long time ago I went on my first-ever writing course, on Skyros. Not only did I have the most heavenly time on one of the most delectable Greek islands, but I came home and wrote the first novel I wouldn't be ashamed to show you, or my agent. (I wouldn't want it published, mind you, but that's another story). Skyros is the original alternative holiday in the sun, and as well as big name writers teaching what's now called Writer's Lab, it's full of yoga, self-healing, dancing, Tai Chi, windsurfing, meditation, massage and so on. They do get the best teachers/facilitators/coaches but, as always with things alternative, everyone's there to buy into the philosophy, and if you're in the mood to stand outside and find it all slightly, earnestly risible, it's not hard: I found myself writing little charicatures in my head, and smirking as the warm and wonderful clichés rolled out day after day. And, of course, being writers, I and the rest of my group were specialists in standing outside and looking in. For writers detachment isn't just cool, or cynical, or sensible, or all the other kinds of grown-up, it's a necessary condition.

What happened, though, was that for the first time ever I realised I didn't want to stay detached, and that cool and un-fooled wasn't entirely the point.

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Woken early today by what appears to be mice in next door’s attic (which runs parallel to our bedroom). A lot of tapping and skittering anyway, so it’s either mice or a very frantic ghost. Lord H nobly got up in the darkness and tapped back to scare them away, but I think he might have achieved some kind of communication with the beasties instead. Perhaps it’s aliens? We shall have to try to break it to the downstairs neighbour somehow …


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Mavis at Harper Collins has marked out on my itinerary for which appearances I should be drunk. Generally, as part of her continuing ‘Drunken Public Appearances’ plan, anything to be broadcast after nine pm has a D next to it. Some events with a liberal attitude have a DD meaning that I should be totally beyond my own control and will still probably avoid arrest. Mavis doesn’t seem to understand that once I start, the consumption of alcohol is already beyond my control, rendering the concept of regulating my level of intoxication laughable.

Last night's radio interview was a DD and yet, as I remember it, the DJ was delighted with my condition and, after baiting me into spouting ludicrous slurs against people of various races and religions, joined me with his own bottle of…Absinthe perhaps.

The session concluded at two am with the presenter actually snorting lines from the mixing desk and babbling like a madman about being the new king of Shock Jocks.

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I’m back at work today and I think my arm and hand are fairly under control – I’m even typing this with two hands though not at my usual speed. It’s proving easier than I thought it would be – and people are being very nice. The boss has even very kindly arranged back-up writing support for the meeting I’m due to minute on Wednesday, just in case my hand gives up. So that takes the pressure off. The only thing at the moment is I’ve moved my mouse to the left side, which I think is more sensible for now, but it does make my back feel more delicate – the difference in emphasis, I suppose. Lordy, but I’m a moaner indeed – and hey it’s not too bad and I’m back in the saddle, so hurrah for that!...


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Not managing to do much else whilst NANO is on apart from write. The synopsis for my 'novel' reads: A stream of consciousness novel rooted in the minutiae of the everyday. Think Virginia Woolf meets Jack Kerouac, then think again ...

To what extent the editing process will alter this, I'm not sure and I'm tempted to post an unedited extract up here. Maybe later. [More ...]

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Today I'm visiting Vanessa Gebbie's blog for a discussion about magical realism. Here's a taster:

"Only some of the stories in my book would be called magical realist, and that this isn't something I set out consciously to do. Much like you, I imagine, I just follow where the story leads me. If, as happened with the story Rainstiffness, I hear the first line in my head: “When it rains, she stiffens”, I just go with it and am not put off, made nervous by the fact that actually my main character is semi-paralyzed during rainstorms, something I have not heard of happening in “real life”. Many of my stories are far more realist, whatever that means, some are perhaps more in the science fiction realm – not realist enough to be even magical realism. What I am trying to say is that I believe in doing whatever serves a particular story, rather than setting out to write a piece of magical realism."

Read more on Vanessa Gebbie's blog.

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Learning about World War 1 poetry for GCSE had a huge influence on me, and is a great big reason why I'm a writer now. This one's just about my favourite:

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They've published the reader statistics for October over at Smokelong Quarterly and my story, Two minute silence, topped the list. I'm staggered and delighted.

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Well, I said it was a silly competition, and it is, but I thought it might be fun. All you have to do is write a limerick or haiku - your choice - including as many of the words SECRET, ALCHEMY, MATHEMATICS and LOVE as you can. The winner will receive a signed copy of A Secret Alchemy, hot off the press and dedicated to them, or to that vital aunt, or whoever else they like. A runner-up will receive a signed copy of the paperback of The Mathematics of Love.

Deadline is midnight GMT (Californians and Kiwis please note) on Sunday 16th November 2008.

Post your entry in the comments on the post on my blog, and I'll keep them under wraps until I get judging.

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... or notable things include:

1. capitals don't matter
2. lefthanded typing is possible - but slow
3. frozen shoulder should be called really painful arm, dammit
4. taxi drivers can be really kind
5. tens machines do help (thank you, rosy)
6. i love my physio - she's great
7. when the nice doctor says these pills might make you feel sick, she ain't joking ...


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