Last chance to see...

If you haven't already been to Dark Valentine to read Can't Buy Love then do it now before it's too late! I've just discovered that the magazine is closing its doors imminently and all the stories and artwork currently featured on the site will no longer be available.

I shall really miss this magazine. I'd only fairly recently discovered it, liked its style and 'look', and enjoyed many of the featured stories. I seem to be the kiss of death for so many magazines and publishers - accept a story from me and they curl up in a corner and die within weeks. Ack. I suppose the only thing I can be 'proud' of is that mine was one of the last stories they accepted.

You can find Can't Buy Love here, for now, but please be quick as I can't promise how much longer the story (or the magazine) will be there.

No comment... sigh

Just a quickie to apologise to all the people whose blogs I watch, and often comment on. Unfortunately since Blogger bit the dust back in mid-May, I've been having ongoing issues. These include not being able to stay 'signed in' to my own account, and not being able to comment on any other Blogger blog. I can still post to my own blog here (be thankful for small mercies) but that's about it. For everything else, the system no longer seems to recognise me.

It's irritating because there have been some great posts and I'm itching to respond to them, but I can't. And I can't log on to the Blogger help forums to report the problem, either. The only good thing is that lots of other people seem to be having similar problems. TPTB at Blogger keep telling everyone the problems are fixed. Well, guys, I have news for you: they're not!

Hopefully they'll actually notice that things are not back to one happy vista of normality... eventually, but until then I'll just grit my teeth, soldier on, and say 'Sorry!' to all my Blogger pals. I'll comment again, just as soon as I bloody well can!

Can't Buy Love

This is the title of my latest story, a twisted take on love in the 21st century, which has just been published by Dark Valentine magazine.

The story was inspired by a strange and somewhat surreal news article a few months back, but I'm not going to say what the article was about just yet because it will spoil the surprise!

Edited to add: Sadly the magazine ceased publication shortly after my story appeared, so it's currently no longer available.

Pirates!

It's been absolutely ages since we last went to the cinema but there's a clutch of good films all coming out at the same time (like buses... typical) so last night we headed off to Solihull for a meal out and a movie.

The meal was at a newish restaurant called Giraffe, part of a chain that (like so many others) seems to be threatening world domination and springing up in towns and cities across the land. Luckily, it's very nice. We ate in one in London a few years back and were impressed, and were still impressed last night. They specialise in 'world cuisine', which basically means a little of everything, but with the emphasis on Tex-Mex.

The film was Pirates of the Caribbean 4: On Stranger Tides. We love the first two films in the series, disliked the third, but had heard good things about this one. And it was a blast. Not perhaps quite as good as the first one - too few main characters and a very slow start made it a little too dependent on Johnny Depp, and as good as he is, it's a tall order for one actor to 'carry' an entire film. But the special effects were great and once all the various parties were back at sea, chasing the elusive Fountain of Youth, the action took off and it was all great fun. And watch out for some amusing cameo roles - Keith Richards as Jack Sparrow's dad, and Dame Judy Dench in a carriage.

As usual if you sit through the telephone-directory length credits you get a hidden extra and in this case it seemed to hint that more 'episodes' could be on the way. If they're as entertaining as this I hope so... but perhaps they could come up with a couple more characters to replace Elizabeth, Will, Norrington, Davy Jones, Bootstrap Bill, the Governor, and the two idiotic pirates in the meantime?

Shotgun Honey moves

Blogger got its knickers in a right old twist yesterday, logging members out of their own accounts at every opportunity and refusing to allow comments. One result is that Shotgun Honey, the nearly-new zine of crime and noir flash fiction, got fed up and moved. I'm busy updating the links to my story Gran Torino but the great news is that it's still fully available to read at its new home.

And Blogger? Well, it still seems to be buggering about but less so than it was. I live in hope...

Motherhood?

Not having children myself, the 'agony and ecstasy of being a mother' isn't a subject I know a vast amount about. So when I saw that the theme for a forthcoming issue of Mslexia was 'motherhood', my heart sank. That's another issue I won't be able to write for, I thought. But then I surprised myself. This afternoon I sat down and wrote an emotional little piece about two neighbours' very different experiences of being a mother to a 20-something son. I'm still wondering where on earth the ideas for that came from...

Ever decreasing circles

We finally got the go-ahead for both planning permission and building regulations for our extension, which will give us a second (if very tiny) bathroom and a bigger kitchen. On Friday our architect came over and we sat down round the dining table with a cuppa each to go through the full 'scope of work', ready to send tenders out to local builders.

My goodness, I had no idea it involved so much detail! We'd already planned our kitchen units, flooring, sink and taps but there's so much more. Wall tiles. Lighting. Light switches and sockets. A shower curtain or screen. The particular brand and pattern of obscured glass for the bathroom window. Even the paint colour has to be specified!

It's all very exciting, but it's also a huge amount of work. We spent the whole weekend dashing from one DIY store or supplier to another, deciding what we liked and what we could actually afford. (The two, sadly, seldom seem to meet.) And finally we have a list of just about everything, which I'm hoping to email to the architect later today. After that things should die down again for a while and I should be back to my usual schedule. I've done no work at all since Thursday. Bad Fiona.

Gran Torino

I'm delighted to say Shotgun Honey have been true to their word and posted my short story Gran Torino today.

Pop along to this new zine of crime and noir flash to see how one old lady turns the tables on the thug who almost runs her over... You may never look at mobility scooters in quite the same way again!

Typing... re-typing

I always knew that touch-typing course I did at college would come in useful one day.

I wanted to nominate a story for the Watery Grave Invitational crime writing contest, to try to get myself on their list of invitees. When I came to look at my list of published stories only one met the bill, Lemon Sour which was published in Radgepacket 4. And I realised that I didn't have a copy on my laptop, or on the flash drive that I dash around the country with and never leave home without. In fact, the only copy I had was in a volume of the book that I'd brought with me to read months ago and popped back on a shelf.

So, I rolled up my sleeves and set to work... to re-type the whole blinking story. Luckily it's only around 1800 words long so it could have been worse, but it still took me a couple of hours. Not least because I had to keep picking up the book, reading the next sentence, memorising it, putting the book down again to free my hands up to type, typing, then picking the book up again.... A long and frustrating process, but the submission went off to Watery Grave at lunchtime, well in time for the May 15th deadline. Now I just watch and wait. And thank the Lord that I learned to type at speed with all ten fingers and thumbs. If I'd still been using the old prod-and-poke method and two fingers, I'd have been at it all day!

Ultimate I.D. available

As promised the new issue of Pulp Metal Magazine came out over the weekend complete with articles, reviews, and lots of new 'odd' fiction including my story The Ultimate I.D.

Since this is an evil piece featuring a pair of missing curtains, the Post Office and a nagging wife, it certainly lives up to the 'odd' label. It's also very tongue-in-cheek, though, so I hope everyone enjoys it.

You can find the story here, but don't forget to check out the other stories and content while you're on the Pulp Metal site.

And happy, if slightly hair-raising, reading. :)

Curtains...?

Pulp Metal Magazine, a well respected publication in the world of noir and general darkness, has accepted The Ultimate I.D., an evil little tale about one man's answer to a missing pair of curtains and a nagging wife.

The story should be appearing over the weekend, but I'll pop a note on here as soon as I know for sure that it's available to read.

This is the third 'refugee' from the revenge anthology I've had accepted, which makes me a particularly happy bunny.

Hack splutter cough

This morning Dave gloss-painted the bathroom. It's going to look stunning when it's done but gloss paint takes ages to dry... and I'm allergic to the fumes. To get me out of the house and stop me wheezing we decided to head for the city centre and go for a walk.

The roads were busy (second sunny Bank Holiday Sunday in a row, plus a Birmingam City home match that had just finished) but we gritted our teeth and fought our way through - and even found a parking space. After a brief refuelling stop at the Museum & Art Gallery's so-called 'Edwardian tea rooms', we set off for the Jewellery Quarter on foot.

There weren't many shops open but it's always a fascinating area to explore with dozens of interesting old buildings, a heritage trail and a maze of half-hidden canals. The only trouble was, thanks to the dry sunny weather of the last few weeks there was masses of dust, and a strong-to-gale-force wind blew it into our faces no matter which way we turned. I'm allergic to dust too, and ended up coughing and spluttering just as much as if I'd stayed at home... but I did get a good walk (and a slice of cheesecake at the Museum) as a reward.

'Feel every word' (ouch)

Yesterday Dave treated himself to a new book from Waterstones, and when we got the bag home I couldn't help noticing their new tagline, 'Feel Every Word'. Maybe I've got a nasty mind, or maybe it's the wordsmith in me, but I'm afraid my first reaction was 'ouch', swiftly followed by 'ew'.

Just imagine if that word was 'sludge', for instance, or 'slimy' or 'disgusting puddle of ooze'. Or even worse, 'agony' or 'snapping bone', 'toothache' or 'decapitate'. Would I (or anyone else for that matter) really want to feel those sensations?

I know what Waterstones are trying to do and up to a point I applaud their attempt to involve people in the sheer richness of language and reading. I can't help wondering, though, whether this particular campaign has backfired. And I bet they paid some consultant squillions to come up with it, too.

Cracked

So there I was keeping a beady eye on The Pygmy Giant after they accepted my latest offering, Cracked. Then I got hopelessly busy, forgot to check for one day, and lo and behold the story snuck onto the site behind my back. Isn't it typical? Hence I'm a little late with this announcement, for which I can only apologise.

The good news is, Cracked is now available to read completely free at The Pygmy Giant. It tells the story of Geoffrey, a maths teacher at a modern-day school who has a spectacular fall from grace after losing patience with an out-of-control pupil. The story is one of a very, very few which presented itself fully formed in my head and I've always been rather fond of it for that reason; and I'm absolutely delighted and overcome at the positive response from the readers. Comments so far include 'wonderful writing', 'the right side of sad', and 'this story gives me pause'. I'm glowing!

Great day out

Last week Dave and I took some time off work to tackle a lot of jobs around the house that had got left unfinished for far too long. We've been drilling, sanding down, planing, boxing in pipes, filling, decorating, and deep-level cleaning, and we've achieved loads. By yesterday it had got to the stage where if either of us so much as saw a paintbrush or a screw driver we'd have killed something, so we treated ourselves to a day out to a somewhat unexpected destination - Clay Mills Victorian Pumping Station near Burton-on-Trent.

One of Dave's former colleagues helps out there on a regular basis and offered to give us a 'personal' guided tour. The pumping station is one of the biggest and most complete to survive from the Victorian era, with lots of different steam engines - which Dave and I are both suckers for. We arrived about 10.30 am and spent the best part of four happy hours clambering around, under and over engines, boilers and more engines while Dave's colleague explained how they worked and what the pumping station was for. (In the latter case, actually for pumping sewage, particularly effluent from all the breweries, away from Burton so it could be treated elsewhere.)

The sun shone, the volunteers were dressed up in Victorian workmens' clothes, small traction engines chugged about giving visitors rides, and all in all it was a fascinating and really fun day out.

Many thanks, Chris, the tour was much appreciated. :)

And another...

Good Friday lived up to its name today as I received my second acceptance in two days. This time it's the turn of The Pygmy Giant, an online British magazine of gritty and/or humorous flash fiction, to take a story. Cracked is a poignant tale of a school teacher's fall from grace after he loses patience and clips an out-of-control pupil round the ear. The story is described as 'lovely and sad' by the magazine's editor, and should be published on the site soon.

I'll post details here as soon as I know when it's likely to appear.

Another acceptance

Good news on the story front. New-zine-on-the-block Shotgun Honey, who specialise in crime and noir flash fiction, have accepted Gran Torino, a darkly comic short story about an old lady who takes matters into her own hands after a thug almost knocks her down.

This is one of the stories I'd earmarked for the revenge anthology so I'm particularly pleased to find a home for it. It should be appearing at the zine on 11th May but I'll post a reminder nearer the time to save you all having to remember.

Too much sitting

A friend of mine pointed me in the direction of this rather alarming article about health the other day. I already knew that inactivity was bad for your health, but this goes further in sugggesting that it doens't matter how healthy the rest of your lifestyle is (diet, exercise etc) - if you spend the majority of each day sitting down, you're over 50% more likely to die of a heart attack.

The researchers themselves don't seem to fully understand why this is, or whether it applies to just the act of sitting or to general inactivity, but I was shocked enough to want to do something about it.

The trouble is, as a writer it's hard to NOT sit down all day. The romance writer Nora Roberts has been quoted (on iGoogle's writing quotes gadget) as saying 'ass in chair' and it's well known as a sedentary job. I can't type standing up, and the only work surface that would be high enough to give me the support I need would be the ironing board, and I can hardly work all day on that. But I worked out that there are aspects of the job I don't need to sit down for. Making and taking phone calls. Reading through print copies of stories. Editing print copies of stories. Even thinking can be done standing up.

It's a start, and better still, it burns an extra 60 calories an hour which ought to benefit my waistline as well as my heart!

RIP Velvet Mafia

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New look

I'm experimenting with a new, darker look for my blog and website. This is because my writing is heading in a new direction too. It's been a long time since I last wrote any romance, erotic or otherwise, and most of the stories in that genre are coming up on the end of their contract (or in some cases, have already dropped off the edge!) And most of my new fiction is gritty urban contemporary, or noir, or dark paranormal, or a sort of gallows humour. My most recent acceptance, The Other Side of Silence, is in the dark paranormal category and I'm hoping to have others to add to that in the coming weeks and months.

This is an exciting start to what I hope will be a new journey for me, and I hope you enjoy the ride too!

Quiet...

I've been a little quiet the last few days, because I was unfortunate enough to witness someone being cruel to an animal. The poor creature died, which upset me rather, and I've been finding it hard to concentrate on work. There are some sad people in the world, aren't there? I don't want to say too much for fear of it getting back to me, but I reported what I could and will have to hope it helps stop the same thing happening again.

On a brighter note, I've now found places to submit almost half the stories from my anthology and am chewing holes in my desk waiting for their replies.

Back safely

I forgot to mention yesterday that Dave got back from Qatar late Thursday evening. He was a little worn around the edges after travelling for fourteen hours straight, but otherwise fine and had enjoyed the trip more than he expected. Admittedly he spent most of his time at work and couldn't get out much to see the sights, but a colleague's parents took him to the soukh and a restaurant one evening and he got a flavour of the country from the hour's drive between the hotel and the site.

He said it was a real eye-opener. Too often on UK television they still portray Arab countries as either backward or corrupt, but he said Qatar was clean, prosperous and forward-thinking and the people amongst the friendliest he's ever met. His hotel was amazing (he had a suite overlooking the private beach, which helped) and the shops were full of attractive goodies at surprisingly affordable prices. And petrol was, um, 6p a litre.

He arrived back clutching gifts including a pretty pashmina and a small metal camel trinket - the latter in spite of my strict instructions not to bring any camels home!

Alibi's crime writing contest - second thoughts

A few weeks ago I posted details of this contest, run by Alibi TV in association with HarperCollins to find the 'crime writers of the future'. It's completely free to enter, the prizes are seriously good, and there's always the chance that you might leapfrog the slush pile at HarperCollins if you make the shortlist of eight.

I was all set to write something myself and had even come up with a title and a basic plot. Then I decided to check the guidelines for formatting hints, and found the following statement buried deep within the small print of the terms and conditions of entry:

"Where you submit your entry to this site (including without limitation any text, graphics, photos, video or audio) by such submission you grant UKTV and Harper Collins Publishers Limited each a perpetual, irrevocable, royalty-free, non-exclusive, worldwide, sub-licensable right and license to use, reproduce and publish, distribute and make available to the public your entry in any media, now known or later developed, for the full term of any rights that may exist in such content.

If you do not wish to grant such rights to UKTV and HarperCollins, you should not submit your content to the site."

In other words, it's yet another contest where simply by submitting your story, you give away all rights, forever, without any form of payment. Those lucky eight will get prizes and recognition, but hundreds of others will send work in, not be shortlisted, and effectively hand over their story for free.

Why do some contest organisers do this? And why do they hide that fact in reams of small print that many people won't have the patience to wade through? I don't know, but suddenly I've gone off the idea of entering this contest.

The Lord giveth...

...and the Lord taketh away. Which is a flowery way of saying that I've had good news and bad news on the writing front in the last few days.

The good news is that Pill Hill Press, a publisher of dark and speculative fiction based in Nebraska, have accepted The Other Side of Silence for a forthcoming anthology. This is an atmospheric ghost story set in a big old house where the heroine had an unpleasant experience as a child, and it fitted very nicely with the anthology's theme of 'There Was a Crooked House'. Stories are being accepted on a first come first served basis so I don't yet know when the book will be available to buy, but I'll post details here when I find out.

Now the bad news. The publisher I queried my revenge anthology with has declined, because they don't publish collections of short stories. It's fair enough but obviously I'm disappointed, not least because I wrote many of the stories with that publisher in mind. That always makes it a little harder to find new homes for them, but I haven't given up. This afternoon I got my 'markets' folder out, shook off the cobwebs and started trawling through, and I've already found places to send around six of the sixteen stories. Whether they'll actually get anywhere is another matter, but I'll give it a damn good go. I have a feeling the rest of the week will be taken up with rewrites, re-edits, re-formattings, and re-submissions. Wish me luck!

Nervous...

Dave is flying out to Qatar later today to spend the next few days working on a giant gas plant. The Middle East isn't one of the most stable areas of the globe at present and although Qatar hasn't seen the same trouble that hit Egypt, Tunisia, Libya etc, it is still fairly close to other flash points such as Bahrain. Indeed, British Airways have already buggered about with his flight times because they're no longer calling in at Bahrain en route (and didn't bother to notify him of the new flight times... typical).

I'm sure everything will be fine really, but I'll still be glad when he's back.

Good deal at Smiths

I need more books to read like I need the proverbial hole in the head, but yesterday I found a deal that was hard to resist. WHSmith were offering the latest novel by Carlos Ruis Zafon (of 'Shadow of the Wind' fame) for only £2.99 if you bought a copy of The Times.

I've read a couple of books by Zafon ('Shadow' and its follow-on) and enjoyed them, and although I don't usually read The Times (I'm a Guardian girl at heart) it seemed too good an offer to miss. Newspaper and book were soon in a bag, swinging along at my side ready to be devoured at home.

As far as I know the offer's still on, and I think other books may also have been included. So if you want a cheap paperback, hurry along to your nearest branch of Smiths!

Now here's a challenge

Yesterday I had a migraine and couldn't concentrate on any of my longer stories. A few days ago I came across a new challenge, courtesty of 5x5 Fiction, which involves writing a story in only 25 words, using five sentences of exactly five words each. Even your bio has to be exactly five words long! I settled down to have a play with words.

My goodness. I thought writing a 75 word story for Paragraph Planet was hard enough but this proved a real tussle. I found I could cope with the structure reasonably well (the five sentences) but what I struggled with was fitting a proper story into that structure, rather than just a series of sentences. My first few efforts were terribly lame and there were a lot of screwed up pieces of paper in the waste paper basket. Eventually, though, I managed to cudgel my brain into producing two different 25 word stories that weren't, at first glance, too bad. I'll give them another polish in a day or two and then hope to submit them to 5x5 for their next anthology.

I'm not sure the exercise helped my migraine much, but it was surprisingly good fun!

Photo opportunity

Just a quick reminder that my new little ficlet, Photo Opportunity, is available right now at Paragraph Planet.

Miss it today and you'll have to wait till the end of the month to find it again in the archives!

New paragraph

Paragraph Planet have just accepted another of my 75 word ficlets, this one called Photo Opportunity. It's based on a real life event and I still have the photo to prove it!

Check out the site tomorrow (Wednesday 23rd March) to see the paragraph for yourselves.

Authors for Japan

If like me you've been scouring the internet looking desperately for ways to help the people of Japan after last week's earthquake, then this might be just what you need.

The Authors for Japan group have got together to organise an online auction of 'writerly things' with all proceeds going to the Japanese Red Cross. Lots you can bid for include donated books, mentorships, editing sessions, and even your name as a character in a forthcoming Doctor Who novel!!

To take part follow the 'index' link at top right of the main page. This will take you to a full list of all the goodies on offer; to bid you leave a comment on the relevant post about the item you're interested in.

Happy bidding!

Radgepacket 5 launch party

Good news for fans of industrial strength fiction - the next volume in the Radgepacket series is due imminently from Byker Books. Radgepacket 5 is the same mix of the dark, the weird and the shocking from writers billed as 'unsigned and unhinged', plus a novella from published author Danny King. And still all for only £5.99, which works out at about 30p per story!

To celebrate the launch, Byker's editor is organising a launch party on Saturday 19th March, from 3.00-5.00 pm, at The Back Page sports book shop in Newcastle upon Tyne. There'll be wine, there'll be nibbles, there'll be a guest speaker, there'll be the chance to mingle with the authors and get a copy of the book signed. There'll also be the chance to browse the shelves of The Back Page, which is rather like a sports enthusiasts' version of Aladdin's Cave. (I know, I was there last year.)

If it's anything like the Radgepacket 4 launch party then it'll be a fun, friendly, relaxed event and well worth an afternoon in Newcastle - and a Brown Ale or two.

Pun fun

I couldn't resist, I just couldn't. It's dreadful, and will no doubt make readers everywhere groan. But my latest story is about a man taking revenge for the theft of a Faberge egg. And I just had to call it 'My Own Eggsecutioner'.

Sorry! You can queue up to hit me later...

Finished!

It's been a truly hectic day today, with trips out to a charity jumble sale and to the supermarket. We've also had a visit from the local Planning Officer to discuss our plans for an extension to the kitchen, and I'm busy packing. So I wasn't expecting to get anything much done in the way of writing, but how wrong I was.

Just before tea I typed the last full-stop in the last story for my crime anthology - a dark little piece about a stolen Faberge egg. I'll need to let it lie fallow for a few days and then re-read it, and I might want to rewrite the ending (always the bit I have most difficulty with). After that there's one more story that needs some serious TLC; but after *that*, all that's left is a general polish and tidy up to make sure all the formatting is consistent and that everything makes sense. And then I can start sending out query letters.

It's all really exciting and I still can't quite believe that I've finished the whole thing after all this time. I first started collecting dark, crime-themed stories together some time last year and it's taken the best part of a year to write enough to fill an anthology. Stories have popped on and off the contents list as the overall theme changed, and as I wrote better or more appropriate work. But now I have fifteen stories of varying lengths and varying shades of noir - and I'm feeling quite pleased with myself. All I need now is to find an interested publisher. Wish me luck!

Poking about

On Saturday we were hoping to get out walking but the weather gods must have heard me after all (see below) because it's back to cold, grey gloom. For something indoorsy to do we decided to head for Kendal's museum which we've never been in before, mainly because it hardly ever seems to be open. Just lately, though, they've amended the opening times to include Saturday mornings from 10.30.

We arrived a little early so parked up and trotted round the corner to the Sleddal Hall antiques centre, which we'd seen on a recent episode of Antiques Road Trip. It's based in a higgledy-piggledy seventeenth century building and isn't so much quirky as completely bonkers. Room after room opens up, each one stuffed to the rafters with, well, stuff. Stuff in boxes, stuff on shelves, stuff dangling from the ceiling, stuff piled on the floor. In some rooms it was a job to actually move about, without turning sideways and breathing in. But it was all, without exception, fascinating and just the sort of place you might find buried treasure, or at the very least that one antique something you've been looking for for years.

By now the museum was open so we headed back and spent the next hour poking happily round that. Like many small town museums it's a complete hodge-podge of local exhibits: everything from pots and altars from the local Roman fort to a whole window from the booking office of the local hotel. There's a bit about Kendal castle behind a mock castellated wall, and a whole section on Alfred Wainwright, the celebrated guidebook writer and illustrator. Upstairs there was a room full of wildlife panoramas which made good use of a collection of stuffed fluffy animals and birds. I hate these when they're presented in glass cases with labels left over from Victorian times, but at least here they've shown some imagination in displaying them in their natural habitats.

Considering the museum is free, it's exceptionally good value and a great place to spend a bitter March morning.

Er, boing?

Wow, what a gorgeous day yesterday was. The sun shone more or less from start to finish, there was hardly any breeze, and although the air temperature wasn't all that high the sun, for the first time, felt really warm.

Dave and I gave up on work mid-afternoon and went out for a walk. Only round the streets because he needed the post office, but it was still wonderful to see all the spring flowers emerging and listen to the birds cheeping in the trees. Everyone we met was cheerful and people were even sitting out in deck chairs in their front gardens, faces turned up to the sun.

I'm whispering because I don't want the weather gods to hear me, but it rather looks as though spring might, at long long last, be on its way...

Senior moment

I'm cross with myself this morning. I've been so immersed in my anthology that I've been neglecting other projects, and had completely forgotten that the deadline for pattinase's 'Scarry Night' noir short story contest was the end of February. And... I missed it. Rats! It's particularly annoying as the idea - writing a story based on a snippet of overheard conversation - was something I really wanted to have a go at.

Luckily lots of other people weren't as daft as me and she's had a great response to her challenge. You can read the stories at pattinase's blog. I'm looking forward to trawling through them myself, even though mine isn't one of them.

One more to go

This morning (taking my writer friend Bill's advice to make the most of Dave's absence) I finished the second to last story for my crime anthology. This one's about a schoolgirl and a kettle, loosely based on a recent headline in the news. With fourteen stories ready and waiting I could send the collection in now, but I'd rather have fifteen stories - it's a nice 'round' number and probably represents better value for the readers, assuming I get the thing published.

Which means there's only one more story to go. I have two in mind as possibles, one about an amnesiac which is further along but proving difficult, and one about a mad axe man with a difference which is great fun but still in the early stages. Hmm. Decisions, decisions. I guess in the end it just boils down to working on whichever one I get inspired by most. Whichever it is, I'm now very hopeful that I could have a working product to submit to publishers by the middle of March.

All on my ownsome

Dave has gone off to an astronomy weekend in Preston and left me on my tod. Before we met I quite often spent weekends alone but once you're married you get out of the habit and when it does happen it feels a little strange.

I'm keeping busy, though. Yesterday I got on with some decorating in the living room; we inherited a pleasant but very neutral colour scheme (cream carpet, cream curtains, off-cream walls) and I'm zinging it up a bit using a spare pot of yellow paint we brought from Brum.

Today one of the neighbours is popping in for a coffee and to pick up armfuls of 'stuff' for a jumble sale in aid of Cancer Research. She's on the local committee and helps to organise fund-raising events and we're downsizing and desperate for a good home for some of our unwanted stuff, so it makes sense to get together. This time I'll be handing over a couple of unused sleeping bags, an attache case, and a whole bin liner full of 'bits and bobs'. It's amazing what you can find stuffed in the back of cupboards when you really start to look.

Tomorrow if the weather's half decent I might pop out for a local walk - the waterfalls should be impressive after all the rain we've had. And after that, suddenly Dave will be back and I won't have done half the things I wanted to get done while he was out of the way. I spoke to him briefly on the phone last night and he was already having fun so I'm looking forward to hearing all about it when he gets back.

Fun day out

It's half term and our friends and their son are staying no more than fifteen miles away from us. Yesterday we arranged to spend the day together and because it was cold and wet we suggested the Lakeland Motor Museum which is under cover, dry, warm, and fascinating to boot.

The five of us spent a good couple of hours crawling all over the cars, fire engines, motorbikes, pedal cars etc and had a whale of a time. Unlike many museums this one constantly updates its exhibits and this time there were new features on the Womens' Land Army, and on a 1930s car showroom complete with 'contemporary' write-ups on the 'brand new' cars and a on-the-road price - of about £200!

As well as all the vehicles and associated stuff (driving fashions through the ages; car themed crockery; motoring posters etc), the museum houses a small but separate section on the making of ultramarine 'blue' for the laundry industry. My Mum still had a little 'bag blue' hidden away under the sink and I suspect many people remember their parents or grandparents using them in the wash. The museum is housed in an old building that used to be a 'blue' factory - in both senses of the phrase since the powder got everywhere, inside and out, and dyed the walls bright blue. You can still see this in places inside as they've left one or two walls untouched to show how it would have looked.

All in all it's a fascinating place to poke round and our friends thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Just as well since the previous day they'd done the Bond Car museum at Keswick which they said was utterly disappointing.

Perfect Alibi crime writing contest

If anyone saw this advertised on the Alibi channel last night but can't track it down, don't worry - you're not alone. The url they quoted (theperfectalibi.co.uk) was wrong and only leads to a rather alarming '403 Forbidden' message, which made me wonder whether they wanted to advertise the contest at all.

However, it really does sound good. The channel and their associates HarperCollins are seeking the crime-writers of the future; the prizes include tickets to a crime writing festival in Harrogate; and the overall winner gets a holiday in Sweden, a Kindle and a library of books. And I guess there's always the possibility that if you are placed, you'll be accelerated to the top of the HarperCollins slush pile. ;)

So, if you want to enter and can't find out where, don't despair. Muggins here trawled the Alibi website earlier and can reveal that the real page for the contest, complete with instructions, terms and conditions, and closing date, is here.

Happy scribbling and good luck.

Ooops...

Isn't it amazing the howlers you can find in your own writing, even after you've been through it two or three times? Yesterday I was editing a story for the crime anthology and came across the following:

'And he'd found the barn, cycling down to the river in search of fish.'

Hmm. Must have been an abnormally large bicycle, then.

::headdesk::

Spring-cleaning

Yesterday for various reasons I could NOT concentrate on writing. The sun was half shining, birds were singing, there were squirrels bouncing around in the trees, and Dave was making an ungodly racket in the study next door. In order to look and feel as though I was still doing something, I began to check some of the vast store of available markets in my 'favourites' folder.

I've collected these over a number of years. Markets I've spotted whilte trawling the net, markets I've tried and failed; markets I intend to try... one day. They're divided into various categories - magazines, small press, print publishers, electronic publishers etc - and for no particular reason I started with the magazines.

It soon became apparent that I hadn't checked them for a while, as link after link turned up dead. Some had posted nice little messages on a cut-down webpage ("We're sorry but we've gone out of business"); most had simply vanished without trace. I deleted all the ones that no longer led to viable publications and my favourites list is a lot less daunting as a result.

One or two of the dead markets were ones I'd had stories published in and at least one of these (Bent Magazine) had still been available until fairly recently. But, like the parrot in the famous sketch, it is no more, so the next thing I had to do was go and root out all mention of that story on my website. While I was at it I took a brush and dustpan to the site, fixed a few other broken links and did some general tidying up. Which means, hopefully, that it's also a lot less daunting as a result.

Some of the mags that had disappeared were small, amateur webzines that tend to be fly-by-night and have the life expectancy of a gadfly. One or two, though, such as The Reader and Pen Pusher, were well established print magazines and it's sad to see those go.

Christmas paragraph

For those of you who missed my offering at Paragraph Planet on New Years' Day, it's now available to read on the site archive.

You can find 'Home for Christmas' by clicking the link below and then selecting Jan 1st from the drop-down box just above the featured paragraph.

It's only a daft little thing but hopefully will give you a giggle on a damp and somewhat depressing February day.

http://www.paragraphplanet.com/archive.htm

Those Porlock moments

So there I was yesterday morning, wrestling with not one but two versions of the same story and desperately trying to marry the best bits of both into one homogenised whole. Then the doorbell rang. Oh bugger it, I thought, and then - no, it might be important. I legged it down three flights of stairs (my study's in the attic) and unlocked the front door. A fat bloke was standing on the step grinning at me out of a moon-like face.

"Morning luv," he said. "D'you want any 'orse manure for your garden?"

Oh dear.

For some reason it was terribly hard to concentrate on lyrical prose and serious writing after that....

I know Coleridge was cursed with the man from Porlock (hence the title of this post) but do other writers find the same thing?

The great title hunt

This morning I finished that story inspired by the snippet of insider police information. The anthology is coming together nicely and I'm starting to think about something other than just finishing stories: the order of the contents and a title.

The other day I realised that all the stories involved revenge in some form or another so I wanted a title that would reflect that. Straight away I thought of 'Best Served Cold', and headed off to search the Amazon catalogues. Not that titles are covered by copyright, of course, but it's nice to know that if I do get my book published it won't be one of dozens with the same name. That way if a reader searches on the title rather than my name, they won't be faced with a heap of books and choose the wrong one.

Sadly for me, 'Best Served Cold' was a popular idea. There were at least seven or eight books with that title, ranging from mainstream crime novels to self-published e-books. Not wanting to be number nine on the list, I had to come up with something else.

A frequent port of call for titles is quotations so I started searching online for quotes that involved revenge. I was struggling rather; too many of them are Biblical and involve God's vengeance - possibly not the most suitable thing for a book about crime. But then Dave came to the rescue with a Confucius quotation which was ideal. So now I have a working title, a contents page, and another story to slot in. If I can keep up the momentum I might actually finish this thing.

Belated Christmas

A week before Christmas we were supposed to go out for our annual friends' Chrismtas meal/bash. There's usually eight of us and each year we pick a local restaurant or pub and have a good, old-fashioned fun evening. This year we were due at Los Iguanas, a South American restaurant in the Arcadian centre in Birmingham city centre. We'd been the previous year and had such a great time (fantastic food, good 'buzz', friendly service) that we booked again. And then it snowed. Rather a lot, actually, and several hours before the meal we were forced to cancel.

Luckily the restaurant understood. The city centre was gridlocked, their customers were dropping like flies (apparently only 25 turned up out of 250 bookings), and they very kindly held the booking open for us until the new year.

On Saturday we tried again, and this time the weather was kind to us. Six of the original party of eight made it, and we had another fantastic evening. Same wonderful food, same great vibe; in fact the only thing that was missing was the Christmas trimmings - and you don't really need crackers or a tree to have a good time.

While we were there one of our friends, who's a police officer, let slip a little nugget of information that immediately set off story alarms in my brain. I'm not going to say what it was, because that would give the plot away, but first thing Monday I settled down with the idea and have been scribbling ever since. The result is another crime story for the anthology and if I finish it I'll be sending a note of thanks to my friend. I just hope he realised the inspiration he sparked!

Website update

Following on from my news about QueeredFiction's recent facelift, I should mention that I've updated various links, information etc on my own website to make it easier to read about (and order!) 'Queer Dimensions'. I've added a snippet of a very nice review from Rainbow Reviews, and a whole plethora of links to point of sale for both the electronic and print versions of the book.

You can find the result here.

In other writing news I'm feeling rather pleased with myself today since I've finished off not one but two new stories for the crime anthology. One is a ghoulish tale about a crack in a girl's bedroom wall; the other starts with a man jumping naked out of a birthday cake. I've been struggling with the latter because neither the plot nor the language seemed to match up to the first line, but at long last I've scribbled something I'm happy with. It's much darker and more vicious than I first intended, but better for it in many ways.

The anthology is filling up nicely. I have two, possibly three more stories to finish (depending on how long they turn out to be), and major rewrites on a couple of others. After that, I might actually be ready to start sending it out. Of course, it would help if I could finish two stories a day, every day...

Contest to avoid

This particular news has been spreading round the internet like a bout of flu, but it's such an all-round Bad Deal for writers I felt I had to pass the information on, just in case any of you were tempted to enter this contest.

First One Digital Publishing (no link provided for reasons which will become apparent) are a start-up e-publisher. As part of their launch they have organised a writing competition where at least part of the prize is publication with their company. The contest is open to novels and they are charging a hefty entry fee for the privelege, of $149.

This immediately rings alarm bells, because if you pay that much money and the prize is publication, then you are effectively paying the company to publish your work. That fee is monstrously high; a typical fee for a private, high-quality contest with proper, independent prizes, is only around a tenth of that amount. And because the press is a new start-up, they have no track-record of publication so there's no way of checking what your sales would be like, assuming you won.

But it gets worse. Because tucked away in the small print at the very end of their contest guidelines is the following:

"By submitting an entry, all entrants grant Sponsor the absolute and unconditional right and authority to copy, edit, publish, promote, broadcast, or otherwise use, in whole or in part, their entries, in perpetuity, in any manner without further permission, notice or compensation..."

That's without compensation. Effectively, they are taking all rights to your work, in perpetuity, and not paying you a penny in advances or royalties or flat fees or anything else.

So. You pay them to enter the contest. Whether or not you win, they take your novel, publish it themselves, and take every last penny of profit it makes.

And you get nothing.

Less than nothing, because they've taken the rights for ever, so you can never submit your work to another publisher.

Can I respectfully suggest giving this contest, and its owners, a very wide berth? At the very least it's naive; at worst, it's a colossal scam. I kind of wish it was illegal so I could report it to someone. As it is, all I can really do is pass the word along and warn as many writers as possible to stay away.

QueeredFiction facelift

I've been meaning to post since before Christmas about QueeredFiction's jazzy new website. Their old site was rather dark and more than a little hard to navigate but the new version is much more straightforward, not least because all the books on their catalogue are now visible at a glance and each book has its own page with blurb, reviews and ordering details. The new design is also more eye-catching than the old (if a little... pink *grin*) and they even have their own stylish new logo.

You can find details of Queer Dimensions, the anthology which includes my short story The Visitor, here. The page includes full details of the contents and authors, as well as links to point of sale for both the e-book and print versions.

Printer rage

Am I the only person who beats my fists on the desk in sheer frustration when I'm trying to write and vital bits of equipment or software won't work?

I spent a large portion of Friday afternoon crawling round on my hands and knees underneath my desk, trying to get my cheap-useless-piece-of-crap printer to actually PRINT. First of all it wouldn't talk to the laptop even though everything was plugged in and switched on. Then it took about 20 sheets through the feeder at once. Then I took everything out except one sheet and that wouldn't go through. Then I got a couple of sheets to go through and they went in skewed and jammed. Now the bloody thing won't work at all.

Aaargh. *hits head repeatedly on keyboard*

I'm coming to the conclusion that cheap printers aren't worth it. This one only cost about £30, but has lasted less than a year...

Inspiration from daytime tv

I don't know about anyone else but I very rarely watch daytime tv - I don't have the time, plus it's usually crap. Just occasionally, though, you catch something that just screams 'story' because of the human element/emotions involved.

This morning I saw 'Wanted Down Under' which is a property programme for Brits wanting to move to Australia. Apparently loads of them just pack up and go out there on a whim; this programme does at least take them out there for a week, show them the sort of property they could afford, jobs that are available, living costs etc etc. A bit of a reality check, in other words, while making good telly.

Today's 'subject' was a 40-ish bloke from Sheffield who had a lifetime dream of moving to Oz. He had a 16 year old son from a previous marriage and was remarried to a nice lass; they had two small children. The lass clearly thought the world of him, but he came across (whether in reality or by skillful editing) as a selfish bastard. The lass didn't want to move at all; she had loads of friends and family in the UK and didn't want to leave them behind. He was quite happy to leave everyone behind - including his 16 year old son.

The week went from one disaster to another. Their UK house was valued at a good £50k less than they thought it was worth, so they'd struggle to afford a similar property in Oz, let alone the 4 bed with swimming pool he wanted. He'd have had to take a lower responsibility job with a pay cut; and to afford the lifestyle she'd have had to work too. That was fine with him, even though she didn't want to because of the kids.

By the end of the show it was obvious that emigrating was pretty much the worst thing they could do. The couple were interviewed separately and she said that much as she hated the idea, she would do it for him because 'at the end of the day he was the most important thing in her life'. When they interviewed HIM, he said that if he chose Oz and she chose England, they would talk it over a lot and then he would get his own way, 'simple as that'. But if worst came to worst, they would split up.... Whether she ever saw those comments, and what happened if she did, wasn't made clear.

When I'm writing my crime/noir stories I sometimes wonder if they're a bit unrealistic, but watching this you realise that there are little tragedies going on behind closed doors all over the country and writing about dark, selfish people is actually a lot more realistic than you might think.

Back to the grindstone

After a long break courtesy of bank holidays, bad weather and general not-wanting-to-workness, I finally settled down to writing again today. It wasn't much - a short, thousand word story about killer crossword puzzles for my crime anthology - but it's the first time I've put fingernail to keyboard in nearly a month.

I say 'grindstone' in the title of this post but actually it feels great to be back at work again. Like many writers I get fidgety if I have too long away from the craft; sometimes 'fidgety' is the least of it and 'irritable' or even 'exasperated' might describe my mood better. I saw a quote recently about writers never having a holiday because even when they're not physically writing, they're still working on ideas, and it rang very true. Sometimes all those ideas build up and build up until you just have to get them down on paper, or explode. Luckily for the walls and carpet I managed without the explosion but this particular story has been fizzing around my brain since before Christmas and it's still a relief to get it finished.

Happy New Year - and new story

Now it's time to wish everyone a very happy, prosperous, healthy and successful 2011.

To kick things off, I'm delighted to report that Paragraph Planet will be featuring my latest 75 word story, Home for Christmas, tomorrow (1st January 2011) for one day only. Do go and check it out if you get time between nursing your hangover and washing your shirt for work. ;)

Merry Christmas

Just a quick line to say 'Merry Christmas' to all my family, friends, readers and assorted associates. ;) Hope it's a good one, hope you have a good relaxing break - and hope you don't get snowed in. *rolls eyes*

I'll 'see' you all in the new year, if not a bit sooner.

Drip... drip... drip

That's the sound of a very, very, painfully, very slow thaw, which is currently going on beyond our windows. Last Saturday we had around 6 inches of snow and it's been so cold since that it's still been lying virtually untouched. But today the temperature rose to *gasp* one degree celsius and the snow has gradually been retreating. It's still so cold, though, that it's creating massive icicles on all the gutters, of our house and just about all the others. Some of them are incredible - about 3 feet long and hanging, Sword-of-Damocles-like, over peoples' front doors. I don't want to be underneath them when they finally break off and fall.

It's also the sound of the thawed water coming through our utility room roof. Our newly replastered utility room roof... Dave shot out with a broom handle and knocked as much snow away from the gutter above that section of roof as possible and we're hoping that will limit the damage, but for now we have an ominously spreading stain on the ceiling and I'm standing by with buckets. Still, if that's the only damage we suffer after more than 2 weeks of terrible weather, we'll have been lucky.

In writing news I've finished yet another crime story and also scribbled a daft little Christmas-themed flash. I submitted the latter to Paragraph Planet but if they decide not to use it I'll post it here as a way of saying 'seasons greetings' to everyone. Watch this space.

Notfrog update

Earlier in the week I finally sat down to write to Hotfrog and ask for my profile (missing, presumed lost in action) to be removed.

After a day or so I had a perfectly pleasant response... which told me that without a company name they... wait for it... could not find my profile.

Only problem is, they didn't give me a company name. I wrote back to explain this and haven't heard since.

My profile is now missing presumed dead, and if even the site administrators can't find it, what hope have I got?

It doesn't inspire much confidence in their search parameters...

Brrrrrr....

As promised over the weekend the temperatures rose... slightly. Here in Birmingham it reached the dizzy heights of 3c. Woo. Saying that, most of the snow has now gone, apart from a few smears along shaded roads and pavements. In Windermere it's a different story. When we left on Saturday there was about six inches of snow lying on the ground and it had got so cold that the local stream was starting to freeze over, and the bottle of water we always leave inside the car had frozen solid!

We're so glad we sold the Mondeo and bought ourselves a (small) 4x4. When we made the decision, after getting snowed in so badly last winter, we laughed and said 'that's one way of making sure we never get another bad winter'. How wrong we were! And how much better off. The Mondeo struggled on snow and ice; our new Skoda Yeti sailed across it all as though it wasn't there. We're very grateful and very relieved to be mobile again.

On the mend...

Apologies for the long silence; I've been recovering after undergoing minor surgery at the beginning of last week. Thankfully I didn't have to stay in hospital but I did need a general anaesthetic which left me a little woozy and I've also been getting over the surgery itself. Glad to say I'm on the mend now and even managed a little writing today for the first time - a 75 word mini-story about an episode from my childhood involving a cactus!

The hospital I had the surgery at was the new Queen Elizabeth in Birmingham. It's only been open since mid-summer and is absolutely huge with 30 operating theatres and several miles of corridors - they have to employ volunteer guides at reception! It's wonderful, though. Spotlessly clean, nicely decorated, and all the staff seemed to be going out of their way to be friendly and informative. No more grumpy receptionists! No more patronising doctors! It made the whole ordeal much less of a, well, ordeal...

Hotfrog? More like Notfrog...

Yesterday I received an email telling me that I'd had a profile entered for me at the 'small business directory' Hotfrog.

I'd never heard of the site before, but never one to pass up a promotion opportunity, I set about checking it wasn't spam and seeing what it could offer me. According to the spiel in the email each profile gets an average of 280 hits a day, which sounded encouraging... but after much tearing of hair I've concluded that most of those hits are frustrated advertisers trying to *find* their profile, rather than potential customers.

The email itself was distinctly unprofessional. There was no link to the main Hotfrog page, nor was there a link to my newly created profile. Instead, having told me that I had a profile, it invited me to create one of my own. Huh? And the only link anywhere in the email was to a 'create a profile' dedicated webpage... which also had no links to the main homepage or to anything else. If I wanted to access the main site, I was told, I had to search for it on Google or one of the other main search engines.

I didn't think I needed to create a profile since one already existed. I did, however, need to amend that profile, because the address they'd quoted for me was actually for one of my publishers, Byker Books, and there was no mention of a link to my web site (surely one of the main reasons for being on a directory like this in the first place). I went off, dutifully, to Google for the main site.

Once found, this proved to be an even bigger disappointment. The home page looks amateurish, with a couple of search boxes, a few non-clickable links and a lot of Google ads. You can't search the directory by name, only by place/post code and category - and there's no list of categories. So if you want to find your own profile (or that of anyone else) you have to guess which category it's been created in and you have to know the address. You can't search on one or the other - both boxes have to be filled in. I tried a couple of different combinations, including writer/Newcastle and publisher/Newcastle, neither of which brought up my profile. What they did bring up was an uninspiring 'Yellow Pages' style listing, in no apparent order. Where this ran to more than one page, the back button didn't work. And each page I visited was awash with yet more Google ads.

So. I have a profile, but I can't find it. If I can't find it, what chance have any of my readers of stumbling across it? How is it ever going to be seen by those '280 hits a day'? More worrying, I couldn't see any sign of a link to amend a profile, which means the incorrect address on mine is presumably there for all time. Even more worrying than that, there appears to be no way of getting a listing removed if you don't actually want it. All you can do is unsubscribe from the email notification service.

As I said above, I'm all in favour of new ways of promoting myself and my writing - but they have to work for me. I'm left with the impression that Hotfrog is much less about promotion for its participants, and much more about yet another way to cram Google ads down internet users' throats - and presumably get paid for the privilege.

I'm not impressed.

Finishing touches

I'm just putting the last spit-and-polish to a new story for that crime/noir anthology I mentioned a few weeks ago.

Mind you, when I say 'new' I'm taking liberties, really. I first started the story so long ago it's buried in the mists of time, and I'd never finished it because I got hopelessly bogged down.

On re-reading I realised that I'd been trying to make it too long, and cram too much in, with the result that it lost focus and tailed off into pages of waffle and pointless dialogue with far too little action. There was a story in there somewhere if I hooked it out, though, so I cut away a lot of the later portion of the story, which wasn't very good, and added a whole new ending with what I hope is an entertaining twist.

I'm much happier with the result, which is about the same length but now actually *goes* somewhere, and it just shows that nothing you write is ever wasted, however awful it might seem at the time.

Star gazing

Dave has just started his lifetime's ambition - a part time, distance learning astronomy degree. As you might expect, part of the course work involves observing stars and other objects in the sky, taking measurements of movement, identifying colour and brightness etc etc. Birmingham is hopeless for that sort of thing - it doesn't get dark there so much as orange, thanks to all the street lights - but rural Cumbria is much better, and over the weekend it was clear enough and cold enough to pop out a couple of evenings to gaze at the heavens.

On Saturday we took the car out to a layby part way up a hill to one side of Lake Windermere, where there's a good uninterrupted view of the northern and western half of the sky. When we set off it was clear (and very cold). By the time we'd arrived, only about 20 minutes later, some stubborn high cloud had drifted across and refused to budge. We saw odd frustrating glimpses of the Plough and one or two other bright stars, but nothing else, and we were beginning to turn blue.

On Sunday we didn't even bother with the car, just walked up the road at the back of the house, which eventually comes out onto country lanes in the hills behind the town. Again there was a good view north and west; again it was bitterly cold and this time the sky was clear. It's amazing what you can see when there isn't a constant haze of artificial light; stars were popping out in the most unexpected places. The very bright moon took away some of the clarity but Dave still saw more than enough for his studies. And this time we'd dressed appropriately in umpteen layers and boots and thick woolly scarves, so we didn't even feel the cold.

I have a feeling we'll be doing lots more star gazing in the months to come, as the seaons gradually change and new stars become visible. Thank heavens we spend so much time in an area where we can actually see them...

Currently reading

The last couple of weeks I've been reading 'The Evil Seed' by Joanne Harris (of 'Chocolat' fame). Recently I read her 'Blackberry Wine' and loved it, and was hunting around in our local W H Smith for another of her books to try. I saw 'Chocolat' and very nearly bought that, but then this title leapt off the shelf at me. The cover looked suitably creepy and the blurb sounded really intriguing, full of the suggestion of ghosts and general other-worldliness. I put 'Chocolat' down and bought this instead.

The first thing I found on opening the book was an author's note. Books quite often have explanatory notes from the writer, of course, but they tend to be at the end, once a reader knows what happened and wants some further information. This was at the start, and seemed basically to be trying to disassociate Ms Harris from the book. It was the first one she'd ever written, some twenty years ago. It had been out of print for some time, and only republished at the request of her readers. It had been through some further edits but was mostly still untouched.

It all sounded a little... strange. And when I started reading I soon saw why, because the style was surprisingly different from the seamless, beautiful prose of 'Blackberry Wine'. It was disjointed, with odd unannounced changes in point of view and chapters written in either first or third person depending on which character they represented. On top of that, characters seemed to do the oddest things, like chasing baddies half way across a county in the middle of the night without so much as a torch, and the only explanation was that this was all a bit spooky and supernatural.

The pages turned fast enough because I wanted to know what happened, but I can't really say I enjoyed the experience. The plot became steadily more and more melodramatic and the characters were just plain irritating. By the time I finished I was reading with gritted teeth, and the ending was so dark as to render the whole book rather pointless. Although there were flashes of Ms Harris's later brilliance, I won't be reading this again, whereas 'Blackberry Wine' has gone on my shelf of treasures to be savoured at a later date.

It raises interesting questions about whether writers should give in to their readers' demands. Yes, it sells more books; but if a reader only read this they might go away with a very unbalanced view of the author's capabilities. I'm not sure I'd want some of my earliest writing efforts to ever see the light of day!

Just finished...

I've been scribbling away the last couple of days on a new short story, inspired by recent news events here in the West Midlands. There's been a sudden rash of schools targeted by arsonists - more even than usual - and I was vaguely scratching my head and wondering why. Then a little imp in my head piped up with a wonderful theory and I just had to turn it into a story. I'm not going to give the whole thing away but I will just say 'never trust the headmaster'.

I don't often write stories based on news events; too often they've been and gone before I've managed to think my way through an associated plot. For crime stories, though, a trawl through the newspapers can be invaluable. There are so many people doing so many strange and dark things that it's a positive well (sink-hole?) of inspiration.

Forbidden fruit?

The spam is getting worse, but what an image this particular subject line conjures up:

"Every man should have a huge banana between his legs."

It must be something about the way my mind works, because I've immediately started to think of all sorts of naughty little stories. Bad Fiona. You'll have to blame the spammers.

In the wars...

On Saturday night we went out with friends for a smashing meal at a Thai restaurant in Knowle. The food was delicious and the restaurant very stylish (I set my heart on a beautiful Thai silk scarf that dangled enticingly above our table, but I was good and left it behind.) The only problem was the chairs. I sat down and realised I was a long way from the table, so grabbed my chair to pull it closer. What I didn't realise was that it was solid carved wood, weighed about half as much as a Thai elephant, and wasn't going anywhere. My hand slipped straight off again and I bent back two fingernails so badly that I ate the meal with one hand.

Then this morning our bathroom window jammed shut. It's probably the damp weather we've been getting, coupled with unseasonable warmth, that has made the wood swell. I heaved and shoved and pushed and joggled. Eventually the thing flew open - and promptly banged shut again, straight onto the knuckle of the same hand. It's made a lovely bruise, and typing hurts. Ow.

On a brighter note, I've been getting a sudden rash of spam emails promising me 'Miracle ErectionPills [sic] for you'. All I can say is, if they can give me an erection it'll be a miracle indeed.

Now it's the monitor

Having fritzed my laptop the other week and had to rush out and replace it, I've now spotted that my trusty old monitor is on the blink. It's hardly surprising. I bought it in about 2000, as one of the very first flat screen monitors which at the time was very ground-breaking. Since then technology (as ever) has moved on, leaving my monitor trailing along behind, and it had also faded or 'muzzied' over the years so I was having to sit closer and closer to pick out any detail. Of course, that wasn't doing either my back or my eyes much good, so today I decided enough was enough.

"Let's go to the big branch of Curry's in the Bull Ring," Dave said. "They'll have plenty of choice there."

They might well have, if they still existed. Good grief. We've only been away from Brum for 3 weeks and suddenly everything has changed. That store has vanished without trace, without even a note on the window to tell us where our nearest alternative is, and is in the process of being replaced by yet another teen clothing shop. There are now 953 teen clothing outlets in Birmingham city centre. And nowhere to buy computers.

We drove out to a suburb where we knew there was a Currys and by some miracle that had survived. And I've bought myself a very nice 18.5 inch crystal flat screen that makes reading text a breeze and looking at pictures a pleasure.

But I'm left wondering what's going to break down or give out next...

Comedy 'riches'

Last night we headed for the Glee Club in Birmingham city centre with a couple of friends, to see the American comedian Rich Hall. In case you haven't heard of him, he turns up quite regularly on tv shows such as QI and Have I Got News For You, and also did a recent series of documentaries about different film genres in the US. Although he hails from Montana he's settled in Britain and has a remarkably British sense of humour. He's caustic, he's sarcastic, sometimes he's downright vitriolic - but he's always very, very funny.

He seems to write all his own stuff and also improvised large chunks of the show, picking on hapless members of the audience and weaving jokes around their relationships and job titles. He had immense fun with one energy manager, for instance, and with a headline he'd recently seen in an Irish newspaper: 'Cork Man Drowns' ("His name was Bob."). He also began with a terrific piece about the Conservative Party Conference, currently taking over a large section of Birmingham city centre around the ICC with the result that parking is almost impossible. "When I say I'm pleased to be here," he deadpanned, "I meant I had to walk all the way from the far side of Edgbaston."

We spent the evening helpless with laughter... which was just as well since the seating arrangements were far from ideal. Around 400 people crammed into a small hall, with tables, is not conducive to space - I've seen sardine tins that were roomier. It was hot, it was squashed, and the poor folk who ordered meals spent the next half hour trying to eat them without elbowing both their neighbours in the ribs (or worse). Rich Hall is clearly a very popular act and you can understand the Glee Club management wanting to cram in as many folk as possible, but this time they went a little too far.

Great night out, though - and we even got a ride back in our friends' swanky new car!

Another chance to see...

Just in case you missed seeing my tiny story 'That Sinking Feeling' on Sunday 19th September, there's another chance now that Paragraph Planet have uploaded their September archive.

Click on the archive link and select Sept 19th from the drop-down box in the middle of the screen. Like my previous Planet entry, 'Rollercoaster Ride', this is based on an episode from my childhood and yes, the neighbours really were that annoyed!

While you're at it, have a look at the entry from Sept 12th which was written by friend and fellow-writer Sharon Maria Bidwell, which is stuffed full of vivid imagery in only 75 words.

You'll be able to catch both stories until the end of November.

Minor disaster

Dave and I were travelling back to Birmingham on Sunday. We always take our last bag of trash to the local tip (rather than leave it somewhere to niff, or bring it all the way back). That morning it was hammering down with rain and there was a big queue for the recycling bins. In the rush the wrong bag got thrown out - the one containing all my work files.

I lost quite a bit. Two whole ring-binders full of work - one a novel in progress, the other a collection of short stories I'm hoping to submit somewhere. On top of that I'd jammed in all my birthday cards, and at least one birthday present. But a cd is replaceable; work isn't. Luckily I had most of the contents saved on a flash drive, but I've still lost all my handwritten notes - and the list of exactly which stories were included in the anthology.

I've spent today printing out two copies of everything so I can keep a copy in each property and not have to ferry files about. I've also slowly rebuilt the anthology, using an out of date copy of the contents list and a good deal of detective work. It might not be 100% back to how it was, but it's getting close.

I still go cold when I think of that bag getting thrown away... but I'm very very grateful that at the last minute I decided to pack my flash drive in my suitcase, not that bag. That really would have been a disaster...

Another paragraph accepted

Paragraph Planet have accepted my latest submission, a 75-word tale about a bicycle ride with an unexpected (and muddy!) outcome. This is another story which really, genuinely happened when I was about ten or eleven and might make you smile.

You can read the story free for one day only (at least until it appears on the archive page) tomorrow, Sunday 19th September, by following the link above.

New gay horror anthology

I keep forgetting to mention that QueeredFiction have a new collection of stories out, this time with a horror theme. The book is called Blood Fruit, contains stories by eleven new and established authors, and as with all their titles is available in both electronic and print formats.

I don't have a story in this one (couldn't get anything finished in time to submit) but if the standard of writing is anything like as high as their recent sf anthology Queer Dimensions, then it's well worth splashing out on a copy. Just follow the link above to QF's website and you'll see the book in the scroll-box in the centre of the page.

Apostrophe-itis?

Do you forget when to stick the little blighters in and when not to? Then look no further than this snappy little number on YouTube, which is to-the-point and just repetitive enough to help you remember the rules.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vc2aSz9Ficw&feature=player_embedded

Some of the images on the accompanying video are worrying, though. Especially the ones from printed newspapers. I won't go off into 'what's the world coming to' type grumbles but it does make you wonder how much use an education system is if so many people get it so wrong so much of the time...

Oooh, shiny

A few weeks back I noticed that my trusty old laptop was getting distinctly slow. I've had it for the best part of six years and it's been everywhere with me on my travels, helping me to write and stay in touch. But it didn't have a huge store of memory and the little it did have was obviously clogged.

Dave kindly offered to do a rebuild of the hard disk, to clear out any accumulated rubbish and start from scratch. The other weekend we had some spare time, so I copied any vital files and then handed it over for surgery. "I'm trashing the hard disk... NOW," Dave announced.

Thirty seconds later he added, "Um, you do have the registration number for the XP install disk, don't you?"

You can guess what happened next...

Between us we'd rendered the laptop useless. It wouldn't load XP without that wretched registration number, and it's too old to take anything more up to date. I can use Linux but my favourite word processor, WordPerfect, won't run under Linux and nor will one or two other well-loved programs. So, there was nothing else for it. We bundled into the car, drove to a huge local Tesco which has an excellent technology department, and I proceeded to buy myself a brand new laptop.

This cost less than half the original one, with about six times as much memory, a larger keyboard, an HD-standard screen, and Windows 7 preloaded. It's easier to type on, faster, sleeker, has vastly more storage and a better selection of games for when I'm bored. I wouldn't recommend trashing an old laptop to get hold of a new one, but in this case I think I've done rather well...

Roar

Yesterday for a laugh we went to the Birmingham Museum & Art Gallery to catch their T-Rex exhibition, something we've been meaning to do for weeks. We only just made it, because today is the very last day. They weren't quite stacking chairs and sweeping the floor, but it was a close run thing.

And heaps of fun. It cost £5 each to get in (most of the exhibitions are free) but there was a lot to see including several life-size animatronic models of dinosaurs - three T-Rex, an Ankylosaurus and a very dead Triceratops. Unlike most dinosaur exhibitions, which simply concentrate on the history, this one was asking a very specific question: was T-Rex a predator or a scavenger? There were a whole series of displays pointing out the differences between the two forms, both in dinosaur times and in the modern animal kingdom. Differences that included predators being fast and agile, and having strong front legs/claws to hold onto prey - none of which apply to the lumbering T-Rex with its silly little front limbs.

By the end of the exhibition we'd come to the conclusion these huge beasts were probably scavengers, and even posted our vote in the voting booth at the end. But talking about it over lunch we realised that the whole exhibition had been subtly leading us to that conclusion ('Are you sure T-rex was a predator? Are you still sure?') and that reality might well have been fuzzier. No matter, it was a fun morning out.

We also popped our heads into a different gallery to see part of the famous Anglo-Saxon Staffordshire Hoard, discovered a couple of years ago, which apparently puts even the Sutton Hoo treasure into the shade. I have yet to be convinced about that (having seen some of the Sutton Hoo artefacts in the British Museum - they are utterly stunning), but the Staffs Hoard is certainly vast, and fascinating. Almost all the pieces are military, with none of the drinking vessels and jewellery you'd expect from, say, a massive royal grave, and yet they're exquisitely made with microscopic gold filigree and finely cut garnet inlay. Which begs the obvious question - what on earth was this hoard, and why were the individual pieces scrunched up before it was buried? I expect the arguments will rage for years.

Reading positions

The Guardian's book blog had an amusing article yesterday on the positions people choose to read, especially if they're reading in bed.

The blog's author seemed to think that lying on one's side is the most common position for reading in bed, and it's certainly the one I find most comfortable. If I lie on my back my arms get tired holding the book aloft; if I roll onto my stomach I end up with neck-ache and sore elbows. Oddly, though, I always lie on my right side, never my left. This makes no sense because I'm right-handed, so lying on my left side would free up my right hand/arm for turning the pages. But I don't, and don't think I ever could.

At least I'm not like one writer friend who doesn't read in bed at all, but in the bath. I'd love to know how she stops the pages getting soggy!

How do you read in bed? Book or e-reader? Sitting or lying? And do you ever fall asleep with the book in your hand?

Currently working on...

It seems like an age since I reported on what I'm currently writing - so much so you might think I've been sitting with my feet up, filing my nails and doing no work at all.

That isn't the case; I've just been concentrating on a couple of long-term projects which are going to take a while to finish. One is a whole collection of short, dark, crime-related stories which I'm hoping to submit somewhere as an anthology once I have enough gathered together. So far I'm up to about eight or nine, including one inspired by a recent story in the news, but obviously I need more than that before any publisher will look at it. And the second project is a brand-new novel, which I've been thinking about for some time but have only just begun committing to paper. Like much of my work it's a darkly humorous take on 21st century relationships (this one involving a landscape gardener and his wife). Given my current record on finishing novels, it's likely to be a couple of years yet before it's in a fit state to even think about sending off anywhere.

But rest assured I am still writing and I'll try to report back on progress from time to time.

Many a true word...

I've been decorating this week, in the little cubby-hole I use as a study. The previous owners of the house had it as a nursery for their young son, and had decorated it beautifully with baby-themed wallpaper which is very sweet but perhaps not entirely appropriate for an office. So I dug out an old pot of paint and got to work.

The wallpaper is mostly cream, with cute baby words on it like 'sleepy', 'hungry' and 'naughty'. I was busy obliterating one of these when the paint brush slipped out of my hand, did a few graceful pirouettes in mid-air, and landed with a pale blue painty splat on the pristine cream-coloured carpet.

So which word was I painting over at the time?

Clumsy.

:D

Paragraph lost, paragraph regained

A while back now I had a little piece accepted by Paragraph Planet, an online magazine that publishes paragraphs that are exactly 75 words long.

Owing to a slight misunderstanding I missed the publication date, which was actually back in June. However, the good news is that you can still read my offering by following this link, and selecting the entry for 7th June.

The piece is called 'Rollercoaster Ride' and is a (somewhat autobiographical) tale of a child's visit to a fairground. And all in only 75 words. Phew. I'm not going to tell you which bits really happened, though. You'll have to work that out for yourselves!

Quick march...

It was a gorgeous day on Saturday - sunny intervals, occasional stormy-looking clouds, warm but with a fresh breeze. We haven't done nearly enough walking in the Lakes lately - Real Life (TM) keeps getting in the way - but this time we were determined to make the most of the opportunity and chose the Grizedale Forest, a huge area of forest trails with the added interest of sudden mountain views and a fascinating sculpture trail.

Over the years we've done several of the trails but this time Dave picked one we hadn't done before, taking in Grizedale Tarn which is apparently the only natural tarn in the whole forest. The way to it was surprisingly rough with steep slopes and ankle-breaker tracks but we followed the white marker posts past some ingenious sculptures (a giant metal wasp, something that looked like huge animal droppings but was probably meant to be seeds) and were rewarded when we staggered out at the top onto rough heathland with a stunning view of the Fairfield horseshoe in the distance.

Although we followed the trail for what we thought was every inch, we somehow managed to miss the tarn completely (or perhaps it's a special tarn that vanishes and springs out at you when you least expect it) but it was still a lovely three-and-a-half mile walk. But towards the end Dave realised the two hours' parking he'd paid for was rapidly running out, and we'd have to hurry. I got back down the rough tracks and steep slopes in record time and we worked out we'd done the entire walk in one hour and forty minutes.

It was only when we were back in the car that Dave revealed the recommended time for the walk was... two and a half hours.

No wonder my legs were shaking!

Drying out

We are slowly but surely drying ourselves out. We've had visits from a local builder, our insurance assessor, and a decorator. We've stripped the vinyl wallpaper off the worst affected part of the hall, since it was acting like a massive waterproof jacket and keeping the water in. We now have two industrial sized dehumidifiers and two colossal air-blowers going, full-tilt, in the hall and pantry. I can hardly hear myself think, but gradually the damp patch is shrinking. And at last, our next door neighbours have also set up dryers in their house so the damp will hopefully stop oozing through the wall. It's all progress.

Mind you, talk about 'after the flood'. The night before last we had an earthquake. O.o

Only a tiddler at 1.7 magnitude, but it was a big enough bang to wake me up and shake the foundations of the house. Whatever next? A plague of locusts? A volcano in the back yard?

Somewhat damp apologies

Sorry, it's been an age since I updated this. I'm not sure where the last couple of weeks have gone, to be honest - I seem to have been working as usual, but the days have zoomed past and I lost track.

I do know where the last couple of days have gone, though, and they've been distinctly damp. During the week we'd noticed water dripping in our pantry (a long narrow space under the stairs) and thought we'd tracked it back to a badly-repaired joint in the main water pipe down there. By Saturday, it was significantly worse so we called out a plumber who banged and thumped and repaired the thing as well as he could (Saturday not being a good day for plumbing since all the builders' merchants tend to shut at midday). He left with profuse apologies for not giving us a permanent fix, and a promise to come back on Monday to finish the job.

On Sunday morning we awoke to find a pool of water on the pantry floor, and the ominous sound of dripping. Further investigation revealed that the joint in the pipe was bone-dry, which meant the water had to be coming from somewhere else - but where? It wasn't until I spotted a mysterious dark stain on the hall wallpaper that we realised the awful truth - it was coming through from next door. This takes some doing, believe me, since the party wall is nearly two feet thick. But coming through it was, and at an ever-increasing rate.

I gathered old towels, and sent Dave off on a neighbour-hunt. Our next-door neighbours themselves were away, but next-door-but-one had a key, and he and Dave went in to investigate. Seconds later Dave shot back, liberally sprayed with water, and hared off again with his toolbox. Turns out their boiler, which is in their attic, had burst, and water had quite literally been cascading down through their house for days. The men got the water turned off at the mains, which at least stopped things getting any worse. There was still an awful lot of water to drain away, though, and although it's slowly drying we've been left with a huge patch of sodden plaster in the hall, and a total mess in the pantry. It'll take weeks or even months to dry out completely and we're thinking of hiring a dehumidifier, to try to keep the damp, rot and mould at bay.

We're just grateful, though, that we discovered it when we did. Things could have been much worse for us, and a complete and utter disaster for our neighbours, if that water had continued to cascade...

In the style of...

This is a bit of nonsense, but fun - and a potential boost to your confidence if you're banging your head against the keyboard and the words won't come.

Enter a snippet of your writing in the box, press 'analyse' and hey presto - it'll tell you which famous author you write like.

I write like
Margaret Atwood

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

I would love to know how this gadget works. I suspect it's completely random, since friends have entered different bits of text and it's come up with a different author name every time. On the other hand, it could be doing some impossibly complex calculations, based on common words and phrases...

I'm delighted with the result I got, but here's a word of warning. A friend of mine put a sample of her writing in and it came up with... Dan Brown. I'm trying to talk her down from the parapet of the bridge as I type. :D

Colourful sayings

Do you ever wonder where all those cliches and aphorisms come from? We seem to spout them on a regular basis and some of them are wonderfully colourful, even if their meanings have been lost in the mists of time.

It was usually the older members of my family who trotted these things out any time there was a gap in the conversation. 'It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good' was a favourite of one elderly great-aunt, along with 'it's a long lane that has no turning'; my grandmother preferred 'a little of what you fancy does you good' which is at least clearer, and a great excuse for a bit of quiet excess from time to time.

I don't think any of my family's sayings can beat this, though, taken from a quote on i-Google this morning: 'The black cat is always the last one off the fence.' The author, Solomon Short, adds, 'I have no idea what [my grandmother] meant...' No, nor have I, but I'd love to know whether she knew what she meant. And even more, I'd love to know where that saying came from, and which particular cats it was talking about!