Returning the favour

In the last couple of month I have been tagged in a few blogger posts which is very sweet of the people concerned *beams at Pam, Tracey and Lindsay* but then *hangs head in shame* I spent so long thinking up answers I totally forgot to actually, you know, blog. I do the same with birthdays - get the perfect card and then forget to send them. 
Rubbish friend, rubbish blogger!
So. Today I will reply to all three tags - unless the garage phones with bad news about my car which is currently undergoing its MOT/Service, always a stressful time for me and my bank balance- in which case I will no doubt forget to post this...

Back in January the DOUBLE RITA NOMINEE (sorry about the caps but in this case totally justified. Two nominations for two books in totally different genres in two names. Some achievement) Pamela Hartshorne aka Jessica Hart tagged me in this: 
'

Go to either page 7 or 77 of your manuscript. Go down 7 lines and then copy the next 7 lines into your status. After that, tag 7 authors to play along.' 

I was (am) a bit shy about this as Pam  tagged some amazing writers in her post and I felt a little daunted by such illustrious company. But here, in the interests of openess and transparity is my own modest offering...

‘Pregnancy?’ He looked up in shock. ‘I didn't know Suzy was expecting.’

        ‘I expect she was keeping it a secret from you knowing your less than enlightened views on working mothers,’ Fliss said drily.

         ‘I have no view on working mothers, or on working fathers for that matter, I just expect my employees to pull their weight at work not be at home with their feet up. Damn! This is the most critical time, we'll never get anyone to take over at this short notice. Fliss, you're just going to have to do it.’

Okay then, moving swiftly on. Next the lovely Lindsay Pryor tagged me in the *cough* Inspiring Blogger award. Lindsey's eagerly awaited second novel Blood Roses (runner up in New Voices 2010) is released at the end of this month but her debut Blood Shadows is available now and if you like paranormal romance then you are in for a treat. This award requires me to display the following symbol and tell you seven things about myself.  Lindsey's facts were brilliant and really entertaining. Oh dear, this is going to be tough!

1. I once worked in a shop on Scarborough seafront and part of my duties included selling rock from under a sign that said 'Cheapest on the Front'. I also had to put the pictures onto the bestselling strip mugs; pictures of attractive 70s looking models whose clothes allegedly faded as the mug was filled with hot water. 

2. I was mistaken for Maria McKee in a Glasgow nightclub. This was some time ago.

3. In my late teens my going out outfit of choice included ripped fishnets over purple tights and a bowler hat. I am not entirely sure why.

4. My family allegedly has Russian blood, royal of course. My grandmother always claimed to have felt the spirits of her ancestors as she stood on a bridge on the Neva in St Petersburg. I too hoped to feel this connection but all I could feel was torrential rain and we never did work out where to buy an umbrella. 

5. I am half Irish and quarter German. This is in addition to my drop of royal Russian blood. 

6. I got married on stage in the Stephen Joseph theatre in Scarborough.

7. I am MUCH better tempered when I am near the sea. Sadly for my family the sea is a good hour away...

The final tag was handed to me just today so for once I am timely!  Tracey Rogers, whose debut novel Daring to Love is soon to be published by Beachwalk Press has tagged me in this. I have to thank her (thank you!), display another banner (I am getting the hang of this) and then answer a few happy, sunshiny questions. Here we go...

Favourite Number My daughter was born on the 3rd so if I had to choose one it would be 3.

Favourite non-alcoholic drink Gin! Oh, hang on. Non alcoholic? Erm. Well I drink at least five cups of tea a day...

Facebook or Twitter Oh Twitter. Always. Facebook can be a bit cutsey and smug for my taste but Twitter always makes me laugh.

Your passion Reading although that probably goes without saying. I got a replacement Kindle last Easter and there are 150 books in the read file. Plus the thirty or so I read in actual book format. Not bad for a year's haul. My favourite thing at the moment though is walking my dog. He is just 8 months old, a mini schnauzer/spaniel cross and full of character (ie naughty). I have walked him through snow, fog, much drizzle, on grey freezing days and I love it. Imagine how much more I'll love it when we get our two days of summer. 

Giving or Getting Presents I get a bit embarrassed when people buy me presents so giving every time. The pup was a surprise for my daughter's birthday, we told her we were going on a day out to a National Trust propery. Her face when she saw the tiny, wriggly bundle of fluff...

Favourite Day Friday. That's my day off work aka writing day.

Favourite Flower the first snowdrops of spring. 

Now I have to tag people *evil chuckle*. If the three people who tagged me haven't already done any of these then I choose them. Otherwise I tag my lovely CP's Jane O Reilly whose debut Once a Bad Girl is out NOW so buy it (please), Julia Broadbooks and Alexa Fiennes. x 

Losing the plot

A few years ago when my OH and I managed to be simultaneously unemployed for the second time in our marital life (please, don't let third be a charm) we became hooked on a Facebook farming game.*

There were two of these; Farmtown and Farmville. Farmville was inexplicably more popular even though it was far more cartoony. I played both but preferred my Farmtown pastoral idyll with plentiful crops, a little log cabin, white picket fences - you don't need to be a psychologist to see why this was comforting to someone who thought they might have their home repossessed. Ironically you could spend your time waiting in the market place to be hired and earn more coins that way, you could also visit friends' farms. It was nice to look up from watering plants and see that your friend (or indeed your OH, also tired of application forms and recruitment consultants' promises) had popped over to say 'hello'.

If I could have moved there I think I would have.

Admit it, it has a certain charm. You'd move here, right?

Then the real world intervened, we got jobs and closed down our farms. For good.

This year my daughter got a tablet for Christmas and the two of us have been bonding over the SIMS freestyle game. There are remarkable similarities with Farmtown (although no touting for business in the market place), mainly in the massive timesuck it can be and through the growing of crops for money. If gardening was this lucrative, allotment owners would be buying up Greek islands. The game involves building houses, furnishing them, moving in a person, getting them a job, a partner, kids.

It's Suburbia. There are even dogs you can run with.**

The game gives you goals which translates into points which allows you to do more. In my case design cool, beach side houses, in my daughters case neglect her Sims needs but make sure they have tattoos and dress like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman before Richard Gere picks her up, only more so.

Then yesterday the game told me to make my SIMS divorce. What??? My married couples all have children. What would happen to them? I don't want a divorce in my perfect piece of Suburbia where everyone works or earns money gardening 24 hours a day, the kids study and do hobbies, the pets are loved, the cars neglected for healthy environmental purposes.

And then I realised. NOTHING HAPPENS. My poor Sims live the dullest lives possible. They probably all have stashes of Sims Valium and Sims gin hidden from view just to get through the tedium that is their of their existence. I am supposed to be a writer. Plot, drama, adventure, intrigue, CONFLICT. These are the hallmarks of my calling, not the exact positioning of a new swimming pool or upgrading the kitchen cabinets (although the retro green does look cool in the open plan Beach House). If I must waste the precious time I have on this (although usually I play whilst watching TV or tweeting both of which are essential pastimes) surely I could use the time to plot?

What I won't do, though, is mirror the terrifying woman who is mimicking her own life through the Sims game. That is plain wrong. Although at least it probably has some drama...

*Warning Rant: There will be those who point out that if we were unemployed we shouldn't have had either internet or the time to play Facebook games. Some of those will be in the present Cabinet and will hopefully experience unemployment themselves one day. For those people may I gently point out that it's impossible to find/apply for a job without the internet nowadays and, as every job has a different, time consuming application form to fill in that can take three hours to complete properly sometimes you need a break. Also you need the internet to sell your favourite and only Patrick Cox lace up the back knee length boots so that you can buy food. Thanks.

** Not that your Sims can run, this is just a bad pet Shop Boys reference

Out of the mouths of babes

My 9yo has reached the age where she wants answers. Answers to burning philosophical debates such as 'If there were no other clothes in the world, which would you buy me. Little Mix or One Direction pyjamas?' Apparently 'a sack with a hole cut in it' was an unacceptable riposte. 'Does kissing boys really make you lose a tooth?' No, but you will lose several brain cells. 'What is tofu?' Errmm...

Other questions take me longer to answer. What is the worst book I ever read? There are books I didn't finish, books that made me feel sick, books I tossed across the room in disbelief, books I went back to as an adult only to realise I still hated them (looking at you Tale of Two Cities). But the worst book I ever read? I am still thinking whilst she has happily moved on to the next question.

'Who is your hero?'

Blankness. Does she mean literary? Historical? Contemporary? Mythological? Someone we know? Am I supposed to say Katniss, this year's character of choice for World Book Day?

'JK Rowling?' suggests 9yo, bored of my silence.

JK Rowling? A storyteller who single handedly turned a generation of kids onto reading? An astute business woman who kept control of her characters' brands and imagery and amassed a huge fortune by doing so. A philanthropist who quietly, without fanfare or fuss, has given so much of that fortune to charity that she has spent herself off the Forbes Rich list (*glares at every idiot oligarch/footballer/hedgefund manager with an oversized yacht, private jet and gold-plated anything). A woman who is proud not to use a single tax evasion scheme, however legal, because she believes in  giving back to the country that provided her with education, health care and a home when she had nothing.

Is that the kind of woman I want my daughter to consider a hero? Absolutely.

winter blues

The last day of half term. And the only day I haven't been at work or trudging through a never-ending spiral of Scandinavian designed furniture convinced if I just get the right combination of shelving, low lights and soft furnishings then I too can be as successful and cool as Birgitte Nyborg.
Normally Friday is writing day. Two weeks ago it was a work conference day, last week it was sleeping-puppy-on-my-knee day (he was recovering from a certain delicate operation and was the epitome of tired pathetic neediness). Today it has been baking and High School Musical marathon day. I was supposed to be writing during the HSM marathon but between online grocery shopping, searching for affordable tap shoes and jazz pants (9yo not me. Natch.) and intervening in yet another tussle between 9yo and pup, her annoying little brother with extra sharp teeth, I am almost ready to admit that life has beaten me. Again. And once again I think that I just don't deserve success, I don't work hard enough for it.
I spend a lot of time telling 9yo to just be herself, to be the best she can be, not to worry about other people. I wish I could take her advice. Funny how you never seem to measure up isn't it?
Lots of people have jobs, lots of them have children and a good proportion have both and yet, that nasty insidious voice keeps telling me, they are still writing every day, 1k 1 hours, rewrites, edits, first drafts flowing, while I stumble between work, activities (hers, natch) and chores, my brain a constant tired fog. And their hard work is beginning to pay off, more and more names I know, alumni of NV 1 and 2, SYTYCW, RNA new writers are selling. Brilliantly and deservedly so. But not me. Not yet. And if life carries on at this pace I worry it will never happen.
Of course I know what to do. I need to ignore what other people are doing and just plod on. Spring is coming and with it the opportunity to sit out in the car and write during the activities, more energy thanks to actual daylight, and the renewed hope spring always brings. I just need to keep going. And believe that one day it will be my turn. One day...

Troubleshooting

I did one of those time wasting Facebook quizzes today. Turns out I only own 9 of the 100 most influential albums made, possibly 8 as apparently I ticked Dexy's Midnight Runners which I definitely don't own. I didn't include the albums my OH may own which was very honest of me but still, not the best result (not sure who decided which albums were worthy of inclusion, the list is very white male guitar heavy but hey, I aced the books one so can't complain). Not surprisingly the albums I ticked are all, Velvet Underground aside, from my late teens/early twenties; Blur, REM, Spiritualised. And it seems my tastes haven't moved on, if I buy newer music it still tends to be either boys with guitars or pop princesses, my true guilty pleasure.

I have finally started to rewrite Summer Fling, a mere year after receiving the edits. It's taken a long time to feel my way back in especially after rewriting Minty three times in the last year. It's also taken a long time to get a handle on Lawrie, my heroine. Readers loved Jonas, the hero, but found Lawrie too uptight, unsympathetic feedback which genuinely astonished me. I loved Lawrie, why didn't they? Why wasn't I able to convey her properly? Maybe I needed the time and distance to give me some perspective before I began to rewrite.

It was a New Year karaoke session which inspired Summer Fling, the moment I realised that the Stereophonics 'Dakota' was totally my song (I made it my own according to the Wii, I have now added Tiffany's 'I Think We're Alone Now' to the illustrious list). Boys, guitars and the all-encompassing bitter-sweetness of first love.

In the year since I received the edits two more singers have helped me get Lawrie more; pretty much all of Lana Del Ray's debut album, a homeage to out of control teen angsty obsession and Taylor Swift's Trouble. I stayed up one night watching the video over and over, burbling to my OH all the reason's it was helping me encapsulate Lawrie. Sadly I forgot most of them the next day. The telling part is the narrator's self awareness. She doesn't blame the boy for what happens, she blames herself because she knew it was inevitable. And that, right there, is the key to Lawrie.

Lawrie isn't Taylor Swift and Jonas certainly isn't the ratbag rocker boyfriend. The book is set nine years after the relationship ended and there's no rolling around in the desert with dip dyed hair and a rather funky fringe. Well not yet, I haven't finished writing it so there's time. But Lawrie knew Jonas was trouble (trouble, trouble) the minute she saw him, not in himself, but in the disruption he could cause her plans. So the consequences are all hers, the blame is hers. And that's what she has lived with for the last nine years.

Sorted! Now all I have to do is write what happens next... what song is going to help me with that?

A little time out

I should be feeling guilty. I am on day 16 of my 18 days leave and I have yet to write a single word that isn't a Tweet. 18 days off work, a book to revise and not a word written. Shameful.
But for once I don't feel guilty. Well, only a little bit. I am British after all, middle class female brought up with a strong Protestant work ethic in an agnostic kind of way, nothing is ever truly guilt free.
A little bit of my devil-may-care approach is because I have had very little time. Yes, 18 days off but those 18 days have been filled with cleaning, baking, a lot of cooking and entertaining (and eating and drinking) and long dog walks, taking the daughter sale shopping, seeing friends, family, more friends, more eating and drinking. Sinking into a cinema seat on New Year's Day with 3 hours plus adverts of Middle Earth adventures before me (handsome dwarves were a thumbs up, endless orc battles a big snoozefest. I am available for detailed film critiques any time.) I found myself relieved that for now, for one blissful afternoon, all I could do was sit still and be. It's been a little busy.

But more importantly its been 2 weeks off with my daughter. Two weeks at home, often just her and I (and the pup) as my husband worked much of it. The massive downside of being a working parent is the holidays. Termtimes have their own routines and as long as there is no deviation we manage, plus I am lucky enough to work hours that allow me to drop off, pick up and write on Fridays.  Holidays are the difficulty. Making 5 weeks of leave cover 13 weeks of holiday is a maths puzzle too far for me and I start trying to puzzle it out in Jan as I fill in the new year's calendar. To actually spend 2 weeks with her at home is a rare, rare treat. Amongst the eating and drinking and entertaining and wrapping and cleaning and shopping there have been long puppy walks across flooded paths, shared tears as we snuggle under blankets to rewatch the Hunger Games, an expensive introduction to Yo Sushi, a new addiction to the Sims. And did I mention the long puppy walks on grey, drizzly mornings, watching her race the pup across the common, legs flying, eyes alight with laughter?

I have a lot of writing to do and, come next week, I'll start again, just as I'll log back into myfitnesspal.com and step back onto the chauffeuring-child-to-activities treadmill again. But right now I have 3 more days at home and I intend to make the most of every second of them.

Favourite day of the year...

It's only the 21st December and I have already reached Quality Street saturation point and am considering booking my liver in for a much deserved spa break. It's been a frantic December at home and work and, as always, it's my writing that suffers.

My precious writing-Fridays have been spent Christmas shopping, ordering the Christmas food (if it all turns up at midday on Sunday I am going to be very, very smug but I predict a panic dash to the supermarket Sunday afternoon) cleaning (I know!), or at school plays. And I seem to have developed a frantic Christmas social life in the evenings much to my daughter's disgust. 'When are you in?' she asked the other day, desperate for me to finish reading the Hounds of Morrigan to her this year.

Luckily this weekend things slow down and after an afternoon baking on Sunday - gingerbread for the gingerbread and butter apple pudding I am inventing for Christmas day and the trifle for when it all goes horribly wrong - we'll swing into Christmas Eve. One of the things I love most about having a child is the invention of our own family traditions. Every Christmas Eve we go to the crib service at York Minster which ends with a tableaux of every child in a Nativity scene, usually about 300 of them. We've gone every year since she was two but I think this is the last year 9yo will want to participate so next year we may have to try the afternoon service or even Midnight Mass which will make this year's service extra special; I always well up for the descant in 'Oh Come All Ye Faithful', this year there may be sobs. After the service we go for lunch with friends and then the neighbours come round for mulled wine and to watch Father Christmas's progress on Google Maps.

Just a few years ago...

Christmas day is the usual bustle of stockings, presents, walks, food, wine and Dr Who and it is lots of fun but it's the quieter, sweeter Christmas Eve I love best. Whether it's snowing, frosty and sunny or, more likely, grey and raining, it's a magical day, my favourite day of the year.