The 'virtues' represented: Truth, Faith, Hope, Fortitude and Justice, had me thinking about the how they'd be represented in today's financial institutions : Spin, No Accountability, Government Bail-outs, Directors Bonuses and Pension Cuts - not virtues at all, really.



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Ah, text messages. Little packets of electronic wisdom delivered directly to your pocket at random. Bite-sized chunks of news or gossip, events or invitations, trials, tribulations and wild speculation – and all in 160 characters or fewer. A bit like having your own personal postman on duty 24 hours a day, except without the need for a letter box or worry about your big hairy dog getting all over excited.


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What can you say in six sentences?
To see what I said:

Read DING! on 6S Express [link]

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A little while ago I agreed to do an event on World Book Day. This particular event's in aid of Book Aid, an excellent cause. And during the conversation I had with the head librarian about how we could raise any extra money I said I'd speak to some author friends and see if they'd donate a signed copy of a book that we could raffle or auction or something.

I sent an email to 19 author friends on Friday.

Today I've already had 13 responses, all of them only too happy to help. Which is just fantastic.

So a very large Thank You to you all for being so generous and speedy.

Hurrah!

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Does the act of reading help make you a better writer?
There’s no question that familiarity with a genre is vital if you want to write within it. For me, it’s a no-brainer that to write books, you must read books. But I’m talking about reading a novel by a top author and seeing it a sort of one-to-one tutorial. Analysing how the nuts and bolts fit together in a way that helps you to build your own story. (Enough engineering metaphors, Ed).

The reason I’m blethering on about this is that I’ve been thinking about my complete inability to read a novel as a writer, rather than as a reader. I’ve heard lots of other writers say that their reading pleasure has been tarnished by learning about some of the techniques involved and a feeling of ‘knowing how it’s done’. Although I’m very glad that I never feel this way, I’m slightly envious that they’re able to stand back from the page and analyse a novel as they read it. As soon as I start to be interested in a story, I’m largely blind to how it’s done. I just get sucked in.


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As I've grumbled before, I think that where in a writer's life fiction comes from is in many ways beside the point. And yet it seems to be the backbone of much of what people - readers, journalists, editors considering whether your deep-sea-diving chick lit is saleable - ask about your work. I do understand the curiosity, and as long as it doesn't shade into thinking that 'I lived through it' means your work is more valuable than 'I made it up', it's fine. But when I came across an obituary, the other day, I couldn't help having an autobiographical twinge.

I think I must have been about eight, and we were in Oxford, going to have tea with my mother's godmother: one of those things that as a child you just get taken along to, and have to mind your manners and say what you like doing best at school.

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When the hostel warden asked us, reasonably enough, ‘Will ye no’ be moving on to the Highlands?’ we assured him we were happy to walk the nearby Eildon Hills. They had been adored by Sir Walter Scott, who died at the house he built at Abbotsford, his sofa placed so he had a good view of them.


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Most historical novelists are probably familiar with the reaction: “Gosh, I could never manage all that research!” I wrote a post about this a while back on Picnic Publishing’s blog, so I won’t repeat too much of that. Instead, I want to talk about doing that research on the web.

Wait.. what!? Not… the internets? No!!! You can’t trust the Google! Argh!

Sometimes I sense that people don’t see internet research as the Real Thing. Unless you’re in the county archives trying not to get your greasy fingerprints on a 200-year-old manuscript, you’re not doing it right. Online research is for people who don’t care about accuracy, because the entire web is written by one pasty-faced 13-year-old American boy with no social skills and an unhealthy fixation on boobs.



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Real life = overload at the moment. Consequently, creative circuitry has been disrupted. Feel like a three pin plug in a two pin socket.[more ...]

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I’d wondered if I’d recognise Sarah.

The last time we’d seen each other was July 1987. I was all back-combed bleached hair pale-faced multi-earring-ed top-to-toe black-wearing Goth. Funky Town, Who’s That Girl, and Sinitta’s one-hit-wonder Toy Boy were riding high in the charts. The Pet Shop Boys were on the way back down from the top with It’s a Sin; we were just about to hear Rick Astley’s Never Gonna Give You Up for the very first time.

I’ve been on several blind dates* over the last few months and have certainly had a few butterflies on each occasion; that I was nervous going to meet an old school friend caught me by surprise.

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