A nice lie-in and a lazy start to the day today, hurrah - I didn't even surface until nearly 9am. Bliss. Plus Lord H made scrambled eggs with chicken on toast for breakfast, so that's set me up for the morning at least. And I've made a plum and nectarine crumble for lunch, so I have Wife Points too, aha!

And I needed all the energy I could get, as the whole day has been spent editing The Bones of Summer and updating the synopsis. Much to my joy and surprise, the editor hadn't suggested any major changes so most of it was tweaking and tightening up the text. So that was great, as I've done it, read it through for sense, improved the synopsis and then sent the whole bundle off to the agent for his delectation. Or possibly not. This time, bearing in mind that Bones is the sequel to Maloney's Law and won't therefore attract the interest of any mainstream publisher, I've suggested that I would be happy to tackle the small press with it myself, to save him the wasted effort of contacting the big boys. I do think that's the best way forward on this occasion but, for courtesy's sake, I'll see what the reply might be ...


Read Full Post

It often happens that I’m doing some research and stumble across something interesting that sadly has nothing whatsoever to do with my current book.

Here’s an intriguing advert I found in a 1792 edition of The Times. I’m sure there must be a perfectly innocent explanation, but as innocent explanations aren’t my forté, I’d be interested to hear any speculation on what this gentleman is up to, and why it requires secrecy...



Read Full Post

OK. This is how the day starts. A rude awakening to The Cult’s She Sells Sanctuary (6Music) followed by three cups of Columbian coffee (cardiologist assures me this is OK). Treat hens to an armful of tarragon and fennel. Rewarded with four eggs. Postman delivers bank statement though not pre-release copy of debut album by eldest sons band (promised yesterday)...

Read Full Post

Was delighted to receive The Bones of Summer back from my very charming editor Sarah Abel yesterday, so that's something I can start working on tomorrow - thanks so much for your help, Sarah! I was especially pleased that she was very positive about it, saying the following:

"I have thoroughly enjoyed reading your novel. It is apparent that you have crafted it very carefully. Your characters are well-defined and believable ... The plot rolls out confidently and builds gradually, holding the tension ... and your final scenes are extremely atmospheric."


Read Full Post

I sat on this earlier. It's a bench in a war memorial not far from home. Peaceful place it is too.

Read Full Post

Well. I must be the only girl I know who can rush with cries of glee into a hoped-for Glam Shopping Experience (GSE for short) and after two hours come away from the shops with ... um ... a flannelette nightie for going to hospital in. Ah well. It's evident I haven't got the concept of Being A Woman (BAW for short) quite right yet. Not that Guildford helped at all. Yesterday, there was absolutely, entirely nothing in the whole of that fair metropolis that I actually wanted to buy. In fact, 90% of shoes, trousers and tops appear to be only available in brown or black this year. Is it the effect of the Credit Crunch or another Government directive I have missed??... Anyway, the urge is gone now - and as I only get the shopping urge once every decade, you'll have to wait to my mid 50s to see me in pink or green or orange. Which is no doubt a good thing of course ...


Read Full Post

Today I received my first ever bound proof. Changeling is finally a book. A real, honest-to-God book - with pages and everything! The satisfying thump of an envelope landing in the hallway sent me scurrying out to discover the large, white package complete with the red Pan Macmillan franking-machine mark.
Whenever I see that frank mark now, my little heart does a brief pirouette. It's normally followed by a feeling of deep dread when I discover that it signals yet another round of edits, but not today.
I tore the envelope open and pulled out a book. My book. I don't know how my face looked at the time, but I am guessing that 'gawmless' must have been pretty close.


Read Full Post

Litlove's comment about self-belief in "The Muse, if you" like has sent me back to wondering about where self-belief in writers actually comes from. All the writing gurus, and all the other gurus too, keep up a chant about believing in yourself: whole careers have been founded on such 'inspirational' talk (talking of which, what ever happened to 'inspiring' as a perfectly good word for exactly the same thing?). But believing in anything - from God, to your being about to swim your personal best time - is by definition something you can't choose to happen: either you believe in yourself, or you don't. Some people believe very odd things in the teeth of all the evidence: that the world is flat; that blondes have more fun (I was born a lot blonder than I am these days, but I'm having much more fun now); that they're a terrible writer though garlanded with prizes and selling by the pallet-load.

But there's a clue in what's going on in the would-be writers who have yet to learn to be bad, and those who never never do, but persist in thinking their work's publishable or even prizeworthy.

Read Full Post

A lovely thing happened on my way to the blog; someone had been in for a browse and left this comment: ‘Stubblejumpers Cafe said... Hi Irene, Your blog is featured this week at Stubblejumpers. Kate.’ Now, isn’t that nice? So I went along and discovered this wonderful site with an amazing range of stuff:

Tarot readings, with real questions, from real people; reviews of blogs, books; from a Shaman to roast suckling-pig, the mixture is heady and wonderful. I was so enamoured of her site that I popped over and got one of my own; I mean, they offered it free!


Read Full Post

I have woken up in fine fettle today. Perhaps it is partly because Mother is ok. But I also think it is because Hubby and I are having Eldest Grand-daughter and Youngest Grandson over for the weekend. Youngest Grandson is now crawling, pulling himself up and navigating his way round by grabbing anything he can along the way - table-cloth, speaker-stand, CD rack, you name it. Eldest Grand-daughter, now three and quite the little madam, has learned (according to her mum) how to be defiant and stubborn and a handful. So Hubby and I have certainly got a busy weekend ahead. Not that we would have them any other way, you understand. But I have a feeling we'll be exhausted by Sunday when they go home.

And finally, very quickly, it is good to see a bit of sunshine don't you think? I know it isn't very warm - but it certainly looks pretty as the sun catches the golden leaves on the trees and emerald wing of the parakeet.

Wow! I must be feeling good - I am thinking like a poet again!

Read Full Post