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I’ve just finished writing The Literary Chicken, which is a 200-word creative exercise for this month’s Riverside Writers' project. Carol Falaki thought the group might like to have a go at flash fiction, and Peter Hurd instantly came up with the theme.
A few people have recently said that one of the things they love about Riverside Writers is that it’s so informal and welcoming. There’s no inner clique who treat the other members like a captive audience or resident fan club. I hate all that myself, and have visited a few groups where that attitude prevails. Note that I didn’t join them.
Of course, not everyone who comes along to Riverside Writers becomes a member. Some feel too challenged by the monthly writing projects (which require them to actually write, and not just talk about writing!) even though participation isn’t mandatory. A few have the incorrect notion that coming along to group meetings will give them a fast track to a book deal.
An occasional cuckoo will arrive clutching their MS and want one of us to re-write it for them, for free naturally. And once in a while someone from another writing group will descend to tell us how we’re doing it all wrong - which is tiresome though rather amusing considering how many of us have had work published, including some people who’d never written anything creative until they joined us.
Maybe I should write a Hubpage on ‘How to Run a Happy Writers’ Group’…!
I am pleased to be able to announce the publication of Ruins Metropolis, which is a collection of thirty-five Fantasy and Sci-Fi stories. This is the third in Hadley Rille Books’ Ruins series, and is edited by Eric T Reynolds.
This collection also features my 3,000-word story, Old World Magic. A trip to her local New Age store brings Tracy into conflict with one of the notorious Fae of Caldy Hill.
The article makes it sound like I'm the sole author of Ruins Terra, Ruins Metropolis and Barren Worlds, rather than being merely a contributor to each. Oh dear.... Not my doing.
So, yes, yesterday saw me back at Golborne High School by invitation of Sylvia Taylor, gelertandbess, actor, playwright and filmmaker, who also works to promote and develop the arts within the school. We’ve known each other since we were aged eleven, and used to sit next to each other in English and Computer classes at Golborne High – or Golborne Comprehensive School, as it was then named.
Certainly it was interesting to see my old school again. Some things haven’t changed at all, while some are entirely new to me – such as the digital photography suite and the banks of computers in the school library. Back in our day, there was one computer for the entire school! And even that wasn’t a PC as we think of them now, but a monitor and keyboard which had to be linked by telephone with a real computer at another location. This was back when most computer information was stored on punch-cards, and when 7” floppy discs (in a thin card covering) were state-of-the-art technology. Eeeek, this makes me sound prehistoric!! It’s an indicator of how fast computer technology has moved on, really.
I met a few of my old teachers, too, such as the long-suffering Mr Kennedy who did his best to try and teach me maths and computer programming. He deserves a medal for perseverance. Let’s just say they weren’t exactly my best subjects, hmm? He recognised me immediately. Funny, that.
Soooo, I read Seagull Inn from Ruins Terra to two separate groups of pupils. They seemed to enjoy it. One little boy, with his finger firmly rummaging around his nostril, stared at the book in my hands and asked if I’d made it all by myself. Both groups were then prompted to ask about writing, and Sylvia tried to encourage them to consider the possibility of a career in the arts. Part of her job at the school is to show the pupils that a creative career is a viable possibility.
After lunch in the new school canteen (the quiche was lovely!), Sylvia drove me back to Newton-le-Willows train station. It was great to see her again, definitely. She’s hoping to come here for Easter, which will be fun. She wants to visit Hilbre Island for herself now!
That same evening, I was at this month’s meeting of Riverside Writers. I was able to discuss the details of Words from Wordsmiths with the head librarian, and was then able to tell Riverside Writers members that they’ll be reading their work before an audience on April 7th. This was the first they’d heard of it, for the most part! *chuckles*
February’s writing project was set on the theme of “The Group”, and various members read aloud their creative efforts for that. I read Project, which I had been meaning to put before the group for a while but had not had time during previous meetings. The story will be published in Barren Worlds fairly soon, but I wanted to see how the group reacted to it, as it’s a divergence from my usual style, being more Sci-Fi than Dark Fantasy.
Before I go…. Volunteers Wanted! If you fancy writing a review of Quiet Lives and then posting it on Amazon, let me know please!
Riverside Writers met last night and we had two new people join us, which is always nice. Last month’s writing project was to create a poem or short story with the title of The Killing Tale, and all but one person had produced work for that.
We were joined by John Gorman of the Wirral Academy of Arts, which has just been granted charitable status. He was able to tell us that the public performance (by professional actors) of submitted work for Wirral Writers Inc has been postponed until April 2008, in order to combine this event with another literary festival and so make promotion more effective.
The bad news is that the Hallowe’en ghost tour has also been postponed until next year, because apparently I’m the only writer who’s produced any work for it! What happened to everyone else?!! Ah well, c’est la vive… I’ll use my work elsewhere in the meantime.
If anyone’s in Liverpool on October 4th, drop into Central Library on William Brown Street, as there’s a Poetry Marathon as part of National Poetry Day. I’ll be taking part in the afternoon.
A change of subject….
It looks like there’s a storm blowing in for this evening. I’m having to keep an eye out for raindrops while I’m typing this, as I’ve a line of washing outside. I ought to give some thought to tonight’s dinner, too, as Richard’s going to a Fish concert at the Pacific Road Arts Theatre in Birkenhead, which is a very nice venue, actually. But his friend Lee will be here around 6pm, so we’ll need to have dinner early.
Actually, Lee and Lynn have just come back from Portugal, which they absolutely loved. The place was spotlessly clean and the people were very friendly, and the food was great, they said. They waited ¾ of an hour for a bus to take them to the next village. Only later did they realise they could have reached the village by walking along the beach for fifteen minutes!
They brought me a gorgeous shawl back. It’s red and goldy-brown, in a paisley pattern, with silky tassels. I wasn’t expecting a gift at all, so that was a lovely surprise.
Bob Eggleton's art has graced numerous book and magazine covers. His work also provides the cover for Ruins Terra, the latest anthology from Hadley Rille Books (ISBN 978-0-9785148-5-3). My story, Seagull Inn, is included in this diverse collection of horror, dark fantasy and sci-fi stories. It should be available via Amazon within the next few days.
I've been busy writing very short stories for the forthcoming Hallowe'en ghost tours. I've even come up with a couple of comical poems. Everything has to be kept carefully within PG boundaries. My own tastes run to rather darker territory, but unleashing my silly side can be fun too.
Progress with Rowan continues; chapter 21 was written yesterday, bringing the 1st draft up to 26,000. As you can guess, I'm keeping each chapter short and snappy to create pace.
There's talk of a big literary festival in Liverpool next April, involving libraries (as host venues) and local writers. That's something I'm definitely interested in becoming involved with. Riverside Writers might be doing a public reading, also.
And I've almost finished decorating the bathroom! The door and door-frame need painting yet, and then it's all finished. I hung some large, hand-painted ceramic tiles on the walls. They share a theme of water - rowing boats, a lighthouse, quayside houses, sea birds.
I’ve been busy (noooooo!), as my niece came to stay with us for four days. The dogs did so enjoy taking her for walks. In fact, Ygraine was so eager to show her the ponds beside the boardwalk along West Kirby beach that the poor girl narrowly missed being dragged face-first into the water.
Having strolled the length of Meols Drive, my niece decided that being a multi-millionaire offers certain advantages when it comes to house-buying. We have chosen the ones we want, once we’ve made our fortunes. Forward planning is always advisable, don’t you think?
And we discovered that Wirral has totem poles. Well, one, anyway. This was within the enclosed Walled Garden at Royden Hall. (If you wish to read about that, scoot over to my spot on the Wirral Globe.) There were numerous other sculptures too, and if you wish to see more photos just click on one of the images here and view the Wirral photo set on my Flickr site which you’ll be automatically taken to.
Oh, and we watched a few films: Alexander the Great with Colin Farrell and Jared Leto (who a certain young lady is rather impressed with); Evil Aliens, which she hated and which we thought was hilarious; Beloved, which is one of my favourites; and one of her personal favourites, The Phantom of the Opera, the musical with Gerard Butler, which she happily sang along with word-for-word.
“So,” she asked, “would you marry (whatisname) or the phantom?”
“The phantom, definitely,” I said. “He seems much more fun than the other bloke.”
“That’s what my mum says too.”
“He lives in a sewer,” said Richard, wrinkling his nose. “He’d stink.”
Hmm, that would be distressing. And also puzzling, as how is it that his stealthy presence in the opera house was not swiftly revealed by wafts of the distinctive associated pong?
Next: a shopping spree round Grand Central, of course! For those not in the know (and after all, why should you be?) this is a collection of small shops dedicated to gothic/alternative clothes, accessories and gadgets, all housed in what used to be a hotel. While she bought a funny hat, the seller asked her if she was going to Glastonbury this year.
“Oh, she’s too young,” I said, in full-blown Aunt Adele mode.
He asked her, “How old are you?”
“Eighteen,” came her reply.
He quipped, “That’s old enough for Glastonbury! Old enough to drink, to vote, to get married…”
“Oh, don’t encourage her,” I replied, laughing.
He nodded his head happily. “I get it; ‘While you’re under my roof you’ll live by my rules.’ That’s what my ma always said to me. So when I was nineteen I left home.”
“Yeah, me too!” (But that’s different, isn’t it?!!)
Soooooooo, having waved her off on her train journey home, I returned to the task of editing and polishing Seagull Inn in time for the submissions deadline of April 15th. Having achieved that, the next task was to begin writing a story for another deadline, on the set subject of mirrors. I had the opening line of, “He had a new haircut, a cheap suit and old shoes…”, and everything flowed smoothly from there until Mirror was born. Imaginative title, hmm? But it suits it, so what the heck. The deadline for this one isn’t until June 15th, but I like to give myself time to tweak with an MS before I send it sailing towards a prospective publisher.
Our two dogs took us for an enjoyable woodland walk around Frankby at the weekend. (Yes, I know it’s now nearly next weekend but I’ve been busy, ok?!!) There were carpets of snowdrops under the trees. A friendly pony came to say hello when we trudged along the muddy path beside his field. Emily was terrified of the bewildered creature, and hid behind Richard’s feet.
Emily is still learning to walk on the lead properly. She’s got the general idea but is distracted by scents very easily, and noisy traffic unnerves her. She has a habit of stopping dead, which consequently means that whoever’s walking her has to be ready to do likewise or else nearly fall over her.
We called in to The Farmer’s Arms, but escaped to the garden rather than struggle to talk over the exuberant crowd of football enthusiasts who were happily yelping and yowling at the big TV screen. (Fear not, I’ll resist the temptation to launch into one of my diatribes about boring sport!)
I’ve now finished the first draft of a short story set on Hilbre Island, called Seagull Inn. The finished MS is intended for submission to an anthology whose brief requested pieces with a strong emphasis on history and archaeology.
(Insert conversation with Slightly Dippy Person: “But history didn’t exist when they put the archaeology there!”)
Anyway, trying to segue factual information into a story without turning that story into a history lecture is no mean feat. People read fiction primarily for entertainment, after all! Consequently, it took me approximately a week to produce 3000 words – pathetically slow, by my usual standards. Maybe I was just trying too hard, as the very act of over-concentrating can raise a barrier to many things, creativity included.
Anyhoooow, permit me to introduce an old friend of mine who has recently opened a journal here on LJ! Actor, playwright, film director and drama class teacher, and all-round fine lady – meet gelertandbess Go say hi!
Thank my neice for this one... Talking cats, indeed!
I've j-u-s-t managed to get the laundry off the line and inside the house before torrential rain came down. As it is, it's nearly as wet now as when it got pegged out this morning. Grrrrrr!
Much of the day was spent working on The Missing Chair, which is a project set by Riverside Writers inspired, so I was told, by my lack of attendence at the last meeting. The project theme was initially floated as being The Missing Chairperson!
Well, I completed the first draft today. It is supposed to be ghost story. "Supposed", because the pesky thing was determined to come out funny. This keeps happening to me lately. I'm supposed to be a scary horror/dark fantasy writer, not a comedienne!
Swans off doing her best Lady Macbeth:- "Out, damned wit!"
This morning was spent giving Frog, New Year’s Day and Swap a final editorial polish. These three dark fantasy stories combined are intended to form a small collection, which will most likely be called A Wirral Otherkin Trilogy. Before I can submit this to the intended place, I first have to translate it into American English and then into the required format, and also work out the actual presentation (title page, preface to explain what Wirral is, plus author’s blurb, etc.) I’ll keep you posted.
Well, I’m glad I didn’t bother hanging the laundry outside earlier, as steady rain is now splattering across the French doors. The fence blew over again last night. Ah well, it had only been propped up as a temporary measure until it can be fixed properly. Rain has put an end to all attempts to fix it.
Interesting, is it not, how society decides how eccentricity and conventionality are defined. Ok, so I like unconventional people. In my experience, they tend to be considerably more interesting than the majority of conservative-minded beige-clad sheep who reluctantly slog away for forty-plus years at a job they hate, in order to ensure they can drop dead in relative comfort. I never could see the point.
If I objected to people leaving me messages, I’d have curtailed that option long ago. But, honestly, do I really give the impression of seeming likely to contribute to a rap album, or appear inclined to derive inspiration from anime bosoms? Trust me when I tell you I’m straight – and, besides, my artistic tastes tend more towards Caravaggio and Botticelli than some nerd with a set of felt pens.
A recent rash of odd little messages allegedly “showing some love” has raised a few chuckles on this side of the glass screen. Love? I find myself struggling to conjure one iota of information about these enthusiasts, who in all truth would struggle to qualify as even the most tentative of acquaintances. Amiable conversation is always welcome, I assure you all. Expressions of private fantasies, however, are perhaps best kept to oneself.
Soooo, how was your weekend? Mine began with a trip to Birkenhead in search of the elusive Siberian Pine Nut Oil, a quest which proved fruitless (or nutless), as did my attempt to find some decent sandals as my usual pair are rapidly descending into dereliction. I often wear sandals around the house, much preferring them to trainers which are, I find, too hot and clumpy – and ugly.
True to form, the book shop called to me… I’ve just finished reading Anchee Min’s Empress Orchid which was interesting, if only because life within the Chinese ‘Forbidden City’ is something I know so little about. I exited the shop with, among other books, a copy of Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time which I’ve been meaning to read for several months of Sundays.
Monday morning found me wishing I could go back to sleep after a busy night’s dreaming. I won’t share the dream; it’s too long and complicated, plus it would make an amazing plot for a novel. Move over Stargate. I woke with a real craving for pancakes! Guess who had no lemons in? Pancakes without freshly squeezed lemon just aren’t right somehow.
Monday night saw another meeting of Riverside Writers, and everyone had participated in the project which required us to write a story beginning with, “What shall we do with the bicycle?” The concept of setting a group project for each month seems to be proving popular. It gives the meetings a unifying focus without impinging on our precious informality. (I rapidly grow bored with social groups which take themselves too seriously and squander half of each meeting fussing about committee trivia.) Writing projects like these are valuable tools in stretching a person’s imagination, as they produce a story which they may have otherwise not thought of. Also, the simple act of completing the project increases a writer’s confidence in their own abilities, and at the same time has the possibility of improving on those abilities.
The issue of constructive criticism was raised – and it’s a potentially contentious topic. I would absolutely hate to deter anyone from writing due to any opinion of mine. If a piece of work seemed dire to me, I’d be more likely to say little or nothing about it rather than crush a person’s confidence. Put me in a paid position as editor, which I have been in the past, and you’d hear a direct critique. But a writers’ workshop is surely a place to encourage and nurture talent. Besides, we can all list successful authors whose work isn’t to our personal taste, so what is the value of one opinion anyway? And how honest an "honest opinion" do most people really want?
If you fancy writing a play, head over to this site:- http://www.bbc.co.uk/writersroom/ which offers a substantial amount of no-nonsense information, plus free format guidelines and downloads. Or you might wish to take a look at this:- http://www.playwriting101.com/
Monday evening saw another gathering of Riverside Writers, when we enjoyed hearing each others’ literary responses to an informal challenge which we’d set ourselves at the previous meeting, namely to write a short story or poem which included all of these items:- a grand piano; bubble; chocolate mouse; diamond ring; Cornishware mug. Everyone’s stories were totally different in style and content, of course, and this is part of the fun. Such writing exercises as these have practical value in that they coax a person to think outside of their habitual patterns and can also help to build self-confidence through completing the challenge. They also give a writing group something to focus on!
My contribution was a 2,000-word piece called The Four Seasons, a dialogue-heavy exploration of the relationship between a grandmother, daughter and granddaughter. Their interaction reveals their attitudes to life and death, and more importantly to each other. Someone later suggested I should try turning it into a play aimed at the BBC - hence the above links - which isn't a creative outlet I'd considered previously.
On Sunday, four of us enjoyed a pleasant dinner in The Arrowe Park, where I indulged my fixation with Chicken Korma. Everyone else had rare steaks *shudders* We’d not been to this cordial venue previously but will definitely return.
Lee had a split lip where one of three would-be muggers had punched him a few days earlier. He’d gone to Manchester to buy another guitar and as he’d been walking along, he realised he was being tailed by three men. One said something derogatory to Lee and he’d verbally retaliated, which only served to provoke them. There was a scuffle and Lee jabbed one of them hard with his umbrella (which broke, so he must have used some force). Lee shoved another of them into the wall but took a punch to the face from the third. Fortunately Lee managed to escape with the help of an observant bus driver who opened her vehicle’s doors to allow Lee to jump on. The bus driver took Lee to the nearest police station, where he made a statement. Lee told us he’d made himself vulnerable by having both hands full and being encumbered with a back-pack. If he’d dropped the guitar to fight back, they’d have stolen it instantly. Equally, he was concerned about damaging his new guitar during the attack. It’s easy to theorise about how a person should or shouldn’t react. When you’re actually in the situation you have a split second to analyse what’s happening. Personally I would have put my own safety way above that of a guitar.
What a busy weekend! Our antique preserves cupboard is now crammed with various kinds of marmalade and jam, all home-made and wondrously free of synthetic colours and chemicals which mass-produced products are saturated with. The cherry, apple and apricot jam is heaven on a spoon!
We did rather a lot of work on the front garden, as this had ceased to be a wildlife garden and had instead become merely a garden gone wild. Buttercups had choked almost everything, and so we simply ripped these out by the armful in preparation for treating the soil with a weed-killer. I don’t really like using these but here, surrounded by acres of farmland, where every breeze carries a fresh dusting of seeds, there is little choice unless a person wishes to devote half their life to weeding. Frankly, we’ve neither the time nor the inclination!
A viciously sharp bramble had rooted itself tightly round the stem of a half-dead broom. The only way to get at the bramble was to cut down the broom, and the only way to get at the broom was to cut down a towering buddleia. The buddleia may possibly grow again as they’re tough plants. There are two more elsewhere in the gardens, anyway. Consequently, we’ve now got a huge pile of sawn-down shrubbery to dispose of, and there’s more work to be done in the front garden yet.
We also took a stray goal post down to the local recycling depot. Some of the local kids had ‘found’ it somewhere and set it up on the communal green where every evening more and more little darlings were assembling to play football. This in itself we wouldn’t object to, but how many times can a football ‘accidentally’ be kicked into the same garden? The noise level seemed to increase very evening, too. And then my beloved just stopped them from deliberately trying to kick their football at our front windows.
I said this is easily solved. Rather than spend each evening of the forthcoming school summer holidays knocking on various indifferent parents’ house doors to complain about their offspring, let’s just remove the goal post. And so this is what we’ve done. Last night, peace reigned. Here’s hoping it stays that way.
Having had Swap accepted by Magpie Magazine, the editor emailed me yesterday to say she can’t fit it in the forthcoming issue but would like to use it in the next one, whenever that might appear. Ok, but meanwhile I may have found a paying placement for that same story, so actually her inability to make use Swap happens to suit me rather well. In fact, it’s exactly what I’d hoped for.
I’m still waiting to hear from Prediction Magazine whether or not they’re going to use my article on flower lore. They accepted the article in November last year but then didn’t use it after all. The recently replaced editor said, at the end of March this year, that I’d be paid a kill fee if they don’t use it. It’s now July and I’ve not heard a word…
Remember Blood Bytes publication in Power Cord Magazine, which its editors hailed as the first in an intended series of regular on-line issues? On June 23rd, as described here:- http://adele-cb.livejournal.com/39072.html I’d emailed the editor to ask what was happening. I have received no reply. Ah well, I’ll just chalk it up to experience. The story’s Copyright is still my property. In future, I’ll just not expend any time on e-magazines which don't have a proven track record.
One last thing: I’ve placed a legal disclaimer on my profile page here and on my My Space site. It applies to everyone currently on my Friends List and so I invite each of you to take a look. To many this might seem a little excessive, but we live in a treacherous world. And, to quote my old Dad, “If people weren’t stupid, lawyers wouldn’t be rich.”
Here’s a photo of some of my hand-made pottery, nestling amongst the lavender which is spilling over our garden path.
I finally finished tweaking The Club, and so this 3000-word piece was emailed to Dark Moon Press yesterday for consideration for inclusion in their forthcoming anthology of vampire fiction. The first draft of this story was written around two years ago but I wasn’t happy with some aspects of it. For very similar reasons, writing Tamsin ground to a complete halt for a while. The whole issue of blood-drinking vampires irritated me. Not only was I bored with the theme but it seemed increasingly silly. My fiction is laced with metaphysics, and the disparity between this and the stereotypical gore-chomping imagery had grown so wide that the one simply could not tolerate the other. Consequently, my writing ground to a halt. I could not move forward with it until I had resolved this issue.
Exactly how this resolution was arrived at is not something I’ll reveal. Suffice to say that The Club has been re-drafted and Tamsin has only the final chapter and the epilogue yet to be written. All I have to do now is edit it, sell it, promote it….. *groans* Ah, well - onwards ever onwards!!! *chuckles*
I’ve had an idea. Don’t all gasp. I’m aiming to write a piece of short fiction each month, at least for the next year. These short pieces will complement or echo the novels. Some of the characters from the novels will be in the short pieces, which will be intended either for publication separately or collated into book-form. I’ve no working title as yet. I’ve found myself interested by several series which portray a complete pantheon of characters, whose lives intertwine, who might refer to the same event but from a very different view point. This is something I intend to incorporate. I’ll let you know how this project develops.
Oh, before I go – my poor mother almost got struck by lightening last night! She’d stepped beneath the covered pergola to watch the heavy thunder storm. She reached towards an old Lloyd Loom chair just as a small arc of lightening flashed through the corrugated plastic roof and hit the very same chair. She was knocked off her feet but is quite unhurt. How’s that for fortuitous timing?
A fairly busy day! I’ve mowed the lawns and trimmed the hedges with the electric clippers, then cleaned up the mess this always creates – which takes almost as long as the job itself. I discovered that our little collection of basil plants has been reduced to green stems; our garden pests seem to share our penchant for Italian food. Then I harvested our strawberry crop, which I have to do daily to prevent the woodlice and snails devouring the lot. Fortunately they leave our raspberries alone - instead, the local hedgehogs gobble all the ripe ones within their reach. Go down the garden at dusk and there they are, standing on their spindly hind legs, snuffling and grunting to each other, happily chomping away while the bats whirl overhead.
I’ve also been editing and polishing The Club, a 3000-word piece for submission to the forthcoming Dark Moon Press anthology. The deadline is approaching, and so this strange little tale needs must demand my attention – as did the huge pile of emails left on Richard’s business website, which I run for him as he simply hasn’t the time. It’s still under construction; it needs photos of his studio.
You may perhaps recall that Blood Bytes was published in Power Cord Magazine in May of this year.The link for this now opens at a general page whose headline announces that the domain has either been deleted or is awaiting renewal.The magazine’s site on My Space has also vanished.This is rather annoying, especially after so short a time and after so much insistence that this was to be a long-term project.Technically, my story is now classed as having been published – even though I retain all rights – and yet no-one can now read it! This renders the whole excersise as rather pointless. I emailed the editor yesterday to enquire into the issue, and have yet to receive any response.I’ll keep you posted.
Last night’s meeting of Riverside Writers went better than expected. Earlier, Tim and I had discussed disbanding it due to dwindling numbers, only to be greeted with a healthy turn-out and pleas for the group’s continuity.
Two lively hours followed, with several people reading aloud their work. Mia nervously told us that the piece we were about to hear was her very first attempt at fiction writing – and promptly delivered an excellent story which could work well as the first chapter of a novel.
I read out Swap, which was only written last week but was, by then, then at second-draft stage. I’d much prefer to allow more time between any second-draft and a public airing, but I needed to push this story to completion as I’ve an editor interested in using it.
This morning I received an email from my old school pal, Sylvia, who is a playwright and actor, and who is about to direct her first film next spring. Some months ago she had asked me if I’d be interested in working on a joint collaboration. Earlier this week I had an idea which seemed feasible, and which utilises our mutual interest in the occult. I’d put this to her and she’s really into the idea. (I’m not going into specifics here, so no-one can swipe the idea!) Anyway, before we even begin working on that Sylvia has some more TV work plus two theatrical productions lined up, and I want to finish Tamsin and also get Cry for Innocence edited and polished. And can you believe I already have a germinal plot for a third novel? I need more hours in each day!
This afternoon I wrote the first draft of Swap, a 1,500-word story which has been floating around in my mind as a vague idea for around two years. This piece fits in neatly with a set of stories which are loosely linked by location and theme (dark fantasy/local history). Eventually I’d like to collate these stories into book-form, and maybe add some photography of the sites used in the stories.
For me, writing short stories offers me an enjoyable break from grinding my teeth over the penultimate chapter of Tamsin which is proving to be something of an uphill struggle. Or maybe I just allow myself to be distracted too easily. But I really did need to go to Birkenhead this week so buy new net curtains. Really, I did. The old ones were vile in the extreme, I assure you. And I bought three books, too. It will be a while before I read them, though, as I’ve only just begun a lengthy biography, Margot Fonteyn by Meredith Daneman.
I don’t believe I mentioned my battles with the power-hose this week. What a pity it conked out half way through the task. Now our drive has a definite “before” and “after” look. Also, the instruction booklet omits to mention that the spray-back carries rather a lot of dirt with it. Anyone using the appliance rapidly acquires the appearance of an animated mud pie. Need I add that I speak from experience?
There, see how easy it is for me to get distracted from my original intention? I was supposed to be writing about how my collection of short fiction parallels the proposed series of novels. I intend to write some short fiction featuring some of the characters in the novels. What I need is more hours in the day to get everything done. So how do you stretch time?
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