I’m having quite a pleasant day today. My first task this morning is to write the acknowledgements for my next novel, which I now know will be called THE SUMMER OF LIVING DANGEROUSLY. I know that some people don’t like acknowledgements, but I love them. I always, always read them in books. It makes me feel like I have a little glimpse into the author’s life and the sort of thing she did to produce the book.

Anyway, for me, it’s fun because I did quite a bit of research for this book and I had a really good time doing it, and writing the acknowledgements makes me remember.

This afternoon, I’m going up to London to Headline for a fun meeting with some book bloggers. I think this is fantastic. Book bloggers are really valuable for us authors, because they create that holy grail that we all want: word of mouth. They love to chat about books and reading (and quite often writing too), and since they do all of this usually in their spare time, it’s all motivated by a pure love of reading. When you find a book blogger who has the same taste as you, it’s like finding a treasure trove of book recommendations; I’ve picked up quite a few books after seeing them on Chick Lit Reviews or High Heels and Book Deals, and I love talking comics with Liz from My Favourite Books.

So it’s a day of thanks for me—all the people who helped me with my research, and to fellow readers. Plus, I get to slap on a dress and some nice shoes. Result!

Do you have a favourite book blogger, whose recommendations you follow?

I’ve been on the phone and email today confirming things for World Book Night. As I mentioned earlier, as part of a scheme to give out one million free books in the UK, I’ve been chosen to give out 48 copies of RACHEL’S HOLIDAY by Marian Keyes, which is one of my favourite books ever.

I’ll probably come back to this later and talk about it more, but when I saw that RACHEL’S HOLIDAY was one of the books on the list for World Book Night, I immediately applied to be a giver. See, I think it’s a marvellous book. But I also think that it’s a good example of what women’s commercial fiction can do. It’s an effortless read which is also emotional, a happy ending that can give hope, funny and sad and true. It’s a few hours of escape, a step into someone else’s life and feelings. (And it has hero Luke Costello, who is one of the sexiest men ever to wear leather trousers.)

And I started thinking about the times in my life that I’ve needed an escape like that. I thought about lying in bed in the Royal Berkshire Hospital, having lost a pregnancy, reading romance novel after romance novel. I thought about sitting on the plane to see my dying grandmother, reading another Keyes novel. I thought about times I’ve been tired, sick, stressed out, sad. When feelgood books have been my best friends.

I wanted to give a few hours’ escape to people who could use it.

Today I’ve had it confirmed that I’m allowed to give out books at the ward in the Royal Berkshire Hospital where I was treated for my own miscarriage. I’ve also been given permission to give out books at the Duchess of Kent House hospice, where a friend and fellow writer spent his last days. I’ve also been in touch with Reading Libraries (who are also giving out books and holding events for reading groups), and local media to try to get coverage of the event.

I’m getting pretty excited. Will keep you updated.

I’m a bit late on this one, but I did a draft post and forgot about it. Der. Anyway, I read some great books in 2010. I’ve been trying to use the library as much as possible, which means I’ve tried a lot of books that I wouldn’t normally pick up. I’ve discovered some authors I want to read more of, like historical novelist Karen Maitland, and started some series that I’m looking forward to, like the Angel books by Lee Weatherly. I also got completely addicted to the Dexter series by Jeff Lindsay.

These are five of the ones that were my favourites, though, off the top of my head.

The Girls by Lori Lansens
I read this book for the book group that my ambitious and energetic neighbour, Gemma, started up (well, really, it’s more of a drinking group than a book group, but we do read the books too). I absolutely loved it. It’s the story of a pair of conjoined twins, joined at the head, told from their separate points of view, and it is lyrical, touching, funny, clever, beautiful, and sad. It’s probably the best book I read all year—it’s so well crafted and moving.

Take A Chance on Me by Jill Mansell
How does she do it? HOW DOES SHE DO IT?? I’ve read a lot of Jill’s books now and every single one of them is effortlessly entertaining, funny and true. Like a perfect weekend between two paperback covers.

The Brightest Star in the Sky by Marian Keyes
I’d been putting off reading this for ages because I thought it would depress me. Marian is so, so, so, so, so, so good. She is the person who made me want to write commercial women’s fiction. So when she has a new book out, I circle it warily, with equal feelings of desire and fear. I know I’ll love it. I always do. I really want to read it. But I also know that it will probably make me feel inadequate and jealous as hell. It’s like having a hugely talented best friend who you’re really pleased for, really, but when you stand next to her, you can’t help but feel like a tiny pale shadow. Anyway, I overcame my craven feelings and bought the book and read it, nonstop, for two days, and then kicked myself for not having read it the minute it came out in hardback. I loved it. A lot. It even had the dog’s point of view in it which is a big warning NO sign for me usually, and I did not care. Marian, you are a goddess and I will never be afraid of reading your books again.

The Grand Sophy by Georgette Heyer
This was research—my latest heroine is an enormous Heyer fan, and I needed to get into her head—but I fell in love with this book and read it twice in one year, which is something I never do. I love Heyer, and there’s something special about Sophy. I think it’s because she’s the master of her own universe. And she carries a little pistol in her muff.

Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins
I’d looked forward to this book for months. I absolutely adored the first two books in the trilogy—The Hunger Games and Catching Fire. They were pretty much my best reads of 2009, and I couldn’t wait to find out what happened to Katniss and her love triangle with Gale and Peeta. So I reread the first books before I read the third. To a great extent, I was disappointed in Mockingjay, to tell the truth. But I was sort of honestly disappointed. I could see why it had to happen this way. Collins had set up such big issues in her first two books, her world-building was so complete and vital, that she had little choice but to spend the last book in the trilogy dealing with them. Basically, books 1 and 2 foreshadow and start a war, and book 3 is about the war. And in a war, the big things are more important than the individuals. While the first two books focus relentlessly on Katniss and what she does, in the third book, she’s necessarily pretty inactive. (I had this same problem with Steig Larsson’s third Milennium book, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest, where Lisbeth Salander is in a hospital bed for about half the book while the big world works out its complexities around her.) However. The love story is so sad and yet so right, that I sat in the bath that had gone cold and read the last few pages over and over and over and sobbed, literally sobbed. And that’s the sign of a good book, regardless of its faults.

There were lots of other really good books that I read for the first time this year—Mariana by Susanna Kearsley, and From Hell by Alan Moore, and Room by Emma Donoghue, to name a few. 2010 was a good reading year.

What stood out for you?

Being a writer has all kinds of odd side effects. Aside from the obvious ones—bad back, bad neck, bad hands, spreading butt, an inability to carry on a normal conversation about television or recognise real people in the street—there’s an interesting side effect when you set one of your stories in a real-life place.

This morning I’m going into Reading to do some Christmas shopping, and for the past three years, I haven’t been able to do that without thinking of the scene in One Night Stand where my pregnant heroine goes Christmas shopping in Reading. She says:

Reading was hell at Christmastime. Hundreds and thousands and millions of people all descending on the town centre to do their shopping, queues of traffic clogging up the roads, and car parks practically bulging at the sides.

I didn’t have to drive to get to the high street, but I did have to squeeze my way through crowds of screaming children and grumpy shoppers whenever I walked into a shop, a task made even more unpleasant by my growing belly, threatened by other people’s sharp elbows and unwieldy shopping bags. At one point I had to leap backwards to keep my foetus from being stabbed by a man carrying a fake Christmas tree.

I’m not pregnant, and I have a bit more Christmassy cheer than grumpy Eleanor, but Reading really does get that crowded at Christmas, and when I negotiate the crowds with my shopping bags, I always have to smile. Because I’m not only living my real life, but I’m remembering my characters as if they’re friends, and living their memories too.

I’ve set at least parts of four of my novels in Reading, so this sort of double-life happens to me quite often. It’s as if my imaginary landscape is overlaid on my real one. Last week I wrote a short story set at Mad House, which is the local soft-play area, and I went there yesterday for a birthday party. I kept on expecting to see one of the characters there. (Of course this probably was exacerbated by my hangover, which meant I’d hardly have been surprised if slavering zombies had erupted from the ball pit, but let’s gently skim over that part…)

I had the sort of fictional equivalent last month, when I read the wonderful Mariana by Susanna Kearsley. She’s set the story in a fictional Avebury. Now, I set Getting Away With It in a fictional Avebury, too. And I’ve been to the real Avebury many, many times. Reading the book, I kept on getting this sort of double deja-vu. It was really fun.

Have you had an experience like that lately—experiencing a real place through the lens of your, or someone else’s, fiction?

Sign up for the 2011 Stephen King reading challenge on Book Chick City and indulge your love for prolific best-selling story tellers from Maine. His grandmother lived next to my aunt, you know. Apparently Pet Semetary was set in her back yard. Really. My aunt never saw any zombie cats, though.

You can win a copy of every Little Black Dress novel published in 2010 (including, ahem, Nina Jones and the Temple of Gloom) on Chick Lit Reviews.

For the past few days, I’ve been enjoying compiling an Amazon wish list, just in case someone, y’know, wants to buy me books for Christmas. So far I’ve put on some Georgette Heyer, some Marion Keyes and the last two Dexter novels, which isn’t a lot, but I don’t want to be too overwhelming. Oh, who am I kidding? I haven’t put more on the list because I got interrupted by my kid, who for some reason wants me to play with him every once in a while.

What books do you want for Christmas? Or indeed, Hanukah, though you’ll have to hurry if it’s for Hanukah, because it’s nearly over already.

I’m putting together a reading list for my Writing Women’s Commercial Fiction course, and though I’m choosing three or four books myself as course material, I’m thinking of including a secondary list of recommendations from writing professionals and keen readers.

Can you help me out? What’s the best commercial women’s fiction title you’ve read this year?

It can be a romance, saga, chick lit, historical, blockbuster…whatever area of commercial women’s fiction you prefer.

I’ve got a few criteria—I’d like it to be something published in the UK market, and I’d like it to be quite recent.

Leave your recommendation in the comments, or you can email it to me, or tweet it, or Facebook it…whatever you like. Tell your friends. Tell your mum. Tell your dog…oh, wait, dogs don’t read.

Thanks!

I’m reading a book called The Courage to Write by Ralph Keyes. I picked it up because, let’s face it, I have The Fear. There are crows permanently camped outside my window, telling ghost stories and making s’mores and having a grand old time. So I thought this book might have a little magic formula for making me more fearless.

It doesn’t. It talks about why writers are afraid to write—for example, fear of failure, fear of success, fear of exposure as a fraud, fear of exposing too much of their faults and inner feelings, fear of what writing can do to one’s family and life. It mentions why fear can be a good thing for your writing—how it’s a sign that you’re being truthful and challenging yourself, how you can use the intense emotion of fear and channel it into your writing. And it talks about how writers write despite their fear—by following rituals, by making a dirty draft, by having deadlines, by developing friendships with other writers.

None of it is particularly new stuff. In fact, I found myself nodding in recognition when I read a lot of it. But it’s one of the best books on writing I’ve ever read, and I’ll recommend it to others, precisely because it is familiar. Because it gives me this message:

Fear is normal. Keyes says, and in italics, too: “If you’re not scared, you’re not writing.”

To me, that’s liberating. In a sort of annoying way, of course, because fear is not something you want to voluntarily put yourself through, it’s actually pretty damn awful, and I am not a pleasant person to be with when my only thoughts, running over and over through my brain, are This book is crap, I can’t write, the story is the same as my last book, my editor will hate it, I suck, nobody’s going to buy it, what if I’ve got too much in there what if I haven’t got enough, it’s crap, how do I fix it… Ad infinitum.

Keyes’s message is that courage isn’t the absence of fear; it’s carrying on despite fear. Maybe even because of fear.

He teaches creative writing and he says, quite interestingly, that the main purpose of creative writing courses isn’t to teach skills, so much as to give the students courage. That’s something I’ll be thinking about when I lead the Cornerstones women’s fiction writing course next month.

He talks about how writers can be nightmares to live with—grouchy, surly, selfish, full of anxiety. When I was reading that chapter, I turned to my husband and said, “You should read this book—he says all writers are miserable like me, I’m normal!”

“It’s supposed to comfort me that there are more like you?” he grumbled.

I’ll try to find time to post some of the interesting examples from the book of how writers cope with fear. Meanwhile…are you a nightmare to live with, too? And have your crows actually started singing “Kumbya” outside that damn window yet?

I’ve been trying to read a lot, especially by using the library as much as possible. I have a routine at the library lately.* I tend to gravitate toward the new releases shelves, picking out women’s and other commercial fiction. I have to ration myself on these new books, though, because they’re limited to a week’s loan and I spend too much time working and taking care of Fecklet to read several books in one week. If I don’t find anything there that appeals, I check out the general fiction, then maybe the graphic novels and fantasy (DH and I are on a Neil Gaiman glom), or maybe the thrillers (I’ve got a couple of Val McDermids to catch up on).

The last book I picked up though was a historical—Sophia’s Secret by Susanna Kearsley. I had dinner with Susanna back in February, though I didn’t know who she was, or that she’d been one of the finalists for the Romantic Novel of the Year award. (And I was, er, drunk. Sorry, Susanna.)

I don’t normally read historicals, that is, unless they’re written by someone I know. I just never think to read them. My own knowledge of history is sketchy and I just don’t feel like I’m bringing much to the table, I guess.

But every time I read one, I find myself enjoying it—not in spite of the historical aspect, but because of it. Especially if the characters are caught up in big historical events where the stakes are much higher. In a contemporary novel, a heroine might run the risk of not getting the job and life she wants, or finding love, or getting herself out of some mess or another. In a historical, the heroine might run the risk of being killed for treason, of ruining her reputation forever, of having her loved ones taken from her. And running behind this lies the fate of the country and the course of history. Excellent stuff.

Habits are hard to break, so I’m not certain I’ll gravitate toward the historical fiction aisle as a habit, but I’m glad I’m dipping in.

Have you discovered, or re-discovered, any reading that’s outside your habit recently?

*It goes without saying that the first thing we do at the library is go to the children’s section so that Fecklet can run around, look at the books, talk about the fish painted on the wall, play with the computer and generally be much noisier than one is supposed to be in a library. After that I have roughly eight minutes to select the books I’d like to read before he gets bored.

I’ve just discovered a sure-fire way of telling whether I can be bothered to finish reading a book:

Get the said book from the library and read till about page 75, when I notice several short dark hairs caught between the pages. Brush the hairs off and read the rest of the page, turn the page, see more hairs. Look forward in the book; there are hairs everywhere. Gross.

Is the story worth de-hairing the book? Or do I put the book down with distaste, continue no further and take it back to the library?

In this case, it was the latter. I just didn’t care about the story enough to deal with someone else’s hair, and to think about why so much of it is in the book. Reading at the hairdressers? Alopecia? Or a (shudder) pubic trimming session?

So it’s going back.

Though I’ve just had a horrible thought: what if the librarians think that’s my hair in there?

Well, we’re on the fourth day of Fecklet not being well. He’s got some sort of tummy bug, and though he’s over the fever now and he’s having some cheerful moments, his appetite isn’t good and he’ll suddenly turn from cheerful to crying and needing cuddles. I’ve definitely noticed a pattern, in that he feels much better after eating something and then has a dip, so I’m trying to make him eat little and often.

Anyway, this morning we baked a cake to prolong a cheerful moment. He loves dumping ingredients in a bowl and mixing. We made an eggless cocoa cake, and then after we’d licked the bowl we decided the pan was too big for the cake so we made half an invented recipe of eggless orange cake and marbled it through. The batter tasted wonderful and it smelled great in the oven. The finished cake is pretty lopsided (I think the orange batter rose more as the OJ reacted with the baking soda) but I’ll slap some frosting on it and it will do wonders to cheer us up this afternoon, I’m sure.

And I also just had a brainstorm and remembered the carrier bag full of plastic dinosaurs I bought from the charity shop and was saving for a rainy day. Fecklet is now obsessed with dinosaurs, and I do believe that even though it’s sunny outside, this might be a metaphorical rainy day.

All of this means I’ve had very little time to write, though I did finish a chapter last night and now have to find out what happens next. I’ve just read Getting Rid of Matthew by Jane Fallon and am now reading The Beach House by Jane Green (I obviously had a subconscious thing about Janes when I visited the library) and the thing that gets me is how effortless their stories feel when you’re reading them. Like the Janes never had to rack their brains to find out what’s going to happen next in their books in between changing really disgusting nappies, doing endless laundry and calming down a red-faced two-year-old. Obviously for the Janes, the stories flow beautifully from their fingers, with nary a crow or a moment of grossness to deter them, and immediately become best-sellers.

Or maybe, just maybe, they have to scrape it and work it and shoo away crows as much as I do, and it just comes out seeming effortless because it’s taken so much effort. (And possibly cake and dinosaurs too.)

The new year is a time to look back and forward, and I’ve been thinking about my reading and writing this past year.

I wrote two books, both for Little Black Dress. Girl from Mars will be out in May 09, and Nina Jones and the Temple of Gloom will be out, I’m guessing, late in 2009 or early in 2010. That is, after I get it in to my editor next week.

In June, I started keeping track of the books I’ve read, which tells me I’ve read 44 books, though some of those are the picture books I’ve been reading with the Fecklet.

I’ve got a confession to make. Whenever I go to a person’s house, I check out their bookshelves right away. I love going to someone’s house and seeing they have shelves full of books that I’ve read and loved, and lots more that I’d like to discover. I’m also interested when the books are things I’ve never heard of and would never think to read. Looking at bookshelves can tell you who a person really is…or maybe, if they prune their bookshelves, who they’d like you to think they are.

Anyway, in the interests of being completely honest with you about who I really am, here are the books I’ve read in the last six months, listed in order since June, leaving out the ones I’ve just read to Fecklet.

1. The Other Boleyn Girl, Phillipa Gregory
2. Any Way You Want It, Kathy Love
3. This Charming Man, Marian Keyes
4. Pillow Talk, Freya North
5. Silver Bay, Jojo Moyes
6. The Memory Keeper’s Daughter, Kim Edwards
7. Run Among Thorns, Anna Louise Lucia
8. Pandora’s Box, Giselle Green
9. Glitterwings Academy: Flying High, Titania Woods
10. The Self-Preservation Society, Kate Harrison
11. Watchmen, Alan Moore
12. The Ungarnished Truth, Ellie Mathews
13. Kitchen Confidential, Anthony Bourdain
14. Challengers of the Unknown Must Die!, Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale
15. Holly’s Inbox, Holly Denham
16. Tell Me Something, Adele Parks
17-20. the Twilight series, Stephenie Meyer
21. Falling for Mr Dark and Dangerous, Donna Alward
22. Blue Remembered Heels, Nell Dixon
23-31. The Sandman series (9 books), Neil Gaiman
32. The Sweetest Taboo, Carole Matthews
33. Duma Key, Stephen King
34. Thunderstruck, Erik Larson
35. The Audacity of Hope, Barack Obama
36. The Rules of Gentility, Janet Mullany
37. Trashed, Alison Gaylin
38. Batman: The Killing Joke, Alan Moore
39. Batman: Gotham by Gaslight, Brian Augustyn
40. Batman: Tales of the Dark Knight by various
41. Cherrybrook Rose, Tania Crosse
42. Neverwhere, Neil Gaiman

It’s a lot (16) of commercial women’s fiction, which makes sense, and also a lot (14) of graphic novels, which also makes sense as one of the books I wrote this year is about a comic book artist. But I’m a comics fan anyway. Four nonfiction, which is less than usual. Only one category romance, which is way less than usual. Nothing literary, though I did read some more literary stuff in the first six months of the year. Eleven of the books are by people I have met, and of those, several are friends.

I like keeping track of the books I’ve read. It reminds me of the kind of time I’ve had while I was reading them, because your experience of reading isn’t just to do with the book; it’s about everything that’s going on in your head while you’re reading it.

So I remember that I read Watchmen first in 1991, and picked up my copy again this summer while I was at my parents’, and read it on the couch on rainy days listening to the rain on the roof and the lake lapping the shore. I read Twilight on a train and cried, and though I was disappointed with the sequels, I read them like I eat popcorn, munching as quickly as possible and knowing I’ll regret it when the salt shrinks the inside of my mouth. I gulped down the Sandman series just as quickly, but went back to savour it afterwards, and it haunted my dreams for weeks. I read Glitterwings Academy after going to the launch party, where everyone was dressed as fairies. I read Pillow Talk after it won Romantic Novel of the Year at a glamorous party where I was on the shortlist for the Romance Prize.

What book has carried memories with it for you, this year?

Hey, I’m compiling a reading list for the Cornerstones course I’m leading in September, on Writing Commercial Women’s Fiction, and I need your help!

What’s the best commercial women’s fiction book you’ve read in the past 12 months? It can be romance, comedy, historical, bonkbuster, literary…as long as it’s aimed at women and it’s commercial. Recent British publications are a bit better for my purposes, but I’ll take all recommendations.

I’ve read a lot of good women’s fiction this year, particularly pure fun stuff by Jill Mansell and Carole Matthews. But I think my favourites were of course, my personal goddess Marian Keyes with This Charming Man, and also I loved Eva Rice’s Lost Art of Keeping Secrets. Both of them hooked me by the gut, kept me reading to the detriment of doing anything else, and gave me a glimpse into a different world from my own.

How about you?

(If the comments box doesn’t come up for you because my blog is broken, email me using the link on the right and I’ll post your recommendations for you.)