Two of the very few poems I've written as an adult are sonnets. They're not good (none of my poetry is, and I know how much work it would be to make it better) but in working on them I discovered something I hadn't known about how writing happens. When you're writing anything creative, you have, by definition, to put words in an order they've never been put in before. But our sense of what words go well next to each other is mainly based on sense, on logic, on combinations of words we've heard before, and so getting beyond that, to wherever truly new things come from, is hard to do.

One of the most interesting 'how to' books I've ever read about writing isn't about writing at all...

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Back to the grindstone today. That’s the trouble with having a day off in the middle of my working week – it makes going back deeply confusing. And it’s as if I’ve never been away – we’re still in meeting muddle and I am juggling minutes, bids and yet more meetings with increasingly desperate intensity. I really have no idea what’s supposed to be happening and I’m not convinced anyone else does either. Sigh. Even those who might – if I shine a light in their eyes – have some inkling of what’s going on have fled to the hills. Ah well. We struggle on ...

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'Happy New Year.'
I don't answer. The beaming presenter is calling out to her listeners, not me.
I've been asked to go on the radio to discuss the new book and read a piece. I'm so excited I trip over a cable snaking its way across the studio. The presenter gives me a look that would freeze medusa - but then I have just probably broken a piece of equipment worth thousands.
'Have I got a treat for you,' she chirps. 'A brand new novel that's gritty, gritty, gritty.'
I take a deep breath and try to put on the mammoth headphones.They slip down under my jaw but I'm not about to complain.
'This is gritty stuff. Gritty, gritty, gritty so don't read it at bedtime.'
I relax. At least she loves the book.
'And I don't know about you guys but can't wait to hear from the author right after this tune.'
I smile as she hits one of the buttons on the bank to her right. This is going to be great. No doubt she'll have some penetrating questions and we can discuss the story's themes.
'Listen, love,' she pushes away her mike. 'I haven't read it.'
'Ah,' I keep my rictus smile intact.
She sniffs. 'Not my cup of tea to be honest.'
As the music fades we are live on air.
'So, Helen,' she trills, 'tell us all about your book.'
'It's a thriller.' I gulp down my panic. 'About a lawyer who's client...'
'I bet,' she interupts. 'It's gritty, gritty, gritty.'
'Yes,' I say. 'Gritty, gritty, gritty.'

I simply could not believe it when I woke up this morning with yet another cold! What is going on? I had my flu jab like all good asthmatics should and yet, here we are, two weeks into January and I am full of cold! Anyway at least it didn't rear its ugly head until today because on Saturday, we went to meet the latest addition to the family. He is just teeny - with the most unruly mop of almost-black hair you can imagine, and the darkest eyes which have clearly not yet adjusted to the harsh bright light outside the warm dark comfort of his mother's womb! I really cannot temember First Grandson or Grand-daughter being that little, but I suppose they must have been. Grand-daughter went from being the baby of the family to every inch the big sister in one leap! She even looked so much more grown up than when we saw her just after Christmas!


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A double Thorn in the Flesh delight today! First of all, I popped into Godalming Museum where the launch will be held at the end of February, and met the utterly delightful Diane, who helped me plan the evening, fill out the form and generally mopped my fevered brow. Which needed a fair amount of mopping, I can tell you, after yesterday's traumas. Anyway, it's all sorted and all I have to do is turn up and bring some books to sell. Or as near as anyway ...

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Harper Collins sent me away for a week to help me write. It was the last act of desperate people. Chris, my editor, asked me where I wanted to go.

“LA,” I told him.

He blinked. “I was thinking more like Cornwall, or perhaps Torquay.”

“I find the locale very inspiring. The palm trees bring something out in me.”

“The palm trees are all fifty feet high. No one looks at them.”

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"Did you go to school when you were younger?" The Girl asked the other day. Feeling mildly put-out that she couldn't immediately tell I'd been educated to degree level, I laughed and said:

"What, Mummy School?"
"Yes," she said, deadpan.
"Well, no. There isn't a school for mummies. You just have to get on with it. But I did go to real school."
"Oh." She looked disappointed...

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Lordy, what a day. No sooner do I get in than people are coming from all quarters with requests to add extra papers to the Bid Meeting today and wondering when the deadline was. Um, the deadline was last Wednesday, and yes they do know that!! So I am now setting a marital date with the photocopier as we are spending so much time in each other's company. It's the decent thing to do. Not only that but the Chair realised he couldn't even make the meeting, or at least he could be present only for the first half hour - which left poor David in the role of Acting Chair and frantically reading through the paperwork in an effort to understand what was going on. And as there is now officially more paperwork than War & Peace, that was one hell of a task ...

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Excuse me while I go a little 'Bridget Jones' on you for a moment and take a line or two to state last week’s vital statistics:

Books bought from a shop: 2
Books that arrived through the post: 5
Books still on order: 11
Books given away/sold on e-bay/thrown out/used as kindling on chilly days/in any other way ejected from the household: 0

On Saturday, Jeanette Winterson wrote in the 'Books' section of The Times that she starts each new year by lugging a load of unwanted books to the charity shop, so that she can 'fill up the spaces on the shelves with new possibilities'. An excellent idea. It's just such a pity that I find myself utterly unable to emulate her. I am, as you have probably guessed, a big fan of the new possibilities that new books bring; it's the eviction of old books to make room for them that tends to give me some difficulty. I just can't bring myself to part with them, not even as I witness the bookcases filling up and the unlucky newcomers forced to squat in piles on the floor, next to the shelves that should have been theirs.


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Mother in Yorkshire calls.
'I'm in the Supermarket,' she says. 'I thought they might have christmas cards on sale.'
This is my cue to reply in a seemingly intereted fashion that neither offends nor gives rise to lenghthy discussions about other items purchased at cut price.
'Guess what?' she says.
'They had advent calendars too?' I venture.
'Your book's on the shelf,' she shrieks. 'Five of them!'
Ten minutes later Husband in The City calls.
'I'm in WHSmiths,' he says. 'Guess what?'