The grandchildren are at that in-between age for pantomime, when they think it's for 'kids' , so I was resigned to 'Madagascar 2' and a meal at Nando’s for their annual Christmas outing.

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There is a funny atmosphere in the office today; the tree is wonky, the lights on it are broken and the fairy is hanging by its neck. Our attempt at cheering things up in our department failed miserably as the lights blew up and singed the few Christmas cards that we did have, and my festive plant has collapsed on my desk - I am not sure why. perhaps we are all still tired from Friday's festivities... I happen to mention this in passing in the ladies toilets only to be told that it is probably due to the fact that a guy from the sales team tried to strangle one of our managers during the Secret Santa giving. A little disappointed with his gift perhaps? - Socks, again? Or perhaps he is just tired of Christmas...



The saga continues...

I have organised a book signing two months after my novel’s release primarily for my own amusement. On a whim I called my home town Dartford’s only local bookshop and the owner, Graham, said Yes immediately. I could almost hear him shrugging over the phone.

“I’m not expecting a great deal of people,” I warned him.

“I shouldn’t hire extra security then?” he said. I like him...

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Father Christmas came today (looking suspiciously like my slightly dishevelled-looking postman) and delivered the best present that I could have wished for (and early too!).


Now I know that you're not supposed to open your pressies early, but I'd been given the heads-up that this was coming, and told to open it when it did.


My hands were shaking as I unwrapped the gold-and-silver paper that the lovely people at Macmillan had so carefully packaged the contents in, and as I pulled the paper apart...there it was.


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Yesterday I went to the end-of-term meeting of U3A writers’ workshop and was delighted to hear our anthology had raised £120 for the charity MIND.


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Having a links page on your website can sometimes be a bit of a pain...


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friend asked this, this morning:

Just read elsewhere someone say: "Like all 'creative' people, we need other people to validate us." And I wondered about this, and whether publication is the only, or ultimate, validation of a piece of work? And do all creative people need other people's validation? And if so, why?

and I've realised it's not as simple a question as you'd think. There's a lot of talk about believing in yourself, at the 'motivational' end of the Creative Writing word (I usually enjoy language change, but isn't 'motivational' a beastly word? Almost as awful as 'inspirational'. Whatever happened to 'motivating' and 'inspiring' - the humble, necessary verbal noun which used to be called, much more confusingly, a gerund? Sorry. Where was I?) Believing in yourself implies that you don't rely on others to tell you if you can and should do something, which is hard to do when so much of the social and educational world has so much invested in 'success', which entails not daring to try things which might fail, from the librarian who won't let you take out books which are 'too difficult' to the writing teacher who tells you to stick to a single point-of-view. So of course it's important to develop that self-belief, as a necessary step for anyone who wants to move any distance beyond the life they were brought up in.

Only of course the need for validation, if you want to call it that, is inherent in us from birth:

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This year, no such option was given so who knows what any of us will end up with? Do men take things like a Secret Santa seriously or is that strictly a female domain? I have been worried ever since that I will end up with totally inappropriate smellies, a vibrator or some Chocolate Body Paint - or something from the Pound Shop.

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I found out yesterday that this morning The White Road and Other Stories was going to be reviewed in New Scientist's Chrismas Books Special: Best of 2008. The print edition is in the shops today, it is also online. This is the whole review:....

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To your good 'elf...


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