News about books from Vulpes Libris.

Stories include:

Harrowing piece from The Guardian about a reconstructed diary from the Warsaw Ghetto

More about Willesden Herald Competition story

Harry Potter fails to top poll

Roger Morris on "Learned Helplessness of Writers"

David Isaacs on Sex scenes

Emma Darwin about Writing Forums

New Writers Bursary opportunity

For more on these and other stories, read full post...






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Dear Kitty

That’s it. I give up.

I don’t mean in that pretend way people ‘give up’, hoping love will find them whilst they’re absorbed in a bit of cross stitch or something.

Well, okay, maybe a bit.

Arg, actually, no! I really have given up! An attractive postman just delivered my mail and I didn’t feel a thing. He looked a bit like Jude Law. Not a flicker! He might as well have been Christopher Biggins.

So. Relationships just aren’t for me. I’ve had pain (lots of) and joy (sparing amounts) and madness (predominantly) but I’ve seen scant proof that its possible to be in love without spending a large portion of your time trying to develop mind-reading skills and the rest sponging mascara off your pillow with a damp flannel.

So, that’s it. I’ve given up. I sincerely, most definitely have.

Don’t even try and change my mind.

Singlegirl, Scotland




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I haven't posted for a while because I have been travelling but now I am settled for a few days and so I thought I would post a quick update. First, it is my opinion, given recent experience, that giving up coffee is a bad idea. I drink one cup a day, real coffee, none of that instant stuff. Last week I decided that perhaps it was affecting my sleep and so I stopped drinking it. On Coffee-Free Day Two I was due to fly to Ireland and a) I got the flight time wrong and nearly missed the flight and b) left my mobile phone on the train to the airport. I would like to point out that I never, ever do either of these things. I am normally very careful to check the flight times and to make sure I haven't dropped anything when getting off public transport. I blame it on the coffee withdrawal. I was too calm. See what happens?

Ok, back to writing talk....

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Lord H and I had great fun attempting to change my watch from 30 on the date button to a 1 today. Yes, it is a team effort - Lord H provides the brains and I provide the tea. We were surprised however when the watch started fighting back and giving us the days of the week in Italian. Hmm, it's never done that before. Do you think it's trying to tell me something? I wasn't even aware my watch could speak Italian and I'm very impressed, as I certainly can't. Anyway, we wrestled it to the ground and persuaded it to return to its native tongue, so it's now saying it's Saturday 1st. Hurrah!...

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If you click on the image you should get an enlarged version which is easier to read:

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Marian had to pick me up for golf this morning, as poor Lord H's car has broken down again, so he had to take mine to work. So, much like a 1950s housewife, I was stranded in the flat and forced to wait for more powerful people to pick me up and take me places. Mind you, it hasn't seemed to have done my golf any harm - I played like a dream today, though I say it myself and shouldn't. I even got to the green in one on the 9th and had the long swagger down the fairway waving my putter and looking smug, aha! And yes, I did par it. Double aha! I was amazed Marian gave me a lift back at all really ...

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Over at my blog.

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One of the odd things about being a writer is that you are, in a tiny sense, a public entity. This might sound ridiculous in a culture which has replaced gossiping about the neighbours - because we don't know them any more - with gossiping about Big Brother. And no time soon are you going to be mobbed by paparazzi, or have your bins rifled by the gutter press for receipts for things the government shouldn't have paid for, or know that every bullet the Taliban own will be aimed at your platoon now the world knows you're in Helmand.

Plenty of people have some kind of public existence, of course, if only enough to get them worried that a prospective employer might Google them and find not only the conferences they've addressed and the public bodies they sit on, but also their wickedly scurrilous blogging alter ego and the pictures of the children dressing the family dog up as Julian Clary. Maybe it's simply a measure of how very un-public indeed you can become when, thanks to the cost of childcare and the obsessive compulsive disorder known as being a writer, it's years since you had a proper job.


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This has been a good week for my writing. There have been plenty of weeks when I've written more, but few when I've felt so productive. On Monday I polished up a selection of short stories for a submission opportunity which came out of the blue. Tuesday was book review day, and I completed my latest contribution for www.theshortreview.com. I recommend highly not just the site but the discipline of reviewing stories, which teaches you such a lot about what works and doesn't, why a reader responds to a story - my own writing has benefited hugely from the discipline of reviewing other people's work.


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Had great fun at the launch of Thorn in the Flesh yesterday - in spite of being so hyper I could probably have crawled across the ceiling without the aid of suction pads. Even Jennifer of Goldenford asked me if I'd been on the coffee. Caffeine?? Ye gods no! - can you imagine what I'd be like with that?!? Alas, the hyperactivity factor is entirely my own ...

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