Spent this morning editing The Gifting, which went something like this:

11am (ok ok, it was really 11.30am but hell I deserve a lie-in sometimes ...): the archetypal Z-list author weeps over her keyboard, sobbing that she'll never be good enough, she doesn't understand her own plotting, she's a hopelessly bad writer and she doesn't remember anything she's written before in the ruddy book so how can she make it all come right now? Ah, same old, same old then ... Lord H stands behind her, massaging her shoulders and moaning in sympathy ...

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"There's no one left. Soon I will stop. Soon ..."

Tom McCarthy's second novel, Men In Space, is a masterpiece. A painting on the white wall of a gallery that opens itself layer upon layer as you inspect it.

And there lies its greatest weakness. For it is a novel that by the very nature of reading spans days, weeks, months depending on the speed of the reader.
For whilst a painting can be observed in one glance and then explored whilst remembering the image as a whole, Tom's book fragments into separate satellites that orbit around each other obscuring the overall image.
The reader becomes lost, disorientated.
And as each satellite moves majestically through space following perfectly formed trajectories, under Tom's masterly use of words, the story stays elusive.

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Ye gods but I haven't stopped today. Played golf with Marian this morning as she's now returned from her trip to New Zealand - which sounds wonderful and I am hugely jealous! Still, it was lovely to be back on the course again, if only we could say the same about our balls (as it were). Lordy, we were rubbish, but heck we laughed a lot ...

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Dear Kitty,

I�m going out with my ex-boyfriend. I mean, he�s not the exact same person, but he might as well be.

I can�t understand what happened because I distinctly remember saying I was not on the lookout for another emotionally-stunted Capricorn with a Superwoman fixation...


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Bear with me while I get started. I'm new to this.

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Have spent all day editing The Gifting and feel a lot happier now. Which means I have rewritten the grand total of 28 pages and I am now on Chapter Ten, page 203 of 450. Bloody good going, Carruthers, we cry! I know it may not seem much but, bearing in mind I'm adding in three extra voices and turning Simon's first person view point to a third person one, I'm pretty damn pleased. And at least it gets me out of the first stage of his journey and just about to cross over into the second. One stage down and three to go, eh. So, I feel exhausted but satisfied ...

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Hello one and all. Pleased to tell you that my mum is okay after her accident. She has got a long way to go before she completely recovers but she is getting there. Super Aunt is taking her home to Camberley next week to help her recuperate and I am sure she'll be fine, but it was a scare, there is no doubt about that!

So here it is - the great writing update. I am starting to pick up my pen again. I just seemed to lose my way in the word maze for a few weeks and I have been struggling to focus on anything. Today however, I have managed to enter two poems for children for a competition and uploaded another to WriteWords which is the best writer's site I have ever come across. It is my intention - misguided or not - to enter at least one competition every month this year.

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I seem to be converting my blog into a video blog. You'll have to follow the link to see my latest video diary. It's a response to some of the copycat videos that were made after my first little film.

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Was delighted to see last night that my piece of flash fiction, �A vegetable year�, is now on the Storytellers� Caf� site (see full post for links!) � hope you enjoy the read. I was obviously in feminist mood � The site itself is great and well worth a browse � some marvellous stories and excerpts on there from some top-notch writers. I particularly loved the FAQs section. Now if only someone would tell us the answers, eh ...

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It is difficult when describing this book not to find yourself trotting out phrases that make it sound less than it is: “this little book”, “this slim volume”, “a quiet yet sweet story”, “ a simple tale”.

On the other hand there is an equal danger in outlining the enormous themes (tolerance, race, culture, maleness and that’s before you even get to homophobia, religion and anal sex.…) of making this warm and humorous book sound heavy and off-putting, or even disturbingly graphic.

Gents is none of these things. And it is testament to the beautifully-judged writing that it falls into none of those traps.

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