Every six months or so, just as the last notes of the dawn chorus were fading, mum would pack my little sister and I into the car for the bi-annual Shopping Trip. Essential supplies were needed - after all, Maidstone was at least 17 miles away from home so it was better to be safe than sorry. Crisps? Check. Extra coats? Check. Warm overly strong overly orange orange squash in a plastic bottle? Check. Oven off? Door locked? Check Check Check and Check again.


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I've just recieved my invitation for the launch party for the erotic anthology In Bed With... Since there are twenty of us authors, it's hardly surprising that we can only invite a certain number of friends each, but now, apparently, demand from the press and media for invitations has been much, much higher than anticipated. Since the good folk of Little, Brown's publicity department know their stuff, have run one or two launch parties in their time and so must know what the usual rate for accepting invitations is, I can only come to the staggeringly original conclusion that Sex Sells.

But of course, no one knows which of those twenty stories I wrote, except me and the desk editor, and far as I know the other authors are in much the same position; we've all written under pseudonyms, and everyone's being very careful not to give anything away. So the common currency of a launch - part celebration, part confidence boost, part media-trap - can only work collectively.

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There is a kind of writer who rarely spares a thought for the reader. I’m writing my novel for myself, they’ll say. And if someone should happen to pick it up and something I’ve written resonates with them, that’s great. But even if no one ever read a word it wouldn’t stop me writing. Fair enough, I always think, as long as you don’t mind if it stops you being published either.

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I was asked by facebook friend and audiobook reviewer Sharon Harriott whether there is an audiobook of A Vengeful Longing. The answer is yes!

I have to confess that I'm not a fan of audiobooks myself. Reading has always been a silent occupation for me, and I find the reader's voice too intrusive. This is especially so when I'm listening to audiobooks of my own work - which, frankly, is something I just can't do. However, I do know there are people who love them, and indeed some who rely on them. (Audiobooks in general, I mean - not my audiobooks!) So for those of you who are interested, the audiobook of A Vengeful Longing is available through audible, as an mp3 download. I think that means you can put it on your ipod, if that's the kind of thing you're into.

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so...its easy to slip on words...something im particularly good at...and blogs have never attracted me before...so protentious...are they not..assuming anyone would want to hear what youve got to say...[if you havent made contact in a personal sense]
but
habits need breaking for me...at the moment...so...maybe i'll keep a render of my chronologic viewpoint...
im off back to blighty shortly...if i can manage the cold weather...[probably not] its been 40deg celsius for nearly a week now...in melbourne where i live...peoples behaviour tends to change with that amount of heat...particularly when we had given up on a summer this yr...lots of coldish days following coldish days...
now its probably the hottest its ever been... the trains wont run...the rails are buckling... and the effort to move requires the brain to cencentrate...im fitter than most and i have air con bolt holes...but i pity those that didnt heed the warnings about climate change...this is a sun burnt country...but thats a function of
out-back...the coastal fringe joins the red heart now...and water will be a problem...the eurpeans always assumed they were in control here...not so...its 43.3deg at the moment...people are melting

Needy. That's what it is. It reminds me of Wednesday afternoons on the school playing field, standing in a group, trying hard not to shiver as the cold wind blew in over the muddy pitch and whistled around your bare legs, waiting for the 'captains' to choose their teams.

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Those of you who are particularly eagle eyed will have noticed that I have changed the description of what I am above (the bit below the title of this blog).

[Warning: I may ramble]

Now, there is a reason for this: saying who I am and what I do isn't something I find particularly easy. I do a lot of different things. Firstly I'm a writer. I write. But I write all sorts: poems, short stories, flash fiction, my book for children (which is back in stock at Amazon) - and goodness knows what else. And I run workshops. And a writing group. And I've had features published. And photographs.

So. Anyway. I decided, a little while ago, that the most appropriate definition of me, one which would appear at the top of this blog, was: Writer and Poet.

I kept it simple.

Last week, I stumbled upon a blog who'd kindly linked to me. It belongs to Emerging Writer and is well worth a look.

What she said initially made me chuckle (in a nice way), because she wondered how I created poems (if I didn't write them: writer and poet, see?).

And then I worried: had I said something really silly?

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Apparently (well, it's a fact) when you get to 65 your tax code goes up. If I'd sent back the form asking 'Have your circumstances changed?' and tracked down my NI number before Christmas, I'd have found out earlier. I wouldn't have accumulated enough to make me throw caution to the winds, though. Well, I wouldn't have bought this picture.


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I've just asked my daughter what to blog about - inspiration sagging after a day storming ahead with the novel, and then wading through a deskful of admin - and she said, 'Chocolate'. Unfortunately, this isn't really a cooking blog, or a chocolate eating blog, though both are high on my list of pleasures. I was wondering what had happened to fifteen years of education, when I remembered how a friend of mine described one of our favourite authors. Trying to pin down the appeal, she described Georgette Heyer as 'brain chocolate'.

Just in case there are a few readers who don't know what I'm talking about, permit me to point you towards the piece I wrote for Vulpes Libris, which attempts to describe her appeal. Or if, even then, you don't get it, just subsitute your own best in-the-bath or in-bed-with-a-cold reading.

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It's good to read, just like it's good to talk (according to BT).


Of course it's good to read, I hear you say. If your nose never graces a book, then realistically what hopes do you have of ever becoming an author?
Granted, you may have been a great speller at primary school and top in the creative writing competitions, but if you don’t read much, let alone stop to analyse a book, then halt your writing dreams now I say.

And this brings me onto what I deem a very valid question - what makes a good book? It’s a question which has been asked many times and one which has generated all manner of interesting replies.
Is is a good story? Interesting characters - ones which the reader can relate to? Or is a good book one which, when you take it to bed, simply allows you to escape the last few hours of a mundane Monday thanks to its engaging plot and intriguing storyline?



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