Thoroughly enjoyed last night’s opera at Glyndebourne – Carmen is one of my favourites and they did it fabulously. The best Don Jose ever, I thought – he certainly knew how to act. The woman playing Carmen was pretty good too. But the near social embarrassment of the season was that in the short interval (as opposed to the long interval ...) I was chatting to Lord H near the shop when I saw a woman standing nearby whom I vaguely recognised. I couldn’t remember whether I knew her from work and, if so, which job it had been, so rather than blanking her I gave a half-smile and took a couple of steps towards her to have a casual chat. Um. It was at that point that I realised it was actually Sheila Hancock. Arrgghhh!! Being the totally cool customer that I am of course, I gave a strangled squawk and veered off in another direction. Mind you, I suppose she must be used to that kind of thing. But can you imagine the trauma if I’d got so far as to start the conversation??? ...


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First off, I want to wish Lorrie all the very best and say thanks to her. Last Tuesday was sad as it was the last time she was able to come to my writing group for a good while; work commitments and all that.

She'll be missed. Sorely. And I know not just by me. She's a terrific writer and her comments were always astute, informed and hugely helpful. All the best Lorrie, and a great big thanks.


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God bless the Kirk; I’ve just been reading that the establishment of a theocracy in Scotland followed a peculiarly masculine and mysogynistic theology – John Knox in his ‘First Blast of the Trumpet against the Monstrous Regiment of Women’ called them, ‘the porte and gate of the devil.’ Imagine that!


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I really wasn't sure this day would actually come, that there wouldn't be some natural disaster (earthquake, flood, pestilence) or a warp in the space-time continuum that would somehow prevent it. But it's here. And it feels GREAT. It doesn't even matter that I don't have the book in my hands. Whatever happens, I am a published author and no-one can take that away. Wow.
The website I built for the book is now live: TheWhiteRoadandOtherStories.com, with information on how to buy (bless you for wanting to), and more about science-inspired stories and flash fiction, and Eco-Libris, who are planting a tree for every copy of the book printed.....

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With a mixture of fun, chaos and stupidity, I messed up my first year at University royally.
I thought I would breeze to a 1st without so much as a hand ache.
Sadly it turns out one can't go out, crawl in at 6 AM to be up at 8 AM.
I find out soon if I'm allowed back next year. The only reason I haven't been booted out already is due to rather great grades with the creative pieces; the essay writing is hideous however and may need the help of a tutor *hangs head in shame*.
Since being on summer holidays I haven't written anything other than one poem. I'm a writer. It's the 2nd thing I am after a woman. But I'm so naughty.
I know if I don't write I'm not me and don't sleep yet I play my crazy life so well, suddenly months have gone by- I haven't kept to simple deadlines and I haven't written a single thing.
So I'm a fabulous, party-going, fun and popular princess who isn't really real.
Must write. Must write.

Goodness me, what a thundery rainy day today. Lord H and I do so love a good thunderstorm. Shame it seems to have vanished away now - we were hoping for more drama. Ah well.

This morning, I've had a nice lie-in (at last! At last!) and have then packaged up the rest of my free/review copies of Maloney's Law for sending off in one fell swoop on Monday (I missed the post office opening hours yesterday, dammit). Honestly, the more I look at that cover, the more I love it. The back is pretty ace too. And perfect for Paul's obsession with whisky and time. The cover artist, Tracey Davis, is a genius, to my mind ...


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gay pride glasgow pics posted.

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Really, people, could yesterday get any better after my fabulous hole in one (um, did I mention that already?)?? Well, apparently, yes: when Lord H came home, complete with congratulation flowers (what a super-hero indeed!), he found a box of Maloney's Law copies on the path (the postman must have been tired, poor love ...) hot off the press from PD Publishing. Triple hurrahs and let's all throw our hats in the air! My baby has come home!! I then spent several glorious minutes ripping apart the box, taking out all 18 of my babies and clutching them to my bosom whilst crooning. So no changes there in my reaction to getting author's copies then ... The sad part comes when I have to send them all out again as review or thank you copies and in one case to my hugely patient competition winner - hope you enjoy the read, Tony! Though I will keep one or two just to hug in the long winter evenings. As you do ...


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It’s just over six months until Kill-Grief is published, and lots of small, unconnected things are making me very nervous...



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Writers spend a lot of time trying to get away from their work: trying to stand away from the individual words and see it whole - the woods-for-the-trees problem - and then to stand outside it all over again to see it as others would see it - the Rabbie Burns problem. Whether you write the whole first draft without reconsidering a single word, or you don't move on from a single sentence till you're as sure as you can be that it's right, you're still having produce the novel sentence by sentence, or even word by word. You can't easily tell if it 'works' in the way that you hope it will, or fear it won't, for a reader coming to it for the first time. And what will your writing buddie/tutor/agent/editor/reviewers think?

As writers we develop all sorts of strategies for putting distance between ourselves and our work. I've got to the point where I can't put a note out for the milkman without leaving it on the kitchen table overnight, in case I have second thoughts. But it can be that there's too much distance between us and our work.I know it can happen after I've finished the work on a novel, in the long, draughty days before I see it in print. And I was reminded of this again recently, when a writing acquaintance talked about how disheartened he was with the project that his agent was keen on.

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