suit the spine. Which meant I needed more stories.
8. I looked at the spine, and it was only just okay but I could see that it would benefit from a few more stories. Luckily I had some in published anthologies with other authors. So I added three more.
9. Another PDF done and uploaded. Another proof ordered. This one dearer than the first because of the increased pages.
10. Copy arrived, I went through it again - I'm amazed at how patient us writers are - and then went onto KDP and authorised the book to be available for publication/purchase.

The whole process, from start to finish took around three weeks. I've still to rework the eBook because the collection has extra stories in it.

Hearing back from readers who have really loved the characters, joined them in their adventures etc, is the most wonderful thing for a writer.  I am no different.

LOVE IN LOCK-DOWN

Hugs, touching another's hand whether it be cold, hot or sweaty, a kiss - I'm missing all that I'd taken for granted before. To those in similar situations, please accept a virtual love from me.

So...being of sound mind, I'm writing about my new love.

He's round, cuddly, makes a great noise when I turn him on, and he delivers! :)

If you're thinking what I'm thinking you're thinking...naughty!

It's my ARE2D2. I'm a Star Wars fan. Actually I love most things fantastical. Escapism has worked all my life for me and still does. I got my little fella from John Lewis with a voucher that paid towards half of him. I ordered him while my lovely friend Neill (who does a lot of my book covers for me), was here, (when it comes to trying new kitchen appliances I'm a bit of a chicken). With company to share the 'worry' in case it blew up (ridiculous, yes?!), we did sausages and bacon.

Delicious.

So my air fryer, that's right, it is a strange love, but because I live in a free country I'm allowed, I eat more healthily. I've not used grease at all. It's non-stick and comes clean very easily.

I also love it because it saves electricity by avoiding putting on the oven.The settings allow time and temperature adjustments. I usually start with a low heat setting than is recommended and then check and do for a bit longer.

 Plus there's no spatters to clean up because there's no frying involved.

I chose this model, it was just under £100, because it had a larger bowl than others I looked at. And the cuddly shape of course.

I've cooked breakfast stuff as mentioned in above paragraph, and chips and fish/fish fingers, pies, roasted vegetables, re-heated samosas, pakoras, (which are now delicious compared to the soggy or dried out versions I've had previously using microwave/oven). I've baked bread and cooked a few other items that I can't recall at the moment. This air fryer will also bake cakes but as I'm pre-diabetic I've avoided that for now.

My romance is getting stronger. Although it would be lovely to have a conversation with my ARE2D2, maybe it's better this way as he can't gaslight me. :)

Cheating With Willie

When is a promise really a promise? After all, a lie isn't a lie if you cross you fingers behind your back.

I'm likening this blog post to a white lie, because I agreed to blog every week. Today is the day and I'm short on time; I've not done my 1500 words on the draft novel; my walk was short; had lunch on the hoof; fewer brews; and you can't count telephone calls because they're like alcohol; you either love them or hate them. :)

So instead of a long chat, here's a little, (copy and paste) cheat.

Below is a flash fiction story published in the first Vicious Vignettes. These little stories are challenging, but I love writing them. The Willie Griffin story was so much fun. I love him and he now has a slot in every collection. This tale was reduced from 500 words to just over 200.

I liken these to making a yummy sauce; they get stronger.

Enjoy.

Another Day For Miss Flower

Starting the morning buoyed, holdups along the track, late train, no time to collect a snack, Miss Flower arrived in the school playground and scanned the building. At the last window she spotted the dour Head Teacher staring, glaring through the double glazing before snapping shut the blind.

However, having a good day, the administrative staff are much kinder with, ‘Good morning, Miss Flower. No Willie Griffin again. But Mr Davies is already searching the place.’ Nodding she’d heard them Miss Flower wondered whatever next because Willie’s mother could not be disturbed. Not after the last debacle.

Ready to be welcomed by 2BF with chaos and uproar, she was dumbfounded because they were reading and not clowning. She dumped her bag on top of their still-to-be-marked English Literature exercise books – it was one of the many piles littering the Victorian desk’s restricted surface. Normally stressed by mess, she wasn’t because her Teaching Assistant was returning from sick leave. By the end of the day, the clutter would be no more and there’d be a reprieve.

Hari Kumar spoke, ‘Willie Griffin’s missing, Miss.’

‘He’s in the library. Who wants to go tell Mr Davies?’ Logging into the computer she readies it for registration and hangs up her coat. She turns and smiles.

By the door was grim Mr Davies. ‘I’ve just told the Head,’ he said. ‘Willie Griffin’s jumped. He was at the window ledge, grinning. I lunged and grabbed and missed.’

Strange Seeds

I have a lot of interests including gardening. Since moving here, my seed collection has increased.

When I say my vegetable gardening, I mean, my attempts at it. I feel a real sense of satisfaction when the green foliage unfurls and shows itself. I can almost hear it say, 'hello'. Then, as with children, the hard work begins.

Last year I got patty pan squash seeds. In April, I planted six seeds. First only one came up. Only when I transplanted it to a bigger pot that I found another was showing signs of emerging and so I left it to continue.

Here they are.

Is it just me, or they are not related?

One is of the squash family but the other?

Any ideas welcome.

The Sequel To Seven Stops

This blog is being written specially for those who read my first novel, Seven Stops. My grateful thanks to you for doing so.

I started this for my Masters Degree in 2003, because part of the spec was a 60k word novel in as polished as condition as possible.

After the studying was over and I received my files back, (along with the lovely certificate which hangs on my wall), I read the comments the tutors made on my longest creative piece. Without doing anything with it/them, I continued to look at their notes for years, because I was bringing up kids, had jobs and other general life stuff to do, so the manuscript stayed as it was, stuffed in a drawer.

Finally, with loads of encouragement from friends and the children, the reworking began. I owe so much to their patience. Especially those who read and re-read my work in progress, with the finished piece very different to the original idea. The process from this point to publication, took over seven years. which seemed very appropriate and makes for an excellent talking point!

The artwork was done by my friend Tracy, and the special fonts by another close friend, Neill. I was delighted with both their interpretations of the book's content.

I have attempted writing the sequel Seven Stops many times, but every time, I got stuck. My mind was full of other novels/story ideas that kept driving me, taking precedence, (there's 10 out there on Amazon with a few in paperback, and the 11th, a ghost novel is ready for its synopsis), until, and the way I like to describe it; 'the characters tried getting me to listen to them to give them closure after I finished the book on 'hope', and now they were refusing to speak to me.'

However, it seems, left alone with only the gardening and solitary walks, they've taken pity on me. The result is Secret Steps. I have no idea about the cover but I love the title.

Today, I am almost half way into the first draft. The correct procedure for most of us writers upon finishing the raw piece, is to put it away for a few months and work on another project. My deadline is 20th May 2020 and on that day I aim to do this.

To my wonderful readers, I am forever grateful for your patience and ask for a little longer. I also welcome ideas for a cover because you know how the Seven Stops ended and the minds of the characters: Anna, Phil, Ashleigh and Lynsey Culpepper, Max and Alex Tearle, Meera and Jack Smith, Jay, Faith, Cassie, et al.

On their behalf, thank you :)

Milk Kefir - Probiotic

About five years ago a friend told me about Kefir.

'Did you say it's live?' I asked.

'It's good for your gut. Helps rid it of the bad bacteria and - '

I wasn't listening to her. 'But it's live. It could take over my whole body and literally eat me from the inside!'

She was calm and patient and kept a straight face. 'It'll help with your IBS.'

Regardless of her assurances, just imagine me doing that running away fast as my little legs will carry me with my arms flailing in the air.

Now? I am loving it. What changed my mind? I had to go see the doctor. I was tired, getting out of breath and my weight was going up and up. A blood test revealed that my cholesterol had rocketed etc, and Statins were mentioned. I requested time to think.

I did some research which involved going to see my good old friend, and I left hers armed with some water Kefir grains, as well as instructions on what to do with them. I put them in the fridge and did nothing for a week with them except open the fridge door, stare, and close it again.

Then I did more reading and watched loads of YouTube videos. That was how I got into Kefir. My friend to the left is what I had today.
I tried water kefir first. But I couldn't take to the taste unless I added fruit juice or other flavouring, which inevitably meant my sugar levels increased. In January 2020, I decided to try milk Kefir and bought some on-line from a safe website.

I am loving this stuff. Making it at home means it's cost effective; very important to me as I'm on a budget. It's healthy. I know this because my IBS has lessened as well as my cholesterol.

The little daffodil on the left has no relevance to Kefir, but was broken by the howling wind; so I probably terrified it by bringing it indoors and sticking it into a bottle.

I put the Kefir grains into a glass jar. Initially there were only about four and I thought the supplier had diddled me. I used full fat milk (blue top in my area), and filled it about half full. 24 hours later, the culture had fed and risen to the top of the jar and was ready. You can see the separation. Once you put it through either a stainless steel or plastic sieve, into a jug or similar container, put the grains that are left in the sieve, into either a fresh jar or the same (I reuse my jar around 5 times) and add the milk, so the cycle begins again.

The sieved liquid is ready to drink. To me it tastes a lot like yogurt. I tend to add a few grains of salt sometimes...yummy...don't tell the doctor.

If left longer, the above picture is of 48 hours later, it becomes thicker.

Last week I decided to try my hand at making cheese from the Kefir. I know you can use the Kefir water but I didn't. I carefully got rid of it so I could use the Kefir at its thickest. After retrieving the grains the usual way, I put the jar safely to one side.

I have found it handy to have more than one sieve and have learned a lot about getting the size of containers right :).

Placing the sieve over a jug, I lined it with a (untreated) coffee filter, and poured the mixture in. Folding the paper over, I put in a segment of satsuma for flavour, placed a small weight to increase the drainage and put the whole thing into the fridge to continue draining. 

This is my final result.

I've had it spread over toast, over crackers, and I've enjoyed it in a sandwich with ham and salad. It has a mild taste, very similar to fromage frais. Given how mild it is and I like it, I'm toying with the idea of having a go at making ice cream with it.

I'd welcome any tips.

Pre-diabetic And Still Want Cake

Until recently I used to find it difficult to name my favourite food but not now.

I love a Sunday roast with all the trimmings, including Yorkshire puddings. I love a sausage sandwich and a burger with lots of onions. I love Chinese food particularly noodles and I love pasta dishes, (when I was younger I wanted to marry a cook), and then I discovered Mills & Boon romances, and a chef on a white horse? No the image just didn't do it for me.

It wouldn't be right to not give a shout out to my mum. My taste buds tingle even now at the memory of her chicken curry. For a vegetarian, she always got it so aromatic and flavourful. Her curries and mine will be for another blog.

Now, if it was my very last meal (because I'd done a dastardly deed for real, not in my fiction), I would not choose anything savoury. Hoping the authorities wouldn't be 'tight' on me, I'd check/request that my plate, tray or table would be a supersize one, on to which my beloved would be ladled, spooned, or dished. So, a deep breath and starting with apple pie and custard, I'd continue with my list until told I'd gone beyond the prison's budget or just ordered to stop.

This I had in Knutsford a few weeks ago.
Apple Crumble with cream. Had it been with ice cream the sweetness would have done damage to several areas of one's, ahem, physique, one of which is the face.


This muffin with shop bought blackcurrent jam is just a sample (the picture was taken quickly because it kept nagging me to eat it), of a lovely friend's baking. Just like its brothers and sisters it was oh-my-actual...so yummy. I told myself I would share them but I ate four. As a result, I had spots galore.

This dessert I had recently at a pub in Newbury Park. Under all that syrup the apples were a perfect blend of sweet and tart.
Much as I felt guilty about not eating it all (I wasn't paying for the meal), my taste buds actually rejected it.

Wouldn't it be nice to eat all of the above without repercussions? I used to be able to with negligible weight gain. But now it is a dream.

I love our NHS and am very grateful for it. At the last annual maintenance on me, the tests showed my cholesterol and sugar levels were too high. I am now pre-diabetic and have to watch everything I eat and drink.

It's tough when you've a sweet tooth. Sugar in my tea, cakes with my tea, biscuits with or without tea, etcetera. Plus, when I am writing, I snack. Its as if my brain won't engage with my fingers unless my mouth is being rewarded!

After searching the internet and discussing my 'condition' to death, I'm currently experimenting 'mix and match' with artificial and natural products to sweeten my drink/food in order to meet my cravings.

See my Stevia plant? I'm loving its sweet leaves but when I soaked them in water...I couldn't stand the look or taste.

Natvia: I have to add about a quarter spoon of granulated Tate & Lyle to make it palatable. In fact it enhances the flavour of my morning coffee, but in tea I still find it 'not right'.
Xylitol: This I'm fine with but it does mean more trips to the bathroom, so it's being used sparingly.
Stevia Sweetners: These don't do it for me. The taste lingers on my tongue for ages.
Honey: I love this but it increases my sugar levels and so am only using it as a treat.

I can't resist fruit but am cutting down on it. I've tried coconut sugar too. It was very expensive and delicious with a sort of caramel taste, but one of the worst ones for someone with my diagnosis.

This is an incredibly delicious lemon cake that another friend who makes cakes the traditional way (without cutting back on anything), made for me. It doubled the rash on my face and so I was forced to find a kind soul to take it off my hands. My nice neighbour came to my aid :)



Another session with the diet nurse soon. Let's hope the levels are lower.

Writer Aspiring To Be A Gardener

When I downsized, I had a tick list of what I wanted. As a writer of fiction, I pretty much was able to conceive getting everything my heart desired.

One of my ‘I would like’ was to have a smallish garden. And in that garden I would grow pretty flowers, plants and vegetables.

It wasn't to be. What I have is a back garden that is mostly flagged, badly, and very ugly. The above picture is of somebody else's. 

Another 'I would like' was a solid raised bed (to bend over without wrecking my back), in which to grow lots of yummy, healthy vegetables easily. However, this is England and it does rain a lot. And because costs have to be contained, compromise is the only way I could have the cake and eat it too. A brick construction was too expensive, so I opted for a wooden one. The price for a ton of soil was an unpleasant surprise too, but I was already committed.

I planted onions, potatoes, garlic, salad, and turnips. The onions were beautiful. The seven potatoes I pushed into the soil produced a very pleasing amount for a beginner. The mixed salad leaves grew faster than I could eat them. The garlic disappeared and caterpillars stripped my turnips of their leaves.

Lots of sun, wind, rain and months passed, and finally it was time to harvest. So I got out there with alacrity and returned inside with similar speed.

Woe is me, why is my soil crawling with black flies? I asked aloud.

The answer wasn't quite, 'Fear not my child,' but near enough. My digging on the internet resulted in reassurances such as, I had nothing really to worry about but I could treat the problem, or let nature take its course. I chose the latter.

It is now Spring and I have noticed that my raised bed's planks are not as sturdy as before and it wobbles, probably due to the amount of water in the soil etcetera. I am not going to think about having to scoop and tidy away a ton of soil if the thing collapses.

I wonder what 2020 has in store for this amateur gardener and writer of creative fiction? More of my Vicious Vignettes for definite. There's three collections so far. I love writing those because they're fun and perfect for everyday life. Or maybe I should just run away? But I haven't a clue where to and of course that isn't the end of the story.

Things Fell Apart

Posting after a very long time.  It is hard to know how much to divulge so I'm going to keep it short and sweet. The last one, in September 2016, was a positive one on work being done on my house and how everything was oh-so-great. It turned out that I was living in cloud cuckoo land...

Suffice to say, the builders weren't the best. It turns out they had small print unseen by me. I made assumptions based on what they told me. I didn't ask for clarifications, references, recommendations etc. And to cap it all, every time I was asked for money, I handed it over with alacrity. Silly me. One day I woke up to the realisation that very little money remained from the quote compared with the amount of work still to do.

That's when, to use a cliche, things went pear shaped.

All-in-all, from the builders starting work in August and the legal parting of ways between us in March, it's been a horrible experience, with loads here remaining unfinished. Either because they just didn't do it, or what they did do, is hard to fix/make good.

I was fortunate enough to find a great joiner. He is constantly in demand and I'm at present waiting for a free slot from him. There are jobs inside and outside that weren't finished by the builders. A few that I've asked him to do the next time he comes are skirting boards and architraves. The outside ones such as sealing gaps between walls, I'm going to try and tackle. All I need is "a small aubergine"... I love Goodness Gracious Me. Actually there will be a step ladder involved too!

They say Karma is real. I don't want to wish bad things on anyone. Neither do I want the bad people to continue getting off without repercussions. I believe in Karma. Perhaps in putting out this post will free me to continue writing creatively and the daily procrastinating will come to an end.

The Manner/Manor To Which We Become Accustomed

When I was little, (I'm not especially tall now), I aspired to being a good wife to the husband my parents would find me, become independent of them, have a really lovely house, and around five children. It was the typical dream for Indian females of my era. I believe, for many it still is their future, even those achieving excellence in academia.

Arriving in England, having no extended family, even though I wasn't cognisant of it, my mindset was changing. Starting infant school I was fortunate to be 'adopted' by a couple of older girls who lived a few hundred yards from me. As I learned English, I read. The more I read, the more I knew I wasn't like the other Asian children.

Anyway, I grew up. I married. I disappointed my parents. And got on with my very strange life; a mix of British and Asian. English is my first language and Punjabi my second. With my feet firmly planted in two cultures, I feel very privileged.

My last house was big, with an even bigger garden. The house that I've moved into a few months ago is less than half its size. I haven't been able to call it home; not yet.

There's a lot of work going on here. Some I can do myself and have been doing, but the larger projects are paid for others to do. The bathroom is very oddly shaped. Tiny too.  It had to be plastered and tiled and a new suite put in. Had my dad still been alive, it would have been fun trying to do it with his help.

However I did peel off wallpaper and ceiling stuff and used a hammer and chisel thingy to get the cupboard that used to house the immersion tank, out.

Hopefully by Saturday, the roof will be on the extension and the rain not washing the floor tiles, and then by the end of next week...

The very important thing is that I like the workmen that are doing the work. I know I'm qualified as a communicator but I'm also very easy to get on with. But just like life, love and friendships, it is a two-way street.

I'm going to be happy when the work is over and the guys are all gone, however, when the work is done and the house finished, I'm going to miss them all.

All I Want Is Cake

Birthday time.

Last year, same as the last few, I asked for gift ideas. The reply was a reasonable sort of all I want is a cake...

It's never quite as simple as that.

After hours had been spent researching favourites on-line, such as music, films and fashion, I decided that for this 21st birthday, it had to be more than just memory building. So it had to be all three. Preferably homemade.

Aladdin is the film for my little princess. So it would have to be Jasmin's palace. There's a lot of information out there. Did I have grief in planning etc? Well, imagine giving birth :). I remember nothing.

She wanted a chocolate cake because she hates icing coated cakes. So my usual covering and decorating with fondant was out.

I made two cakes; a palace needs size and height. A Madeira (it's firmer) for the base because it had a lot of weight to hold and for the top, my normal sponge that I knew everybody loved.

During the decorating I encountered the usual sort of problems to deal with, such as leveling.  Otherwise everything proceeded smoothly until I tried making the pillars. Neither the sponge or the Madeira wanted to be manipulated.  They had to be small, yet big enough to hold the (chocolate-coated xmas baubles) minarets. I tried baking in egg cups but they refused to come out. Shaving bits off? Nope, the stuff crumbled. 

Becoming frustrated I admitted defeat and decided to make do with the most reasonable ones. As I spread the chocolate ganache, I may have eaten a bit here and there. Towards the end I used tooth picks etc to not only position but also hold the pillars up. 

From start to finish, including taking the cake down to London, took around four days. Disclaimer; my memory isn't brilliant so it could have been more.

The fun part was eating the left over carpet. While I'd like to say I made the figurines, I reckon the truth would out.

Those of you who know me, know that I'm a great exponent of the old ways. Cards made by hand, clicking those knitting needles, looping and twisting cottons and wool with one hook etc.  Things that use up time, to me are very meaningful. After all, what is the most valuable thing you can give anybody? It shows that you care.

It was worth spending weeks on this cardigan for her. I can only crochet but am hoping to learn to knit. The look on her face said it all. Plus the gratifying 'you made this?' And 'Will you make one for...?' from others was rather reassuring.

We took her to see The Lion King and she loved it. I enjoyed it. She wants to see it again this year. I don't. Hm...

It's just a matter of weeks before birthday time and I have no clue on what to do!

Am I Early?

Come on...this is me and the likelihood of my blogging early is like...well, like knowing I've been misbehaving and still believing Father Christmas is going to leave me a fantastic present.

'What was that you said?  He doesn't - surely not!' (I'm being very careful not to overdo the exclamation marks. Apparently women and children do. Yes, I know what my gender is, but I actually find that spotting one per page is more than enough).

The work on the house is progressing. Yippee. That could be misconstrued but I'm not being sarcastic. And, even better, a few weeks back I even managed to upload Vicious Vignettes, my ninth book.

'Yes siree, it feels mighty fine to me.'

I started work on it many moons ago when wondering whether anyone would ever come along to buy my house. Originally a collection of flash fiction, it was going to be the sequel to She Dreamed Of Flash Fiction, with every story only 200 words. However, somehow, as I edited some of them started to rhyme. This was a tad baffling. I've always cringed at the thought of writing poetry and whenever I did, I kept my head down and mumbled as I read it aloud. The other side of the coin is that I love reading it, often the same ones over and over. But writing?

'Nope...not me, gov'nor.'

In this anthology, being mean about life, people etc wasn't what the intention was. It just happened, leaving me with no choice other than to change the book's cover and the title.

'Anyways...hope someone out there will like them.'

I am going to stop now because my tub of delicious jalapeno houmous is empty. So it's bye for now.

NEW HOME

I'm here. I'm in.

I've been here and in this house for almost three months.

Can't make any comments on whether it feels like home. Which means it doesn't. Hopefully once I've got a bathroom, kitchen, perhaps even a television? I'm doing plenty of d.i.y. but not as fast as I'd like. I get very annoyed at myself when the day has run out and jobs that in the old days I would have finished, I no longer can.

As to external help, there has been some from a few family members and some friends and I am very, very grateful to them. Their company has kept me sane and that has to be good for everyone. Yes?

Different house can be awfully lonely.

Getting quotes for work is like... I can't use the language appropriate to describing how I feel. After all, this blog is not adult rated :)

Bye for now. 

MOVING HOUSE STRESS AND TRYING TO BE LOGICAL

It would be nice to be writing about writing as usual.  Or even about my delayed post on losing virginity.  However, life has a way of mocking.

Compared to the nail biting stuff connected to lack of sales of my books, the house selling and buying stuff is enough to make one turn in ones grave.  Or make one end up in it if it weren't for a loving family and the listening ears of a good few friends.  If you're about to embark on this little travel, you need patience, beverages, lots of paper to make notes, (obviously somewhere to put them where they'll be easily seen), and the ability to not panic.  Erm, as to certain types of medicinal comforting, I'm lucky.  The alcohol will be as a last resort.

I'd put my house up for sale almost two years ago and around Christmas, a year and half later I decided to do without the stress of waiting for the telephone for to ring and keeping it tidy for 'possible' viewings. It was wonderful and for a few weeks I was relaxed and happy.  But nothing great ever really lasts.  That doesn't mean I'm giving up hope.  Never surrender - that's me.  At least not for too long.

Early February-ish I had a knock on the door.  I recognised the couple.  They'd viewed my house last year.  They asked if I'd sold.  A brief explanation and I directed them to the estate agent.  The following week they came to view, during which I was asked about my moving out situation.  I said I could rent.  As we all know, the spoken word can be so easy.  Easy?  As if!  Not long after they made me an offer.  It was definitely one I could refuse.  It was abysmally low.  As it turns out, that's the way the system works up North.  By about another week we'd agreed on a price.  I reckoned they were the ones with the smiles on their faces, but, oh, well.

Papers started coming in.  Legal, scary stuff.  Then I found out that they want to complete the buying before the end of March, because last year the Chancellor had announced a £9k excess for certain types of home buyers.  I'd figured, based on my family commitments, that end of May was the perfect evacuation time. I said as much on the documents that I sent back to the solicitors.  The buyers reply was to point out that I'd said I could move any time and would rent.

DETAILS DELIGHT - WARNING: ADULT CONTENT

Or as they say, the devil's in the detail.

This is the first 'Hello' from me not just for 2016 but for any of my blog posts.  At least that's what I think.  I may have mentioned my memory and its decline before, (considerably faster when I'm not testing my brain on a regular basis), and certainly I’ve noticed particular incidences in recent months.  As well as finding myself in front of the fridge and wondering why, nowadays I assure friends I’ll send important information or do something and forget!

Oh well.  Yin and Yang.  Pain and pleasure.  The positive side to it is that my friends are communicating with me more.  It's a two-way street that requires trust, honesty, a code to be followed and where each gives.  Relationships.

Similar to foreplay being crucial to a satisfying outcome for both participants, a writer should deliver on the writing.  Often the promotional media blurb promises so much and delivers little.  Is it not the same as telling the lover/partner how you’re going to ignite their fire to orgasmic fulfillment later, but instead when together all they’re given is a little kiss prior to falling asleep?

Writers - readers buy the books because they’ve been seduced/teased but once they start reading, will their stirred imaginations juices run?

Readers - sometimes writers struggle.  It's as if the plot, the characters, the research, all the tools are sharpened and ready to go, but they’re behind a locked door and the key is lost.  But you can help because in your safe keeping is the spare key.  It's name is feedback/review/praise.

Despite the output achieved for 2014 and 2015, it was low compared to what I’d planned.  No matter how I and my friends chivvied, I considered my efforts a failure.  This past week I’ve been proofreading another of my paperbacks, Devil’s Crochet.  I’m glad I have. Sight is wonderful and looking upon the ‘hind’ of a beloved is wonderful too.  Therefore, hindsight can be very uplifting.  :)

The Yule log here isn’t quite finished.  One knows it’ll taste yummy.  It’s homemade, cream-filled chocolate sponge cake, carefully rolled into a Swiss roll; an annual treat.  The brain’s receptors fire from remembered pleasure, but then...nothing. 

 

The fine sprinkling of white icing sugar contrasts with the dark of the chocolate, and therefore stimulates the senses and makes the mouth water.  Not only does it light the fuse but you know the promise of explosion and then delicious contentment is on its way.

As they say, ultimately it’s not about having the equipment, or the size of it that matters but knowing what to do with it.  If you had the idea and wrote the book, don’t just flaunt it.  Improve it.  Make sure it will deliver what you, the author, promised.  Unless of course, you’re up there with the classic greats such as Virginia Wolf, Jane Austen, Isaac Asimov or Oscar Wilde, in which case go ahead and whip it out.

Welcome to my 2016.  Full of promise?

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

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?’

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.