Naively I didn't think that anyone would actually read my attempt at a blog. Some dark and self-depreciating part of me wonders why anyone would care about what I have to say. Family and friends, maybe. But strangers? Nah! So, imagine my surprise at Irene's email from the ether, congratulating and praising on my first attempt! Oh, that every piece I write has an Irene waiting joyfully in the wings!

Why would anyone be interested in anything I have to say? Yet why, on learning that it was OK to delve in to the blogs of others, would I have spent many hours today pouring over stranger's muses if it weren't interesting? Perhaps it was an artful piece of procrastination (having bored quickly of the hoover and household duties), but I don't think so; more that the blogs which I did read were genuinely worthy of note. Really! It was thought-provoking to read that people have wildly differing opinions and experiences in life to me. And even more fascinating that there were uncanny similarities. I've diarised my life for years, but this is different. It's like the freedom of exhibitionism without the risk of arrest or humiliation. Well, of course there is the chance that I may be humiliated at some point, but the Internet holds a certain anonymity, so what harm does it do?

S**t, should have used a pseudonym.

But, oddly, (although not that odd at all really, because, of course, the Universe has a new and valuable lesson for me each and every day) that rumination ties in nicely with my deliberation for today.

I've been attending a short course at my local library enticingly entitled 'How to Get Published', run by a very nice chap who's completed a few bits and pieces of some acclaim. Homework from last week was to write an article for a chosen publication. I tried, I really tried. But I couldn't do it. I wrote half a short story, and 3 halves of three different articles, but turned up empty handed to class. As a PR/Publicity manager in a former life it felt OK to submit piece after piece as an employed member of staff for national, international and government organisations, but as me, 'lil' ol' me. That's different. Or so it seems.

What have I surmised today? That someone, somewhere may well get something out of what I write, be it a piece of information valuable to them, a word or phrase of inspiration at a time of need, or the simple joy of one well-constructed sentence, or a pleasant flow of words which sits nicely on the soul. Oh, and that I'm halfway to completing a short story and three articles.

Where I was frozen, the thaw begins.

And as to the missing 'e' key: a new keyboard is winging its way to me now.

Feeling a bit empty today – I am obviously having a blank week. Possibly the effect of too many calming pills, but I have to say it’s not unpleasant. Better than feeling angry all the time for sure. Or maybe it’s the weather – it’s very dull and damp out there.

Lots of bits and pieces at work today – fiddled around with the Dean’s website, a couple of new marketing leaflets, plus chased up the boss about outstanding minutes/agendas before I go on holiday and took a load of the never-ending paper cups to the Health Centre. Who are also in a drinking crisis. Ooh, and I remembered to give the boss my review form too. The annual nightmare! We actually have the review meeting the first day I get back – not great timing for sure! However, I’ve made myself feel better by booking an hour’s Aroma Stone Therapy treatment at the hotel we’re staying in next week. Hurrah!...

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It was the kind of thing that writers spend whole parties explaining doesn't happen to them. (Whole parties? As Margaret Atwood says, we talk too much because we spend too much time on our own). The water in the pool at my feet was cool and blue, the courtyard garden a shady oasis in the middle of Madrid. Tall windows stood open to reveal a spacious drawing room full of English-style sofas, beautiful objects and handsome, well-read books. The interpreter and I chatted while the makeup artist set to work. Everyone was friendly, and flattering in a way that meant I could more-or-less believe them. It was a photoshoot for Spanish Elle magazine, and the interview was arranged for the next day at my hotel, before I flew out. At least the sad sandwich which is all British Airways now feeds you on such a flight was a definite reality-check.

I haven't seen the photos yet...


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My short story, Drinking Vodka in the Afternoon, will be broadcast on BBC Radio 4 tomorrow, Wednesday October 3rd, at 3.30pm UK time.It's very exciting - my third story on the radio in three years! And the first story that I wrote for radio...

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The Archangel smelled of Guinness and home-made steak pie. Eurythmics pumped ‘Sweet Dreams’ into the air and Delphine found herself sinking into the music, all the way to the bar.
‘What can I get for you?’ the man sitting behind the counter must have spoken.
‘You sent for me,’ she looked into his face; his eyes had tears hanging in them.


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Back once more in an effort fulfil my life's desire - to write. Simple so you'd think, but for some reason I seem unable to allow myself to do it. It appears to be some twisted form of self-mutilation, a real way to twist the knife. I think I wrote some time ago about how washing seems so much more important - still true I'm sad to say. And now, just as I'm ready to push a little harder and more insistently on my chrysalis wall and stretch my wings in preparation for flight, the universe has conspired against me and my 'e' has fallen off my laptop keyboard.

Actually, I managed to hoover it off in an over-enthusiastic bout of writing-avoidance. If I seem short of a few 'e's in my txt, that's the reason why.

I wonder if accomplished writers have methods to coax and convince themselves to show up at the page, and should I adopt some? On watching a Roald Dahl tribute the other day I noted that he had a rather swish writing board and a particularly grand but battered armchair to work from, as well as an entirely separate building rather charmingly described as a shed. Oh! but if had a 'shed' to commute to, I'd surely write.

I read on the internet that another writer dons a writing hat, and I've heard that many set up station with a cup of coffee and an ashtray. Perhaps this is more common than I am aware of. And see - after popping on my rather funky and suitably kooky orange anti-glare glasses (which, consequently, are no use to man or beast and cost me a tidy £250 but might as well be put to some use) I have re-joined Writewords and written 300 words of blog. Perhaps there's something in it after all.

So please, excuse my rusty hand and lack of E, but, hurrah! for the orange glasses! Any other suggestions to regain inspiration, motivation and enthusiasm greatly received.

:-)

Struggled to get through the morning today – it was rainy and dull, which was about all that could be said about it really. Took me ages to get my minutes finished from last week, and I only managed it by taking a rare (for me) caffeine injection. That seemed to do the trick though – thank goodness.

Mind you, Goldenford managed to launch Irene’s new book with style last night. And we also managed to sell copies of all our books, including three of Pink Champagne and Apple Juice, so good news all round. Congrats, Irene!...

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I belong to two amazing online writing groups: the WriteWords Flash Fiction Group and the Fiction Workhouse, and both those groups are incredibly supportive and inspiring places to be.

The WW Flash group has a weekly Challenge, which one group member "wins" and then they set the challenge for the following week. And in the Fiction Workhouse we are now in the middle of something quite wonderful called a Blastette. This is a period of time during which we all write as many flash stories (under 500 words or so, no set rules) as we can inspired by 24 sets of prompts that one member of the group has compiled. This is the third Blastette that has happened since the FW was set up 9 months or so ago, and it is just an astonishing experience. There are 20 of us involved, on several continents, but the energy is palpable. Whenever someone writes a story, they immediately post it up on the site, anonymously, and as well as writing as much as we can, we try and give brief comments on other people's stories.

What this has taught me is that the more you write, the more you write. Writing is truly a muscle that will atrophy if under-used, but when kept healthy and given a good workout, is infinitely flexible.......

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My thanks to Edward Pettit at the Bibliothecary
for alerting me to the existence of R. Sikoryak's comic book adaptation of Dostoevsky's masterpiece Crime and Punishment. At last! Someone who has risked the wrath of the purists even more than me! And if you follow this link to a feature in Brian Hughes' Again with the Comics blog, and check out some of the comments, you'll see that a fair amount of spleen has been predictably spent.


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Hi

On Friday, Unrequited finally appeared on Amazon.com and co.uk, and I believe it's over at Barnes & Noble too. I met this news with a great deal of personal satisfaction, a dash of trepidation and a thirst for celebration.

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