I am always itching to get back to writing after any holiday and this half term is no exception.


I have never been one of those writers who sit staring at a wall for long stretches of time. But sometimes I wonder if the sense of achievement they feel at the conclusion of a book is greater than mine. Is it all the more satisfying to metaphorically lay their pen down after a hard and ferocious struggle to compose their thoughts into words? Or do they feel exactly the same as I do?


The reason that this is on my mind is twofold. Firstly, the fourth Volume of The Owners will be released imminently. And secondly - when the kids do go back to school I have to write the ending to The Decision and then begin the long editing process [and this one requires an extensive edit] but it is the final home stretch.


The finessing of a work is not as difficult as visualising the concept in the first place or transposing those thoughts and ideas into words that other people can relate to...it is merely the gloss put on afterwards.


And when it is finished? What will I feel?


There is a strange sadness that accompanies the ending of any book. The author has to say goodbye and good luck to the characters and like a mother, stand back and watch them rise to the surface or fall flat on their face.


And there is a heartbreak in there too.


But most of all, like a fickle lover, there is a desire to move on to the next book, the next concept, the next set of new characters...


I'll keep you informed of my progress.  :)

A reminder

Just to remind you about my book trailer videos.

Here is the very first one,

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zrCQumMKD0s

This is what I put as my Facebook status this morning :-

First day of the school hols and I'm up with the larks...got a courier, a broken oven, a broken washing machine, a filthy house, a load of paperwork to fill in and file, 3 children, 2 dogs and a pigeon to sort out...did I mention it was the start of the summer hols???

Now let me explain...yesterday was an absolute nightmare of a day.

I had woken early, jumped out of bed and woken the kids for their last day of school for this academic year. Knowing that it was due to be a busy day, I got the breakfasts sorted, the lunchbags sorted and then myself showered.

Racing against the clock, I pulled clothes over me as I dashed downstairs only to find the kids still enjoying a leisurely breakfast.
Shocked, the conversation went a little like this:-


"What are you doing? It's quarter to nine!" I whispered, still unable to talk properly due to my tonsillectomy.

"No, mum, it's quarter to eight! You got us all up an hour early!" I was told emphatically and rather irately!!

And do you know what? They were absolutely right. So instead of just accepting this and cooling down, I then proceeded to clean all four bathrooms and arrange a courier for some books I had sold. I also phoned the washing repair man who seems to have either died before completing the job of repairing my machine, or alternatively has been eaten by sharks...because it's been a week since his last visit and still no sign of him returning.

Then [at the correct time], I took my youngest child to her leavers' assembly and sat and watched their teary performance. After this I walked my dogs and met with a group of mothers in town who were going to celebrate their children leaving first school.

Hungrily I watched them devour huge platefuls of appetising food, unable to participate due to my very recent tonsillectomy. I consoled myself with the thought that I had to leave early to collect child no. 1 from his school to attend an orthodontics appointment.

So a mere hour after sitting with the mums, I was back in the car, on route to the school once more. And what greeted me when I arrived? A truculent teenage who informed me that he was not happy to be missing the last hour and a half of school!

Annoyed now, I escorted him to the dentist where they took moulds of his teeth and raced him back to school for the final 40 minutes.

Then, passing the group of mums who were just heading back, relaxed and jolly, I set off to the next school to pick up the daughter who was finishing school that day.

At least she was pleased to see me.

We came home. Buoyed by her youthful exuberance and high spirits, I thought we would have a celebratory tea of spare ribs [I was hoping I could suck the meat off and bypass it into my throat with a lot of liquid libation] chips and chicken wings.

An hour and a half later, when the food was mildly warm but still raw, I knew there was something wrong. The oven had died. either in empathy with the washing machine or completely independently, it had lost the will to live.

It was then I went completely insane. Flinging  cooking utensils to the left, right and centre of myself, I hunted for alternative methods of cooking the foods I had promised to the kids.

Now at this juncture, most sane people would have said, 'ok, lets get a take away'. But you see, dear readers, that is where I differ from pretty much everyone else in the universe.

Like it was a personal affront to my dignity to throw away this food, I took it as a challenge that I would not be beaten over.

Throwing the chips into a wok, I proceeded to burn them into charred remnants of what they once were, whilst I undercooked [yet also managed to burn] the ribs and wings in an electric frying pan.

Thinking that it would be a good idea to make an adventure of the situation, I then [unwisely as it turned out] put all the food on a sharing platter and a whole two tins of beans in a large bowl for the kids to help themselves.

What a mistake to make! In between arguing over who got which charred rib and how many chips they each loaded onto their plates, the kids complained that this was how cowboys ate and why had I made so much washing up for myself [oops forgot to say that the dishwasher broke a few months ago too].

After the squabbling had ended and I had cleared up, I was so wound up that I decided to take my frustration out on the oven itself.

Watching me trying to heave it from its cabinet, the coolly delivered "you might want to take the screws out first" from my eldest, did not really help. Head aching and the place where my tonsils used to hang out, burning in my throat, I wrestled with the oven, trying to get it out so that I could measure its dimensions for a new one. It was at this point that I accidently yanked the oven door right off, causing me to stagger backward with the weight of it in my hands.

The pigeon watched me from the safety of it's cage as if it were I who was some rare and endangered species of bird, beedy eyes alert and if I'm not mistaken, filled with humour at my situation.

It was at this precise moment in time that the middle child came and told me that the upstairs toilet was now broken.  As I strode upstairs, summer dress flowing behind me, covered in grease, grime and sweat to repair/ make worse that situation, one thing occurred to me...I left home at eighteen and since then I have lived only ten years with a man in the house...and I still don't know how to fix one damned thing!

So that's why this morning my Facebook status read as it did.

You are probably not as relieved as I am that as I write this blog at one pm, there is a man booked to come fix [I hope] the oven, the washing machine man has been located alive and well and will be back next week and I have vacuumed and tidied the house [oh and the courier has been]...did I tell you it was the first day of the summer hols...?

Happy holidays folks!

 

Prometheus viewed finally!

Prometheus viewed finally!

I has taken me a while to see this film and I was very excited about finally getting to watch it last night.

Having viewed the trailers on tv and the general hype for a while, I was expecting fantastic special effects and sets that looked both realistic and eerie and that was exactly what I got.

Now I am not qualified to write a film review, nor would I be particularly interested in couching my words in pseudo-psychological or technical terms; neither of these interest me, nor do they lend themselves to easy reading. All I intend to do here therefore, is give you a little insight into my opinion on the matter.

I like sci-fi [that's clearly a given, taken the fact that so far I have composed 5 books in that genre]  and although I do not write space operas, I do like to read and watch them. But having now seen this film, which is in effect a prelude to Alien, I am a tad underwhelmed by the formulaic progression of the storyline.

In all of the films, we have a rogue android, mass explosions of the aliens from human hosts and without wishing to compromise the ending for those who have not seen it [look away now, if that is the case], a sole female survivor... with of course a sole alien survivor just waiting in the wings for another crack of the whip.

That said, I did thoroughly enjoy the film; the sets and SFX were fantastical and eye-wateringly realistic at one and the same time and the acting was good and more importantly believable.

I rooted for the heroine, jumped with fear and shock when I was supposed to, I felt her loss and her pain and was heartened by her unique courage.

All good...forgive me then that I wanted the storyline to be a little more unique and little more soulful and insightful into where it blundered towards ideas of creation and the meaning  of life...it was after all, just a film. Made to be enjoyed and not to encourage philosophical ponderings.

But perhaps that's the author in me...

So I will leave you with one final thought...why is it that as a species we hanker after this idea of creation? Why do we want so fervently to discover who or what made us? Is it because we have done such a good job of looking after the planet and each other?

I think not....must be for some other reason then, I guess.

Maybe we all should try to fix what we have in front of us before looking to the stars for answers, because then and only then, might we actually have something to be proud about, if we really did meet our makers. 

[P.S. This view is entirely my own and does not subscribe to any formal religious or non-religious doctrines  ;)  ]

Sex Education. Please!

I have just had a really funny conversation with my children who are 8, 10 and 13 respectively. They are all receiving sex education at school as per the National Curriculum and as a sensible, forward-thinking mother, I encourage them to discuss anything which concerns them, or which they feel may need more clarification.

It was for this reason that the following conversation took place.

Daughter : "Why would a boy want to have sex with you if he is having a baby with someone else? 'Cos he's already having a baby!"

Me : "It's not the baby that interests him!"

Daughter "OH!"

Eldest son : "Yes and anyway you don't want to have sex with anyone 'cos then you can get STDs and catch HERMES!"

Me : "Actually no! Hermes is a company who deliver parcels...I think you'll find you mean HERPES!"

Enough said!

Now you may be wondering why I am sharing this funny anecdote with you. So I shall tell you - Britain has one of the highest teenage sex rates and highest unwanted pregnancy rates worldwide. It is neither fashionable nor acceptable but it is true.

So talk with your kids and find out where they are at ...you might just live to NOT regret it.  And you might even learn where unwanted parcels come from... x

My Big Night Out

Now forgive me if this sounds strange to you but I have always hankered after the life I could have had if I had lived abroad...warm beaches, soft balmy evenings, days spent by the pool and nights out enjoying myself with my family.

And then yesterday, we got that life.

For one day only, I was rewarded with my dream. The sun shone in the sky, as the children and I looked around some market stalls in the morning, before going swimming in the afternoon. [Ok so the pool was indoors in a leisure complex but I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth or pick at details!]

After that we had a nice tea and a little siesta before getting ready and heading out to...a local social club [ta-da!] for a spot of entertainment.

I had never been to this particular place before but was very impressed, not least by the warm and friendly atmosphere and the amount of families with other children present.

More to the point, my own children were animated, chatting and laughing and completely fine about missing the electrical equipment they are so often connected to [playstations, ds consoles, tvs and dvds].

We had a fantastic time. The drink prices were not overinflated, the kids had crisps and squash and I had a solitary glass of wine ...and we danced and had fun. So much so, that I almost had to drag my daughter off the dance floor, where she was insisting that I teach her some Ceroc moves [much to the amusement of my son].

The entertainment was reasonable [the song list was a little dated perhaps but certainly danceable to] and the venue clean and roomy.

But all this is missing the point. It gave me something that I thought only the lure of overseas could ever provide...it gave me my children, fully engaging in doing things together as a family, without worrying who was watching us makes fools of ourselves.

As my Grandmother used to say "you are a long time dead!" She was right. We all get so caught up in the mundane elements of life, the chores that have to be done, the endless lists of things waiting to be attended to...

Well I have made an executive decision now. Those lists can wait just a little longer...and if a couple more things get added in the process, so be it.

Life is for the living. x