I’ve noticed the question, ‘Should writers blog?’ appearing on several writing forums. The thread usually follows the line of what a writer’s blog should contain, whether they have anything useful to say or advice to give and what sort of numbers are reading. If the readership is low then it seems to reimburse the right to question, why bother?

No one ever asked that question about keeping diaries, so why blogs?

I’m guessing it’s because a blog, unlike a personal diary, has a potential audience. It’s out there; it’s published. And for the writer, that’s a good thing. Just having a blog puts a pressure on you to update the thing. If you include “writer” as a hobby or occupation, then there is added pressure to make sure the posts are something half decent. Not only do you have to think of a subject worthy of posting, but have to edit it and kick it into shape to prove you really can do what you claim.



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As a connoisseur of courses, here’s a directory of the type of people you will meet if you sign up for a series of evenings, or an inspirational weekend.

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I'm delighted to welcome award winning author (we're talking almost 100 books to her name), excellent blogger and fountain of publishing knowledge, Nicola Morgan to my blog today. It's a genuine pleasure to have her here, though I must say that I din't find her crabbit in the least (I'm sorry if that's harmed your reputation, Nicola).

So, Deathwatch, Nicola, who’s it for and what’s it about?

I could say it’s for anyone who’d like to read it, but that would be a vapid answer (though true). It’s written with a particular teenage readership in mind - teenagers who want a fast, chilling read and something to think about along the way. It’s a thriller, about a girl being stalked by an insect-obsessive.

It’s not the only book you’ve published, is it? Could you tell us about the others? How does Deathwatch compare to them?

Er, no, it’s not the only one - there are about 89 others. Before my first novel, I was writing “home learning” books, the sort of fun+educational activity books that get children reading and writing. My I Can Learn series is still a best-seller. Full-length books - mostly teenage novels, each different: historical (including my gory signature book, Fleshmarket), magical realism (Mondays are Red, my first novel, characterised by extreme weirdness), futuristic (Sleepwalking, set 150 years in the future in a society where language is dying), and my favourite, The Passionflower Massacre, about a religious cult. Oh, and I mustn’t forget my only “nice” one, Chicken Friend, aimed at a younger age group. I have also written full-length non-fiction for teenagers, including Blame My Brain, about the amazing teenage brain, and Know Your Brain, showing the differences between brains and how we can best look after them. How does Deathwatch compare? I’d say it’s pitched to be more accessible than, for example, Sleepwalking, which tends to appeal to the deepest and keenest readers; less gory than but just as scary as Fleshmarket; not as shocking as the PFM; not weird like Mondays are Red. In other words, not the same as anything. And definitely not like the Thomas the Tank Engine books I once wrote…



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What a night last night had been and I had a hell of a day at work today too, with one scene in particular. I just could not get my head in the game. But with Trent on set now keeping Hope distracted I was able to slip away when we wrapped for the night. My stomach was churning so much with nerves that I nearly didn’t go in to Mother Martha’s, after all even I thought I looked like a stalker – what must anyone else think? But I did go in and she was not there. Probably out with that blonde guy, Tom. I can’t explain the disappointment I felt by her absence.

There was a different girl in there that kept catching my eye line and smirking. I had one beer and got the hell out of there. I don’t think I can go back anymore.

I had that weird dream again last night only this time the car crashed. My heart was beating so fast when I awoke and I was covered in sweat. I couldn’t go back to sleep after that so decided to go for a run, something I hadn’t done for weeks. I ended up at Mother Martha’s staring through the window at where I had sat the night before. Jesus I have it bad, man.

A couple of hours later and Hope was waiting for me in the car to take me to work. We have been friends for a long, long time but that girl will not take a hint. I ended up having a coffee with her, albeit was a quick one. I don’t think she was happy about that but it made me smile. In fact, I was actually enthusiastic about getting to work even though I knew Adam would be waiting for me. Adam is the stunt co-ordinator and I’m telling you that guy cannot possibly enlarge his muscles any more. God I have been twisted, bent and thrown in every direction; I ache so much now.

Things perked up when Trent arrived and immediately Hope forgot me. Trent loves women so much he don’t care who he has, which was lucky for me in this instance as I was free of Hope for the rest of the day.

I couldn’t wait for the day to end though so I could grab a beer and I felt bad telling Trent I was going back to the hotel. In fact I really don’t know why I bothered as he always knows when I’m lying and he not only ended up coming with me but also invited Hope. That was a nightmare and I was really angry but I thought I could get away with a quick beer and then leave but no such luck. Jessie served us, Trent noticed her and Hope hated her. I tried to act as normal as possible but you know what I learned today? The more you try not to look at something the more you actually stare at it. Trent saw this and immediately guessed what I was thinking. I’m just grateful he didn’t mention it in front of Hope. Also there was a guy sitting in the booth opposite, Tom, I think I heard Jessie call him. He was way too good looking and she kept sitting and talking with him. When she pecked him on the cheek I felt so gutted I actually got up and left. Trent caught me up outside and I told him to go back in but Trent being Trent pushed for a conversation. I cannot believe he told me he used to think I was gay! But we ended up talking about Sarah before she……No. I am not going to dredge all that up again. Anyway, Trent went back to the bar and I am back in my hotel room. What a disastrous night.

When I woke this morning I had a feeling it was going to be a good day. My body was revitalised and I felt ready to take on the world which was just as well because I started filming season two of a TV show called ‘Slumberland’. The set is at Shad Thames near Tower Bridge and only a short cab ride away. I was only a street or two away when I saw her. She was wearing faded jeans and black t-shirt, her auburn hair flowing around her shoulders as she carried, no balanced these boxes in her arms. God she looked absolutely gorgeous. Then the boxes fell and then she was out of sight.

Hope, my long time friend and totally egotistical co-star had spent most of the day in her oversized caravan. Bus this was a good thing as it limited the amount time she had demanding stupid things from the crew. Personally I prefer to sit on set and read my lines. For one I like the atmosphere and banter that goes on and, apart from filming, it’s the only place Hope never goes. She did collar me as I was leaving for the night, suggesting that we go for a drink after work but I threw a few excuses at her and managed to wrangle out of it. I know she was angry at being turned down – no man ever turns Hope down - but I couldn’t handle an evening with her.

Anyway, once I had side stepped Hope I decided to walk back to the hotel. I was in Butlers Wharf looking out over the Thames when I saw her again entering a coffee house type place called Mother Martha’s, so I did what any self respecting stalker would do and followed her. I slipped into a corner booth, ordered a beer and picked nervously at the bowl of peanuts that were on the table while searching the room for her. It was when I heard sound of a glass shattering that I saw her. She was more beautiful than I had remembered earlier. I watched her clean up the mess and after I finished my beer I left, but not before learning that her name was Jess, she was obviously an accident prone and I was completely dehydrated from all the peanuts.

Some say Twitter is essential for writers; others sneer at it as a time-wasting exercise in vanity. I wouldn't say it's essential (which for me means stuff like oxygen and water), but I do find Twitter useful and, what's more, fun.

I've only been on Twitter a couple of months, having resisted joining for ages because it seemed pointless. Like many people who have never looked at it, I thought it would consist of morons informing the world that they're about to eat a doughnut, or that their baby is a genius because it just did a poo.

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1 I've just moved countries and am unsettled (can milk this one for months and months...)
2 The cats are in quarantine and I can't possibly write without them (another 5 months' shelf life for this excuse)
3 My new study is an unfamiliar place, I can't write here until I feel totally comfortable (Yes, right, I can write in any cafe but not my own workspace?)
4 I've got far too much to do with the Short Review (I have a great deputy editor, so really can't use this one)...




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Blimey last week was a long one. And it had it all I think - fab acceptances, brilliant editors (see below) disappointing rejections, one of my favourite stories going live at a place I really love, and so on.

And discovering that I've a medical appointment next week which makes it impossible for me to read at Sparks in Brighton. I had been looking forward to that very much, and to meeting up with some lovely people while I was down there. But, as I'm trying to be sensible, my health has to come first. I sincerely hope that I'll have another opportunity to read there. (Incidentally, it was another medical appointment last week which stopped doing something else I'd been really looking forward to doing. I guess it'll all make sense in the grand scheme of things.)

***

On a more positive note, I spent a good chunk of yesterday fiddling with my website. It has had a face lift. I reckon it looks okay. (It does, doesn't it?)

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I do like October. Everything's another colour, the light is different; it's impossible to look at things the way you did in August, or even in September.

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