A clean sweep

'This is so much fun, I love spending time with you. Can we do this again?
Heartwarming words heard from my 8 year old over the holiday season. On which particular occasion did she utter them? The shopping and lunch day (s)? At the work party I took her to? New Year's Eve with friends? Day out in Leeds to see 'Annie' (brilliant, brilliant, if you are near Leeds go while you still can). Cuddled up on the sofa watching films and eating chocolate? Nope. Yesterday as we cleaned out her bedroom.

She's not blessed with the tidiness gene, my daughter. Tiptoeing through her darkened bedroom to kiss her goodnight is like tackling a booby trapped assault course, blindfolded. I warned her Father Christmas wouldn't be able to find her bed to leave a stocking - only of course he did, bringing lots more clutter and mess into an already stuffed full room. And then she spent a night with her friend and saw just what a tween bedroom could be. Dressing table, illuminated mirror, swivel stool, minimalist sixties dollhouse. No clutter

So yesterday, the first day I didn't achieve my 'at least 500 words a day goal', we went on a tidying spree. Goodbye two thirds of her soft toys. Oh the anguish as we deliberated whether or not to keep baby dronkey (from Shrek). He stayed but Piglet, Eeyore and Tigger were cast aside. All her dolls, the big pram, high chair, their clothes - gone. Not my two dolls of course, they went back into the attic along with the small wooden pram and cot. All the babyish games put aside: 'I think I'm old enough for grown up scrabble now' as were a tip-full of broken felt tips, crayons, filled in colouring books. Goodbye to the Disney princesses, Bratz (yay!), Gabriella, Giselle, Eric and Robert leaving a mere 8 Barbies and 2 Moxie dolls, Eric from Aladdin and Toy Story 3 Ken complete with his paisley shirt. Playmobile, Lego and Sylvanian all stayed but the clunky doll's house furniture made for small pre-school hands went.
Now I have to make a trip to the charity shops after I donate the dolls and large pram to the local playgroup and say goodbye to the first part of her childhood.
It's never easy sorting things out, discarding, moving on. Whether it's toys, clothes, books or words. 'Kill your darlings,' advises Stephen King but you love those darlings, worked hard on them, they make you happy! But sometimes you have to move on, put them aside. I can never kill mine completely, I cut and paste them into a separate document and save it 'just in case' just like my old dolls and the wooden cot have gone back into the attic, just like I still have her first pair of patent, purple campers, her christening dress and the outfit she wore her first day home. After all, they're not just a little bit more clutter, they're memories.

The perfect Rom-Com

Two and a half weeks off work! In my head that means two and a half weeks of blissful writing time but of course, on day 5 of my break writing time has yet to materialise. Christmas has got in the way. I have managed to clean the house, skirting boards and all, buy and decorate a tree, do the bulk of my Christmas shopping, watch the Muppets Christmas Carol whilst writing all my cards and actually send said cards and various parcels. Today I was going to make mince pies with home-made mincemeat and the pastry in which to put it but pulled myself back from the domestic goddess brink and agreed to make cakes with the 8yo instead. Write? Not so much.

Yesterday I took advantage of a massive ironing pile to introduce the daughter to one of my favourite Christmas films. I first saw While You Were Sleeping at a large multiplex in Hartford Connecticut the year I au-paired in the States. Rom-coms were different in the early/mid nineties. Sweeter, more heartfelt, more innocent and yet spine-tingingly romantic (Sleepless in Seattle, another Christmas favourite came out the year before and my friend and I saw it twice in two days, bawling the whole way through both times).
Why do I love it so much?
1. Sandra Bullock does lonely so well, it gets me every time (same thing in The Net)
2. The moment she is watching the loud, squabbling family & the camera zooms in on a stocking with her name on

3. The proposal (so good we rewound to watch it twice)
4. Real characters (in real clothes), not Hollywood caricatures (well maybe the family, and the ex, and Joe Jnr, okay a few caricatures but good ones!)
5. Peter Gallagher thinking he has amnesia 'a,b,c,d,e,f,g,h...'
6. All the photos of Peter in his wallet, around his flat
7. Joe Junior
8. Lucy's speech at the wedding (did I mention that she does lonely so well, I dare you not to well up)
9. The minute she decides to take action and start following her dream, a lesson for all romance heroines everywhere.
10. Bill Pullman, not an obvious choice as romantic lead but he is perfect.

And, unlike many rom-coms made in the last ten years it's mild enough to watch with an 8yo and yet still a perfect romance. Inspiration for all sweet romance writers everywhere.

A good example

When my daughter was born I knew that all I wanted was for her to be happy, to be fulfilled, no matter where life took her. As she got older, learnt to speak, she began to have some very definite ideas about what she wanted to be and, like most children, has changed her mind a lot.
At 4 she wanted to be a vet - and then she realised that that involved blood, pus and death, so she ruled out that along with doctor, nurse, dentist.
When she started school she wanted to be a teacher.
Then she wanted to be in a band.
Then a fashion designer.
For the last year she has wanted to be in the police. For anyone who knows my daughter this is probably not surprising.
But yesterday she changed her mind. It would be too hard to be a police lady and have children, she told me, maybe she would be a lady who helps out in schools.
My heart broke.
At just 8 she thinks having a career and a family are incompatible, thinks she can't reach high.
Although I took three years off when she was born she doesn't remember that, she has always known me working and it has always been part time. And she is really proud of what I do, although she has a very tenuous grasp (apparently I work in the bird team! I'm actually a Fundraiser for a regional environmental charity). Of course I have made sacrifices to work part time, entering back into the world of work at a lower level than when I exited, swapping salary and management for school pick up and drop off, attending assemblies and chauffering to activities. And I don't regret that for a moment. But I hate the fact that an 8year old girl sees her life choices as limited.

There is a popular school of thought that sees romance writing, popular women's fiction as regressive but one of the things I love about writing romance is that my heroine can be whoever I want her to be; a lawyer,a journalist, a party girl searching for fulfilment. Open any Mills and Boon and you will see a huge variety of jobs; a medical heroine may be a nurse, she may be a doctor, she may be an occupational therapist or a radiographer. An office romance heroine can be a PA, or a PR specialist, a CEO or a temp. Heroines run their own businesses, own florists, bakeries, coffee shops, hotels, event management companies. They teach, lecture and train. They are many things and by the end of the novel they are strong, empowered and happy. Just like I hope my 8year old will be when she's grown up.

Stylish knitwear & storytelling

Not one but two examples of stylish knitwear

I've never been embarrassed to jump late onto a bandwagon (query, what on earth is a bandwagon? *note to self, google*) so for the last three weeks, whilst those smugly ahead of the curve have been debating the differences in knitwear, plot and subtitles (less swearing apparently) between the Killing 1 and 2 (Forbrydelsen for the real trendsetters just so we all know we are talking about the original Danish version and not the American remake), longsuffering-OH and I have been glued to the sofa watching Series 1.
We are addicted. Two episodes a night addicted. Only now we've caught up and last night had to make do with Grey's Anatomy instead, yes it rains in Seattle but otherwise it was the cappuccino froth to the bitterly refreshing expresso of Copenhagen's finest export.

Of course I usually write at night and can usually manage to write in front of the TV, raising my eyes from the screen occasionally to ask what's going on. Apparently this isn't at all annoying. I did try to write in front of a subtitled Italian crime drama once but, as it turns out, one term of basic conversational Italian ten years ago didn't equip me to follow the twists and turns of a Sicilian based drama. I still don't know who was killed or why. My Killing addiction has meant that my writing has pretty much ground to a halt over the last few weeks.

Troells Hartmann - look at the cheekbones!

Luckily I have managed to justify this brief hiatus to myself. I haven't been vegging out in front of the TV AT ALL, although it may look that way, nope, I have been researching. Although pretty much as far from romance writing as you can get - a teensy crush on Season One's Troells Hartmann added a certain extra entertainment value, why isn't he in Season 2, why??? - The Killing has been one of the best examples of plotting, character development, showing-not-telling I have ever seen, in book or TV form. No wonder nearly everyone who sees it has been rivetted and The Guardian has devoted acres of newsprint to everything from those famous jumpers to the quality of the subtitles. As a detective story, as a personal-growth story, as a study of a grieving family, as a political thriller, as a look at lives torn apart it works on every level. The end of each episode is particularly brilliant, each strand approaching some new danger, knowledge, crisis simultaneously leaving the viewer desperate for the next instalment.

My chosen genre may be very different but I still want my readers to have that same need to keep on reading, to find out what happens next. To supply that page turning quality. To make characters feel so real that a reader cares what happens to them. I have a long way to go, all I can do is watch and learn. Which is why tonight you'll find me, back on the sofa, watching S2. Tak!

What team? Wildcats!

In a global world one country's celebration can feel very close and yesterday lots of people were sharing the things that they were thankful for. One of the things from the past year that I am thankful for is my CP group. In the aftermath of NV11 if I had one piece of advice for any aspiring writer it would be this: get yourself a good Critique Partner.




We all need cheerleaders at times. We all have those moments when we need someone to tell us that they believe (am I the only one who tears up at the beginning of HSM3 when it all slows down and the spotlight is on Gabriella as she sings 'Troy!' and he looks up at her and says 'Sometimes I can hardly breathe?' and she tells him 'You can do it just know that I believe.' Yes? Okay then. But, romance writers, it is the perfect moment - he can only be strong because she believes in him, the arc of all three films. I also sob through Soaring Flying.).

When I first started writing six years ago I was alone. My husband would read it if I begged him too and nodded sagely with a 'very good, dear' in the manner of some seventies sitcom husband leaving me feeling like Wendy Craig. No wonder I submitted just three chapters in two years although I did do an enormous amount of reading; ahem, research. Really it's only been in the last year that I have taken writing really seriously.

There's a few reasons for that - the online competitions, joining the RNA, the course I did with Jessica Hart, these have all been great boosts adding to my knowledge and confidence. The main reason however has been my own personal cheerleaders.

The internet is a strange and wonderful thing allowing you to connect with people all over the world, people you may never meet. New Voices 2010 was the first time I really shared my writing with anyone.
Suddenly I connected with lots of people through FB & Twitter - published authors, aspiring authors, newbies; all knowing exactly how it feels to sit down at a blank screen and push yourself to write something. People to talk ideas through with, to get enthusiastic, to ask questions, to point out massive plot holes or small typos.

Gradually, through the craziness of last year's Nano and as I made the first steps into Summer Fling I began to rely on a small group more and more. Their enthusiasm, honesty and kindliness pushed and supported me as I doubted, angsted, panicked and procrastinated. They are my cheerleaders - and I do my best to return the favour as they are also a very talented trio who I know will be published one day
We're far apart geographically but meet up to chat, critique, gossip, reassure, celebrate, share learnings every day. I would never have come this far without them. Thanks Julia, Jane and Maggie xxx

A waiting game

You know it's Christmas when John Lewis turn a beautiful song into easy listening pseudo jazz (yes, I am looking at you, Ellie Goulding) and team it with a sentimental ad.
It must be nearly Christmas (click on link to either cry or sniff derisively)

 And  yet, despite the scorn and derision from the cynics on my Twitter feed (the romance writers love it), I can't help be charmed. Because it strikes a real chord. The theme this year is 'it is better to give than to receive' through the eyes of a small boy who is waiting for Christmas morning. And how long that wait is...

How I sympathise with that little boy as he watches the clock refuse to move, as the days drag slowly by. No, I am not waiting for Christmas day (I haven't bought a single present yet as it is NOVEMBER and Christmas is in DECEMBER; if I had my way there would be no adverts, crackers, tins of biscuits, cards etc allowed until 1 December and any house putting up their lights and tree before the 18th Dec would be fined. Christmas is so much more exciting when it comes suddenly upon you, not when it's dragged out over two months). Anyone who has submitted a book knows exactly how he feels.

When @nellbelleandme and I submitted our actually-not-bad-at-all jointly written book to agents it got returned depressingly quickly. There weren't many days to sit through before the clatter of the letterbox announced the return of the A4 brown envelope containing a painstakingly printed copy of our masterpiece and a 'no thanks'.

One of the many exciting things about submitting to Mills & Boon is their promise that every submission - every one of the thousands of unsolicited manuscripts landing on their mat (or inbox) every year will be read by an editor. This is a great opportunity. But of course the editors have a lot of work to do apart from reading our work of heartbreaking genius (their social media shows an idyllic working environment of eating cupcakes and discussing the relative hotness of Grey's Anatomy & ER docs; I suspect this is a tad misleading). They promise to get back to us within 24 weeks.

Six months. And it can be longer. The second standard R took eleven months to arrive. Eleven months of casually flicking on my email, desperately hoping every spam offer might be THE email, THE opportunity. So, of course this time, this submission, I have learnt from my experience and I am using the waiting time wisely, using it to write the next book, to keep learning, to read. Six months away is next spring, there's no point getting my hopes up until then.
So why do I get just a little jolt of excitement every time I see that envelope icon at the top of my phone screen?

The tortoise and the hare

Tortoises are great; ambling along, munching on grapes and carrots, basking in the sun and sleeping away the winter. No wonder they practically live for ever! And they were name checked in the second-to-last-ever-episode-of-Spooks (sob, gulp) when ex-FBI agent turned politician soon to turn wife killer announced portentously that his house in Moscow had a tortoise in the garden. It sounded like some brilliant password to which the only reply could be 'the Hare is asleep in the field' but actually was a metaphor for a soon to be shattered post Glastnost life which is why I will love Spooks forever and mourn its passing along with other TV greats such as ER (sob), Buffy (sob) and Gilmore Girls (do not judge me...).

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Anyhow I love tortoises and my perfect cottage by the sea will have a tortoise in the garden (and a hare in the field) and hopefully my dream tortoise will co-exist peacefully with my dream red setter and dream dachshund.

In most of life I am a Hare, rushing madly around, ears flapping (metaphorically you understand), no time to stop and enjoy things until I drop exhausted by the side of the road whilst tortoises plod calmly past me. But I am a wannabe romance writer who works 4 days a week and volunteers with a local Cub group, whose 8yo has a schedule of activities which neatly sums up crazy 21^st Century parenting – although no Mandarin, I live in Yorkshire, not Wimbledon. I don't have time to plod however much I want to.

As a writer too I am mostly a Hare, especially when self imposed deadlines loom. Half of last year's never-to-be-seen-again Nano was achieved in a mad sprint during the last 10 days. The last three chapters of just-submitted Summer Fling were written in week; don't worry it has been extensively edited since. But sometimes, especially at the beginning of a project I plod. I sit staring at the page. I type, delete, type again. It hurts. And I feel a fraud. What kind of writer doesn't actually write?

But I am thinking. All the time. Turning my characters over in my head. They accompany me every where – except work OF COURSE - In the shower, in bed, on the school run, shopping. And then, slowly, surely the characters and vague plot I have formulated begin to make sense. I can't do Nano this year much as I want to but was hoping to take advantage of the writing-frenzy that is November to really make some inroads into Minty. Six days and 1000 words later I have clearly failed, because although I knew where I wanted my characters to go I just couldn't see how. This morning though (whilst washing my hair) I began to see the way.

So I'm plodding on for now, allowing myself the luxury of thinking my way into my plot, my characters, the conflict. Not for too long though. At some point this tortoise needs to turn into a Hare and sprint towards just writing the damn thing!