Spring has sprung

Well, it really does look as if spring as sprung. Lovely weather for the past few days. I hope that it doesn't unspring again. Not that I've been out much lately. I've been keeping my head down (no, not lying on the sofa) but getting on with writing my novel. I seem to work in fits and spurts. It goes really well for a while, and then I hit a block again (as I've done now).

This is the lull before the storm. From tomorrow onwards for I don't know how long, there'll be workmen all over the place. We're having lots of jobs done on the house, not least fitting a conservatory. I can't wait until it's all finished. I don't like the thought of all the upheaval, and I'm untidy enough without anything adding to the chaos.

I was delighted to see four copies of The Dark Threads in Waterstones, Leeds. The time before when I looked, there was only one, so (yipee!) they must have decided to order some more, which (double yipee!) must mean my books have been selling. The woman standing next to me pulled it off the shelf to read the blurb, and I managed (just) to resist the temptation to tug at her sleeve and say, 'Hey, you must buy that. It's a really good book.'

I'm also thrilled to see a super-dooper review, which you can read here.

And so to bed...

Authors North Spring Meeting

I enjoyed the SOA's Authors North Spring Meeting on Saturday, which was in Chester this year. The theme was 'Fantasy and Terror' and the two speakers were David Whitley and Ramsey Campbell. David Whitley's presentation was particularly good. I must say I haven't read many books in that genre, but his enthusiasm and skills as a speaker drew me in. I also found myself observing his talk with a view to improving my own public speaking skills.

It was lovely to meet new people and also to see again some of those I met last year. There was a table to display our books. We weren't allowed to sell our books, but I 'exchanged' mine with Carol Fenlon for her novel 'Consider the Lilies'.

I started reading Carol's novel last night and I'm thoroughly enjoying it. I've nearly finished it as I couldn't put it down to get to sleep. The themes are multi-layered, but, basically, it's about a girl's feral childhood in 1960s Lancashire and her friend's search for the missing homeless adult she becomes. As it says on the blurb, this 'powerful and thought-provoking debut novel uses unique language and devices to challenge perceptions of homelessness, identity and exclusion in modern society.' It's poignant, beautifully written, and well worth a read. I'm off to get back to it now.

Break

I didn't mean to have a break from blogging. It just sort of happened. Okay, that's a poor excuse. Other people, many of whom I'm sure are busier than I am, seem to manage to blog regularly. It's not even as if I'm putting off something I don't want to do: I love blogging. Even if only very few people read it, it is something I want to do. But somehow it's got left behind in my recent burst of activity. So what exactly have I been doing?

Well, on the writing front, I've been working hard on my novel and aim to have it ready to send out to agents soon. I've also been writing articles for magazines and journals. Just had one published (though I wrote this one ages ago) in the Healthcare, Counselling and Psychotherapy Journal (HCPJ).

On the book-promotion front for 'The Dark Threads' I'm continuing to give talks (though not many, I must admit), and I'm plodding on at the Speakers Club towards my Certificate, which tickles me a bit because public speaking is (or used to be) about as un-me as you could get! I've been participating in a project with the Huddersfield University who are putting on an exhibition which starts at the Thackray Medical Museum in a couple of weeks. I'm about to make an exhibition of myself. Watch this space.

Other stuff: we're going to have a conservatory built onto the back of the house. I have dreams of sitting there sipping G & Ts and watching the sunsets. However, first there is the alarming level of disruption to put up with. We need the boiler moving, the gas meter moving, and various other building work before they can start erecting it. We're also about to have a hole made in the living room wall to fit a gas fire and other disrupting jobs done. Perhaps I'll escape to a cafe to escape all the muck, dust, noise and chaos. There, I can sit happily and write (like J K Rowling).

I'm going to the Authors North Spring Meeting of the Society of Authors on Saturday, which is in Chester this year. I'm looking forward to that.

My plans for the weeks ahead are to continue to get my novel finished, get back to writing my blog - and, oh, yes, just have a good time, as I hope anyone who might happen to read this is doing.

Chance

Last night (nothing interesting on telly) I got into a discussion with Ian, my husband, about how the important things in life often happen by chance. One different decision and your whole life could be totally different for ever! Thinking of this set us off on all the 'What if's...?' and we inevitably got round to, 'What if you or I hadn't done this or that? We'd never have met.'

In the early-seventies Ian was living on a kibbutz on the Sea of Galilee and he decided to return to the UK. He didn't know whereabouts in the UK to choose so he closed his eyes and stuck a pin in a map. Leeds it was - and me he met. (It's a good job the pin didn't land in the middle of the North Sea!).

We almost met a few years earlier than we did. I answered an advert in the paper for a bedsit to let in a large house, not knowing that my future husband was living in the bedsit next door. I came along to view it. However, I decided instead to get a bedsit nearer a main road as I didn't fancy walking home alone at nights down a long, dark, lonely road. It was the time of the Yorkshire Ripper, and I couldn't afford taxis.

Anyway, what's all this to do with writing, you might ask. After all, this blog is supposed to be something to do with writing. Well, certainly in writing fiction we have to decide whether or not chance encounters seem realistic enough to include. Often not, I suppose, as life is definitely stranger than fiction (although Charlotte Bronte got away with some whopping coincidences). We do have to keep asking 'What if?' when writing, and this is a good basis for letting our imagination soar.

I don't do much forward planning before starting to write a novel. Maybe I should, but I don't. In my novel-in-progress I'm about to have a young woman closing her eyes and sticking a pin in a map to decide where to live. Now I wonder where the pin will land and what adventures will it lead her into?

Blog Award

Many thanks to Miriam who has given me this lovely Blog Award.

I've now got to list five fascinating things about myself. Well, here goes:

(1) I have just got my freedom bus pass, having reached my Big Birthday.

(2) I'm finding it hard to believe that I have just got my freedom bus pass, having reached my Big Birthday.

(3) I was happy when my husband cooked me a lovely meal yesterday.

(4) I was not happy to find a caterpillar in above meal.

(5) I love writing, reading, chocolate and my husband (not necessarily in that order).

And now I'm supposed to pass the award to five bloggers who deserve to receive it. There are lots of deserving bloggers out there. I'm spoilt for choice. I'll have to give this more thought later.

Valentine's Day

Ian and I have decided that we're going to have some good, old-fashioned, together-time this evening. Well, it is Valentine's Day. This evening at a time not yet decided we're going to turn off our computers, open the bottle of wine I was given after my recent talk at Horsforth Library (organisers of library talks seem to know I like wine), and we're going to eat cheese & crackers with it (vegan cheese for Ian, of course), dim the lights, put on some romantic music, and . . .

At one time that might have been just a normal evening for us, but a 'normal' evening has become something quite different - for which I blame computers. In our living room we have a desk in the corner on which is 'my' computer. Ian has a lap-top. Often we're sitting at our computers only a few feet from each other, doing our own thing, and we might as well be in a room on our own. Sometimes we both happen to notice we're on facebook at the same time (you know that 'chat' thingy in the bottom right-hand corner that tells you who else is online). We have even used the facebook instant messaging service to say 'Hello!' to each other (I kid you not) from across the room. Well, this sort of thing has just got to stop. At least for tonight.

How did you spend Valentine's Day?

Now!

You know those automatic photo booths that spew out passport-type photos? Has anyone managed to get a photo they're happy with from them? And is the whole experience of using one frazzle-free?

At the first supermarket a fraught mother with a child in a buggy was standing by the machine, yelling at the sales person. It had taken her money. Where was her photo? The assistant explained that her money would be refunded.
'But that's no help,' the young woman yelled (she had to yell to make herself heard above the first noisy wail of her child). 'I need a passport photo.' She glared at the machine. 'I've come all the way here especially to get one.'
'I'm sorry. I'll put up an 'Out of Order' notice and phone for a service engineer.'
'When will he come?'
'I don't know. Probably some time within the next few days.'
'A fat lot of good that is!'
'We'll refund your money.'
'But I need a photo now. What are you going to do about it?'
I felt sorry for the assistant. After all, it wasn't her fault.
'I'm sorry but there's nothing else I can do. I can't fix the machine.'
'But I need a photo.' The woman looked ready to stamp her feet and compete with her child in a temper tantrum. 'Now!'.
'Now!' squealed the child in the same irate tone as her mother.
I decided to leave.

Another supermarket. Another machine. The first person in the queue, a pretty teenager, looked pleased with herself as she slipped her photos into her bag. I'm old enough to remember when the photos took about six minutes or more to arrive and ages to dry. Nowadays they arrive in seconds and are dry immediately. Well, that's some progress. My turn now.

I rotated the seat to adjust the height, but no matter how much I swivelled, it remained too low. I don't know why. It's not as if I'm a particularly small person. Not to worry. If I sat up straight and craned my neck a bit I could manage. My four pounds clunked down the slot. 'Take care to make sure your head is inside the oval frame,' a robotic voice warned me. 'Look straight ahead. Keep still. Do not smile. Keep your lips together. I repeat, do NOT smile'. I do as I am told. Here we go. Nothing happened, except some funny whirring noises. I waited. Has it done? Yes, I think so. 'If you are happy with your photo, press the green button.' I peered at the image to check my head was inside the oval. The rest I wasn't bothered about. It would do.

I stepped outside the booth, and almost immediately my four identical photos dropped out of the slot. OMG! How had I missed what I would look like before pressing that green button? It wasn't just that my non-smile made me look a miserable sod, I could have lived with that. But one eye was half-open, the other almost closed. I looked like I'd dropped down from another planet. To say I looked drunk, dopey and totally gormless would be an understatement.

Ian, who'd been buying a paper, came and stood beside me. 'Let's have a look,' he said.
'I'll have to do it again,' I said.
'Don't talk daft. We can't throw money away. It'll do. Let's have a look.'
I showed him.
He collapsed into a fit of uncontrollable laughter that made his eyes stream.
People were staring at us. I went back inside the booth and hid behind the curtain.

The next set of photos were better (well, believe me, they simply had to be). I look a bit pop-eyed on them because I was taking care to keep my eyes wide open, but at least they're passable.
'I'll shred these as soon as I get home,' I said, staring in dismay at the first lot.
Ian snatched them from my hand. 'No, we can't waste money. I'll use them to make funny greetings cards.'
'Don't you dare. Give them back to me.'
He grinned.
'Now!' I said, sounding like the fraught mother in the first store.

I still haven't got them back.