Archive for the ‘about me’ Category
March 4, 2010 | about me, parenthood
My apologies to those of you who may visit this blog looking for thought-provoking posts about writing, the universe and cemeteries.
Because this morning I am going to write about shoes.
My Facebook friends may know that I faced a shopping dilemma this week: I needed a dress to wear to the fabulous glitzy Romantic Novelists’ Association’s 50th Anniversary Awards Lunch. I’m not up for an award this year, but several of my friends are (hooray!) and it’s a great occasion and opportunity to meet with fellow writers and many publishing professionals. So, y’know, it deserves a new frock.
I bought myself a scrummy little black dress, quite little and plain with just a tiny bit of lovely embroidery and beading, and so I needed some shoes. And hence the dilemma. There were these gorgeous purple ones which had flowers all over them and also a big ribbon bow at the back, and were comfortable, but slightly too low in the heel and also fairly expensive. Then there were these gorgeous grass-green ones which were high-heeled Mary Janes and cost half as much as the purple ones, but weren’t as comfortable or quite as OTT.
I posted this dilemma on my Facebook page and it is a testament to the excellentness of my friends that many of them actually commented, from the UK, the US and Canada, giving me their advice on which pair to buy. (Consensus was that I should buy both, but the bank account won’t bear up under that strain I’m afraid.) Two guys commented too, something along the lines of their heads exploding and sympathising with my husband, but I forgive them. Men just don’t understand the importance of these things.
Well I debated and debated and it really did distract me quite a bit from my writing yesterday (oh I am so sad) and I did make it a dinner table discussion between me, the Rock God and the Fecklet (I am trying to educate them both to care about shoes despite the Y chromosomes). Fecklet said “The green!” and then five minutes later, mid-bite of noodles, he said “The purple!” I tried to convince the Rock God that this was yet another vote to buy both pairs but he wasn’t having it.
In the end, I decided that the green ones would look better with my dress and also if I bought them for half the money, I would have more to spend on a handbag!
Me? Shallow? Surely not.
Anyway I’m sure you are now positively frothing at the mouth to see these shoes, which were in fact quite a spectacular bargain, and are a teensy bit tight but I am going to stuff them with socks etc to stretch them out. Here they are:
And of course, the Fecklet had to try them on. I think they go rather smashingly with his Lightning McQueen pyjamas:
Now, what does this have to do with Nina Jones and the Temple of Gloom, which is published TODAY!? I’ll be posting later today and revealing all!
Stay tuned, dear readers, to learn all about the tantalising connection, and also have a chance to win a signed copy!
February 17, 2010 | about me
We’ve had a sick couple of days here—my husband the Rock God was struck down with the winter tummy bug, and I’m on antibiotics for a persistent infection. But this morning he woke up feeling much better, and I’m much better too. Antibiotics are miraculous.
On page 281 with the edits. My lovely postcards for Nina Jones and the Temple of Gloom have shown up. I’ve had the proofs of the photos for my new headshot (taken by the washing machine) and I have the pleasurable but rather difficult task of choosing which ones to use. On the weekend the Fecklet and I are going up to Cumbria on the train, and I’ve started planning for that.
So everything is looking up.
February 12, 2010 | about me
I’ve had a very exciting and glamorous morning today. First I had a photographer round to take some new author photos of me. This was actually my second photo shoot in five days (the first was in Reading cemetery with my friend Ruth, and I’ll be putting up some of those pictures soon), so you’d think I was getting a little used to it by now: slap on some makeup, do up my hair, pull on a decent top, and grin. But I still freeze up when someone points a camera in my direction, so I was grateful when the photographer told me, very nicely, how to tilt my chin and position myself, etc. In her quest for the best light in the house, she ended up taking several photos whilst we were both wedged in next to the washing machine!
Then I did a phone interview on BBC Radio Berkshire about the perfect romantic Valentine’s Day in Reading, which to me, is a lazy morning, then a leisurely coffee at Picnic, my favourite cafe in town. Then maybe a walk down the Thames to Sonning, to wander around the churchyard there, and a nice dinner at the London Street Brasserie.
In actual fact, I’ll be spending Valentine’s Day in Cambridgeshire on my own, doing research for my next book. But hey, I never let fact get in the way of a good fantasy.
January 10, 2010 | about me
I’m from Maine, and the current cold weather in the UK has me astonished.
We had about eight inches of snow here in Reading, which is unheard-of. It was great snow, perfect for snowmen (as Mr Hunky attests). This was on Tuesday night; we made Mr Hunky on Wednesday morning, in the road in front of our house.
It’s now Sunday, five days later. Our road is still covered in half a foot of snow. We shoveled out the pavement on our road on Wednesday, along with our neighbours, but we don’t have any grit so it’s still slippery. The pavements on the main road haven’t been cleared at all; they’re packed ice, again with no grit (on a steep hill). The main roads in town have been cleared, but again, the pavements are packed ice, and incredibly slippery. People are, with good reason, staying indoors, for fear of falling down.
Mr Hunky still stands in the road. Most of our neighbours’ cars haven’t been unburied yet. Our road is a cul-de-sac, shorter than lots of driveways in Maine.
It’s insane. There are enough resources to make main roads passable, but the rest of the country is left to fend for itself. The policy about snow here in the UK is, “Wait until it melts.”
There is, believe it or not, a shortage of salt. It’s a national crisis. On the evening news.
Being from Maine, I take it for granted that snow will be cleared, roads will be gritted, people will drive carefully, that everything will continue as normal very soon, even after a big snowstorm. But there isn’t the infrastructure here, and everything just grinds to a halt.
Obviously we need a few good Mainers with some snow shovels to sort us out. (A snow blower would not go awry, either.)
On the other hand, people here in the south of England are really not used to snow at all, and it’s a special event. There are snowmen everywhere—and snow dogs, lions, rockets, etc etc. British people love to talk about the weather, so there’s lots of good conversation (that is, if you can leave the house to meet up with another human being). And I’ve observed some very inventive ways of moving cars and people.
January 4, 2010 | about me
I’m very nearly recovered from Christmas so I can finally write a catch-up post about our trip to the USA. Rock God’s virus abated enough to allow us to get on a plane to Boston. Fecklet’s excitement knew no bounds. He was jumping around all over the place as we packed and couldn’t wait to get on a plane. Our Christmas crackers were confiscated at the airport (explosives, apparently) and then Fecklet was so hyped up about flying that he couldn’t get to sleep the entire night flight and so we arrived in Boston distinctly bleary-eyed.
But Boston was fun. We went to the aquarium and the science museum. Fecklet took over the replica space capsule there and whenever anyone else came in, he gave them guided tours: “These are the buttons that you press, and this is a TV, and this is where you sleep!” We did some shopping and some eating out, and on the Saturday a blizzard struck the east coast and we got something like a foot of snow overnight. (It might have been more, I didn’t measure it.) We were just settling down for a nice cosy evening in our hotel room (on the 15th floor) when the fire alarm went off. We pulled on our winter clothes over our pyjamas and debated whether to evacuate down the stairs with toddler in arms, or stay put in our room and wait. The front desk advised us to wait, but I found it a long tense time before the fire department arrived and checked out all the alarms before shutting them off so we could go to bed.
Then the alarm went off again.
Anyway, morning came without us being burnt to toast in our beds. We’d already booked business class seats on the Downeaster, which is the train that runs up the coast of New England from Boston to Portland, Maine. The Rock God, used to the British transport system, noted the rather large drifts of snow outside and asked the concierge if the trains would be running. The concierge merely snorted at his doubt. Trains in Massachusetts are not little wimpy things like British trains. They are behemoths and they cut through snow as if it were a very small pat of butter.
The ride on the Downeaster was great—in cushy seats, quietly through coastal towns and forests filling up with snow, the engine blowing its whistle whenever we crossed one of the many roads.
And then to snowy Maine for Christmas. We went sliding, built a snowman, and of course then I got sick and had to spend three days in bed, so I missed seeing many of the friends I’d hoped to meet with. Despite my mother’s wonderful cooking, I think I am possibly the only person I know who hasn’t gained weight over Christmas because I spent three days with my throat too swollen to swallow much of anything except for iced orange juice. Fecklet spent happy days playing with Grandma and Grandpa and chasing their shy cat all over the house.
And then we flew back home and I got to open all the Christmas cards that had come while we were gone!
December 16, 2009 | about me
Well, I have now (joyfully) written some Christmas cards, most of them in Starbucks with a nutmeg-sprinkled latte in front of me. (I’m not hugely fond of Starbucks coffee, and yet I keep on going there simply because they have cinnamon and nutmeg to sprinkle on your drink.) I still have quite a few to write, but I’m happy to report that I’m enjoying writing them.
However, now the Rock God has come down with something and is lying in bed moaning. The day before we’re due to fly to the US for Christmas.
Yikes!
December 13, 2009 | about me
I have written no Christmas cards. None.
And this probably makes me a bad person, or maybe it just makes me a person who has had a toddler with an on-and-off fever since Monday, and so has barely left the house and therefore hasn’t bought any cards yet. I’ve only bought one gift, too. So I’m just generally crap, and I should at least be shopping online or making handmade cards or something instead of doing stupid things like voicing my opinion about the Harlequin Presents writing contest (which several writing friends and visitors to this blog have entered, and to whom I say: Hurrah, You Rule!).
But I’m not. I’m carrying on as if Christmas weren’t coming like an inevitable juggernaut flattening all in its path, and as if in fact Chanukah weren’t here already, which it is (Happy Chanukah!!). But I do have to say, in my defense, that at least I’m not like the couple I saw whilst waiting for a delayed train yesterday. They were both in perfect clothes, with perfect hair, and they were sitting at a table in the cafe part of the indoor waiting area. He had a stack of written cards in front of him, applying stamps. She had a plastic folder full of cards, and a printed-out list of names and addresses. They were going through the list with ruthless precision, discussing each person and debating which card they should send for each—the large-ish, more pricey card in the white envelope, or the smaller charity card in the purple envelope. I’m not quite sure what the criteria were for choosing the cards, especially as I could see that the woman was writing exactly the same message on every single one, and signing for her partner, who was sitting right across from her. Then she passed it to him, and he stamped it and put it on the pile.
It was just about the most joyless operation I’d seen in a while.
So I haven’t done my Christmas cards yet, nor my shopping, but I am telling you this—when I do get a chance to do them, I will damn well do them with JOY!
EDIT: I’ve now bought my Christmas cards. And I had a really nice time doing it—browsing, selecting, getting little gifts while I was at it, chatting with the lady in the shop. I meant to write them out tonight. But I’m so tired after being woken up every three hours last night by feverish Fecklet that I’m going straight to bed.
Maybe I’ll rediscover my joy tomorrow…
November 27, 2009 | about me
Here are some random cool moments from the past two days:
Talking with a stunt woman on the telephone to give me the lowdown on different ways you can send a fantastically expensive car over a cliff.
Framing one of Fecklet’s paintings to put up on the kitchen wall.
Writing a note to one of my editors about points of accuracy in the case of the Highgate Vampire.
Spending an hour and a half while Fecklet was at nursery not writing or editing or indeed working at all, but instead choosing cushions for my front room and a paint colour for the bathroom.
Me and the Rock God laughing so hard we were nearly crying when Fecklet ran around the house doing “the penis dance”.
Watching Con Air.
November 19, 2009 | The Bad Twin, about me, parenthood
It has all gone too far. But I couldn’t help it. Too many forces were working together to push me to this. And now…it’s too late.
I love Top Gear.
In my defence, let me plead two extenuating circumstances. One: my heroine in The Bad Twin is a stunt woman. She specialises in flying, martial arts and especially, stunt driving. She loves fast cars. So of course for the book, I had to research cars. She crashes a Ferrari Enzo in chapter one—one of 400 only ever made. A Porsche 911 Turbo and a BMW L740 are also important to the plot. The hero drives a Aston Martin Vanquish in British racing green. And the climactic scene happens in…well, in something very like this.
Concurrently, my son is also completely obsessed by cars. His favourite film is Cars. He wants to be Lightning McQueen. He pretends to drive when he’s in his pushchair and he holds imaginary toy car races all over my house.
So as, you know, a sort of bonding thing, we started watching Top Gear together.
It was the beginning of a slippery slope. The Fecklet is now convinced that The Stig is his friend. We have conversations about who’s faster, Lightning McQueen or The Stig. Fecklet yells “Top Gear!” the minute he hears that Allman Brothers song. We choose our favourite cars in every episode and talk about them.
And now, the worst has happened. Last night I dreamed I was having sex with Jeremy Clarkson.
I fear it is too late for me.
(Actually I’d much rather have sex with James May. How about you? Which Top Gear presenter would you do in your dreams? And no…you can’t say The Stig. It only counts if you can see his face. Besides, everyone wants The Stig.)
From left: Richard Hammond, Jeremy Clarkson, James May
EDIT: I bought a copy of Heat magazine at the station on my way to the RNA Winter Party and they had their “Weird Crushes of 2009″ poll results. Jeremy Clarkson was at number 9, James May at 6, Richard Hammond at 4, and The Stig at 3. See….I’m not weird.
November 14, 2009 | The Bad Twin, about me
It’s blowing a gale outside and the rain is pelting against the windows. This week we had our ancient boiler replaced, and today is just the day to make me feel glad of it. The hole where the old boiler used to sit, in our chimney, is covered for the moment by a piece of MDF which bows in and out with the gusts of wind. Then, suddenly, the sun will come out and it’s like September again.
Fecklet and I have been out in rain gear, so he could jump in muddy puddles, and now we’re back eating the bread we made this morning and soup I made from a roast chicken from earlier in the week. After lunch he’ll have a nap (I hope) and I can spend an hour or so banging my head against this behemoth of a book I seem to have written, while the wind continues to blow outside.
It’s very definitely time to send the thing off, as soon as I can. I’m at the stage now where I’m a) bored with it, and b) second-guessing everything I’ve ever written on it. I’m too close to the story and the characters, and while that’s good in a way (I could write and write and write about these people, I know them so well), it’s also keeping me from having any critical perspective at all. I can’t tell what’s good and what isn’t, any more. This is, to me, a sign that it needs to be read by my agent and then my editor, so they can help me understand what I’ve done well and what needs to be improved.
Plus, I’m getting sick of sitting on the couch editing while Fecklet watches Numberjacks.
Of course, I’m really looking forward to being finished now, and when I actually am finished, I will be depressed as hell. Just watch. I’ll be moping and complaining and generally not fun to be with. You can’t fricking win.
On a much brighter side, I’m definitely using lots of the ice cream suggestions you guys gave me—this morning I put in Cloud Lime, which was one of Kate’s many strokes of genius. I’ll make a list of the ones I’ve used and post it, once I’m finished.
October 11, 2009 | about me, parenthood
Standing by a lake under an orange-leaved tree watching your son run joyously through a mud puddle, splattering himself with muck up to the waist, over and over and over again, while everyone who walks past smiles.
October 7, 2009 | about me
Hello, again, hello.
I’ve been absent for so very long and with good reason; I’ve been trying to keep typing to a minimum, which isn’t easy when you’re also writing a whole new beginning to your book. I miss this blog though so I’m doing a short post about random things.
The most important thing first: Fecklet is doing really well with the potty training. Aren’t you pleased? 
I’ve invested in a pricey split keyboard for my typing, and it’s made an enormous difference. I seem to talk to so many people these days who are suffering from years spent typing. My message to you: if you’re working in a way that you know isn’t comfortable or ergonomic…please sort it out sooner rather than later! I can’t believe I worked on the dining room table for nine years. That is NOT right.
What sins are you committing against your posture or wrists? Come on…tell me. Then fix ‘em.
Tomorrow I’m going into London to meet with my new editor, which is very exciting. Afterwards I’m meeting up with another author friend of mine who’s going to London to meet with her new editor, which is also very exciting. We’re going to debrief over a glass of wine.
And that’s enough for my hands right now. I’ll be back soon…
