Tourists for a week

Last week we had our first visitors to stay at the Lakeland cottage. They'd never seen the area before so we put our tourist hats on and took them for a cruise on Lake Windermere, a walk round Bowness and Ambleside, and a trip to the old grammar school at Hawkshead where the poet Wordsworth was a pupil.

Once they'd gone we forgot to take our hats off again and ended up doing all sorts of other touristy things. We visited the South Lakes Wild Animal Park near Barrow in Furness, we took a ride on the Lakeside & Haverthwaite steam railway, and we popped into the Lakes Aquarium to see our favourite pygmy marmosets (yes, they have monkeys in an aquarium... go figure). All of which was immensely good fun.

The only time we'd been to the Wild Animal Park before was shortly after it first opened. It was very sweet, but a little sparse in the animal department - a few lemurs and wallabies and not a lot else. Now we're pleased to see it's bedded itself in really well, is chock full of animals and has started up a couple of great conservation/rescue services, for spectacled bears and macaws. Long may it continue the good work.

The steam railway only goes about three miles along the south-western shore of Windermere, but it passes through some amazingly pretty scenery along the way and there are all sorts of engine sheds and exhibits to clamber over at Haverthwaite station.

It always feels a little strange being a tourist in an area you call home, but it did mean we got to see things we wouldn't have done otherwise. Maybe next time we'll do a coach tour of the lakes and mountains. Then again... ;)

Crime writer tv show

I'm wondering if anyone else caught the first episode of a new US import called 'Castle' the other night? It was tucked away at 9pm on the Alibi channel so I'll forgive you if you say no, but you missed a treat.

We weren't optimistic at first. Yet another US crime drama. Yawn. Yet another series with the hero's name as the title of the show. Double yawn, step aside House and Dexter. Yet another series where a civilian with an unusual speciality helps the police. Hmm. Haven't we seen that idea before somewhere?

But Castle turned out to be much better than we expected. Nathan Fillion (of Firefly) was excellent in the title role and Stana Katic was equally good as his 'will they won't they' love interest/colleague. The script was a joy, chock full of witty one-liners that had us laughing out loud. And best of all, Castle's unusual angle was that he's a successful crime novelist.

Too often in movies and tv series, writers are shown as dippy floaty artistic types who drink lots of coffee, bang away on an ancient typewriter and talk to the walls. Castle was different, because he was intelligent and because he truly understood his craft. In order to write successful crime novels (possibly more than any other genre) a writer has to understand the motivations of his characters - why they would do something, or why they wouldn't. This was used to great effect in the first episode where several times Castle changed the direction of the police investigation because the motives didn't fit. Of course, it was a little hard to believe trained detectives could be quite that thick, but it was nice to see a writer genuinely using his craft to untangle the foibles of human nature.

Pilot episodes aren't always a good indication of the rest of the series but we're hoping the intelligence continues - and we'll definitely be watching episode two to find out.

Radgepacket 4 reviewed

Thanks to fellow Radgie author Paul D Brazill for spotting this one, the first review of the anthology I've come across. Author Donna Moore recently read Radgepacket 4 and had this to say about it:

"A collection of 22 short stories - gritty, funny, weird, warped and wonderful... They're not all crime stories but many of them have a crime in, and all of them are deliciously nasty. An anthology for those who like their fiction twisted, profane and depraved. Me, I loved it."

I've just finished reading my own copy and I have to agree - there isn't a duff story in the whole collection and many of them are very, very good indeed. My own favourites were Ragna Brent's 'Piano Man', Patrick Belshaw's achingly sad 'Grey's Elegy', Blaine Ward's startlingly chilling 'Eye for an Eye', and Carol Fenlon's poignant 'Half Mile Island'. But you don't just have to take my word for it now - you can pop along to Donna's blog and read the rest of her review.

Authors' rules of writing

The Guardian recently asked a bunch of well-known writers for their own personal top ten rules of writing. The results, which you can read here, were fascinating.

Needless to say every writer had a different set of rules and not a few contradicted each other. Some I found myself nodding over, some were completely new to me, some were hilarious and others I didn't agree with at all.

Margaret Atwood's suggestions for writing on a plane journey had me in stitches. Robert Ford was so brusque it was unhelpful. One author banned the use of prologues and another said all similes and metaphors were taboo. These two worried me. Yes, I've come across books where the prologue got in the way of the story and yes, I've read writing that's so full of imagery it's positively puce. But to ban every instance of something risks losing our wonderfully rich language and variety of writing forms.

And the top of the top ten advice? Well, lots of it was good but I think this, from Elmore Leonard, was pure gold: 'If it sounds like writing, rewrite it'.

Author blog awards

Someone has very kindly nominated my blog for this (I'm assuming) new award, run by CompletelyNovel.com which appears to be an online resources centre and networking site for writers.

I'm usually rather cynical about these sort of awards, which proliferate all over the net. You can find awards for blogs, e-books, web design... and I can't help thinking they're set up to provide members/publicity for the people running them rather than any real benefit to the nominated sites. It's still very nice to be nominated, though, and I figured I had nothing to lose by signing up.

You can vote for my blog (until 2 April) by clicking the logo at the top left of the post - apparently there are prizes available for people who vote. And thank you for your support!

RIP Tricity Bendix

My trusty friend of a washing machine, which I've had for the best part of twenty years, finally stopped working on Saturday.

It's been a wonderful companion, sticking with me through thick and thin. I got it when I bought my first flat here in Brum. Buying the property had just about cleaned me out (no pun intended) and I had to choose between carpet, or a washing machine. Having survived the previous three years in a rented flat with nowhere to put a washer, I chose the latter and managed on underlay for the next two years.

The machine followed me around the country, first to Loughborough, then back here to Birmingham. It never broke down, it never sulked, it never even thought about not working. I've used it every other day (sometimes every day if the drying weather is good) and it's been just about the most reliable piece of electrical goods I've ever had. But finally, after eighteen years' hard labour, it decided it had had enough. I switched on on Saturday morning to wash a load of towels and... nothing. Not a peep. The door didn't lock, no water flowed, no hum echoed through the utility room. Dead, as they say, as a parrot.

We dashed straight out and bought a new one and I'm sure it will be terrific. It's a washer-dryer for starters so I can get clothes dry in wet or very cold weather. It has a larger capacity and a wider-loading drum so I can actually wash duvets. It comes with all the latest energy-saving settings, and it even comes in a snazzy grey-and-white design.

I shall miss my loyal old Tricity Bendix, though. And I bet the new one won't last eighteen years....

Rats!

We were hoping to go on that Odeon cinema bus tour I mentioned the other day, but when I came to book tickets I found it had sold out. Either it's too popular or they didn't hire enough buses! Shame, as it looked as if it was going to be really interesting. Ah well, perhaps next year...

Currently working on...

I have two stories on the go at once which is quite a rarity for me; usually I prefer to finish one thing before starting another.

The first story, which I've just finished to first draft, is a shocking little tale of a man's increasingly frustrated efforts at picking up a parcel for his wife at the local sorting office, and the rather drastic steps he takes to provide suitable ID.

The other is a humorous crime story which begins with a man jumping naked out of the cake at a local crime boss's 50th birthday party. A birthday surprise and then some, you could say...

Both are proving tremendous fun to write and I'm hoping once they're done and polished, to add them to a growing collection of noirish/crime stories which I might submit as an anthology somewhere.

Right, back to that birthday cake...

Birmingham Flatpack Festival

Even after 20-odd years living in Birmingham I'm still finding out fascinating new things about the city. Today marks the start of the annual Flatpack Festival, which celebrates all things cinematic.

One of the highlights this year is a bus tour around three gems of the Odeon cinema empire. The founder of Odeon, Oscar Deutsch, was born in Birmingham (Balsall Heath, to be precise) in 1893 and the early cinemas were all built in the West Midlands in the high art deco style of the 1930s. Over the years the lavish interiors have been toned down (they used to have glamorous uniformed usherettes as well as carpet, chandeliers and potted plants) but the buildings themselves remain as landmarks in many places.

As well as the tour (more details here if you're interested!) English Heritage have a complete collection of photographer John Maltby's pictures of every Odeon cinema in the UK. You can see the photos at the English Heritage viewfinder site - just type 'Odeon' into the search box.

My books for sale at Created in Birmingham

Those nice people at the Created in Birmingham shop have agreed to stock both Radgepacket Volume 2 and Radgepacket Volume 4, since both have a story by a local author (ie, me!) in them.

I'm absolutely delighted about this, because it gets the Byker Books name out to a whole new audience (and let's face it, there aren't too many independent British publishers taking the sort of dark, gritty urban fiction that Byker like), and also because it hopefully gets *my* name out to a whole new audience. This is the first time I've had physical books for sale anywhere except the internet and it's rather nice to think that people will mooch into the shop and be able to pick up and browse my work.

CiB have asked for a few more details including business cards to hand out, and a display card with a few details about myself, so I shall be beavering away on those over the weekend.

For those of you who want to check the shop (and my books!) out, it's on the upper level of the Bull Ring shopping centre in Birmingham city centre, between the main entrance (with the bull statue) and Debenhams. It opens from 11 am each day, it's full of exciting local artwork, and the staff are very friendly. What more could you want?

Minotaur story finds a home

I had some great news from QueeredFiction yesterday - they've accepted Unravelling the Thread for their 'Love & Fables' anthology.

The story is a total romp, loosely (okay, very loosely!) based on the old Greek legend of the minotaur. In this case, when Theo's sometime-girlfriend Ariadne thinks there's a monster in the Coseley Manor maze, she sends him in to Deal With It. Never at his best in adversity, Theo surprises even himself - and is rewarded with Beauty of a different kind on the way to tackling the Beast.

The anthology is currently slated for publication in June/July of this year, but as usual I'll post more details when I have them so don't forget to check back from time to time.

A story in how many words?

I got chatting to a fellow author on Saturday who said he'd been trying his hand at a new challenge - flash fiction that's only six words long!

It seems almost impossible to tell a story in only six words, but he explained that if you got it right, it could be very effective, especially in comedy work.

Never one to turn down a writing-related challenge I decided to have a go. I'm used to writing flash and have managed stories of only 30 words before now, but six is something else again. And... I failed. At least for now. I managed one piece that was ten words long, which I'm actually rather proud of, but I couldn't have reduced it to six if it'd stared at it till Doomsday.

It was fun trying, though, and something to drag out and look at again in the future. I suspect it might be useful for prodding my brain into action when I've hit the latest brick wall.

And the ten word story? Well, I might be persuaded to post it on here in a week or two, if you're all very very nice to me.

Radgepacket 4 available now!

In case you hadn't already noticed from the sidebar (-->) Radgepacket Volume 4 is now fully available to buy.

This one is bigger and better than previous volumes, with extra stories in place of the interview and contest that have appeared before. Now there are 22 stories by 22 different authors, all of them dark, gritty and urban but most of them with a quirky element of gallows humour.

My own story, Lemon Sour, is loosely based on an incident from my childhood - although I swear the sort of revenge the main character takes never even occurred to me! Jenny isn't a very nice person; I can't think where in the darkest recesses of my mind she came from. However, I was trying to suggest the way that (sometimes minor) childhood humiliations can end up scarring people for life.

The paperback is available to order from either Byker Books or Amazon, for the very reasonable price of £5.99 (not bad for all those stories...). For more details including a point-of-sale link and an excerpt from the story, please hurry along to the Lemon Sour page on my website.

And if you do take the plunge, I hope you enjoy my story and some of the other sly, wry and downright naughty stories in the book.

Back from Newcastle

We had a fun, if exhausting, time in Newcastle over the weekend. The train journey went very smoothly, the only problem being that the heating controls got stuck on the way up and our carriage was absolutely boiling. It took three separate requests by three separate passengers over two and a half hours before the staff got the problem fixed, by which time I was a dripping wreck! Not what you need when you're attending an event an hour after arrival.

Luckily our hotel was only minutes from the station so I was able to freshen up before we headed out to explore the area and find the venue of the book launch. Newcastle looks to be a much more historical place than I'd realised; within minutes we'd discovered a section of 13th century town walls and a medieval friary, as well as Chinatown and St James Park (the Newcastle football ground). The book shop, The Back Page, was very close to the stadium; hardly surprising since it's a sports-lover's dream, stuffed to the rafters with football books, football dvds and football memorabilia, some of it quite rare. It made a fascinating backdrop to the party.

The launch itself was great fun; seven or eight of the authors came along and we met the editor (who grew up on the Byker estate in Newcastle, hence the publisher's name); discovered more about Byker Books' history; and chatted about our stories, writing and life in general. I picked up my contributors' copy of Radgepacket 4 which has more stories than previous volumes and looks great value at only £5.99. More of that later...

Since we both love Chinese food we couldn't resist dinner at one of the many buffet restaurants along Stowell Street? Lane? - huge choice of dishes and absolutely delicious. The highlight for me was jelly and fruit for dessert since I'm still a kid at heart!

Yesterday we had the morning to kill before our train back to Brum, so set off to explore the rest of the city including various shopping centres (they're strung out like washing on a line); the famous Grey Street with its statue of Earl Grey (of tea fame); and the river with its impressive gaggle of bridges, and a craft fair along one bank. Newcastle is obviously a vibrant city filled with music, culture, creativity and nightlife; in fact I don't think I've ever seen so many nightclubs per head of population - there were simply hundreds! The downside to that is a slightly higher than average amount of antisocial behaviour, with gangs of people shouting all night, broken glass and vomit everywhere, even early on Saturday afternoon. Highlights including seeing a curlew at close quarters at the edge of the River Tyne, and finding a lovely statue of a man with some pigeons in the Eldon Square shopping centre (you can see a pic of it here).

We were really glad to have seen the place at last, as we've been promising ourselves a visit for years. It's a long way to travel from Brum (three and a half hours each way on the train) so combining the trip with the book launch made a lot of sense.

One day to go...

Don't forget - it's the Radgepacket 4 book launch at The Back Page in Newcastle upon Tyne from 3-5 pm tomorrow (Saturday 13 March).

I'll be there. Will you? ;)

Review: Alan Hollinghurst's 'The Line of Beauty'

I bought this book a few years ago, soon after watching and enjoying the tv series based on it. Too soon, really - I spent most of my time comparing the book to the series and it pulled me out of the 'story' and made it very difficult to focus. Eventually I gave up and stuck the book on the shelf, and I only picked it up again the other week... and promptly wondered why on earth I'd waited so long!

The book is terrific. Quite possibly Hollinghurst's best, and that's against some pretty stiff opposition. Set in the 1980s of Margaret Thatcher, mobile phones, consumerist excess and yuppie-dom, it tells the story of Nick Guest, a young gay man who gets himself invited to live with his university friend Toby's family. Toby's father Gerald is an up-and-coming politician in the Thatcher government and his mother Rachel is an upper-class heiress. Nick, who is obsessed by beauty in all its forms, is swept off his feet by their attractiveness, their wealth and their social standing. At the same time he explores his own sexuality for the first time with affairs with a black council-worker and the son of a middle-eastern millionaire. Needless to say the course of true love does not run smooth and Nick learns the hard way as his lovers succomb to drug addiction and AIDS, and his new family prove to have their own skeletons in the closet.

There is so much going on inside the book - so much detail, so much humanity, so many themes, that I hardly know where to start. In particular I love the dry sly humour - the millionaire is clearly modelled on Mohammed Al Fayed, for instance - and the dialogue which conjures up so skillfully the brittle brilliance of the decade. Although the downward spiral of Nick's life takes on a tragic tone it's never overdone and the ending is just ambiguous enough to leave Nick, who's lost everything, with a flicker of hope for his future life.

Hollinghurst seems at times to be gleefully breaking all the usual writing rules. He uses 'tell' rather than 'show', especially when describing characters' emotions, and he manages to set an entire novel in the 1980s without mentioning a single person, piece of music, book, television programme or event from that time (with the obvious exception of Mrs Thatcher herself). And yet the sheer brilliance of the writing, and the everyday details of the characters' lives, bring the decade to vivid life anyway, so it hardly matters.

All in all it's a wonderful piece of writing and fully deserves its Man Booker Prize.

Created in Birmingham

To my shame I've only recently discovered Created in Birmingham, the blog for all things (and people) creative in Brum. It looks as though I found it just in time, though, because shortly afterwards they opened their first ever store, in the main Bull Ring shopping centre in Birmingham city centre. They're initially there for a period of 6-8 weeks and will decide whether to continue the venture after the 'trial' period.

It's a wonderful space, right up on the top deck between the main entrance and Debenhams where it should catch lots of passing trade. Dave and I were in town yesterday morning and found it was open on Sundays, so we called in and were really impressed with the quality of the products being sold. There's everything from buttons and badges to large-scale artwork, via music and t-shirts with trendy designs, and most of it is very, very good. And the prices didn't make us blink, either. We treated ourselves to a signed limited-edition print by Jo Ruth of the famous Iron Man statue on New Street (by Anthony Gormley of 'Angel of the North' fame, no less) and were delighted with it. We'll definitely be popping back from time to time to check out any new stock they've had in.

Date for your diary

Radgepacket Volume 4 is due out any day now from Byker Books, and the launch party is all set for Saturday 13 March. And I'll be there! This is my first ever book launch and I'm glad it's for an anthology rather than a standalone book because the editor and several other authors will also be there - there's comfort in numbers when you're shy.

There'll be drinks and nibbles on tap, there may be a reading from the book, and I and the other authors will be available to chat about our stories and writing in general, and sign copies of the book.

So, if you'd like to meet me and get my autograph for your collection, come along to sports bookshop The Back Page in Newcastle on Saturday 13 March between 3 pm and 5 pm, and prepare to have fun. The shop's full address (including post codes for those of you programming satnavs) is 56 St Andrews Street, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE1 5SF. I hope to see you there.

Wet start to the month

And for once I'm not talking about the weather.

Yesterday I noticed the faint sound of dripping in our lounge, which is quite an achievement since there shouldn't be any water in there. Further investigation revealed a leak from a pipe in the bedroom, where we had an old washbasin taken out and the pipes capped off. The plumber hadn't done a very good job of the capping and one had split, causing water to percolate through the ceiling and down the lounge wall, where it was gathering behind the lining paper and then dripping onto the skirting board.

Needless to say the worst part was right behind a large bookcase so half way through my lunch I had to leap up, clear all the books off their shelves and hump the bookcase out of the way before I could get busy with mops and towels. And of course we had to turn the water off at the mains, and had one kettle-full to last us all afternoon and part of the evening.

Dave called out an emergency plumber who arrived, finally, at 7pm (they're run off their feet with all the burst pipes etc caused by the cold weather) and fixed the leak. Rather amazingly, he only charged us £40 which is a far cry from emergency plumbers we've had before who seem to charge by the minute. Many thanks for a great service, Dynorod, we'll be using you again. If we have to, which I rather hope we don't...

Now we just have to wait for the plaster to dry out before redecorating in the lounge. Luckily I was thinking about a change of colour in there anyway, but I could have done without the drama!

Oh my aching bones...

We came back a day early from our holiday in the Lakes because we had a tai chi session booked for Saturday afternoon. Dave's tutor had organised a workshop with a Chinese organisation who promote qigong for health around the world. They hadn't come all the way from China just to teach us, of course - it was part of their general UK tour - but it was still something of a coup as the two ladies were very senior and at least one had represented China in contests at international level.

The session was three hours long and completely exhausting. Qigong is the least martial and least 'physical' of the tai chi disciplines - very graceful and flowing - but even so you end up using muscles you've never come across before, and learning fourteen new moves in one afternoon was pretty tiring too. But it was all absolutely fascinating, especially as the main tutor explained the health benefits of each and every move - sometimes in surprisingly frank detail which left the translators blushing! I came away feeling stretched (think: Ioan Gruffuds' character in The Fantastic Four) but happy.

'Come Friendly Bombs'

My flash story 'Come Friendly Bombs', which was recently 'commended' or mentioned in dispatches or whatever in the Once There Was flash fiction contest, has just been posted on their site.

The story, believe it or not, is based on a real-life event, although I admit I took a few liberties with the ending. It's very tiny and decidedly silly but if you'd like to take a look, go to the Once There Was blog.

I had lots of fun writing this one and hope you have as much fun reading it.

Another charity anthology

While we're on the subject of charity anthologies, the sequel to 'I Do' in support of marriage equality has just hit the shelves as well.

This one is currently available as an e-book (pdf available from MLR Press) but will be coming in print shortly. It contains 22 stories and weighs in at nearly 100,000 words, and every last penny of the profits will be donated to the Lambda Legal Fund. The print version should be available in a couple of weeks or so.

Haiti book update

I promised to let everyone know when I heard anything new about the '100 Stories for Haiti' anthology. The good news is that the book has found a publishing home with Bridge House Publishing and should be available to buy from 4th March 2010. Bridge House will be producing it as a print paperback volume and it'll be available to order from their website, the original 100 Stories for Haiti website, and Amazon, price £11.99 plus postage.

You can pre-order your copy now to make sure you're ahead of the rush on 4th March! Just head over to the 100 Stories for Haiti website and follow the 'buy the book' links to register your interest.

Culture vultures #2

It's amazing what you can find on the doorstep on a dismal, cold, damp February Saturday afternoon when you can't think of a thing to do. A quick search of the local what's on pages revealed a museum we'd read about ages ago and promptly forgotten - the Lapworth Museum of Geology. Like the Barber Institute the other week this turned out to be on the University of Birmingham campus, tucked away in the Grade II* listed 'Earth Sciences' building. Also like the Barber it was more 'educational institution' than genuine museum, but it also turned out to be fascinating.

A room full of glass cases revealed hidden treasures. There was everything from tiny trilobite fossils to whole dinosaur skeletons (okay, small ones, but still...); from fragments of precious metal to vast crystals of galena and quartz. Apparently the museum was started in 1880 by Charles Lapworth (hence the name) with a collection of fossils found mostly in the West Midlands. Since then it's been added to from all over the world and it's now one of the largest specialist geological museums in the country.

My only criticism is that some of the labelling is very old-fashioned and unhelpful: small cardboard labels with vast Latin names and not much actual information. It was still great fun, though, and we would happily go again.

MyFreeRead to be avoided?

Several of my writer friends have recently received letters from a new company called MyFreeRead, offering to pay them for their e-books and other writing, which is then made available to readers free of charge on their website. The letter began:

"Dear Authors,

We want your e-books -- and we'll pay you for them!!

* e-Books
* Newsletters
* Excerpts from books
* Self-Published Articles

Now, there's a new idea... actually get paid for writing your e-books and articles!"

The payment offered for each e-book 'downloaded' (ie, 'sold') was 20 cents. Quite apart from the extraordinary notion that being paid for ebooks is a new idea, several things about the letter worried my friends - and me.

One, that amount is very low. If an author sells an ebook via one of the reputable publishers they are paid a percentage royalty per book sold. This varies depending on the price and length but most ebooks are in the $5 range and typical industry percentages are around 25%-40% of cover price. Now, I'm not much good at maths but even I can work out that 25% of $5 is a lot more than 20 cents.

On top of that, the only way the owner(s) of MyFreeRead can make any profit from this business model (paying the authors and not charging the readers) is if they benefit from some sort of advertising deal. Sure enough, Writers Beware has done some research and found that MyFreeRead is linked to a provider of online advertising, and that readers will have to complete a survey and view several adverts before they can get at the free ebook they want to download.

I'm not a big fan of online advertising. Much of it is linked to viruses and malware, some of it hijacks your browser, and all of it tends to breed like bunnies in a field. You start off with one browser screen and end up with fifteen pop-ups, seven pop-unders and three extra screens. Every time you close one down it automatically generates six more. I've been known to spend minutes trying to close my browser down. And I'm supposed to subject my readers to that sort of experience just so they can download a free bit of my writing, and I can be paid the measly sum of 20 cents?

If you're even remotely considering getting involved with MyFreeRead, I urge you to visit the Writers Beware article linked above. It makes for interesting reading and will hopefully make you look before you leap... and land in a puddle of something wet.

More three-word-madness

Another story prompted by Three Word Wednesday; this week the words were lucid, righteous and salvage. I'm thinking this might actually make a good beginning for a much longer piece of work...

-----

Salvage Job

Jonathan was never at his most lucid at 6 am. It wasn’t even properly light; a pale halo surrounded the window but shadows still clung possessively to the corners of the room. He lay with his eyes closed, drifting and listening to the varied morning sounds - sparrows chattering in the bushes outside, the electric buzz of the milk float and the chink of bottles on stone steps, faint clatters from the kitchen where Marilyn was busy with pots and pans. A tantalising whiff of frying bacon tiptoed in through the partly-open door and sleep receded a little more.

He stretched until his toes popped and rolled onto his back, folding the blankets round him to close out any draughts. It might be late March but the mornings were still chilly and Marilyn hadn’t popped back in to switch the electric heater on. Usually he’d be up and about by now, dressed in his collar and tie, clutching a briefcase, ready to peck Marilyn on the cheek and catch the 6.42 bus to town. Sundays were different, though. There’d be chores later - sweeping the drive, washing the car - and a walk in the park after lunch, but for now he could luxuriate in the bliss of a weekend lie-in.

Until a small bundle of pure energy raced through the door and landed, panting, on the bed. It waited, briefly, then prodded his shoulder where he’d let the bedclothes slip. “Daddy? Dad! Come on, I know you’re only pretending to be asleep. I can see your eyes moving.”

Jonathan groaned and opened his eyes, then groaned again. It was light now, sun pouring in through the thin floral curtains, and that orange wallpaper had definitely been a mistake. “Whaddya want?” he mumbled, trying to shift the heavy lump off his chest. “Worse than a cat, you are, Suzanne.”

His daughter prodded him again, in the tummy this time. “So wake up then. Did you get them? I was out round Mandy’s last night, I didn’t get a chance to ask.”

Jonathan’s heart sank. The tickets. Those blasted, wretched, ruddy, bloody tickets to the Righteous Brothers concert that Suzanne had asked for as a special treat. He wasn’t keen on her going to pop concerts as a rule; she was only fifteen and you heard bad things about what went on. But this was her birthday and she’d made puppy eyes at him and he’d found himself saying yes.

He barely knew who the Righteous Brothers were; only that they weren’t brothers and they weren’t particularly righteous as far as he could see. He preferred a nice bit of Bach himself, but Suzanne had played him one of their songs on her new transistor radio and he supposed the chap had a nice enough voice. And as the kid herself had said, “They’re coming all the way from America and they’re only doing one tour....”

“Uh.” He pushed the blankets aside and sat up, shivering with the sudden chill. A chill of premonition, perhaps, or of guilt. “Look, love, I’m sorry....”

She didn’t let him finish. “Oh, daddy. You forgot, didn’t you? I knew you’d forget! That was supposed to be my birthday present! And now I’ll never get another chance to see them!” The lump moved abruptly off the bed, there was a rush of air and the door slammed on what sounded like a sob.

“Suzanne! Come back here and let me explain.” But a second slam followed as she took refuge in her room. He lay back again, fuming at the injustice of it all. He hadn’t forgotten the tickets - he’d given up his half-day off to go into town and queue for two hours in the pouring rain, only to find they’d sold the last ones to a chap about six feet ahead of him. He’d gone to a pub to dry out and console himself and then he’d missed the last bus home. Marilyn hadn’t been impressed, but she’d calmed down when he told her the worst.

“Never mind, dear, you tried your best. We’ll get her a rabbit instead.”

Jonathan didn’t think rabbits were much consolation for a missed opportunity for a teenage girl, but he’d agreed, and agreed to built a hutch. Which reminded him - he’d have to forgo the walk in the park this afternoon and head for the shed to knock up some bits of wood. He sighed, his euphoria vanished with the early morning sun. Suzanne would no doubt sulk in her room all day and might not forgive him for weeks, and on top of that he’d have to give up next Saturday afternoon to look up plans for hutches at the library. And on top of that, he was sure yesterday’s soaking had given him a cold. He swung his legs out of bed and reached for trousers and a comfortable old shirt. The bacon should be done by now. He’d go downstairs and salvage what was left of his day off.

(c) 2010 Fiona Glass

Suspicious, me?

I came across this story on the BBC website this morning, about a woman's skeleton being found wrapped in a carpet on a construction site in Manchester.

Straight away something struck me as odd. It wasn't that the skeleton had been found, or even that it had been put there in the first place. What really made me blink was that initially the police treated the discovery as 'non suspicious'. It wasn't until they got the results of the post mortem that they decided to treat it as anything other than a natural death.

Now I don't know about you, but in the world I live in nothing about the above scenario is even remotely natural. Why? Because those bones were found wrapped in a carpet. I can't think of a single reason why someone would be buried in an unconsecrated site (ie, not a churchyard or cemetery), wrapped in an old piece of carpet, that doesn't involve some sort of criminal activity. At the very least it suggests someone concealed the death, because you could hardly wrap your own bones up once you were dead. At worst, it's murder.

I don't know. Is this just me? Have I been reading too many detective novels, or do I just have a very suspicious mind?

The case looks rather fascinating, in a tragic and macabre way. The clothes that were found with the body have a design that looks Victorian, yet the presence of a bra suggests something post-1920s at the earliest. I'll be watching for more details with interest - and a good deal of suspicion about that carpet...

More snow (sigh)

This endless cold weather is really getting me down. It's been almost two months since we had decent, normal temperatures - and by 'normal', I mean 'normal for the time of year'. There was one brief exception, on Friday. The sky turned blue with fluffy white clouds floating about, the sun came out, the temperature crept up... and up... to 9c, and all the birds started to sing for the first time this year. Dave and I strolled round to the High Street at lunchtime and it was just lovely being out of doors without feeling every last calorie of energy was being sucked straight out of you by the cold. Spring might only have been a week or two away.

Sadly, the return to normal parameters didn't last. It's been getting steadiy colder over the weekend and today we're back to what passes for normal this year - 2c. And it's just started to snow.

Last winter was on the cold side but before that we'd had a run of milder winters, and nature made hay while the sun shone. Birds started not just singing, but breeding and raising their young. We had daffodils at Christmas - not here in Brum, but at least in London and along the south coast. Trees and shrubs were showing a haze of green by the middle of March. To hear the experts, you'd think it was the end of the world. Mother Nature was apparently so confused she was never going to recover, and we'd be stuck with the consequences till our dying days.

Well, Mother Nature isn't confused. This year the birds are huddling in corners, fluffing up their feathers and too busy conserving energy to do frivolous things like finding a mate. And there isn't so much as a petal out yet. Not only are the daffodils not in flower, their levels haven't poked through the semi-frozen ground. All of which gives me lots of confidence in nature's recuperative powers... but it does make spring seem like an awfully long way away.

Flash story commended...

...in the Once There Was flash fiction contest.

My (very silly) little story 'Come Friendly Bombs' didn't win first prize, but was shortlisted/commended and will be published on the Once There Was blog in the next few days.

I'm pretty sure this is the best result I've ever had in a writing competition, so naturally I'm delighted!

In other news, author Rick Reed is running a spotlight on 'Queer Dimensions' today, including a synopsis and a new excerpt that you might not have read before. Want to see it? Pop along to his blog to read more.

Three words make a story

At least that's the idea behind Three Word Wednesday, a blog I discovered the other day, which gives writers three words to play with once a week. This week, the words were frantic, lurch and odour. I used two and the third is implicit in the story. :)

This is based on something that happened to a colleague of mine, by the way. Hope you enjoy.

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Running Late

I’m late, I’m late, I’m bloody late for work.

Everything’s gone wrong. First I burned the toast and had to do eggs instead. Then Martin lost the car keys and I helped him hunt for them. Of course he’d left them in his coat pocket all along but we must have turned the house upside down. Then the cat was sick, and Martin saw his chance and slipped away, saying brightly ‘Have a good day’ and aiming a kiss into thin air.

Millie needed changing, not once but twice. I forgot to empty the washing machine last night and my favourite blouse has creased. I’m dabbing it with water and trying to stretch it flat, but the end result is piebald and the creases won’t go away. The heel’s broken off my best shoes and the pair I drag out from under the bed are covered in fuzz. I waste another precious minute dusting them.

The clock ticks threateningly and the minute hand lurches ever closer to the eight. I’m late, I’m so bloody late, and it’s the third time this month. Last week my boss looked at her watch and frowned. Yesterday she raised her eyebrows and scowled. Today she’ll probably fire my arse - and we need the money to pay the mortgage off.

At last the kids are off to school with gym kit, packed lunch, books and shoes. Finally, I think. If I run now I might just make the early bus. There’s time to grab my coat and bag, hoist Millie into my arms and dash for the child-minders down the road.

Too late. The unavoidable odour of wet nappy assails my nose.

I can’t take her out like that - she’ll catch her death of cold. “Oh, Millie,” I wail and run for the bathroom at the top of the stairs.

Tell me my baby hasn’t just cost me my job.

Free flash

As I'd expected, 100 Stories for Haiti rejected my flash. Because of the very short timescale I had to send the best I had available, and obviously the tone wasn't quite right. I wish them all good luck with the project and hope it raises lots of £££ for the Red Cross; I'll be keeping an eye on progress and will report back once the book is available.

In the meantime, as promised, here is the story I submitted. It's very short and very silly, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. However, as everyone knows, there's no such thing as a free lunch! So if you do stop by and read the story, please consider making a donation of your own to a Haiti Appeal charity. For ease I've included various links below the story but feel free to choose one of your own if you'd rather.

Thank you.

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Is it a Bird?

Henry had always wanted to fly.

Knotting the last string to the chair's arm he felt the whole contraption lift clear of the ground. It was working! The power of hundreds of balloons could life the weight of a man! None of his colleagues at the College had believed him, but now he'd show them he was right.

His hair ruffled in the breeze. He tried to straighten it but the chair lurched and he clutched again at the arms. He was glad he'd tied himself on as well as the balloons. They gave more lift than even he'd expected: soon he would be above the trees, then up amongst the clouds. When he'd had enough, he would shoot the balloons one by one and return, the opposite of Icarus, in steady descent to earth.

His hand twitched towards the gun tucked beside one leg... and felt only empty space. Had he left it, propped against the chair, to fall when he took off? He remembered a clatter, which he'd ignored in the elation of flight.

***

"Control, this is Flight 475 out of London Heathrow. We have an unidentified flying object at ten thousand feet. Please advise."

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And here's where you can make that donation. The links will take you straight to the relevant donations pages:

British Red Cross
Unicef
International Rescue Fund
Disasters Emergency Committee

Put off modern classics

I was sad to read the other day that J D Salinger had died. I don't often comment when well-known writers die because too often, to my shame, I haven't read any of their works. But I did read 'Catcher in the Rye', years ago, and I know it's a modern classic.

Whether I enjoyed it or not is another matter. When I was in my teens my Mum went through a phase of borrowing modern classics from the library for me to read. She thought I didn't read enough good literature (which was true) and that I needed some encouragement to get me away from my comfort zone of Agatha Christie and Georgette Heyer (also no doubt true). Trouble is, I was an incredibly sensitive teenager, I tended to get totally lost in books, and I chose those nice comfortable books for a reason - they didn't make me sob or feel ill.

Unlike the books Mum chose. I can't remember all of them now but I know the list included 'To Kill a Mocking Bird' (I cried); 'Catcher in the Rye' (I cried); Brave New World (I devoured it in two sittings and cried for hours). '1984' I couldn't even finish and as for 'Lord of the Flies', it made me physically ill. After that, mercifully, Mum stopped trying to push literature down my throat and left me to develop my own tastes at my own pace.

Over the years my taste has changed and literate, character-driven novels are my first choice. These days I'd probably enjoy at least some of the classics on the list, especially 'Catcher in the Rye'. Sadly, my experience aged sixteen has put me off all those authors for life, and I'm not sure I could even get past the first page.

I know of friends who were put off particular books (or even the whole concept of reading) at school. I'd be fascinated to hear if anyone else suffered in the same way. Have you managed to overcome it? Or has the experience stayed with you for life?

Culture vultures

Yesterday it was really cold again here in Birmingham so we were hunting around for something to do that would get us out of the house, but still be indoors. A few weeks ago someone recommended the Barber Institute of Fine Arts at Birmingham University to us as being 1. open, 2. free and 3. pretty good. We'd heard of it before but always assumed it was only open to students, university staff and the like, not the general public, but a quick search on the net soon showed it's open to anyone, almost every day of the year.

And very impressive it was too. It's housed in a award-winning Art Deco building and the inside is slightly odd - less art gallery and more institution - but it was blessedly warm and filled with staggering works of art. The collection is only small (around 150 paintings plus sculpture and other artefacts, collected by Lady Barber as an aid to education) but represents some of the finest artists in history. Big names include Van Dyck, Manet, Monet, Pisarro, Rembrandt, Rubens, Renoir... this list goes on. Unlike most galleries they might only have one or two works by each artist, but you can guarantee that said work(s) will be among the best or most interesting examples.

We spent well over an hour browsing the galleries and were pleased to see a steady stream of people coming through the doors. It was never busy enough to be uncomfortable but clearly it's one of Birmingham's better-known secrets. And a very pleasant way to spend a miserably cold afternoon.

Oooh, shiny

I'm typing this from the right side of an upgrade to Windows 7. My pc had been running Win2000 with IE6 for a couple of years, but it was getting slower and slower, and so many of the big sites (Google, YouTube, MySpace) are getting ready to stop supporting IE6 that I thought it was time for a change.

So far, it's gone quite well. Even after a full system backup there's still more than a few of those heart-stopping moments (where's my writing files? have I lost my favourites folder?) but for the time being the biggest nuisance is that you can't use Outlook Express. This has been my stand-by ever since I first had a home computer with e-mail capacity, way back when, and I liked it, dammit. Dave has found me a freebie replacement (Mozilla Thunderbird) which works just fine, but everything is in a different place and I'm having to poke around for the simplest function. I'll get there, it's just frustrating while it lasts.

Most of my other programs seem to be running so I can still browse the internet, update my web page and (most important of all) write. I think I'd have spontaneously combusted if my copy of WordPerfect hadn't worked. That really is an old and trusted friend. ;)

Special offer - one day only!

Aspen Mountain Press are holding a 10% off day until midnight tonight (Thursday).

For those of you who haven't already bought and read Shifting Perspectives 1 and 2, complete with my two pigeon shapeshifter stories (plus other great stories from Emily Veinglory, Sharon Maria Bidwell and TA Chase), this is a fantastic opportunity to get them cheaper than usual.

Simply pop along to the Aspen Mountain Press catalogue following the links below, and quote code NYC2010. Please note this code will only work today, 28th January, so don't delay, do it today!

If you're not sure whether you'd like the books or not, pop along to my website to check out the details.

Find the books here:

Shifting Perspectives 1

Shifting Perspectives 2

100 Stories for Haiti

This is a very worthwhile project to produce a charity anthology of short stories in aid of the Red Cross Haiti appeal. The deadline was originally 25 January but has just been extended to midnight on Wednesday 27 January, which is great news for me because I only found out about the anthology earlier today and thought I'd already missed it.

You can find full details including submission guidelines at the official 100 Stories for Haiti blog.

I was really keen to take part so I've sent them a very short and very silly flash about a man who always wanted to fly. I won't be entirely surprised if they choose not to use it since they want stories that are full of hope and compassion, which Is It a Bird? isn't really - but hopefully it'll make someone laugh. If it isn't accepted, I'll post it in full on my blog next week and ask readers who enjoy it to make a donation to a Haiti appeal charity of their choice.

And if you have a spare story kicking around, please consider donating it. But do it NOW, because there's not much time!

Writing proverb

I came across this lovely Chinese proverb today:

I hear and I forget;
I see and I remember;
I write and I understand.

Not only does it sum up one of the fascinating concepts of writing - that the more you write about something, the more you get to grips with its complexities - but it also emphasises the differences in learning methods between China and the west. According to my tai chi tutor, in the west we're very dependent on hearing - on a teacher explaining something to us. But in China most learning takes the form of 'watch me, copy me', which is very sight-based, and there's much less explanation. Presumably the Chinese find it harder to remember something that they've only heard, not seen, whereas we find it harder to learn something we've watched.

In other news, I was Very Peeved this morning when the cashier in the building society asked me if I was at least five years older than I actually am. I know she was trying to save me money but ouch! I've always looked younger than my age and honestly thought I still did but she obviously thought not. I'm reaching for the face cream as I type, and busy booking appointments at hairdresser for new hair style and opticians for new specs. Vain? Me?

And wasn't yesterday the Official Gloomiest Day of the Year, or some such? I know a few years ago someone worked out that there was one Monday towards the end of January when Christmas and New Year were a distant memory, the weather was crap, the days were still short, and the next holiday seemed like a lifetime away. If so, yesterday certainly made the grade!

More submissions

Just before Christmas I noticed that I had no outstanding submissions whatsoever - I'd heard back on every story I'd sent out during the year. It's hard enough getting work accepted at the best of times but it's impossible if you never send it out, so one of my New Year's writing resolutions was to get posting and emailing.

So far I've done quite well. I've sent out seven stories, with an eighth due to go out later this week, and it's not even the end of January yet. Of course one came back almost immediately which puts me back down to six, but that's still better than none.

Stories I've submitted include a paranormal romance novella to QueeredFiction, that minotaur story I was so pleased to finish, a gritty contemporary to the Mslexia short story contest (where it's got about as much chance as a snowflake in a volcano, but still...), and The Boyfriend From Hell to Flash Me Magazine.

The results should start bouncing back to me in a few weeks' time and as usual, I'll let you know.

Weekend away

Just back from our latest trip north, mainly to check that the cottage was okay after the recent cold weather. Good news is it's survived more-or-less intact in spite of temperatures plummeting to -15c and snow that lay around for weeks, so that's a relief.

We did one or two more chores including hanging some curtains and putting up a blind, but yesterday it was such unexpectedly gorgeous weather that we said 'sod it' and went out for a walk instead.

Of course the minute we got the car out we ran into freezing fog but it looked very pretty and atmospheric so we went for it anyway and were really glad we did, because we soon climbed out of the mist and found ourselves in lovely, and surprisingly warm, sunshine. There was still the odd patch of snow on the path but mostly it had cleared and wasn't too wet underfoot, although clearly the fells have suffered damage from both the floods and the recent snow. There are places where the tracks are almost washed away, or where stone walls have been brought down by the weight of water, or patches of hillside slipped.

The walk we did was a favourite of ours from Ambleside to an ancient packhorse bridge called High Sweden Bridge. It's at the foot of Scandale, a relatively unknown valley/pass which is wild, remote and utterly beautiful, even at this time of year. This time we only went as far as the bridge but still thoroughly enjoyed it - and the incredible views of snow-patched mountains looming out of the mist. Sadly, my lovely Panasonic Lumix camera, bought only a couple of years ago, has developed a fault and the photos hardly came out. Here's a couple, just to give you a taster of what it was like:

My ears are bleeding!

Our new hi-fi turned up yesterday and in the evening we hauled it out of its box, plugged the various bits together with reams of wire, and switched on. We tried out a couple of cds that we happened to have lying around and the results were spectacular to say the least.

This time round we chose to buy Denon. They're not a make we've had before but listening to the same track on various different systems in the shop suggested that Denon gave out the best sound. And oh boy, does it ever. We could hear layers on the cds that we'd never noticed before, and even with the volume turned down the bass was impressive - but without totally swamping everything else.

Of course, we went a bit mad and played Pink Floyd at top volume most of the evening, until my ears started to pound. I'd been sitting in my usual place but the new speakers are so much more powerful than the old that it was really affecting me. Will have to either turn the sound down a bit or more likely, shove the speakers on brackets and fix them higher up on the walls. Either that, or I use the bass-reduction foam plugs they supplied as earplugs...!

Nice to get out...

The snow has finally gone, apart from a few small patches in areas that never get the sun. Everything looks dismal and scruffy and very 'after the storm' with all the detritus that was caught in the snow strewn all over the roads and pavements - and the potholes have to be seen to be believed - but at least it isn't slippy.

Dave and I celebrated by spending as much time out of the house as possible over the weekend. On Saturday morning we headed into the city centre and spent an hour browsing in the library, mostly for a particular British Standard he needed for work. We also had a lovely oriental soup lunch at Eat and a good look round the last few scrag-ends of the sales. In the afternoon we trotted round to the local high street, bought a few bits and bobs, got a quote for a new pc from the local computer supplies shop, had tea and a sticky cake in one of the organic cafes, and enjoyed the positively tropical temperatures (5c, since you ask).

Yesterday we had a successful but rather expensive shopping trip to Solihull. We treated ourselves to a new mini hi-fi system, and then I bought a new motherboard-processor-memory bundle as my pc is overloading and getting steadily slower and more unreliable. Dave liked the look of the bundle so much he got himself one too, and then we picked up a copy of Windows 7 each in Tesco. My wallet and Dave's credit card were uttering protesting squawks but we haven't updated our systems for some time and in the case of my pc I need it behaving itself for work.

And this morning I've had another trip into town to pick up an order from Argos. It's lovely to have the freedom to go out whenever we feel like it. I'm making the most of it because they're (whispers) forecasting more snow for later in the week...

First rejection of the year

Not the minotaur story, thank heavens, which duly went off to QueeredFiction for consideration for their Love & Fables anthology.

But the other day I submitted a short very dark story about a down-and-out to Neon Magazine, a literary British online zine which specialises in dark fiction. Their guidelines say they want stories which concentrate on "isolation, post-modernism, technology, dislocation, apathy, the apocalypse, memory, Kirk Cameron and urban decay". My story involved at least five of those themes and was gritty and, I felt, reasonably well-written. But the editor rejected it in a little over a day. Aaargh. Rejections are depressing enough at the best of times but somehow it always seems worse when you don't understand quite why the story has been sent back.

Story finished

The inspiration worked. Yesterday I finally finished that minotaur story - at least to first draft. It'll need a thorough read-through and lots more work (I suspect the ending is very rushed) but I'm so pleased and relieved to have finally got the thing down on paper.

It fought back every inch of the way, mind you. Sometimes I can tap away on the keyboard with barely a break for hours; this time I was typing four words and deleting three. But I got there in the end, minutes before Dave returned from a horrible trip back from Kent (fire on the rail line, trains delayed etc etc).

In other news, the Big Freeze has at last given way to the Big Thaw. It actually rained this morning and the snow is in full (if slow) retreat. Everything looks disgusting - slush, rotting ice, and great pools of filthy water - but the pavements are clearing and I'm hopeful I'll soon be able to get out and about easily, without fearing for my life and strapping on my fell-walking boots just to get to the front gate.

Inspiration

Isn't it strange when, where and why inspiration strikes? I've been working on a short story that's (very) loosely based on the legend of the Minotaur. It's something I've been fiddling with for several years now, with various attempts and rewrites, but it's never quite come out right and I've never quite managed to finish it.

Yesterday I suddenly realised, out of nowhere, what the problem was. The particular ending I'd been working towards just didn't 'gel'. It didn't convince me, and if it doesn't even convince the writer it sure as heck ain't going to convince the readers. Again out of nowhere a different ending presented itself, one that's much more probable and will make a better story. On the back of that I wrote another 600 words straight off and am hoping to finish the story (at the tenth time of asking!) later in the week.

But where do these flashes of inspiration come from? I'm grateful of course, but ever so slightly baffled. One minute I'm hacking around in a sea of words and can't see my way clear, the next everything opens up and I'm thinking 'Oh, of course,' in a braindead sort of way. And wondering why on earth that particular solution hadn't occured to me months ago. It's an odd business sometimes, being a writer.

Wot no Time Team?

You've probably guessed by now that I'm not a big fan of winter. I don't like the long dark nights, I don't like the cold, and I especially don't like ice on the roads and pavements. Roll on spring. One thing that usually makes this time of year bearable is the reappearance of Time Team on Channel 4. It's one of my favourite programmes and I always look forward to the new series starting in early January and running until March, by which time the weather is usually better and the nights starting to draw out.

But this year there's no sign of it. I've searched the tv listings magazines in vain, I've scoured the Channel 4 website, I've even been onto some of the tv forums online. And apart from vague rumours of a new series, there's not a single peep - and nothing at all from Channel 4 themselves. It's very odd. Assuming there really will be another series this year, you'd think 4 would want to advertise the fact, even if they've delayed showing it on tv for some reason.

I feel an email enquiry coming on. "Where's my Time Team? What have you done with it?"

Vote for me (pretty please)?

It's that time of year again and the Preditors & Editors poll is open for voting - but only until 14th January.

This year Queer Dimensions, the sf anthology containing my short story The Visitor, is included on the list and last time I checked was doing quite well.

I realise there are many, many great books to choose from but if you enjoyed The Visitor, or any of the other stories in the collection, please consider trotting over to the Preds&Eds anthology category and casting your vote.

Don't forget - you only have five more days to do it, so do it now before you forget! And thank you! Any votes are much appreciated.

First submission of the year

This morning I've been beavering away getting my first submission of 2010 - a gay paranormal romance - ready to send. The publisher is asking for the first 3,000 words, the last 1,000 words, and a summary. The first two weren't a problem but I suck big time at synopses and can never, ever seem to break my work down into its salient points while still making it sound exciting. Too often I end up with a series of 'then he did this' and 'then he said that's which must be deadly dull to read.

For my novel, Roses in December, I actually binned my synopsis and wrote an extended blurb instead. I included several brief quotes from the book and kept the ending pretty much under wraps. That wasn't an option this time, though, as the publisher said they wanted to know the ending. Describing the end of a book is one of the hardest things I've ever come across - you either end up with a row of exclamation marks or make the whole thing sound like a total let-down. I'm worried I've done the latter but hopefully it doesn't read quite as badly as I think it does.

Now I sit back, chew my fingernails and wait to see if they want to read the whole manuscript. Fingers crossed...

Snowy Christmas pics

A small selection of photos I took in Windermere a few days before Christmas. This was just after the second snowfall but before the third (and worst).

The hills across the lake blotted out by another shower:

Our cottage is under there somewhere!

The war memorial, looking Alpine:

More snow

There's been another dollop of snow in the UK and like most places, Birmingham hasn't escaped. It snowed most of yesterday evening and some of the night and is still going this morning, with around 4-5 inches lying on the ground. It all looks stunning, but one of my friends says the pavements are already treacherous and with temperatures set to plummet to -10 overnight, and not rise above freezing for several days, I'm not a particularly happy bunny.

On the good side, Dave's meeting in Kent tomorrow has been cancelled so I'm hoping he won't have to travel. He could probably get down there in one piece today, but I'm less confident of him getting back again.

This winter is now apparently the 'longest cold spell' in almost 30 years - right back to 1981. I don't remember that as a particularly bad winter but I do remember the stories Mum told me about 1963, when she had to cling to the washing line whilst pegging clothes out to dry because of all the ice in the back garden. I'm just hoping it doesn't start breaking those sort of records this year.

Filmed on location in....?

Last night we were happy to see a new series of 'Hustle' on BBC1. It's usually very entertaining and we were particularly interested because a few months ago I saw an interview with one of the stars, the veteran US actor Robert Vaugn, who said it was being filmed in Birmingham.

We switched on, eager for shots of the Bull Ring or Centenary Square, and were somewhat baffled to see the usual panoramas of Westminster, the 'Gherkin' and the Houses of Parliament. Until we looked more closely. We know Birmingham very well, and London fairly well. We know enough about London to be certain there isn't a garden square with a church in it within a stone's throw of the Gherkin - a garden square with a church in it that bore a startling resemblence to St Paul's Square, right here in Brum, except for that famous skyscraper in the background. Even closer inspection revealed what we think their secret is: they've filmed in Birmingham and then either unfocussed the footage so you can't really tell where it is, or digitally spliced shots of the London skyline into the background.

It's a shame, really. Why go to all the trouble of filming in Birmingham if you're going to pretend it's still made in London? Presumably they think the 'foreign market' will only recognise Buckingham Palace and the Houses of Parliament, but why not take the opportunity to introduce a whole new city to fans living abroad? As it is, Brummies will be annoyed to see their city 'adulterated' whilst Londoners might be left scratching their heads at the strange juxtaposition of famous landmarks.

The episode was still great fun, though.

Happy New Year!

Just dropping by to wish all my friends, family, readers and passers-by a very happy and prosperous 2010.

We managed to get snowed in over Christmas and had no tree, almost no decorations, and only as much food as Dave could carry back by hand from the village, slithering all the way. We made the best of things but it wasn't quite what we'd intended and we had to come home early the minute we could dig the car out because there was more bad weather on the way. I'd always thought that being snowed in would be terribly romantic but as with most things the reality is very different and it was all rather a worry, especially as we had to put off our friends who were due to spend New Year with us.

Luckily they managed to book us into a local Thai restaurant on New Year's Eve instead; we had a wonderful meal and then staggered back to their place to see the new year in. It might have lacked the sheer romance of the Lake District but it was still a great evening.

I'm trying very hard to buckle down to work but my study is freezing and it's hard to concentrate when you have numb fingers and icicles hanging off your nose...

Anthology cancelled

I heard late yesterday that From the Asylum has finally and completely closed its doors and will no longer be honouring publication of its last two anthologies, including a science fiction one that my short story Boyfriend From Hell was slated to appear in.

To be honest I'm neither surprised nor disappointed. From the Asylum's print magazine closed several months ago and the web zine followed suit soon after. I never did receive the signed copy of my contract back from them and every enquiry, after almost a year of waiting, led only to vague promises that the anthology 'would be going ahead' together with thanks 'for my patience'. Nobody ever gave me a specific release date, and nobody ever answered my biggest question, which was 'how are you going to sell the books given that you no longer have either a print magazine or a web presence?'

On the whole I'm rather relieved to have my rights back and will be looking around for another market where, hopefully, people will actually be able to get hold of the story to read it!

But for now, Boyfriend From Hell is without a home.

First snow

We had the first snow of the winter yesterday. Not much - only about half an inch - but it was enough to turn everything wedding-cake white, and as it was only snowing for less than half an hour you can tell how thickly it was coming down.

Needless to say it thawed slightly and then froze hard overnight so all the local roads look like they've had a spray-coating of mirrored glass and are treacherous in the extreme. I wanted to go into the city centre for a few last bits of shopping but was beaten back, twice, because I couldn't get across the roads to where the bus stops are.

The house is none too warm either. Not only was it -4c last night, but the wind was at gale force, so it was blowing all that freezing air through every gap in the windows. Brrr. Even with the heating on it never seemed to get warm.

I ought to be working today since I can't get out, but cold and concentration don't seem to go together. At least that's my excuse...

Early Christmas present

I had some wonderful news from Byker Books this morning - they've accepted another story, this time for Radgepacket 4. You may (or may not) remember that I had a humorous story about an ageing rock star in the second Radgepacket volume, and they were such a good bunch to work with that I submitted another story earlier this year. I just missed the deadline for volume 3, but the editor has stayed true to his word and hung onto it for this latest collection.

The story is called Lemon Sour and is a dark, almost vicious little tale of childhood humiliation and revenge, involving a pair of yellow gloves!

The book should be out early-ish in the new year (probably by late February/early March) but I'll keep everyone posted about its progress.

Pre-Christmas panic

It's suddenly hit us that Christmas is less than two weeks away, so this weekend we had a bit of a panic trying to do everything at once. Dave's parents came to stay on Friday as part of their 'Santa sleigh-run' taking presents round the family, so Friday morning we cleaned, dusted, and put up the Christmas tree. On Saturday all four of us hit the German Christmas market here in Brum, which this year is bigger than ever, and apparently only 20 stalls short of overtaking the main market in Frankfurt. We bought all sorts of bits and bobs and Dave and his dad had a German sausage each while mother-in-law and I headed for the rather more genteel (and warmer) Edwardian Tea Rooms at the museum for a hot drink. After that we got hopelessly sidetracked looking round the museum at some of the treasures of the industrial age - beautiful Morgan and Ruskin ceramics, Burne Jones stained glass, Royal Worcester porcelain, Black Country crystal and wrought iron work, and of course, lots and lots of silver from all the foundries and electro-plating works in the Jewellery Quarter. The inlaws hadn't seen any of it before and were bowled over. We must take them in again some time and show them the rest of the collections, especially all the Pre-Raphaelite art.

Saturday evening Dave and I crouched over the coffee table scribbling endless messages in endless Christmas cards; then yesterday we dashed up to Ikea to buy a couple of bedside cabinets ready for our friends spending New Year with us. Needless to say, they'd stopped doing the ones I saw in their current catalogue which would have been ideal, but we got something similar which will do almost as well, plus a car load of other rubbish that we didn't realise we needed until we saw it. And after that, we dashed out again to find a new duvet for Dave as he's shivering under a particularly thin one. We couldn't find what we wanted, but came home with four scatter cushions, two rolls of gift wrap, a box of crackers and a thermos flask. Don't ask!

Strange research

I'm amazed sometimes at the weird things I end up researching for the sake of stories. Yesterday and today I've been reading up on angels, and especially fallen angels, for a possible story for QueeredFiction's latest 'angels and demons' call.

I went to a Church of England primary school so I knew about the main archangels - Michael, Gabriel and Raphael. I'd also heard of one or two of the fallen angels including (of course) Lucifer, and Azazeal who featured (fictitiously) in a teen gothic series on telly a couple of years ago. But it seems there are dozens, if not hundreds more - around 200 fallen angels, and positive heavenly hosts of angels, archangels, cherubim, seraphim, guardians, powers, spirts and gawd knows what else. Many of the names were invented during the Middle Ages, apparently, when scholars juggled the letters of the Hebrew alphabet to come up with names, or added '-el' (of God) to suitable Hebrew words. The end result is, um, confusing, but I actually rather enjoyed poring over the lists and finding out who was who.

A cracking good read

I finally finished reading 'Queer Dimensions' last night - it's taken me slightly longer because I wanted to savour each story.

My overall impression is that this is a really good, lovingly crafted collection of science-fiction stories with a gay twist. There were one or two stories that I was less keen on, but only from personal preference, not because there was anything wrong with them. My favourites included Jacques L Condor's The Night Hunters (vivid and warm-hearted); Erastes' fun tale Whatever the Risk; Mallory Path's sensuous transgendered story The Prettiest Girl in the Room; and the heart-rending and original The Sister Bush by Joel Best, but I enjoyed pretty much everything else as well.

If you're after smut this probably isn't the anthology for you (there's one story I'd call erotica and another that's heading that way, but that's all). But if you like original, thought-provoking and beautifully written science fiction, and you like gay fiction, then rush off and buy a copy now!

Too fuzzy to write

No, that's my mental state not my physical appearance. Yesterday I dosed up on painkillers and then found they made my brain so fuzzy I couldn't concentrate, and I ended up doing no work at all.

Today I have the wonderful choice of sitting here and throbbing but perhaps writing a bit, or wimping out and reaching for the pills again.

Aargh. Who'd be a writer?

Cold - and ouch.

It's suddenly turned wintry here - there's a thick white frost on all the lawns and roofs and according to iGoogle's weather gadget, it's still only -2c at eleven o'clock in the morning. And there may be snow on the way.

Normally I'd go out for a good walk to warm up but earlier this morning I managed to fall down stairs. I landed awkwardly with all my weight on one big toe and it bloomin' hurts! I don't think it's broken but I can't put any weight on it or get any of my shoes on. Currently I'm hobbling around with an extra sock on that foot for a bit of warmth.

Ah well - it gives me the perfect excuse to stay in and write....

First floods, now snow...

There was snow on the fells on Friday night. It's not the first they've had but it may have been the most so far since there was quite a covering - enough to turn them into surprisingly Alpine peaks.

We bowled over to Keswick for the day and had a smashing time. It's pretty much business as usual in spite of the floods, apart from a couple of road bridges which are still closed for safety reasons. We had a lovely walk down by the lake, which has emptied out massively but left a ring of debris at an astonishing height above the usual level - and the Theatre by the Lake smelled strongly of pond water when we popped in there. It's good to see everyone pulling together to clear up and get back to normal and we were glad we'd made the effort to go and spend a bit of money in the town.

We took some photos of the amazing weather. The snow was causing sublimation clouds to form over the fells so it was quite hard to catch more than a glimpse of the 'white stuff', but the overall effect was still very scenic.

Skiddaw looming over the town:


Looking across Derwentwater to Cat Bells and the north-western fells:


And again, with some of the half-flooded piers in the foreground:


A couple of local residents tucking into Saturday lunch:

My memoirs

Anyone who's ever seen the hysterically black comedy film Kind Hearts and Coronets will know all about the significance of 'my memoirs', which must be one of the most delicious twist-in-the-tail endings of all time.

You'll be pleased to know I haven't backed myself into that sort of corner. But I have been trying my hand at something rather unusual for me - a series of brief memoirs for the forthcoming Leaf Books writing contest. It's not something I've ever tried before but it sounded interesting and I'm rarely one to turn down a writing challenge, so I scoured my memory for suitable incidents to write about and set fingers to keyboard.

Oddly enough, all the ideas that occurred to me are from my early childhood. I'm not sure what that says about me, but I do know it's a lot harder than you might think to write them up in a way that's entertaining and doesn't use the word 'me' every other word. One of my writer friends is also having a go and mentioned something about 'so very few words' (the maximum is 1,000 for each memoir). At the moment I'm having more trouble expanding my ideas up to fit anything like the 1,000 words but I'll keep pegging away at it. If I can come up with three workable ideas I'll be able to submit under the 'three for a tenner' offer which should save some dosh.

I'll let you all know how it goes.

Decoding the forecast

You only need to spend a short amount of time in the Lake District to realise that it generates its own weather - which usually has nothing to do with the national, or even regional forecasts.

For the benefit of anyone who doesn't know the area well, I thought I'd post a quick translation of some of the terms the forecasters use, to give you more idea what the weather is really going to be like.

'Occasional showers' - almost incessant rain
'Frequent showers' - incessant rain with some bits heavier than others
'Light rain or drizzle' - rain that only bounces four inches off the ground
'Rain' - rain that bounces six inches off the ground
'Heavy rain' - be afraid, be very afraid
'Torrential rain' - start building the Ark.
'Sunshine' - sorry, no translation possible.

Photos of the floods

I took a few pictures of the lake overflowing at Bowness-on-Windermere on Saturday. You can see for yourselves just how much water there is everywhere!

Safe!

The minute the roads opened again we dashed up to the Lakes to check the cottage. And the good news is that both we and it are fine. Roads and properties nearby had suffered some problems and the lake at Bowness is feet above its normal level, but we're on higher ground and a slope and the water simply hasn't affected the place at all. We're very, very grateful because lots of people haven't been so lucky.

We drove out yesterday (using only the main roads that were marked as open - we don't want to get stuck and add to everyone's problems)and the rivers are still raging torrents. The River Leven, which drains Windermere itself, was frightening - hurtling along at about five times its normal speed and well over the height of its banks. A couple of the roads and bridges were closed for safety and we really weren't surprised.

Everywhere is still sopping wet and there's more heavy rain forecast for tomorrow but fingers crossed the worst is now over.

Eeek, flooding

The good news is that we're fine here in Birmingham.

But it's time to let you into a secret. A couple of months ago we bought ourselves a holiday cottage in the Lake District, and have been dashing up there every spare minute we can, furnishing it and enjoying living in a beautiful corner of the UK. It's partly why I've been rather hit-and-miss about updating this blog lately, because we had a Very Long Wait for broadband and I had no internet connection for several weeks.

We were all set to go up there again today in order to spend Dave's birthday in the area - and, hopefully, get a door fitted on the guest bedroom in time for our friends staying at new year! But we can't go. The area has had absolutely terrible weather for the last couple of days, with as much as twelve inches of rain falling on the central fells in 32 hours (quite possibly a new record for England) and it's caused floods.

Not just a few minor floods - we're talking about pretty much the entire county being under water, and most of the towns and villages being cut off. We checked the local travel news first thing this morning and found that all the roads are closed so we have no way of getting through to the property, and no way of checking if it's still dry. Ordinarily it wouldn't flood because it's on sloping ground, away from rivers and streams, and up the hill from the main lake of Windermere. But these aren't ordinary conditions; storm drains are overflowing and water cascading off any higher ground. The main road just yards from our front door is listed as 'just passable due to flooding', and the school across the road is closed.

We're keeping an eye on the travel news and the minute it improves we'll jump in the car and see what's what. We're going to pack extra supplies, too. If all the roads are closed that means no deliveries for local shops, and our neighbours might be running out of food. And we're dashing out in a minute to buy ourselves some cheap wellies, as I don't fancy wading about in all the muck and water in my good shoes!

Queer Dimensions is here!

My trib copy of the anthology turned up late yesterday and I must say it looks a well produced book. The cover art is subtle and attractive (no man-boobs here), it's bursting with stories, and although I've only had a chance to dip my toe into the contents, so far I'm impressed with the quality of the writing.

The first story, by Jaques L Condor, is set in Alaska and involves two grumpy old men. It's so vivid that I had the feeling I was right there in the cabin, listening to them bicker and watching the snow whirl down outside.

I'm really looking forward to reading the rest of the stories and will report back on which ones I liked best once I've finished.

Invasion of the... ladybirds?

Last night I happened to glance up to the top of the window in my study, and noticed something strange. There was a small heap of ladybirds clustered together in one corner of the window frame, looking as though they were huddling together for warmth. A quick headcount revealed at least a dozen, perhaps more, all apparently asleep. Slightly further along the frame I spotted another bundle, and then a couple more by themselves in another corner.

I called Dave in to look and he said 'oh, how sweet, they're over-wintering. Leave them be.' But I wasn't convinced. It's not quite bodysnatchers, but there's something slightly sinister about insects in those numbers, and besides, I had visions of them waking up in spring, breeding like fury, and us arriving back one day to find millions of the little blighters. I do hate killing things, though, so I prepared to 'leave them be'.

Until a few minutes later when Dave poked his head back round the door and said, "Um, slight problem. They're Harlequins." He'd been on the net and found some information, and apparently Harlequins are the only sort that deliberately move indoors to hibernate over winter. A quick check through a magnifying glass and we were certain - they were definitely Harlequins.

For those of you who don't know (which included me until last year) Harlequin Ladybirds are an invasive species. They're much bigger than any of our native varieties and they're forcing the smaller types out. For some reason they had a bumper year this year and apparently some people have hundreds or even thousands of them clinging in bunches to south-facing internal walls and windows. Ours was only a small-scale plague. Even so, we took a deep breath and got the vacuum cleaner out. I still don't like killing things, but Harlequins are classed as a pest and I was even more concerned about them breeding next spring and filling the whole place. So we're officially Ladybird Murderers, but hopefully it was in a good cause.