About eighteen months after my book was published I was informed it contained a typo. Where it should have said reins it said reigns. Now, I'll not lie to you (how could I - and why would I want to?) - I was gutted. And embarrassed. I'd missed it - and not through being illiterate or sloppy. My book was not perfect. That editors had missed it too, and readers (as far as I'm aware) was no comfort. It really stung.

And I told people about it, I mentioned it to author friends of mine. And most of them said don't worry. It's fine. Lots of books have typos. And although it's not ideal, it's not something that should cause anyone to give up writing.

And their warmth and their words helped. (It's still something that irks me, but I'm over it.)

I received an email from a member of my writing group earlier. She'd had her first poem published and whoever had published it had made a mistake. It was formatted (cleverly) in a specific way and had ended up in the finished booklet wrong. Formatting out the window.

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I am delighted to be hosting the final leg of Elizabeth Baines' "Around the Edges of the World" Virtual Book Tour for her wonderful short story collection, Balancing on the Edge of the World (Salt Publishing, 2007) which is one of those books I had to force myself to put down just so the experience of reading it wouldn't end. I am sad that it did, but looking forward to reading Elizabeth's next book, her novel, Too Many Magpies, forthcoming from Salt later this year.

Much has been said already in praise of Elizabeth's writing, and I urge you to visit the other tour stops where Elizabeth illuminates the writing life and what that means for her, how she writes, what she writes, why she writes what she writes, which is not just short stories, but novels, radio and stage plays and more. She is also the author of two blogs, a personal blog, Elizabeth.Baines.blogspot.com and Fiction Bitch, which contains Elizabeth sharp and insightful take on the oft-perplexing and frustrating world of books and literature. Of course, I highly recommend buying Balancing on the Edge of the World.

So, a dribble interview, what does that mean? In the world of flash fiction, a "dribble" is a very short story of only 50 words (half a drabble!). Since I know how exhausting Virtual Book Tours can be, requiring an immense amount of thought on the part of the author on many questions, often deeply personal, I decided to give Elizabeth a break and require of her that her answers not exceed 50 words. She was, I believe, relieved!

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Current projects include re-establishing contact with the Duchess of York with regards to picking up the thread of an idea for a project we got close to a couple of years ago that never came to fruition. I am also trying to contact a number of celebrities with a view to asking them to read and comment on the Yucketypoo series so that they can be quoted on the cover of either the second or third book. I have somehow become involved with the Earl's Court Literature Festival which takes place in July (long story - tell you about that another time) and I am seeing new chances everywhere I look. All I need now is an agent - sadly that still eludes me and it is not through lack of trying. Eventually I will find one. And a website - which I am working on.

I am offering my services as a writer and critic to anyone that needs it. I am good at what I do.
Contact me. I'd love to help you turn your writing career around, too

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I stumbled across this in a 1924 edition of The Indianapolis Star, while looking for something completely unrelated (which turned out not to be much use anyway). Some things never change:


The Author’s Chances

There is a short story epidemic. All the world, it seems, is writing down its own experience, or those of father, mother, brother or neighbor. And those who have no experiences of their own are making them up out of clear blue air in an effort to break into print...



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I like to read a good book as many do, but I also like to watch a good film. However, a well-written and entertaining narrative does not necessarily translate into a good film.

It's always exciting when a new movie comes along, one which has begun its life in literary form. Standing in the box office queue, you wonder what the filmmakers have done to it, and will there be parts which veer considerably from the book? Will they present the characters in the same way you visualise them in your head? Or - crisis - will they butcher the whole thing and change the ending?


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Hello. My name is Sarah, and I am an addict – a writaholic.

They say there’s a genetic predisposition, but it wasn’t always like this. For twenty years I held down a ‘real’ job, was successful – was solvent – until the awful obsession kicked in. I can’t even blame the excesses of youth. At my age, I should have known better. But then, it was only a matter of time; a staving off of the inevitable.

I guess it began in a casual way, a little dabbling at the weekends. I really got off on inhaling the smell of a pristine, A5 lined notebook. But, writing in longhand – well, it’s so slow. I quickly found myself losing the thread. And the indecision, the procrastination – the hours spent choosing a character’s name!

I’ll never forget my first. Mr Dent, or was it Denton? Whatever – he combed his glossy dark hair, stepped out of his door in Belgravia – and then disappeared in a puff of smoke, because that story never progressed. But I did read, a few years ago, that Dent, or Denton, is the most common name plucked out of the ether by ‘aspiring writers’, and just how weird is that! Maybe it proves my grand theory regarding this addiction of writing – that there’s some ‘greater power’ sending out little poisoned pens to zoom in on any susceptible minds – a sort of literary Cupid, minor god of purple prose and hearts. And, if we get injected or ‘dented’, then we might as well face it, we’re hooked for life. No matter how strong the resolve to resist, the hunger keeps nagging and gnawing away; just a matter of fixing on the right prescription – which, in my case, was something with more oomph and speed. I went out and scored a computer.



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In February I attended a local writers' festival called Writers At The Convent. I generally avoid anything that has the possibility of involving nuns (with all due respect to the hundreds of nuns I'm sure read this blog - I am of course genuflecting as I type), but this was well worth the risk.

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When it’s taken in two years time, the 2011 Census will be the fifth in which I have a mention. It will also be the third one that I can actively remember and the second in which – if nothing changes between now and then – I’ll be listed as ‘head of household’. Scary thoughts.


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What a difference the weather makes. I'm feeling positively giddy. The sun is shining, the sky is powder-blue, the birds are tweeting (with the exception of a blackbird that flew into our window with a thud and is sitting blinking a lot and looking indignant on the lawn). I survived a two day work stint in London. Unforeseen side-effect of sending me on a training course about micro-filtration in aviation jet fuel? I write poetry. Yikes.

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I mentioned a little while ago that I’d just finished reading what could end up being my book of the year. It was the incredibly good, Black Boxes, a book that one of my favourite writers, Sarah Salway, described as ‘Heartbreaking... and very, very good’. Sarah Salway is not wrong.



So I’m delighted to be able to welcome Black Boxes’ author, the truly lovely Caroline Smailes to my blog, to chat a little.



So, Caroline, Black Boxes, who’s it for and what’s it about?

Who’s it for? I guess anyone who likes to read modern fiction, who is open minded, non-judgemental, flexible, who understands loss, who has ever felt like they don’t belong, who has suffered from bullying or postnatal depression, and anyone who has regrets.

What’s it about? Black Boxes tells the story of Ana Lewis, a 37 year old single mum who is struggling with depression. Right at the beginning of the novel, the reader learns that Ana has taken an overdose of pills and that she is dying. Black Boxes is the story of Ana, and of the children she neglects, of Pip and of Davie. My description makes it all sound a bit too depressing, but I do believe that there is a happily ever after within the story (in an unconventional way, of course).

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