It's my turn now to step back to the other side of the microphone, as it were, to host wonderful writer, blogger (on two blogs), fellow Salt author and friend, Elizabeth Baines, author of the stunning short story collection, Balancing on the Edge of the World, on this blog on March 18th, the final stop on her virtual tour, which kicks off today at Barbara's Bleeuugh!. It is well worth the visit, as Barbara has whipped up a Roman feast for the occasion, inspiring Elizabeth to tell us about her writing process, as well as what it is like to eat stuffed dormice (only virtually!)

Here is a bit more about Elizabeth:

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Time, in writing a novel, has two aspects. Obviously there's the time the story takes place in, both the 'real' time of a scene with full(-ish) dialogue and action, and the gaps which the narrative either skims through ("winter passed eventually, and with the spring came...") or jumps altogether. But there's also the time it takes to read the thing. How often the middle of a book seems to drag; but is that the writing, or the events, or our attention? One reason I prefer to read the novels I do reports on in a long, single sitting, is that I get a much better sense of the actual proportions of the parts to the whole. If, perforce, I have to read it in two or more chunks because I can't find a long, whole day this side of Easter and the report's due next week, my sense of how long it is since the Y scene may be quite distorted. When I'm working on the report I'll find my note saying "Too long between X and Y - tension drops" and look at the MS, reading again across that gap, and find that it's not too long at all.

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Anyone who has tried to fit writing around full-time parenting of pre-schoolers will know that feeling of craving 'just five more minutes' to finish a sentence, or to seal the deal on a new plot twist you've been mind-coddling while grilling the fish fingers. It's all very well to suggest that writing comes post-bedtime, but after a full-on day of tidying up tiny bits of Lego, changing nappies, making nutritious meals for fuss-pots, explaining Evolution in terms a four-year-old can grasp, shouting "Don't do that to your brother!" thirty-three times...etcetera, it's not uncommon to find that The Muse has put on its pyjamas and turned in as well...

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It’s an area redolent with the notion of the ‘English gentleman’, and shops which provide the accessories, from fine wines to country house clothes. Woolworths may go to the wall, but here it’s Floreat Asser and Turnbull.


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Christmas is finally over and the kids are back at school. I managed to get to my gym yesterday and a good pounding on the punch bag did me the world of good, leaving me refreshed and ready to take on the world... Well almost. I wonder, in today's society, what is classed as a 'dangerous' person? 2009 should be an excellent year for me but I have managed to recruit one of these who's main purpose in life seems to be destroying mine - or at least making it as miserable as possible. On a lighter note I think I have finally plucked up the courage to have a tattoo. I shake at the thought but in two days I am visiting the tattooist to discuss a simple and dainty daisy chain for around my right wrist. Am I mad? Probably and at 37 years old I am still worried about what my dad will say when he sees it!

I am not very well. It's been several weeks of virtual hibernation, not really going out of the house because that raises anxiety levels. It's a combination of stress and hormonal imbalance, and I am now taking stuff and seeing people who are helping, as well as helping myself by laying off the coffee (shame) and sugar (hmm...chocolate?) and, well, not doing very much. I haven't felt well enough to concentrate on any writing, although stories are forming themselves in my head so I hope something might emerge soon, but I have, as always, been reading. So, here are a few recommendations for some wonderful sources of lit I have been enjoying:

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The cat is finally out of the bag, and the news that I have had to sit on for some time now has been officially released: Changeling is one of eight books to have made it onto this year's Waterstone's Children's Book Prize shortlist.




The other books on the list are:


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Here’s an image that took me by surprise - never seen gold bin bags before - or since. I took the photo in the summer so it’s not a Christmas thing, but it got me thinking … if it does the same to you, I’d love you to share …

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When I tell people I work from home and then – reluctantly, because I know what’s coming next, add that actually I’m a writer - the response is always the same. How do you get motivated when you haven’t got anyone standing over you and telling you what to do?
(By the way, what’s coming next is inevitably a) Are you famous? b) How much money do you make? and c) I’ve often thought about writing a novel myself, you know. To which the only reply is one as pithy as Beryl Bainbridge’s to the brain surgeon who remarked on his own literary ambitions once he’d laid down his scalpel for the last time. Really? she said. Actually, I’m thinking of becoming a brain surgeon when I retire. )
Will my interrogators really only do their jobs if someone’s standing over them? Hard to imagine. Unless they’re employed to hew coal for twelve hours a day by an unscrupulous flint-face miser whose only concern is the comfort and prosperity of himself and his horse-faced wife and daughters. Or forced to dig up turnips, gut fish or wash scummy dishes in a restaurant till well into the night?


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