Interview With Author Amanda Martin and “Two-Hundred Steps Home” + Giveaway

Interview With Author Amanda Martin and “Two-Hundred Steps Home” + Giveaway.

Today I have the pleasure of being interviewed over on Susana’s Morning Room, talking about my daily blogging challenge and Two-Hundred Steps Home, with a free giveaway of the completed Baby Blues and Wedding Shoes to one lucky commenter.

I’ll be back in Susana’s Morning Room next week, talking about Dragon Wraiths.

Don’t Force It: 2013 365 Challenge #185

Creativity in the garden

This morning I read Kristen Lamb’s latest post about the Five common tactical errors in Self-Publishing:

I’ve read this before on Kristen’s blog, but it is always useful to have a refresher, and compare where I am against where I should be.

This is the list of common errors:

1. Publishing too soon (before understanding and honing the craft of writing)

2. No prepared platform (that is, author platform – blog/website/social media etc)

3. Believing that, “If We Write it They Will Come” (self-publishing doesn’t mean less work, but more)

4. Misusing FREE! (giving your book away for free without understanding the benefits)

5. Shopping one book to DEATH (instead of sitting down to write the next one. It usually takes 3 books to have any kind of success)

Giant paint pallet

I agree with them all: Reading Class Act now, I can see why Mills and Boon rejected it. I sent it off way too soon. There’s so much back story at the beginning even I can’t work out what’s going on. I’m still working on the others, and learning painful lessons (like coming out of the KDP Select program with Dragon Wraiths and not selling a book for five weeks!)

The only bit I struggle with is a line she uses often (it comes here under point one): “Too many new writers do not properly understand the antagonist. They don’t grasp three-act structure, and most don’t have any idea what I mean when I mention POV, Jungian archetypes, or the phrase, “scene and sequel.””

Of course, I struggle with it because I have no idea about half those things, particularly the Jungian archetypes. I’m sure my writing would be better if I did (if I understood structure better, for example, I might be able to fix Class Act quicker). However, I think you could write a great novel without knowing what all these things are called. I know a reasonable amount about writing grammatical English but, until last week, I’d never heard of a comma splice. I have looked through my writing and, instinctively, I write to a three-act structure, I use scene and sequel and I at least understand POV, even if I don’t always use it well in my writing (Baby Blues is a prime example).

Daughter’s Masterpiece

Before I get a hundred comments telling me I really need to understand these things – I know I do (there are some interesting posts on Jungian Archetype in the related articles below). I also accept what Kristen says, that self-published authors need to be better than traditionally published authors, to compete in the same field. I am working to get better, and I read as many writing craft books as I can fit in around my writing.

Another blog I read today, which reinforces point one (don’t publish too quickly), was over on Karen Woodward’s blog. Her post, Stephen King on Storycraft has a main message: Don’t force it.

When trying to pull a story together, wait until all the pieces click, rather than trying to make it work. I guess it’s the difference between learning scales and playing a concerto (Kristen uses music as an example of how you need to know the nuts and bolts of something to excel at it). You need to know the craft of writing, but you also need the story to flow (and these things, for me, can be mutually exclusive).

One of the great things about self-publishing is the ability to get a wide range of feedback on your novels, rather than waiting a year to find out why agents are rejecting it (assuming they even tell you.) So, yes, you can publish too soon, but you can learn from it too (I hope).

This evening I sat with a pad and pen, while Andy Murray played his nerve-wracking fifth set (I needed a distraction) and worked out an additional six scenes that should hopefully remove most of the pesky back story in Class Act. I’ve been musing on it all day and then it just clicked, without forcing it.

I don’t know if the story fits in a three-act structure or exactly who the antagonist is (harder in a romance than, say, a crime novel I think). I know it still needs a heap of work. But I really enjoyed reading it this morning: reminding myself who the characters are, and getting absorbed in the dialogue.

Now on with the work so I can hurry up and publish! Assuming my three books need to be in the same genre, I’ll only have one more to go to find success 😉

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Below is the next installment in my novel Two-Hundred Steps Home: written in daily posts since 1st January as part of my 2013 365 Challenge. Read about the challenge here.You can catch up by downloading the free ebook volumes on the right hand side of the blog:

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Claire looked at her mother over the top of her mug of Earl Grey and waited for the interrogation. Her mother’s restraint thus far was beginning to unnerve her.

Perhaps it’s too early for the Spanish Inquisition stuff. Or maybe she doesn’t care that her youngest child just turned up on the door step at 7am when she was meant to be at a wedding.

She tried to remember if her mother even knew about Kim’s marriage. As she’d only found out herself a few weeks ago, it seemed likely that she hadn’t told her about it. I seem to have told all the wrong people all the wrong things.

Claire sighed, and wondered why her mother was being so reticent. I guess there’s only one thing on her mind. Deciding that was as good an opener as any, she set down the mug.

“How’s Ruth?”

“She’s okay. A bit low. Sky wants to be outside playing – now the nights are getting lighter – and she doesn’t have the strength to keep up with her. I think the poorly-parent novelty has worn off.”

Claire tried to read through her mother’s words, searching for the accusations. If they were there, her mother was adopting a subtler approach than usual. The only impression Claire got was of a tired woman battling on with the hand life had dealt her.

“I’ll stop by later, take Sky to that farm she kept raving about.” Claire recalled that she’d promised to take Sky there with Kim and Jeff, and hoped Sky’s memory wasn’t as accurate. She didn’t want to think about them, not yet. She waited for her mother to start the questions, but she had disappeared back into her own thoughts, head bowed.

“Mum, is it okay if I stay for a night or two?”

Her mother glanced up, and nodded, without speaking. Claire felt wrong-footed. In the still of the kitchen, she listened to the clock ticking until it felt like the countdown of a bomb.

The silence stretched like a gaping void, pulling her in. Oh, what the hell, she’ll find out eventually, even if she clearly doesn’t give a toss.

“It was Kim’s wedding yesterday. We had a fight.”

Her mother nodded again, without looking up.

“I’ve had an offer of work, which will mean going overseas. I came home to get my passport, and to talk it over with you and Ruth.”

Again the silent nod. Claire swallowed down an urge to scream.

“Mum, are you listening? I said I might be flying halfway round the world. Do you even care?”

Her mother raised her head at last, and Claire saw that her mother’s eyes were red and circled with dark smudges.

“Mum, are you okay?”

Her mother dropped her eyes again, as if making eye contact were too hard. She gazed at the table and twisted her fingers.

“I think your father is having an affair.”

And then she let her head fall on her hands, and her shoulders shook with sobs.

***

Germs and Covers: 2013 365 Challenge #184

Poorly-day activity (it’s an airport)

When we all had flu earlier in the year, I thought there was nothing worse than us all being ill together. Turns out being ill one after the other isn’t much fun either! Little man had his sky-high temperature last Friday and it was little lady’s turn today.

Unlike little man, who still ran riot despite the fever, my daughter has spent the day watching TV on the iPad. Which means so has my son – 2 being too young to understand the different rules that apply to poorly people on a non-nursery day. (If it had been a school-day I would have banned the iPad as I don’t want being ill to be more fun than school!)

As I also seem to have a high temp again, it was a lovely excuse for us all to have a lazy day. Except of course I now have a hyper-toddler an hour before bedtime. Or Daddy does, anyway, as I’m currently walking the dog.

Bath-Art

We resorted to the old-time favourite activities to pass the time, including mega-block construction, train sets, and puzzles, finishing with painting the bath, to survive the last pre-Daddy hour (which at least meant I finally cleaned it, too! Every cloud has a silver lining and all that.)

I also got to catch up on some great blogs, like this guest post on Scary Mommy all about finding out you’re expecting twins (like Helen does, in Baby Blues & Wedding Shoes) and this post on Rinelle Grey’s blog, about the excitement of designing a new cover and how it can drive you to get a book finished.

Rinelle’s post made me smile, because I’ve spent the last couple of days revisiting an old problem -choosing a cover image for a novel of mine called Class Act – with a view to getting stuck into the novel again.

Working title for Class Act

I’ve always envisaged the cover having two pairs of wellies – tatty supermarket pink girl ones and spotless green Hunter ones for the man. It comes from the opening scene and covers the ‘class’ bit of Class Act. I’ve been searching on and off for a year. So this time I decided (after several more hours of fruitless searching) to concentrate on the ‘Act’ bit. This is my first draft, and I like it.

The book is complete but needs a lot of work, as it was originally written as a 50k Mills and Boon, and was my first finished novel. It hurts to read it – the first third is drowning in back story (as was the case with Baby Blues, also originally a 50k M&B).

With Baby Blues I re-started the story five months earlier, to show rather than tell the back story. With Class Act I don’t want to do that, because I like where it opens. So I’ve been putting off the challenge ahead. However, now Baby Blues is out of my hands, and now I have a working cover, I might be ready to roll up my sleeves and get stuck in. My Inner-Editor is in full flow, so I need to seize the moment! (Might explain why Claire post is short today!)

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Claire checked her rear-view mirror, half-expecting to see Kim run from the building to prevent her from leaving. She waited, five seconds, ten. At last, with the Skoda at risk of over-heating, she pushed the stick into gear and accelerated from the car park, wheels spinning on the gravel.

The satnav had merrily informed her of several hotels within driving distance, but Claire couldn’t face checking in at 1am and facing some all-night security guard with raised eyebrows. No one turned up in the middle of the night, in a bridesmaid dress, without a story to tell.

Claire looked at the numbers on the blue screen and sighed. How long until I reach the first open Starbucks.

Claire sat in the car, watching the numbers tick over. She raised the cardboard coffee cup to her lips and sipped, pulling a face at the tepid liquid. It was tempting to drive back to the services and pick up a fresh cup. It would kill some time, at least. Her eyelids dragged, reminding her she was in no fit state to drive any further. Twisting at the dial on her seat, Claire let the chair slip back and tried to get comfortable. Sleep evaded her, and she watched the numbers move, through unfocussed eyes.

At last, the hour digit reached seven. She stretched, cricking her neck left and right, then rubbed her eyes, cursing as mascara made them sting. Pulling her cardigan tighter, Claire thanked God she’d thought to get changed. The bridesmaid dress now lay in a carrier-bag on the doorstep of a charity shop, next to a sign urging that donations not be left there. What was one more wrongdoing in a day littered with them?

Swallowing hard and cursing the snakes twisting in her stomach, Claire walked up the path and rang the bell. There was no answer. She waited, unsure what to do if no one was in. Her hand was raised, ready to ring the bell a second time, when footsteps reached her on the other side of the glass door, and a figure appeared through the frosting.

The sound of locks being released, and the chain being slid back, echoed loudly in the early-morning hush. The door eventually opened, and an ashen face appeared, brow creased.

“Claire! What are you doing here, and at this hour?”

Claire smiled wearily at the familiar face, peering at her from beneath a head of curlers. She resisted the urge to cry.

“Hi Mum, can I come in?”

***

RUE (Resist the urge to edit!): 2013 365 Challenge #183

Cheeky Thomas

I finally sent Baby Blues to the proofreader today.

I like that sentence. Somehow it makes me feel more like a proper author.

Even though I know the person I chose is more used to working on business documents, I have every confidence that she will pick up all the typos and poor grammar in my novel. And, the bonus part? I don’t have to read it again and find another dozen things wrong.

A book is never finished. But, having a deadline, giving it to someone else, that marks an ending.

I used to find the same with my paintings. Often they were better if I worked to a tight deadline, because I didn’t over-think or over-work them. In the end, my paintings became too bland, too safe, as I worried about giving them a professional finish. I think the same could happen with a novel. I merrily hacked out sections of Baby Blues, to both reduce the word count and resolve point of view issues.

I’m as happy as a little boy on a train!

Once you start hacking, though, it’s hard to stop. There were at least two chapters I thought about pulling but kept in, lest the story become too bare. Has the manuscript suffered from losing 7000 of mostly internal thought? Probably not, although possibly some of the depth of understanding about character motivation may have gone. Unlikely.

There’s an acroynm, a phrase, in editing. RUE. Resist the Urge to Explain. Trust your readers get it, without hammering it home with a mallet. The first time I edited BBWS, I wrote RUE all over the manuscript. It’s easy to want to make sure your readers know what you and your characters really mean.

I think that’s why so many scenes ended up with me presenting the internal thoughts of both protagonists (and I can also see how confusing that can get).

I really hope Baby Blues does well, but for now it’s out of my hands. Time to get back to Claire, back to the children, back to Wimbledon and walking the dog. What would I really like to do right now (it’s 5pm)?

Go back to bed!

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Claire strode down the corridor, hoping the surge of anger didn’t fade before she reached her room. In her head, she replayed Michael’s words, and pushed all thoughts of Kim aside. Time enough to worry about her friend when she had her things and was safely away from the wedding. She had no idea where she would go, but that, too, could wait.

As she stalked past guests, she caught occasional glimpses of their faces. Some merely looked shocked to see her striding past like the grim reaper. Others glared and made noises as if to berate her. She shook them off like pesky flies.

At last the bedroom door was in front of her. She hoped, for a moment, that Michael had been bluffing and had re-joined the party. It would be a relief to collect her things and leave, with no more words spoken. Then his voice echoed in her mind, as he called her childish. His smug, arrogant voice, as he’d explained how he intended to brow-beat her into submission.

Bastard.

Claire flung open the door and had the satisfaction of seeing Michael jump. Before he could gather himself, she swept in and began collecting her things together. Hot words filled her mouth, but she knew the shaking in her limbs would betray her if she spoke. If she could gather everything up before Michael had a chance to open his mouth, he could hurl whatever accusations he liked at her retreating back.

It was a vain hope.

“What are you doing?”

“Packing.”

“I can see that.” He leant back against the headboard. “I mean, where are you going? It’s nearly midnight. We’re miles from anywhere. You can’t leave.”

“Watch me.”

Michael sat up, narrowly missing head-butting the top bunk. He swung his feet to the floor and glared up at her.

“Claire, you’re being childish. Go and find Kim, apologise. We’ll sleep on it and everything will seem a hundred times better in the morning.”

“Apologise? I have nothing to be sorry for. It was you who blurted her secret out to the whole party.”

“And who told me that secret in the first place?” He raised an eyebrow at her, and she itched to slap him.

“I only said she wanted a baby. You put it together in your mind, because you’re obsessed. Honestly, Michael, what is it with you? I didn’t think men had a biological clock?”

She looked over at him, on her way to the bathroom to get her things, and saw something in his expression, a vulnerability, that made her hesitate. There was a reason behind his desire to be a dad. For a moment she wanted to know what it was. Then his face shifted and resumed the smug expression he had worn since the party. Resuming her journey to the en-suite, she spoke over her shoulder.

“I will apologise to Kim when she’s had a chance to calm down. I won’t encroach on her special day any further. Walking back into the bedroom, she stood facing him, hands on hips.

“As for staying here tonight, I don’t think that’s appropriate, do you? I shall find a motel. Make yourself scarce tomorrow. You are not welcome, and I do not want to see you here when I return.” She stuffed the last of her things into her bag, enjoying the stunned silence.

Soon everything was packed, and it seemed she would escape without any more words from Michael. As she reached the door, he spoke.

“You’ve changed, Claire. You’ve grown hard. You never used to be this confrontational.”

She turned and smiled. “Well, more fool me. I haven’t grown hard, Michael, I’ve grown up. You should try it some time.”

With that she wrenched open the door and stormed down the corridor.

***

Tears for Thomas: 2013 365 Challenge #182

Enjoying a tractor ride at Nene Valley Railway

Goodness me, it’s 1st July. I’ve made it through six months of my daily writing challenge. Last night, the sixth volume of Two-Hundred Steps Home appeared on Smashwords and has already had 25 downloads.

Baby Blues (Part One!) went to the proofreader last night too. It should have been all of it, but a crazy-busy weekend meant it didn’t quite happen. I hope to have finished editing the last 20 pages today, so the proofreader can have the whole manuscript, and I can get back to just worrying about Claire, promoting Dragon Wraiths (which will probably mean putting it back in the Select Programme, seeing as Smashwords has not produced additional sales), and catching up on some of the other projects that have been waiting for my attention.

July also means my daughter starts school in two months, and my son is ten weeks from his 3rd birthday. I know parenting continues to be challenging, but I do feel like I’ve survived a hurricane and can start rebuilding my house.

The penyy-farthing following us on the tractor ride

The penny-farthing following us on the tractor ride

Yesterday, visiting Thomas the Tank Engine, at the local steam railway, was a perfect example. We went to say farewell, as the little blue steam engine is going to hospital for his ten-year check up. The day was still tiring, still stressful, but oh so much easier than it would have been a year ago. No pushchair, no nappies (unfortunately it also means dashes to the toilet and forgetting to pack wet-wipes for the ice cream mess. Ah well.)

We watched the model railway, with James and Thomas, Emily and Percy (trains), as well as cameos from Postman Pat and Peppa Pig. (Photos will follow, when my computer stops being a pain). We sat in a cream and blue carriage while Thomas pulled us along the track and through a long tunnel. We went to a Victorian fair and had a tractor ride, sitting on straw bales. We had ice cream. We saw a man on a penny-farthing. A great day.

I watched mothers with pushchairs, with a toddler and a baby, and I wanted to help. I wanted to say, it gets easier. I wanted to reassure them it was worth the effort. I couldn’t, I don’t know how to do that without sounding patronising. But I hope they saw me with mine and saw a future where their children could both climb on the train unassisted and didn’t need carrying!

And now my daughter has tears for Thomas. She woke up crying last night, because she missed Thomas. This is a steam train we have visited maybe four times, which is going for a boiler overhaul and won’t be back for a year. My daughter’s capacity for empathy is bewildering and amazing in equal measure. One more thing to be thankful for, I guess!

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Claire dragged at the car handle, but it wouldn’t open. She aimed a kick at the tyre and immediately regretted it, as her toe stabbed through the skimpy sandals she’d purchased to go with her maid of honour dress.

Behind her, she could hear that the band had started their next song. Slowly, the conversation returned, almost drowning out the sound of approaching footsteps. They weren’t the light ones she wanted to hear, but the heavy tread of an unwelcome male. For a moment she hoped it might be Jeff, come to reassure her that Kim wasn’t really that angry. Then she caught a hint of aftershave on the night breeze, and hope died.

Praying she could escape into the dark, Claire scurried round the car and wove through the others in the car park until she reached a Range Rover. Without thinking, Claire ducked down in the shadow of the 4×4 and listened. The footsteps stopped, and she felt he might hear her heart thudding in the silence, despite the sounds of the party in the distance.

“Claire?”

Michael’s voice rang out, closer than Claire expected. She flinched, but stayed ducked low, trying not to dwell on how absurd her actions were.

“Come on, Claire. I saw you come over here. The Skoda’s locked. Why are you hiding like a child?”

Because you sound like an angry parent. Claire clenched her jaw, and dug her nails into her hand. She concentrated on keeping her breathing shallow. Go away, Michael. You’ve done enough damage. Let me skulk off in peace.

The footsteps came nearer, crunching the gravel underfoot. Claire tensed, ready to run. She wondered if she should remove her sandals, but they were preferable to running barefoot across the stones. Michael stood between her and the hostel entrance.

“What are you going to do, Claire? Hide out here all night? I’m going to go and wait in our room, so you’ll have to face me eventually.” He stopped, as if listening for a response.

“You’re being childish, Claire. So Kim’s angry, so what? She’s the bride and, from what you say, she’s pregnant. Tears and tantrums go with the territory.” His voice sounded amused, patronising. Claire wanted to fly at him and gouge his eyes with her pink nails.

What did I ever see in him? What a self-satisfied prig. Kim was right. Thinking about her best friend – and the look of anger on her face as she inadvertently revealed her secret to all her wedding guests – brought bile to Claire’s throat. Her head thumped with too much champagne and she swallowed hard against the urge to vomit. That would give her away for sure.

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. What a mess. She shivered, realising it was bitterly cold out in the car park, away from the heat of the hostel. Come on Michael, go away! She wondered if he was going to stand there all night, cornering her until she had to break cover or freeze. Then she remembered his threat to stand guard over her bag and car keys. What a tosser.

“Okay, Claire. Have it your way. I’m going to sit in the warm and wait for you to come to your senses.”

She heard the sound of gravel crunching, fading into the distance, as Michael carried out his threat.

“Damn!” Claire whispered, when she was sure he was gone. She stood and stretched out cramped muscles, resisting the temptation to lean against the Range Rover in case it set off the alarm. “How am I going to get my stuff back, without facing him?”

She stood in the dark and brushed away the tears, as options ran through her mind. She could bribe a member of staff to distract him, or call the police and tell them Michael was harassing her. Or she could get the RAC to get her into the car, tell them she had dropped the keys down a drain. Or she could just face him, and get it over with. Get the hell out, and leave him and his self-righteous preaching behind.

Shoulders back, chin high, Claire strode towards the building.

***

Lesson from a steam train (starrystez.com)
nvr.org.uk

Tidying Futility: 2013 365 Challenge #181

Playroom Carnage: We’re taking Baby Annabelle to France

I have taken to saying / tweeting lately that Cleaning with children in the house is like trying to paint a boat that’s still in the water. Utterly pointless.

Dragged myself out of bed this morning to tidy up, after a night if calpol and cuddles for fever boy. (Fever broke at 4am) I found craft sand all over the playroom after Daddy and daughter craft last night, so cleaning had to start there.

After ninety minutes of sorting, tidying and hoovering I found the playroom floor. It looked lovely.

Then Saturday morning TV ended and the children decided they wanted to go on holiday to France. They packed bags and babies and buckets of other junk (they’ve watched Mummy pack too often!) and the cushion corner became their car. I’ve been reading recently about the importance of play for the sake of play, and that mess is good. So, I am turning a blind eye.

Sometimes it takes effort to do nothing. No one said it was easy to be the parent you want to be. Lord knows I don’t manage it very often. But for now I’m off to hoover the lounge, and then LOCK THE DOOR!

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“I, Jeffery Philip Westwood, take you, Kim Louise Jenkins, to be my lawful wedded wife…”

Claire stood next to her best friend and tuned out the familiar words. It was the first time she’d been part of a wedding, although she had attended a few. It felt different, standing at the front, with the registrar so close. She was almost scared to breathe, in case she interrupted the ceremony. Gazing at the side of Kim’s face; her eyes sparkling, her lips quivering in a smile as she locked eyes with Jeff, Claire thought she could set off a firework and the bride and groom would be oblivious.

Her shoulder-blades itched. She could feel Michael sitting behind her; could sense his eyes boring into her back. It wasn’t hard to imagine his thoughts, as she stood this close to an altar. Although they’d never discussed marriage, the fight that had ended their relationship gave her a pretty good idea where Michael’s desires lay. People didn’t want children without wanting the full family experience.

The formulaic exchange of promises droned on. Claire recalled the awful night, four months ago, when her rosy view of the future had ended. When she’d realised how desperate Michael was for children. Their discussion had confirmed for her how equally-desperate she was not to have them. There hadn’t been anything to say after that.

And now, my best friend is married and with child. Wouldn’t Michael have a field day, if he knew. Resisting the urge to look behind her, Claire squared her shoulders and prayed for the weekend to be over.

The sun hovered low on the horizon. Dinner had been survived, and the free alcohol was going down a storm. Claire stood in the corner of the terrace, watching groups of friends mingling and separating in a slow, elaborate dance. Laugher echoed on the breeze, and through the people, the occasional flash of cream silk showed the bride at the centre of things.

Kim had managed to persuade some high school friends to turn up with their drums and guitars, and live music drifted out from the great hall. Claire had sent Michael for drinks, glad to get away from his pervading presence. Now the chores were done, he had taken to standing behind her shoulder like a bodyguard, scaring away anyone else brave enough to attempt to approach for a chat.

Claire mused that it would have been infinitely preferable to have come alone, and feel like the awkward spinster, rather than have the dark cloud of her past literally following her around, raining on her parade.

She felt a touch at her elbow and turned to see Michael holding out a glass of champagne.

“Have they run out of gin?” Claire frowned. Champagne made her giddy. What she needed was good, hard liquor.

Michael looked awkward for a moment, before saying, “Tonic. They’ve run out of tonic.”

It was clearly a lie. Claire sighed, the pent-up frustration of four months gusting forth like a hurricane.

“Enough, Michael. Stop trying to control my life.”

Michael’s head jerked back, as if she had slapped him. “I’m not trying to control anything.”

“Then why bring me champagne when it’s obvious they have plenty of gin and tonic. This is a licensed bar, not a village hall party. Are you hoping I’ll get drunk and you will get me horizontal? You can scrap that idea right now.”

Michael’s eyes hardened. “That’s not fair, Claire. You asked me to come, and all you’ve done is avoid me. Now you’re acting like I’m your father one minute, and some oik in a bar trying to get laid the next. I am none of those things.”

“Then stop acting like it. What happened, Michael? We used to work, once. What went wrong?”

“Nothing.” He took a step closer and she unconsciously stepped back, avoiding his outstretched hand. “Nothing went wrong. We had a misunderstanding, that’s all. I still love you.”

His words made her shiver. “If you do, then leave me alone. Please. I’ve moved on, Michael.” She wanted to add, I’ve out-grown you, but managed to hold her tongue.

“Is it still about the baby? We can talk about that. We never talked about it properly.”

“There was no baby, Michael, except in your mind. I was late for my period, that’s all. I wanted you to reassure me I could do what I needed to do, if I was pregnant. And you went all doolally on me, practically picking the baby names and decorating the spare room.” She glared at him. “I wasn’t ready for happy families, not then, not now.”

“But, I thought… All that time with Sky.”

“You thought, because I had fun with my niece, I was ready to be a mother? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You want to start again?”

He didn’t respond, but the shift in his expression told her she was right.

A boiling heat rushed through Claire, darkening her vision and causing her hands to tremble. “Get the message, Michael. I am not interested.” Her voice rose. “I do not want a baby. Kim can go ahead and have one, if she wants. Get married, have the happy ever after, but not me. I’m not ready for that kind of responsibility.”

“Kim’s pregnant?”

Michael’s voice rang out across the terrace, just as the band finished one song and were about to start another. His words caused a hush to fall across the assembled guests.

Claire felt the world close in. Me and my big mouth. She turned, seeking out Kim in the crowd. Her friend stood several feet away, her face white. Claire took a step forward, apologies on her lips. Kim gave her a furious stare and swept away.

Dropping her arms to her side, Claire prayed for the world to end. Of course it was a secret. Now her Director knows, everyone knows. How much trouble is she going to be in? She’s never going to speak to me again.

Michael reached out a hand, whether to blame or reassure her, wasn’t clear. She shook him off, and ran from the terrace towards her car.

***

Tennis and Temperatures: 2013 365 Challenge #180

Murray having a dip in the 3rd set

Today was meant to be about cleaning (my Mum and her in-laws are coming for lunch tomorrow) and my son getting his new bike.

We managed the second part – collecting the bike from the friend who kindly picked it up from the ebay seller. Unfortunately, it’s been raining most of the day and, during the short time he had a go, he fell off twice. The downside of buying online is not being able to feel how heavy the thing is. My son’s new bike is much heavier than his sister’s. He’ll get used to it. Of course now my daughter has decided she needs a new bike, because the new one is a bit bigger than hers.

We got back from the supermarket to discover that littlest Martin had a temperature of 38.9C (102F). Then Mummy Martin began to feel poorly too. So this afternoon has been about survival, paracetamol and running round with no clothes on (him, not me!)

It’s raining, the roof is shut on Centre Court

We fell asleep watching Tangled and littlest Martin got a bit hotter (39.9C). Started planning a trip to the walk-in centre, but thankfully ice cream seemed to bring it down again. Darn bugs.

Now we’re curled up on the sofa, kids are watching TV on the iPads and I’m watching Wimbledon. I’m meant to be editing Baby Blues to send to the proofreader on Sunday (haven’t abandoned the cleaning. They’ll have to take us as they find us), but my brain is fuzzy. Wondering if I should put her off for a week or two, but I’d rather not.

Murray was playing really well, until I started watching, and now Robredo is fighting back. Oops. Oh, he won. Good stuff.

Is it bedtime yet?________________________________________________________________________________

________________________________________________________________________________

“Claire, thank God you’re already here.”

Kim ran across the terrace and threw herself into her friend’s arms. “I’m so nervous. Find me gin, please. Tell me I’m doing the right thing.”

Claire laughed and hugged Kim tight. “You’re doing the right thing. The bar will open soon. Everything is going to be fine. The ceremony isn’t until 4pm, and it’s only 9 o’clock. Calm down.”

“I’ve been awake since 5am. Poor Mum, I’ve been driving her bonkers. She didn’t want to leave so early, but I insisted.”

“You stayed locally last night?” Claire cursed under her breath. If only she’d known, it would have been the perfect excuse to escape Michael. “I thought you had rehearsals.”

“I told them I couldn’t make it and they should give the understudy a run through. The director didn’t like it, but as they’ll all be drinking at our expense this weekend, they can just lump it!”

Claire’s brain reeled with the barrage of words. “I thought we were paying our own way? Wasn’t that the point?”

“Jeff’s parents are insisting on providing alcohol. They’re horrified that we asked everyone to cough up the cash. Jeff’s Mums says it’s common.”

The girls linked arms and walked to the edge of the terrace, taking a moment to appreciate the rolling hills spread out in front of them.

“What are you doing out here, anyway? Have you had breakfast?” Kim turned to face Claire.

“I’m hiding from Michael. I had breakfast early, and I’ve been out for a walk.”

“Michael, what’s he doing here already?” Kim frowned and pursed her lips, the sparkle in her eye fading.

“He came last night, the same as I did.” She saw Kim’s expression, and grimaced. “Not with me! I came to make sure I was here when you arrived. He had the same thought. Actually, I suspect he came to talk to me before I became caught up in wedding fever.”

Kim made a face as if she felt sick. “And did he? Come over all mushy?”

“Didn’t give him the chance. You’ve never heard so much relentless nonsense spilling from my mouth.”

Kim raised an eyebrow. “I probably have. Poor Michael, I almost feel sorry for him.”

Claire glared and swung out at Kim’s arm. “Cheeky cow!” She laughed. “Come on, I need a coffee. Let’s go and find the bridal suite and get you settled in. I want a bounce on your four-poster bed!”

“Oh, Kim, you look amazing.”

Claire stood in front of her friend and felt tears well up. Brushing them away, she reached forward to tug at a ringlet and straighten Kim’s string of pearls. Between them, she and Kim’s Mum had curled the red locks and pinned them up carefully to hide any blonde roots. The cream charity shop wedding dress fitted perfectly and contrasted beautifully with the red roses and stargazer lilies in her bouquet. Claire smoothed down the pink bridesmaid dress they’d managed to find for her, in the same shop. It didn’t fit quite as well as Kim’s, and she’d had to pin it to her bra to make sure it stayed in place.

Time had drained away like bath water, too fast for comfort. Claire had successfully avoided Michael, who’d been sent to put up signs, usher arrivals to their rooms and generally make himself useful. Every time they bumped into each other, he opened his mouth as if to speak, and Claire found a reason to escape. Flowers to be collected, the cake to be checked, hair to be dressed, make-up applied.

Now, it was ten to four, and everything was ready. Jeff had arrived and been whisked to the room allocated for the civil ceremony, while Kim hid in the bridal suite.

“Having it all in one building is genius,” Claire said to Kim, as she whisked a final brush of blusher across her cheeks. “You don’t need to worry about cars breaking down, traffic, parking or anything. I once knew a girl whose limo didn’t turn up, and she was an hour late. No one told the groom: he thought she’d changed her mind. It was awful.”

Kim shook her head, as if brushing off a pesky fly. “Don’t tell me things like that. Knowing my luck I’ll trip on my dress, fall down the stairs and break a leg.”

“That’s why you have a maid of honour. It’s my job to hold your dress and, if need be, carry you to the altar to say your vows before the paramedics arrive.”

Giggling, the friends linked arms and headed for the door.

***

Being the Customer: 2013 365 Challenge #179

When will I ever get a walk?

I made my decision regarding a proofreader today, and it was really hard!

Everyone picked up my planted typos and there were certain phrases that most of them highlighted as awkward. Apart from that, the punctuation was really subjective. One person favoured em-dashes, another highlighted spliced commas, which I only recently learned existed as a result of a comment on Twitter leading me to this post (thanks, Rinelle!)

In the end it came down to two, mostly on gut feel for what the relationship would be like, as there was so little to choose with the editing. One presented findings as ‘change this’, one presented them as ‘maybe change this’. Part of me thought the former might be more experienced (bearing in mind the comment about getting inexperienced proofreaders for a low budget). Then I realised the ‘maybe’ approach would suit me better.

One person justified the text and said ‘should be justified’. My immediate response was, ‘not for an ebook, thanks.’ One person commented on my first paragraph indentation being wrong at only 0.01 – again an ebook formatting convention. These weren’t deal-breakers, they just made me realise I don’t like being told I’m wrong, when I think I’m not (I know, I’ll learn!). I prefer the gentler approach. As this is my first foray into editing and proofreading – and I have yet to grow that extra layer of skin – I thought, why not be gentle on myself, if it’s going to get the same results.

Anyway, decision made. Finally, I can visit Catherine, Caffeinated’s site again and not feel like a bad person! All I have to do now is get through my final 40 pages by Sunday, having lost my editing time today to choosing a proofreader! 🙂

Time to walk the dog. She’s been waiting patiently all day (and now it’s raining!)

________________________________________________________________________________

Claire drove up to the hostel and felt a sliver of ice slide into her chest. Oh, God, I hope Kim isn’t going to be disappointed. The hostel didn’t look like a dream wedding location. The building loomed stark against a grey sky. It looked like the setting for Jane Eyre, or the main building of a severe boarding school.

With a sinking heart, Claire parked her car and headed for reception. She’d managed to book accommodation for the Friday night, to ensure there was no last-minute panic to get there in the morning.

“Checking in, please.”

The woman behind the desk dragged her hands through her hair and glanced up at Claire.

“Just a minute,” she said, and turned to the computer. “Just one night, is it? There’s a wedding here tomorrow.” Her voice suggested this was not a good thing.

“Yes, I know, I’m invited. I’m the maid of honour, actually.” Claire gave a grin. The lady nodded without smiling.

“You’re not the only guest who has come early. It isn’t making my job any easier.”

Claire found herself wanting to apologise. “I suppose there’s a lot to prepare, for a wedding.”

“That’s an understatement, although at least your friend hasn’t opted for a Medieval theme or any such nonsense. Nice and simple, how we like it.”

She retrieved Claire’s key and silently pointed her in the direction of her room. With a shrug, Claire decided to be forgiving. I wouldn’t want to try and organise a wedding with the property still full of guests.

Now she was inside the building, her misgivings faded away. The recent refurbishment was obvious and, while the place still bore all the marks of a YHA hostel, it had been renovated sympathetically. Wooden beams and exposed walls helped retain the feel of an Elizabethan Manor, despite the steel-framed bunk-beds. She’d been allocated a bed in a twelve-person dorm and she was surprised that the room didn’t feel crowded. Wooden floors and sunshine welcomed her in, and she chose a bed near the furthest window.

I wonder if I would get away with staying in here over the weekend, rather than sharing with Michael. She’d had plenty of time to regret letting Michael invite himself. As she gazed round the large shared dorm, the difficulty of allocating guest rooms now hit her, and she giggled at Kim and Jeff’s dilemma. Rather them than me. It could be a roudy event, if they’ve got it wrong.

Pleased to have the room to herself, Claire pulled out the paperback she’d grabbed at the last hostel and settled down to read.

Claire closed her book and decided to head to the lounge to complete her blog post. The phone call from Roger the day before kept echoing through her mind. On the surface, flying half way round the world seemed nothing but a crazy idea. It’s winter over there, too. May is a time to be in England, going to barbecues and sitting on wine bar terraces drinking G&T. The beaches were unlikely to be hot or sunny, although somewhere in the back of her mind she thought maybe Australia didn’t have harsh winters. She knew very little about either country.

Curling into the corner of the Chesterfield sofa, near the original stone fireplace, Claire found it hard to imagine what Antipodean hostels would be like. They won’t be in refurbished sixteen-century manor houses, that’s for sure.

With a guilty feeling that she should be writing her post, or thinking about the following day, Claire loaded up the internet and typed in, “YHA New Zealand.” She hovered over the hostels in the south, thinking they would be the warmest in the winter. The hostel in Catlins looked like a colonial house, sunny and inviting. Then Claire read the note saying the hostel was closed for the winter.

So, even in the south it’s cold in the winter. Then something murmured in her brain. It’s warm in the south here, but what about on the opposite side of the world. Would the north be the hot bit? Geography wasn’t a strong point, but her thought felt right.

Clicking on the northern-most hostel at Ahipara, her screen filled with pictures of long sandy beaches and royal-blue seas. A few more clicks revealed that the weather was still bearable, even in the depths of winter.

Lost in thought, Claire barely heard the footsteps approaching across the wooden floor. Shoes clicked, then came to a standstill next to the sofa. She heard a small cough, and a deep voice spoke.

“Hello, Claire. Planning a holiday?”

Claire flipped closed the iPad case, and turned to face the newcomer, swallowing a surge of irritation.

“Merely researching a writing project, Michael. What are you doing here?”

“Er, you invited me to a wedding?” Michael walked round and sat next to Claire on the sofa, relaxing into the seat with his right ankle pulled up on his left knee.

“I think you invited yourself, actually. And the wedding isn’t until tomorrow.”

Michael smiled, his face open, radiating sincerity. “I didn’t want to be late. Besides, you said I was to make myself useful.” He spread his arms wide. “Here I am.”

Claire was conscious of a frown pulling at her forehead as she felt her peaceful evening slipping away. “Kim isn’t arriving until tomorrow morning – she has rehearsals this evening.”

“Yes, I wondered about that. How come they’re getting married all of a sudden, when she is working so hard.” Michael’s face remained impassive, but Claire felt his curiosity. She had no intention of giving the real reason. Kim hadn’t sworn her to secrecy, but she knew few people were aware of the pregnancy, particularly Kim’s boss.

“This place came available at short notice.” She gazed round at the period fixtures, the grandeur of the great hall. “Who wouldn’t grab it with two hands?”

“You?” Michael met her eyes, and there was an intensity burning deep in his gaze.

Claire’s stomach squirmed and she dragged her gaze away. Silence spread between them like dry ice, suffocating, using up the oxygen. She felt a strong urge to flee the room, get in the Skoda and keep driving. Then her tummy gurgled, the sound resonating like an angry monster growling in rage.

Michael sniggered, and the tension snapped. “Hungry?”

Looking up with a rueful expression on her face, Claire sighed and shrugged. “Starving.”

“Then let’s eat.”

Michael led her to the dining room, with Claire following meekly behind

***

School Clothes and Climbing Frames: 2013 365 Challenge #178

In the boat with Iggle Piggle

I had a morning away from the laptop and away from writing today. Foolish, maybe, with pressing deadlines looming. But I think sometimes the body and mind need to be replenished. Sitting in the lounge editing for long periods of time is playing havoc with my knees, as I end up sitting with one leg tucked under me without realising.

I do now have a study, but it has a plastic roof so is impossibly hot, and too sunny to see my screen.

So, today, I got out in the sun. Mowed the lawn (and a metal dog bowl, oops), cleaned out my car, and went to collect our new (second hand, thank you ebay) climbing frame. It’s brilliant.

Unfortunately it was still assembled when I arrived and it took the two of us half an hour to get it into enough pieces to fit in my Saab. By the time I’d reassembled it at home, I didn’t have a nail left whole. But we’re so happy with it, and the kids love it. They’ve been climbing and building tents all afternoon.

I also learned first hand today how much nicer it is to complain politely. Valerie, over on Speak Happiness, advocates it, and I admit it’s not always my strong suit. But, today, it felt good. The saga is all about my daughter’s school uniform.

Fabulous new climbing frame

On advice from friends I ordered it all from the M&S website, as they have 20% off, and you can’t always get everything in store. So worth paying the delivery charge. Only apparently I ordered all the wrong sizes (they come up large), so I was a bit worried that I should have just gone into town.

Anyway, yesterday I got an email saying it wouldn’t be delivered until August. Arrggh. Not much time to try stuff on and no opportunity to get the discount on extra things. So today I dragged the poor kids into town after playgroup and we hit the shops. On our second M&S, and with much cursing and searching and some distraction of small boy with ipad, we found all the items we needed, tried them on and bought the lot.

Got home, attempted to cancel my online order: couldn’t. Called them and they said, Oh you should have an email, it’s out for delivery. Due tomorrow. Well, if I’d seen the email I would possibly have been less polite! As it is, I couldn’t fault their charming customer service. The lovely Richard promised me he would try and stop the delivery, or refund it if I managed to turn it away at the door.

Really, though, they need to sort their emails out. I very nearly shopped elsewhere, but their uniform is good value. Thank goodness it will be so much easier with my son. Today I bought three styles of dress, two lots of trousers, two different colour tops, tights and socks, and she already has two different colour jumpers and a cardigan. None of which can be passed down, as none is unisex. I’ve always said I’m happy to have one child of each gender, but clothes is definitely one area where I’m not!

Oh, but she’s going to look adorable! 🙂

________________________________________________________________________________

“Good afternoon, is that Ms Carleton?”

“Yes.” Claire looked around the tiny courtyard garden and tried to work out who would be calling her. She didn’t recognise the voice.

“Ah, Ms Carleton, my name is Roger Hazleton.”

Claire searched her mind for a clue, but none presented itself. He wasn’t a client. God, I hope he doesn’t work for Cocoa Cola or the YHA. Now was not the time to discover Carl’s assignment was indeed a genuine one, only to admit she was spending the weekend at a wedding.

“You recently contacted our newspaper with regards to your blog, and the possibility of writing a regular column for us.”

Claire’s heart began to beat a little faster. She had forgotten about her impetuous email to as many editors as she could find, after Kim’s suggestion that she try her hand at freelance journalism. She never expected anything to come of it, except the satisfaction of doing something that would irritate Carl if he found out.

“We have looked at your blog on the YHA and are impressed with your writing style. And your sense of adventure.”

Claire tried to gauge whether the man was being sarcastic. Deciding he had to be genuine, if he was bothering to contact her, she bubbled with enthusiasm. Roger’s next words stalled her.

“Unfortunately, we can’t offer you anything for your existing journey. There isn’t quite enough excitement to captivate our readers.”

With a wry smile, Claire thought that he would have a different view if he knew the half of what had happened to her since she left home in a battered Skoda, two months before.

“However, I wanted to ask whether you had any intention of continuing your adventures overseas, for example the hostels of New Zealand or Australia?”

Claire’s brain fizzed with the unexpected idea. Her skin tingled. With in-held breath, she asked the burning question. “Why, are you offering to pay for me to go?”

Roger laughed, as if Claire had told an entertaining joke. She laughed too, realising she would only look like an amateur if she confessed she was serious. Clearly that was not what was on offer.

“Wouldn’t that be lovely? No, I’m afraid you would have to pay your own travel expenses, although we would, of course, pay you our standard freelance rate for your column. We can discuss the details later, if you’re interested.”

Claire felt like she’d been walloped with a wet flannel. Leave the UK? Travel somewhere hot and sunny, with attractive surfer dudes and long sandy beaches. It sounded even better than the Maldives. Then images crashed in on her daydream: The look of smug victory on Carl’s face, if she were to resign; Giving up her salary, her career, for a short-term opportunity to earn peanuts; Another stretch of time sleeping in bunk beds. The appeal quickly tarnished.

“Roger, I am flattered by your offer. I’m glad that you believe my writing would appeal to your readers. Unfortunately, I’m not in a position to travel overseas at present, unless my expenses were covered.”

There was a slight hesitation and Claire imagined Roger steepling his fingers, trying to decide how to respond. Would he shrug and tell her she was making a mistake, or would he be graceful. She heard him suck air in through his teeth, and prepared herself for rejection.

“Well,” he stretched out the word, as if it were being pulled from him. “I suppose we could advance you a week or two’s salary, if that would help?”

Claire didn’t need solutions, she was already too tempted. Her mind crowded with all the reasons to stay. Ruth, Sky, Kim, they all needed her here. A thought popped into her head unbidden. Josh lived in Australia. With his wife and children.

“I’ll have to think about it.”

“Of course, I understand. I’ll email you our terms. We’d want to get started as soon as possible.”

Claire hung up the phone and dropped it into her lap. Looking round the raised beds and red brick walls of the hostel garden, she tried to imagine temperate rainforest and endless desert. Ayers Rock and the Sydney Opera House. Her lips twitched and she felt a smile light her face.

***

Friends: 2013 365 Challenge #177

Tranquility

I caught up with two good friends today and nattered for five hours in total, not including my normal interaction with the children. Needless to say, I’m a bit low on words. (Like yesterday’s Claire installment. That rubbish 400 words took me all evening to write!)

I think my brain is in full-on edit mode, too, which makes it hard for the ideas to come. Unfortunately I have a double deadline of Sunday to finish my first pass on Baby Blues and write my Two Hundred Steps Home month-end cliff hanger (and work out what it’s going to be, as I haven’t decided yet, although I have done the front cover!)

I realised, though, that it’s nice to be out of words, instead of having them crowd my head. It was nice, too, to be with friends that require no masks. I don’t have to wonder if I’ve said the right thing, or wonder what they’re really thinking, because they wear no mask with me. It’s like getting out of a stuffy car and feeling the cool breeze, smelling the cut grass and wrapping your hand around a hot cup of tea. In other words, like coming home. Glorious

________________________________________________________________________________

Claire gazed around Ludlow Castle with jaded eyes. She’d visited three castles in Wales, and now this one over the border. They were all starting to merge in her mind. Any novelty, if there had been any two months before, had long since worn thin. With Sky as a companion it had been just about bearable, but coming along, merely to say she’d been and take a picture, felt utterly futile. She could learn as much on the internet without leaving a hostel.

For that matter, I could talk about the hostels without visiting them. A few web pictures, a few visitor reviews, and I could write a convincing story in my sleep. The hostels were all pretty much the same, anyway. All that varied was the colour of the decor, and the quality of the food. And they don’t change much. I guess it’s like any convenience product, chain store or restaurant- the predictability is the selling point. Makes for a boring trip, though, if that’s the sole purpose.

She thought about the rest of her assignment. Of course, there’s that. Even that had become a bit predictable. Once you’ve climbed up a few things, jumped off a load more, what was so exciting about it? I’d rather read a book, at least the character’s names change, even if the plot doesn’t.

With a gusty sigh, Claire pushed away the heaviness and trudged further into the castle complex. Her target was the tower, where she hoped it might be possible to climb up for an aerial photograph without scaring herself stupid.

When she reached the tower, she noticed a buggy at the bottom, by itself. Her heart picked up tempo as she approached it, searching all about for the parents.

Oh, God, someone’s abandoned their baby. Crap.

She didn’t know what to do. A closer inspection revealed a sleeping infant about the age of Sky’s half-sister. The gnawing sensation in Claire’s tummy grew stronger, until it dragged bile to the back of her throat. Her hands itched to hold the child and offer comfort, but it was sleeping.

Claire searched around again, expecting to see, what? She wasn’t sure. Maybe a young mother, watching to be certain her baby would be cared for. Claire reached forward, about to grab the handle, when a sound intruded at the edge of hearing. Giggling. The sound got louder, nearer. And then she was no longer alone.

A couple, she guessed in their thirties, skipped out of the tower towards her. They looked surprised to see her. The man smiled in greeting, but the woman’s forehead wrinkled in a suspicious frown. It took a moment for Claire to realise what it must look like. Not that she was rescuing an abandoned child, but that she was about to abduct their daughter.

Claire took a swift step back and raised her hands, as if to reassure them of her good intentions. For a moment she had an urge to berate them for leaving their infant unattended in a public place. The words hung hot in her mouth, but she swallowed them. It was none of her business. Instead she smiled as sincerely as she could.

“She’s adorable. Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She took another step back, relieved to see the frown ease on the woman’s face. The couple closed in on either side of the buggy, both focussed on the child inside. Claire felt their bubble of exclusion as her presence was forgotten.

***