Pirates and Promotions: 2013 365 Challenge #126

Family Martin on the Barrel Train

I’d like to say I feel rested and refreshed, after having a day off from blogging (the last post was pre-scheduled to give me a breather) but having been out all day with the kids today I’m actually pooped! As a result today’s will be a short post.

It’s a bank holiday in the UK tomorrow, meaning I miss a nursery day (the day when I catch up with all things writing), so the next few posts might be a bit on the light side too.

We had a good day today at what the kids are calling New Farm (West Lodge Rural Centre), with Daddy this time. They held a Pirates and Princesses day for the bank holiday, so we walked the plank, had pirate faces painted and took part in a fancy dress competition (daughter did, anyway!). I thought she should have won a prize (of course!) and realised how glad I am that beauty pageants and all that aren’t big in this country. I’m such a competitive person, I’d be awful. My daughter was just fine that she didn’t win, but I felt hard done by because I thought she made a smashing pirate!

Pirate Daughter

My last free Dragon Wraiths promotion on kindle finished today. I did a 2-day promotion this time, rather than just one, and made it to #16 in the ‘coming of age’ ranking and #77 for Paranormal Romance. I don’t know if that will lead to sales, but it’s a nice feeling in any case.

We’re visiting family tomorrow, so hopefully I might get five minutes to finish reading my current book – Reckless Rescue by Rinelle Grey. I’m really enjoying it, although it wouldn’t be my normal read. As far as I can tell in an ebook (this is my first full-length novel read on the iPad rather than in paper form) I’m only a few pages from the end. But as it’s 8.15pm already and hubbie, dog and I haven’t eaten yet, I’ll just about have time to cook dinner and write my Claire installment before I collapse with exhaustion!

Today’s one of those days when I wish I hadn’t played the Takeaway Pizza card on Tuesday (we only have one a week!). Actually, they probably don’t deliver on Sunday anyway… Chicken stir-fry it is then. I wonder if I can convince hubbie to do it…

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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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The sky went dark. Claire looked up, surprised, wondering if the shock had affected her vision. A tiny cloud masked the sun, temporarily plunging the beach into shadow.

“Claire, are you okay, you look dreadful. Who was on the phone?”

“Dad. My sister… He said Ruth’s back in hospital and we have to go home.” She drew in a shuddering breath and ran her hands through her hair. “What am I going to tell Sky? Look at her, that’s the happiest I’ve ever seen her.”

Both girls watched as Sky tipped water into the moat round her sandcastle, flicking some up at Jeff and giggling as he threw seaweed at her.

“Tell her Ruth misses her and wants to give her a cuddle.”

Claire looked gratefully at her best friend, knowing she would have blundered in with the truth. That’s why Kim will make a brilliant parent and I wouldn’t. She picked up the phone to see if her Dad was still connected. He wasn’t and she called him back.

“Sorry, Dad, phone got cut off. Tell Mum we’ll be home in three hours depending on traffic.”

Her father assured her he would and wished her a safe journey. Even that many extra words surprised Claire and, for the first time, she wondered how her parents felt about Ruth’s illness. For all their distance they had still brought Ruth into the world. It must be terrible to consider that she might leave it before they did. No parent should ever have to bury their child. Another good reason not to have any.

“Sky, sweetie, can you come here for a moment?”

The little girl looked up, her cheeks flushed from sun and excitement. Claire’s stomach tightened. Life is too cruel.

Sky ran up the beach and threw her arms around Claire. “I love you, Auntie Claire. Don’t say it’s time to go, please. I’m having so much fun.” She pouted. Claire thought of all the times that pout had irritated her, and wished she could take them all back.

She’s just a child. We make them grow up so fast. She’s got nearly a century of life ahead of her to do as she’s told, feel the pressure of the world on her. Why couldn’t I let her have more fun now? Before this. She shook off the thought and pulled an approximation of a smile onto her face.

“Grandpa just called, poppet. Your Mummy really misses you and wondered if you would like to go home for a cuddle.”

Sky’s face froze as the words settled and she decided how to react to them. Claire could almost see the thoughts competing for primacy: Sky’s desire to stay and play with Jeff versus her need to give her Mummy a hug. Claire’s breath caught in her throat as she waited to see what Sky’s response would be.

“Why don’t we meet up with you guys next weekend, Sky? You could show me and Jeff around one of the places you like to go to.” Kim’s voice cut through Sky’s internal deliberations.

Like a gust of sea breeze blowing away a cloud, Sky’s face cleared and she clapped her hands. “The Farm, we could go to the Farm.” Then she smiled at Claire. “Yes please, I want to go home and see Mummy. You’ll stay for a while, won’t you Auntie Claire?”

Claire thought about her sister in hospital and Sky going home to an empty house. “Of course I will, darling. As long as you need.”

Sky settled into Claire’s lap and wrapped her arms around her neck. Claire nuzzled into the soft blonde hair and let it hide her tears.

***

The Importance of Being Mean: 2013 365 Challenge #125

Mean Mummy put me in a basket

I read a comment today on a blog post by the talented Matt Haig that made me realise something significant about my writing. The post itself was about Matt having thin skin and how that can be good for a writer but not for a published author. Understanding feelings and hurt and pain are what raise the okay storyteller to the breath-taking master of craft, but it comes at a cost.

I related to much of the post in terms of the thin skin, the depression, feeling awe at how amazing the world really is. But it was one of the comments below the post that really resonated.

Suzanne Korb

I think you just switched on a lightbulb in my head. I have a thin skin – but I pretend to be thick-skinned. That prevents me from putting more feeling into my writing. I think I protect the words I write, I defend my characters and keep them from feeling anguish and fear and pain. No wonder my writing isn’t always working

I’m terrible at writing conflict. If I love a character the last thing I want to do his hurt him or her. I don’t even like reading books where awful things happen to good people. But conflict, disaster, overcoming adversity, these are all essential elements in good story and believable character growth.

You did What to your characters??

When I edited Dragon Wraiths the first time I realised Leah escaped disaster time and again through a series of lucky coincidences or through her own skill. The car in the flood, the unexpected dragon sentry, they were easily evaded or survived with no harm done. I love Leah, and Luke, and I want them to be happy. As I want my kids to be happy. But just as you have to be Mean Mom occasionally you have to be a mean author too.

I have to confess I didn’t make Leah’s life too much harder. She’d had a tough childhood already and deserved a break. And life is also full of near misses and lucky escapes. But I do know my inability to make characters suffer is going to have to change for my writing to go to the next level (oh that’s a horrible phrase but you know what I mean). Maybe what I have to do is make my characters more annoying to me, like my kids can be, and then mean will just happen without effort.

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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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“Have you booked a date for the wedding? I’m guessing it will have to be soon, not that you’re showing.” Claire leaned back in the sand and looked over at her friend.

Kim laughed, patting her flat stomach. “I am: I just breathe in! I have to hope the baby doesn’t get too big before the show’s finished. Our Director will have a fit. We’ll be a laughing stock if the audience notices Puck is pregnant.”

“That doesn’t seem right: Aren’t there rules about discrimination these days? Surely he or she will be applauded for their political correctness.”

“There isn’t much political correctness in the acting world, my dear. I’ll be considered too old for many roles in a year or two. I’m lucky I’m petite and slim, it hides my age. Not that I’ll be slim for long.” She frowned and stared down the beach, where Jeff and Sky were engaged in a sandcastle competition. Sky was cheating, flattening Jeff’s castles every time he went to collect water or shells.

“You make it sound like we’re ancient.” Claire shielded her eyes from the afternoon sun. “Actually I feel pretty ancient, although at least Sky hasn’t had nightmares for a day or two. I think I actually got six hours sleep last night.”

“Is it really so bad?” Kim’s voice suggested she didn’t really want to know the answer. “Being a parent, I mean.”

“I’m the wrong person to ask. What do I know about parenting?” Claire gave a dry laugh, picturing some of Sky’s more spectacular tantrums.

“Well, you know more than me.”

“I thought you attended antenatal classes or something?” Sky tried to remember what pregnant women in the office had wittered on about in the past. She mostly tuned out their chatter, but some of it had obviously gone in.

“Oh yes, there are classes, but they seem to be about getting through labour and keeping the kid alive for the first few months. What about after that? There don’t seem to be any lessons on how to deal with it when they flirt with your friend’s boyfriend…”

Claire drew breath but Kim jumped in, “I’m joking! Seriously, though. Who teaches you about discipline and what games to play, how to deal with bullying or if your child is the bully.”

Claire could see Kim getting emotional but wasn’t sure what to say. “I guess you just figure it out. Or you ask your friends, or your Mum.” She thought about trying to have that conversation with her mother, and whether she would choose to raise children the way she was raised. “Maybe not the last one. I think we all want a different childhood to the one we had.”

“Not me, I had a great childhood. It was when I had to grow up it got hard.” The girls laughed.

“Well, let me ask you, how did you learn to be an actress?”

“I went to drama school.”

“So maybe kids learn all they need to know at school. And there are books and the internet. There are all sorts of parenting blogs following mine since I started writing about travelling with Sky. You’ll be fine. Concentrate on the wedding instead. Are you going to have a big white frock?”

“I might need it to hide the bump!”

They settled into the sand and swapped ideas about food and music. Claire felt herself relaxing, as the sun warmed her skin and Sky’s laughter floated on the sea breeze. The phone rang and she considered ignoring it. It’s probably Michael. Now’s not the time to talk to him, with my head full of babies and weddings. The ringing stopped then immediately began again. Damn it, just go away, I’m trying to relax.

People began looking around to see who wasn’t answering their phone. She reached in her bag and put the phone to her ear, unable to see the caller name in the bright sunshine.

“Hello.”

“Claire, it’s Dad.”

She sat up, her skin suddenly cold and her stomach churning. Her father never called.

“Your mother told me to ring. She’s at the hospital. You need to come home love, you and Sky. Ruth’s had a turn for the worse.” His voice shook and that, more than his words, cut through and left her shaking. Claire dropped the phone, her mouth dry and her mind blank.

***

Introducing George: 2013 365 Challenge #111

Planting Sunflower Seeds at Sacrewell Farm

While lying in bed cursing the sore throat and stiff neck that have besieged me this afternoon, a germ of an idea planted in my mind and squirmed into the soil, like the sunflower seeds my kids planted at the Farm today.

I recently finished another great kid’s book and saw that, as with many of my other new finds, it was published by Chicken House. The name rang a bell and I realised it was the name of the publishers that were part of the competition I didn’t enter with Dragon Wraiths because the manuscript was too long.

I visited their website to see if they accept submissions and they’ve just launched the competition again, with a deadline of 1st November.

Ooh went my brain. It’s a long time to 1st November. There’s time to write something new. After all, I started Dragon Wraiths this time last year and had that finished by last November. And that was over 100k words. The maximum for The Chicken House / Times competition is 80k words. If I plan it out this time (at least a bit, I am a pantser after all) I could stay within word count.

On the Tractor Ride

Now of course this breaks all the rules of being a writer. You’re not meant to write for gain or fame but only for the love of writing. Thing is, I love writing but I need a goal and a deadline, at least to get me going. I’m proud of Dragon Wraiths and that was written for a competition (and ultimately prize money).

But I didn’t get up every nursery day and write 5,000 words just for profit (which would be a foolish aim anyway: everyone knows writers don’t make money). I wrote it to find out what happened to Leah, to find out how the story ended. But on dark days the thought of maybe winning £5000 did help keep me motivated.

So I lay in bed earlier this evening, feeling foggy and sore, and searched through my mind for a new idea. It felt a bit wrong, looking for an idea rather than waiting for one to arrive. But people who write hundreds of books must have to do that. I knew what genre at least: I’ve been aching to try my hand at a fantasy middle grade fiction since enjoying The Divide, The Extincts, Stone Heart, Shadow Forest, The Amazing Maurice and his Educated Rodents, and now Ravenwood. And, after some throwing around of ideas, I tapped out the opening scene to a new novel. One I hope might generate characters that will survive to a sequel, since my favourite books are the ones with lots of volumes around the same central characters. I like characters to become my friends. My only dilemma right now is it might involve Time Travel. Again. According to some agents I follow on Twitter, Time Travel has been done to death already. Oh dear.

Penny the Chicken eating Lunch

Is it bad, that I’m motivated by entering a competition? I hope not. I read Sally Jenkins lovely collection of short stories, One Day For Me, this morning because I couldn’t get the sequel to Ravenwood as an ebook. All of Sally’s stories were written for competitions. They’re still great. It’s accepted practice for short story writers to write for specific markets and hopefully financial gain. Why not novels? If it’s rubbish it won’t win so no one’s hurt.

Matt Haig, author of Shadow Forest, says otherwise and I respect his opinion but I hope there are grades of love versus money. Writing for love is a given or I wouldn’t have survived to episode #111 of Claire, through insomnia and flu and dearth of ideas. But bills need to be paid and everyone wants to think their novels might be read one day. Therefore, alongside trying to find new adventures for Claire, I’ll be creating George and his new world. Hopefully Claire won’t suffer (I’m actually hoping a new project will kickstart my imagination as I’ve been really struggling with Claire recently).

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“Auntie Claire, I don’t feel very well.”

Claire looked down at her niece and recoiled slightly at the green tinge of her skin.

“Are you going to be sick? Lean over the side for heaven’s sake. But not too close! I don’t want you falling in.” She looked around at the other passengers and prayed Sky didn’t vomit on any of them. Something of her reaction must have come through her voice, because a clammy little hand sought out hers. “Sorry, Claire. I don’t mean to feel poorly. I’ve never been on the sea before.”

Patting the frozen hand, Claire tried to remain calm. The white tips of the choppy waves weren’t helping. It hadn’t seemed that windy on the shore, but here in the harbour the small craft was rocked by gusting blasts that whipped the waves to froth. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea. I might have known Sky would get sea sick, especially as she’s still recovering from her fever. When she remembered Sky’s amazement as they first arrived at the coast, Claire couldn’t feel it was a bad move. Her mouth had dropped into a perfect ‘o’ of wonder at the grey sea spreading out before them to the horizon.

“It’s so big,” she had said quietly, her eyes wide and staring.

The tour guide called out, interrupting Claire’s thoughts. “You can see grey seals now, if you look towards the shore. There are still some youngsters playing if you look closely. We’ll get in as near as we can.”

“Look, Sky,” Claire said brightly, “baby seals.” Sea spray soaked her skin and she knew it was frizzing her hair to an impossible mess. Snuggling deeper into her jacket, she felt Sky’s hands and face to ensure she wasn’t getting too cold.

Sky raised her head to look at the slick grey animals frolicking in the sea near the boat. Her complexion was still green and Claire hoped the distraction would help her keep breakfast on the inside. I wonder if I dare get out my phone and take some pictures for the blog. If Sky is going to throw up I might not get another opportunity. The boat pitched suddenly and she felt her own stomach lurch. I might even be joining her.

“If you look closely you can see common seals as well as grey seals. The common seals are actually rarer than the grey seals so we’re fortunate to see both today.”

The Guide’s words rolled over Claire like the sea as she focussed on getting a few snaps before another gust of wind sent her or her phone overboard. Feeling a tug at her sleeve, Claire could sense Sky trembling beside her. Tucking the phone back in the safety of a pocket, she pulled her niece onto her lap and hugged her close.

“Alright, sweetie. Just keep breathing through your nose and concentrate on the seals.”

“Here, love, give her one of these.”

Claire looked up to see a kindly face peering out through a fur-lined hood. Glancing down, she saw a pack of polo mints nestled in the woollen glove reaching out towards her.

“Thank you,” she said with real gratitude. Pulling off her gloves, she retrieved a mint and handed it to Sky. She was rewarded by seeing the distress on Sky’s face ebb slightly, like the outgoing tide.

Flashing a smile at the stranger, Claire hugged Sky close again. “That’s it, poppet. You’re being very brave. Well done.”

After a few more days with me, the poor girl isn’t going to want to see her Auntie Claire again. Somehow the thought made her sad.

***

Swimsuits and Spring: 2013 365 Challenge #98

Paddling Pool Fun

Despite it being only about ten degrees C outside the kids are running round in their swimsuits and playing in the paddling pool. I think they genuinely don’t feel the cold. It’s t-shirt and jeans weather at best! Who am I to argue though? They’re having the first day of summer fun in half a year and it’s wonderful to see.

As a result, hubbie and I have had a properly productive Sunday. I’ve done half a dozen loads of laundry, stripped the beds, hoovered the carpets and cooked and baked. Hubbie has emptied the garage and put stuff on ebay (a major feat, I should point out). We even made it to the pub, although after a G&T on an empty stomach I remembered why I don’t drink any more. I went through tipsy to hungover in about thirty minutes. Sad.

We spent this evening watching How to Train Your Dragon. What a marvelous movie. I wanted to see it at the cinema and never got around to it. I love dragons and Toothless has to be the most adorable dragon ever. I wish I’d seen it before I wrote Dragon Wraiths, although maybe it would have been a different kind of novel if I had! I liked the ending (I won’t give it away), I thought it a nice touch of realism.

The weather forecast is rain for the rest of the week, so I don’t think there will be much more paddling pool fun, unless I bring it in the playroom and fill it with teddies. Never mind. One step closer to summer and amen to that.

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Claire gripped Sky’s hand and watched nervously left and right. Kings College spread out behind her, stark against a blue sky. Wind whistled along King’s Parade and it was cold in the shade, despite the sun peeking over the buildings in front of them.

The hand in hers tugged and, when she looked down, a pleading face said, “Can I run along the wall, Auntie Claire?”

Claire clutched her paper coffee cup in close and shook her head. “I don’t want you falling and grazing a knee before they get here.” She resisted the urged to check her phone for the fifth time, to see if they were late or if she was still early. Maybe they won’t come. Fiona definitely wasn’t keen. Perhaps they forgot? I should have asked for his number. How did people ever meet up without mobiles?

Sky drew patterns on the pavement with her pink shoes, scooping demi-pliés like a ballerina. Distracted momentarily, Claire watched her performance while Sky used her hand as a bar.

“Do you do ballet, Sky?”

“I did, last term. Mum said we couldn’t afford it once I grew too big for my leotard.”

A worm of guilt wriggled in under Claire’s rib cage. Her sister was always quick to complain about being poor but she’d figured that was the usual moaning she heard in the office, when Account Execs complained they couldn’t afford the coveted pair of shoes or designer handbag.

“Are leotards very expensive?”

Sky shrugged and continued practising her ballet positions in the shade of King’s Parade. Something about the movements snagged at Claire’s memory and she was surprised to discover she remembered the names. First position, second, third. Her feet twitched, as if they wanted to join in.

“Did you enjoy ballet?”

Sky let go of Claire’s hand and twirled a pirouette. “Oh yes. Hannah and Jenny used to go to the same class as me. They’ll be a certificate ahead of me now.” Her pixie face pulled down in a frown, making the cold in the shade a degree cooler. How expensive can it be? The cost of an M&S sandwich and a latte for a class? When we get back I’ll arrange with Ruth to pay for her ballet classes and costumes. Every little princess should dream of being a ballerina if they want to.

“Hey Claire!”

Distracted by her niece’s impromptu performance, Claire had ceased her relentless search of the street, and the hail startled her. With her heart hammering loudly, Claire yanked her head up and she scanned the approaching faces until she located the source of the voice. Without realising it, Claire’s face broke into a wide smile. She grabbed Sky’s hand, as much to resist the urge to hurry over for a hug as to ensure the girl stayed by her side.

And then they were there, facing each other. Claire smiled awkwardly at Fiona, then beamed down at the children. Last of all, she met Josh’s smiling eyes and forgot to breathe.

“Glad you could make it. We’ve been having such fun here: This place is so old. We can’t wait to see round Kings.”

Claire waited a beat too long before nodding. “Us too. Oh, this is Sky, my niece. Sky, meet Josh, Fiona, Lily, Sophie and Lucas.” She indicated each in turn and then looked down at Sky. The girl was peeping out from behind her legs. “Shy, Sky? That’s not like you.”

Josh dropped down to his haunches and twinkled at the hidden girl. “It’s okay, we don’t bite. Are you having fun with Auntie Claire?”

Claire felt as much as saw Sky nodding. Slowly the girl came out and shone a grin at Josh. Claire looked down at her niece’s glowing face and felt a jolt in her chest.

Yes, poppet. I feel like that too.

***

Weather and Whining: 2013 365 Challenge #89

Thomas the Tank Engine

Our day featured too much weather and whining.

We took the children to see Thomas the Tank Engine at our local steam railway this morning. He doesn’t run very often (he’s actually going in for an overhaul in May and will be out of action for a year or more), and he was meant to be running today, as it’s a bank holiday weekend in the UK.

Only no one told them.

We checked the website diligently, because disappointing two and four year old children is a very bad idea. And still, when we got there, Thomas was clearly just outside his shed and not hooked up to carriages. You know that sinking feeling you get as a parent when it’s all about to go pear-shaped?

Thankfully the kids took it well as we were still able to ride the steam train to the next stop, a large park near a lake. The plan was to visit the park, have lunch in the coffee shop, and catch the train back two hours later. Only the kids were in that sort of mood today: You know the one. A thousand questions a minute, usually the same question repeated over and over and over and over. Even the kindly guard got a bit wild-eyed after ten minutes of trying to answer the barrage.

Then the whining started.

Our steam train today

When we got to the station the snow was hurling down: tiny, freezing specks of misery. It’s a ten minute walk to the park and littlest Martin started crying before we left the platform.

If I’d been engaged as a parent this morning, instead of desperately writing my post after devoting yesterday to Dragon Wraiths, I would have thought to take their scooters. I didn’t. So we had the classic situation of one child wanting to do one thing and the other vociferously advocating another. One parent wanting the screaming to stop and the other one ready to hurl the kids under the next train.

Amber’s Photograph of Bunny

The problem with the steam train is it only runs three times a day. We had a choice of catching the return leg of the one we’d just vacated – a wait of half an hour – or persisting with the park plan and risking the chance of screaming children for two and a half hours. We opted for the former as the lesser of two evils, with a promised trip to a different park on the way home. A cup of tea and a biscuit later and we were all a bit calmer.

But boy they were in whinge mode.

Why is whinging directly proportional to the amount you’ve paid to do something? It cost us twenty-five quid to ride on the train for half an hour and have a cup of tea with UHT milk. We let them play in the little park at the station for a while, but it was so cold. Then little man refused to have his nappy done and even my enforced calm was starting to fray. Hubbie was holding on through gritted teeth and playing in the park to pass the time.

Before we knew it, we were in the car heading home (the promised trip to the big park cancelled due to bad behaviour) and it was only midday. Now I don’t mind spending money on a trip out with the kids but it needs to eat up more than two hours of time!

Big kids can have fun too

Anyway, sorry for the rant. There were good bits too. The kids loved bouncing on the old sprung seats of the train carriages, chatting to the friendly guard and playing in the tiny park at the railway station. There were given a pound each to spend in the shop (which only had one thing for sale for that price) and they came home with some wall stickers. So that used up an hour of time while I cooked lunch. I think next time I’ll do a bit more planning. Or check the forecast.

Auditioning for a Bond Movie

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Claire pushed the pedal to the floor, remembering the expression on Fiona’s face when Josh broke the news of their planned Cambridge trip. Stella the Skoda groaned in protest and the needle swung round to 75mph. Damn you, car, I need speed. She looked at the piles of snow spilling onto the inside lane of the motorway and eased her foot back. Alright, car, you win. Just because the stupid cow looked at me like I’m a marriage wrecker, that doesn’t mean I need to wreck you too. Poor Stella.

The world outside the window spread in unrelenting grey. Sky merged into snow-covered fields until Claire felt like someone had hit select-all-erase on the world. The only splashes of colour came from cars speeding past her in the outside lane, and they were mostly silver.

The lanes and the grey and the moving cars began to blur together. Claire blinked several times and wondered who had filled her eyelids with grit. Might be time for coffee. It had taken over an hour to drive the first dozen miles from the youth hostel to Ashbourne. Although the roads had been clearer from there to Derby and on to Nottingham, it was only when she reached the M1 that she felt able to breathe. Glancing at the dashboard clock Claire was shocked to see it was past midday. Scrap that. I haven’t got time to stop. School finishes at three. If I’m late to pick up Sky, my sister is going to disown me. Or worse.

She tried to calculate how much further there was to drive and wished she’d left earlier. Funny how six hours seemed plenty of time to do a three-hour journey. Damn this damn snow to hell and back. If I hadn’t promised Ruth, I’d be driving to the airport and boarding a flight to the Maldives. Screw Carl and his stupid vendetta.

Inhaling deeply, Claire tried to untwist the ball of panic growing in her gut. Her eyes blurred and, as she blinked them back into focus, she saw the red lights of a lorry braking ahead. Crap. Don’t tell me there’s been an accident at Catthorpe. That’s all I bloody need.

The traffic slowed and gently ground to a halt. At least I don’t have to worry about over-heating. If this heap of junk starts steaming in sub-zero temperatures it deserves everything it gets. She patted the dash quickly. Sorry car; didn’t mean it. Don’t fail me now, I beg you.

Claire looked at the endless line of red lights and wondered if it was time to call her sister. Or at least Mum. Maybe Kim’s home. Sky would be thrilled if Kim picked her up from school, especially if her hair’s still tomato-red. As she pulled her phone towards her and readied a text message the traffic began to move. Like a queue of women waiting for the loo at a festival, the lines of cars fed slowly forwards. At last Claire was on the A14 and the final stretch home.

Please, no more accidents. I just need to be outside the school gates at 3pm. She raised her eyes to the god of motoring and hoped he was listening. That’s all I ask. I’ll give up Starbucks. Anything. Just make sure I’m not late.

A single ray of sunlight broke through the clouds ahead and bathed the scene in a warm glow. Claire felt her heart jolt, as if she had indeed received a message from the Gods.

Okay, I’ll take it. But, can I just, you know, cut down on my Starbucks? Rather than a complete ban. That’d be marvellous. Thanks.

***

5 Tips to Help You Put An End to Whining (everydayfamily.com)
The Most Famous Steam Locomotive? (locoyard.com)

Breaking the Rules and the See-Saw of Self Doubt: 2013 365 Challenge #88

My new YA cover

Well, here it is. My new cover. Apologies to everyone bored to the back teeth of my self-publishing adventures. I have to make sure this blog is about my writing as well as my parenting journey!

Actually today has been a watershed sort of day in my personal journey as an author. I’ve been oscillating between hope and doubt since breakfast. First off I flexed the credit card and bought this gorgeous photograph – isn’t it stunning? Oh to take a picture like that. It reminds me of a bit in Baby Blues, when Helen takes an amazing photograph that leaves everyone stunned. It’s hard to imagine how one image can have that impact until you see one.

I asked the photographer if he had a vertical version better suited to a book cover (the original of this one is horizontal) and he sent me another from the shoot. It wasn’t the same at all. The expression was more sulky than vulnerable, as if the model was saying, get me out of this damn rain, I’m cold. So I had to work with this horizontal one and create a ‘rainy’ background for it to sit on.

That was my high (working with beautiful photographs is like a drug).

My low came after reading a post on Catherine, Caffeinated‘s blog, by an editor, about why you must have an editor if you intend to self publish. I posted a comment along the lines that I just plain can’t afford one and her response was, well then you mustn’t self-publish. I’ve thought that before and I don’t blame her for saying it. However if I listen to that advice I’m back to querying agents and wondering everyday if I’m meant to be an author. It took the edge off my excitement about the new cover. Especially as hubbie confessed to hating the type font of my novel (I do too, so that’s okay) and to finding another typo. I’m sure the manuscript is littered with them and I do intend to have another run through with fresh eyes. Only now I’m scared to look in case there are hundreds!

Sneak Preview of March Cover

My see-saw of self-doubt tipped upwards again with a lovely comment on my blog from someone who is also self-publishing (albeit with the use of a professional editor!). She stopped by to tell me not to be disheartened by Catherine’s comments and that people will forgive a badly edited book for a good story. Well, they did with Twilight so I know that’s true.

I’ve ended the day somewhat level on my see-saw. I know I’m breaking the rules by self-publishing without paying for the services of an editor or proof-reader and without going through my manuscript again the minute someone spotted a typo.

I will do. One day.

But if I wait for the right time I might never get anything done because by the time the kids have started school, or left home, or whenever is a good time to focus, I will have talked myself out of doing it. I have a short attention span and a small amount of self-belief so I have to carpe diem.

There’s been a song floating round my head for weeks (hubbie has it on his ipod playlist I think) and I heard it on the radio today while working on my front cover. It sums up where I am nicely:

You’ve got the words to change a nation
but you’re biting your tongue
You’ve spent a life time stuck in silence
afraid you’ll say something wrong
If no one ever hears it how we gonna learn your song?
So come on, come on

I don’t think my words will change a nation but I do so love Emeli Sandé’s song and I love the concept of Our Version of Events. Everyone has an opinion on the right way of doing things – be it writing, parenting or anything else. Our job is to discover our version of events and stick to that.

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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. You can catch up by downloading the free ebook volumes on the right hand side of the blog:

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Claire looked up at the hills towering either side, blocking out the sun. Bloody typical. It was almost spring-like back at the hostel. I could be sitting in the lounge ignoring the awful floor covering, reading my book and drinking tea. An image of the scene she’d left behind floated into her mind: Fiona and Josh entwined on the sofa, chatting to baby Lily, while Sophie and Lucas played snap on the bright blue carpet. Even though she was pretty certain the domestic bliss had lasted approximately five minutes before one of the children was screaming or sobbing, the sight had still left an odd taste in her mouth. I’m better off out of it. A morning spent in the Hall grounds with Josh’s kids was sufficient to convince her peace was rare and fleeting.

I certainly didn’t need to come out on a five-mile-hike to escape. Although I guess I do need something for the blog. I can’t coast on the concussion excuse forever.

Her rough research had suggested a walk along Wolfscote and Beresford Dales would be picturesque and easy-going. Unfortunately the website’s estimate of a two-hour circuit hadn’t allowed for the snow. The path was hidden and she had slipped several times on the crunchy ice-crystals that had formed in the heart of the dale.

To her right the river Dove gushed along, swollen and grey from the melting snow water. On the internet pictures the brook had sparkled in summer sunshine. You’d think an Advertising Director would be trained not to believe everything she sees, especially online.

The footpath snaked through tightly packed hills, making Claire feel like she was walking between a giant pair of breasts. Lovely. Josh will piss himself when I tell him. He’ll be gutted he didn’t come. Then she remembered Fiona’s expression as she announced her afternoon plans, and her smile dropped away. Josh had glanced at his wife and met a blank stare, as if she had decided not to influence her husband’s decisions. Claire hadn’t been so lucky. The woman had flashed her a micro-glance that had slapped her across the face. It wasn’t necessary. I wouldn’t have let him come. Wandering around with a single man is one thing, but hiking alone with a married man – even one who is just a friend – isn’t my style.

Lost in her thoughts, Claire didn’t realise she had left Wolfscote Dale and entered Beresford Dale until she saw the looming pile of limestone ahead of her. Ah, the Celestial Twins. Look like lumps of rock to me. The Twins didn’t seem as impressive as they had in the pictures. Claire guessed it was because they blended into the dirty-grey snow lying thickly on the Dale floor.

She took some snaps of the edifice for the blog, before hurrying on along the path. The valley narrowed, enclosing her like a rumpled duvet, until she was striding along a gorge. Despite the blue sky and hints of invisible sunshine, the gorge was lost in shadow. Claire felt the air temperature drop even lower, but sighed with relief as the blasting wind fell away. It wasn’t late but it felt oppressive in the gorge and Claire was glad when the footbridge came into sight.

She stood at the edge of the bridge, listening to the roar of the river beneath her. The water was only inches from the bridge, although the planks were still dry. I wonder how low the water is normally and how long before the bridge is complete submerged. As if she feared that might happen imminently, Claire forced herself to plant one boot on the wood and then another. Closing her ears to the thunderous noise, she scuttled as fast as she could across the bridge and only breathed when her boots landed in snow again.

At last the valley opened out and the sun twinkled on the horizon, dazzling Claire’s eyes even though it no longer held any warmth. The field stretched ahead of Claire and she realised she had no idea which way to go. In the dales and the gorge the path had been obvious, despite being mostly buried by snow. Now, out in the open, there were no obvious markers to follow and no footsteps to show the way.

Fear tightened in Claire’s chest until her ribs ached. She tried to keep calm but memories of the mugging tugged at her mind and wound up her pulse. Great. I’m lost. The hostel is only a mile or so away. I can almost taste my cuppa and feel the warmth of the wood burner. She shook her hands in an attempt to bring life back into them. Her fingers tingled with the loss of sensation caused by the wind penetrating her flimsy gloves. Mental note to buy some fleece-lined gloves at the next opportunity.

Claire fumbled through her pockets for her new phone, praying there was signal. Eventually, with nerveless hands and thudding head, she managed to load up her satnav system and find out what direction would take her to the village.

I hope the drive to Cambridgeshire tomorrow is easier than this, or I’m going to be late to collect my niece. And Ruth will kill me.

***

Publishing for beginners – a few easy steps (patelliott.blogspot.co.uk) – This is very funny and written by the lovely lady who gave my confidence a boost! 🙂
25 Ways to be a Happy Writer (terribleminds.com) – Full of swearing but very funny
Help Is Out There (elizasarahgraham.com)
Publishing non – negotiable: Hire an editor (megaphonesociety.wordpress.com)
7 Things Editors at Children’s Book Publishers Wish Writers Knew (write4kids.com)
The Last Minute Editing Process Made Easy With Scrivener (everythingscrivener.wordpress.com)

Tricky Question of Cashflow: 2013 365 Challenge #87

“Driving to see the Pigs”

I’m trying to justify the first big (relatively speaking) expenditure to support my writing. So far I’ve done all my own proof-reading (never a good idea), ebook preparation and cover design, sourcing cheap or free stock photographs from istockphoto. The most I’ve spent on a stock image is about ten pounds (although I’ve purchased a few).

However, after getting some constructive feedback on the first chapter of Dragon Wraiths recently it was highlighted that my cover doesn’t fit with my target audience. I like the dragon pendant image, and it goes with the story, but It didn’t cost me anything so I don’t mind redesigning it and hopefully boosting sales (which won’t be hard!)

“Look Mummy, no hands!”

After some research I’ve realised that YA books in my genre generally have a picture of a girl or couple on the front. So I decided today to see if I could find an image that might do the trick. It’s hard getting the search terms right – I tried ‘first kiss’ and ‘teenage embrace’ and got some dodgy images, even on istockphoto! Since when did ‘first kiss’ mean between two scantily clad girls? I’m getting old!

Eventually I found the perfect shot. Unfortunately people-shots equals extra cost, as the model needs to be paid too. And I had forgotten to put the price-filter on that guarantees I don’t fall in love with a picture I can’t afford.

Idiot.

When I clicked into my ‘perfect’ shot I nearly fell off my chair at the price. The smallest image is ten times what I pay for the images I use on the Two-Hundred Steps Home books. If I want to be able to set the book up for print-on-demand in future I need to fork out nearly £200 for the high-res file. In comparison I’ve made about a tenner so far from sales of the book!

Didicar Fun

I know anyone serious about writing needs to spend money, it’s just hard to justify when my husband and I are both unemployed. If I search long enough I may find another – cheaper – image that is equally striking. Or I may not. And if I change my cover I might make the money back in sales in a few weeks. I spent more money going to London for a job interview, so why balk at spending it on this?

Besides, the small image is slightly less than what it costs us to send two sprogs to nursery for a day. We tried to put them in nursery today, as we lose next Monday (bank holiday), but they were full.

So I may buy my perfect shot and consider it money well-earned by taking the kids to the Farm for four hours in the freezing wind. Time to take a gamble. Speculate to accumulate and all that! Okay, decision made. I know what I’ll be doing tomorrow… I’m so excited! I love doing book covers and I really love this image… Can’t wait to share it!

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“So, you’re becoming Mum for two weeks? How does that feel? Thought you hated ankle-biters.”

Claire willed a smile onto her face but suspected Josh could see the fear lurking beneath. “It’s fine. It’s only for a little while. And Sky’s six, that’s old and sensible isn’t it? For a child?”

She turned to Josh with eyes wide and pleading. He laughed, the sun catching highlights in his hair. He seemed to have discarded his Stig-of-the-dump disguise since Fiona’s arrival and Claire was conscious of a desire to feel how soft his clean hair felt under her hand.

“Depends on the child.”

Dragging her thoughts back to the conversation, Claire tried to remember what question Josh was answering. Oh yes, Sky.

“My niece is, um, a little bit highly strung.” She remembered the phone-calls interrupted by Sky’s screaming; the sweat-drenched awakening – the one night she had looked after Sky by herself – and couldn’t suppress a shiver.

Josh wrapped an arm around Claire’s shoulders and hugged her briefly. They both knew Fiona was watching from an upstairs window, as she sat feeding Lily. “You’ll be fine. Keep her entertained, keep her exhausted, and keep a ready supply of chocolate in your pocket.”

“Is that your advice as a parent or a doctor?”

His laugh jumped up like a spring lamb. “A parent, obviously. As a doctor I couldn’t possibly recommend chocolate-bribery. Talking of which -” He turned to face Lucas and Sophie, who were rolling around in the snow, making angel shapes and throwing icy handfuls at each other. “Okay, you two. We’ll be heading in shortly. Five minutes.”

He turned back to Claire. “It’s all about managing expectations. And when that doesn’t work, bribe them!”

They stood in silence. The air between them felt heavy, with the unseen shadow of his wife, and the louder presence of his two eldest children now stuffing snow down each other’s necks. She wanted to ask him how the reunion had gone, how he felt about the past, but the words seemed frozen by the icy wind swirling round the Hall.

“We fly back after Easter.” Josh spoke as if answering a question and Claire smiled at his intuition. “We couldn’t get flights before that and it seemed silly to leave straight away. It may not be the best time to visit the UK but as Fiona has never been we’re hoping to see a few things while we’re here. We went to York for a few days and we were heading for Cambridge when this happened.” He gestured at the snow still lying thick on the ground, despite the bright sunshine.

Claire felt her pulse quicken. “I’m heading down that way myself, today or tomorrow. That’s near where my sister lives.”

“Maybe you could show us round, as a local? Can you get us into a College? To Kings?”

Claire laughed, despite the goosebumps popping up along her arms. “Anyone can visit Kings, you buy tickets at the gate. But yes, I guess Sky might like to come and meet Lucas and Sophie. What about Fiona though?” She swallowed. “I get the impression she’ll only be happy where there is 15,000km between us.”

Josh ran his hands through his hair and looked over to where the children were rolling a ball of snow to make a snowman, both of them pushing at the ball that was already bigger than Sophie.

“Fiona’s fine,” he said eventually. “You can’t imagine how hard it was for her.” His voice pleaded with Claire to understand. “She had no idea. Until she rang Christie and they said they’d never heard of me. She didn’t know what to think.”

I’m sure she did. She thought you’d left her for someone else. And then I turned up at the airport confirming her suspicions. She must have realised how similar we look. Easy to think Josh had replaced her with me – a slightly younger model unencumbered by children. He wouldn’t have been the first or the last.

Claire glanced up behind her, expecting to see an accusatory face pressed against the upstairs window. The panes of glass stared blankly back at her.

“It’s just one more day.”

She felt Josh’s hand in the small of her back and willed her body not to react. Funny how forbidden fruit always appears juicier. Gritting her teeth, Claire turned and looked into his earnest amber-flecked eyes.

“Sure, why not. I’ll show you where to get the tastiest Greek burger you’ve ever had.”

***

Self-publishing a book: 25 things you need to know (reviews.cnet.com)

Thankful Tuesday: 2013 365 Challenge #86

Remembering Summer

Today I am thankful.

Grateful to my husband for getting the kids dressed this morning while I had a shower. Appreciative of the lovely ladies at No. 1 – a drop-in centre run by the Oundle Baptist Church – who entertained my children while I had a chance to catch up with my Mummy friends. I’m grateful to the library for letting my kids run riot and read books loudly, without once saying shush. I’m happy with myself for packing lunch boxes and with my children for eating their sandwiches. I’m immensely thankful for the amazing ladies at Rainbow for another 90 minutes of marvelous craft. And for their assistance in the creation of painted flower pots, woolly sheep, decorated bunny biscuits, easter bonnets and pretty eggs.

Finally, I am grateful to the lovely agent who rejected me today with this email:

You and your book sound absolutely marvellous and, though unfortunately we are unable to represent you ourselves, I think other agents will be interested and I do wish you the best of luck elsewhere.

I’m not sure I would have been happier if it had been an email telling me to send the full manuscript. In fact I can safely say I am happy that it wasn’t. The rejection (even if it’s all lies) has given me a spring in my step whereas a request for the full manuscript would have spun me into despair, as I’m well aware the remaining 200 pages are not as polished as the first fifty read by the agent.

Feel the warm sun

At the end of my carefully planned and perfectly executed day I feel more positive than I have in weeks. The kids have had fun, I’ve had a nice chat and hubbie came home in time for baths so I could walk the dog. During my walk I made a plan to sharpen Dragon Wraiths and hopefully elevate its position in the Slush pile. I feel rejuvenated.

After today I understand why parents sign up to things like baby yoga, swimming, tumble tots, musical minis and so on. I’ve always felt we cover most of those activities at home, or the kids do it at nursery, and therefore I don’t need to spend more money on expensive classes. But now I get it. It’s structure. My day today was structured. I didn’t ask the kids what they wanted to do (as I do normally), I TOLD them what we were going to do, with a caveat that we’d review the schedule at lunchtime if we were tired.

I used to think giving them choice was good parenting because they were learning to make decisions and it meant if they later didn’t enjoy it I wouldn’t take full responsibility. Now I see they like knowing what’s going on as much as I do. Maybe not all the time. But starting the day with a plan and a motivated Mummy occasionally might make all our lives easier.

Now what the hell am I going to do with them tomorrow?

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“Mummy, Lucas pushed me.”

“Lucas, we don’t push. Say sorry please. Sophie, don’t provoke your brother. I saw you snatch his Transformer. Give it back and apologise.”

“No! Won’t! It’s my turn. Lucas isn’t sharing. You said we had to share our toys.”

The younger child stood with her arms wrapped around her chest, bottom lip stuck out like a shelf, while her brother glared and held his hand out for the stolen toy.

“Share, yes, but we don’t snatch. That’s not acceptable behaviour. Give the toy back to Lucas or you will get a timeout.”

Claire watched the domestic drama unfolding before her with something akin to horror. She shivered as the scene dragged out memories of her own siblings. Being the youngest she realised she must have sat, as Lily was doing now, on her Mother’s lap, watching as Ruth and Robert yelled and fought. I’m glad I don’t remember. With only two years between them, she and Ruth had mostly been allies. Robert — six years older than Claire — considered himself above childish games by the time she was old enough to join in.

Too busy being the school swot and doing his flute practice. Teacher’s Pet.

Claire considered Josh’s children, with their sun-bleached surfer hair and nut-brown skin, and thought they were far too like him to worry overly about homework. Except Josh is a doctor, so he must have tried hard at some point. And what does it mean anyway? I worked my butt off at school and now I’m facing the sack and reading kids’ books to kill the time.

The two children were still squabbling but quietly enough that Fiona chose not to intervene. Claire listened closely, hoping to glean some nuggets of parenting insight for her two weeks with Sky.

“They’re not normally this bad. They’re bored. We’re used to chucking them outside to run off their fidgets. I didn’t pack for this kind of weather though: We don’t really get snow.”

Claire jerked her head up and gazed at the other woman. It was the first time she had said anything voluntarily to her since they’d met up in the hostel, despite them all sitting down to dinner together. Josh had manfully kept up a stream of anecdotes and idle observations while Fiona stared at Claire through tired eyes.

Searching her brain for a sensible response, Claire cleared her throat and replied, “it’s not normal this late in the year. Last March we were in t-shirts and cracking out the barbeques. Then it started raining at Easter and didn’t stop until autumn.”

“We don’t get much rain either. No wonder you Poms talk about the weather all the time. You get so much of it.” The corners of her mouth raised in a tiny smile before her attention was dragged back to peace-making between her eldest children.

Claire became aware of the tremble in her hands. Fiona intimidated her. She was so poised, and beautiful, and always calmly in control of her gaggle of kids. The prospect of having one small person under her care for a couple of weeks had Claire waking in terror.

“Does it come naturally? Being great with kids?” Claire heard the words and was shocked to find she had spoken them. Fiona looked surprised too, but not offended.

“I wouldn’t say I’m great with them. It’s different with your own anyway. They’re not ‘kids’ they’re your kids. They have personalities, ones that are infuriatingly close to your own. So you understand them and love them for it. It means you clash too — they know how to press your buttons, that’s for sure. And no, I’m sorry to say, being a parent doesn’t come naturally. You have to work at it, like anything else.”

Fiona’s words surprised Claire. Ruth always makes out like being a Mother is the most natural thing. How she wanted kids more than anything and loved Sky from the minute she popped screaming into the world.

“How did you know you were ready for kids? You and Josh?”

“Ah, there’s never a right time to have kids. If you’re in a relationship you think will last, and you both want kids, then you just take the plunge. No one is really ready to be a parent. You learn on the job.”

“Did you give up your career? I think Josh mentioned you’re a doctor?”

“I haven’t given it up, no. On the other hand I have been on maternity leave three years out of the last six, so I’m not legging it up the career ladder. I have the rest of my life to do that, but they’re only little once.” She looked at Lucas and Sophie, who were running round the sofas screaming and giggling and occasionally wrestling each other to the ground. She smiled and caught Claire’s eye.

“Thank goodness.”

***

Be Thankful ~ (lucy4wellness.wordpress.com)
365 Grateful – Day 165 (minsmash.com)
365: 17.03.13 #76 Friends (ghostwritermummy.co.uk)
365 Grateful – Day 137 (minsmash.com)

My Love-Affair with the Paperback: 2013 365 Challenge #81

A random selection of books

It seems ironic that, on the day when my second free promotion of Dragon Wraiths goes live on kindle, I visit the charity shop and purchase a random selection of paperbacks. These books cost the same as the average ebook for a self-published author – around the £2 ($3) mark. Yet it’s unlikely that I would buy an ebook from an author I had never heard of, particularly not without a review.

My buying process was the same – I liked the front cover and genre, I read the first few pages and the blurb, and I made a decision. Not the Wendy Holden of course, I’ve got a shelf-full. But the other two are a complete gamble.Yet, even though I’m trying to self-publish as an unknown author, these books feel more ‘real’.

Oh dear.

If I feel like that, and I genuinely know that self-published ebooks can be just as good as something that’s been accepted by a publisher, no wonder Dragon Wraiths has only sold 10 copies. It’s not even like I haven’t read some awful books that were traditionally published. Many of my random charity shop purchases remain unread or unfinished. And yet I still persist in being a paperback person.

Much more attractive than a kindle

Perhaps it’s because I don’t own a kindle and reading books on a laptop, even a little one like mine, isn’t much fun. I did try my mother’s kindle but I couldn’t navigate it (it was the old sort with just a couple of buttons) and soon gave up.

I’m not dissing ebooks (that would be silly as I’m trying, badly, to sell one!). I would have loved a kindle when I was travelling, just as I would have loved an iPod. It would have saved me from days with no company (and from endless commercial radio!). A kindle/iPod combination when I was breastfeeding my kids at 2am would have been a lifesaver.

It’s just that I’ve had a paperback in my hand since I could read.

I often had an egg-sized bump on my head as a child from walking into lamp-posts because I had my nose in a book. I read everything from Mills & Boon to Gone With The Wind before I left Middle School. Reading was my life. Until I hit the real world. These days, more often than not, it’s my phone in my hand rather than a decent book, and blogs and twitter are my reading material.

Funnily enough, I don’t miss CDs. We have boxes of them in the loft but I don’t feel bereft that the music is now all on the computer. Far from it. I love being able to mash my own selections together without having to copy and burn discs (or, even worse, sitting there with a tape-to-tape set up and a twitchy trigger finger).

With books it is different. They’re a visual medium. The font, the pictures, the creases, the chocolate stains, the warped pages where it got dropped in the bath. These are all part of the reading experience. Seeing which books end up at charity shops in droves. Seeing the ones that have hardly been touched and the ones that have been re-read a hundred times. It’s part of the book history (one of the best bits of my MA).

And so my love-affair with the paperback continues. I might be trying to sell an ebook but I’m not ready to sell-out to digital. Sorry.

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Claire looked up the location of the hostel she’d just booked and swore. “That’s miles from Hathersage and I’ve still got to back for the bloody car. Stupid YHA and their stupid school trips.”

She’d been phoning round the hostels for twenty minutes while waiting for the train home, her new phone sitting happy in her hand. It turned out that several of the Peak District hostels were only open at weekends and during the school holidays for non-school visitors. Not that I really want to stay with a bunch of school kids anyway. Eventually she’d found a hostel near Bakewell that had beds free.

I’m not sure I like the name Youlgreave. That sounds prophetic. What’s going to happen to me there? I’ve already been half-frozen, lost, wedged in a rock and mugged since I started on this trip.

Something about the words you’ll grieve made her think of Ruth. I haven’t called since last week. I’d best make sure everything is okay and Sky is happy to come on the road with me.

She pulled out her new phone, smiling at the unscratched screen and brand new cover. Then she remembered she had no idea what Ruth’s phone number was. With a sigh she delved in her bag for her iPad. I really should memorise some numbers. What if they’d taken my iPad too? I’d be buggered. I barely know my own number.

Eventually she located her sister’s number and was able to call.

“Hello, Sky speaking.”

“Hello Sky, it’s Auntie Claire.” She was about to ask to speak to Ruth when she realised she’d have to talk to her niece at some point. “Um. How are you?”

“Auntie Claire! Mummy’s poorly and Nana is looking after me. She picked me up from school today. We did numbers and PE and I learned how to do a cartwheel and then Susie was mean to me but we made up. And Nana let me buy a cake on the way home to cheer Mummy up because she’s sad. Mummy says you’re taking me to the seaside! When are you coming, is it tomorrow?”

Claire held the phone away from her ear and tried to follow the rapid-fire monologue, wondering which bits she was meant to respond to. She figured the last question would be enough.

“Friday. I’ll be there on Friday Sky.”

“Yippee. I can’t wait. It’s going to be so much fun. Will you paint my nails and do my make-up? Pleeeaasse?”

“Er, sure. Yes. We can do that.” Claire thought about her make-up bag. It must be in my rucksack somewhere. I don’t remember leaving it behind. She made a mental note to buy some child-friendly products before she got to Cambridgeshire.

“Is your Mummy there, Sky?” She held the phone further away from her ear as her niece yelled “Mummy!” She heard the phone clunk, followed by the sound of running. I feel bad for disturbing her now. Maybe I should have called Mum instead, although it sounds like she’s probably there too. A shard of guilt stabbed in Claire’s chest at the thought of her mother looking after Ruth while she swanned around taking pictures and writing for the blog. Not to mention getting mugged and sleeping in noisy rooms with total strangers.

The phone clicked and there was a shuffling noise. “Claire?”

Ice slid into Claire’s stomach at the sound of her sister’s voice. She sounded twenty years older. It has been only a few days? I haven’t disappeared into some new time zone out here in the sticks?

“Ruth? How are you?” She tried to make her voice cheerful but she could hear the wobble.

A low chuckle came down the line. “I’ve been better. I’m glad you’re taking Sky. I’m going to miss her, but I need some quiet. She tries, but her nursing me is worse than her being normal.” The words came slowly, like each one needed to rise to the surface before it could be pushed down the phone-line.

“It’s the least I can do. Look do you want me to come before Friday? Give you and Mum a break?”

“No. It’s fine. I think Mum’s enjoying it in a strange way. It’s giving her so much to be a martyr about. Actually.” There was a pause. “Could you come on Thursday? Sky will be off-the-wall hyper when she finishes school. I’m not sure I can bear it. You can stay here the night if you don’t mind the sofa.”

Claire quickly tried to evaluate which would be worse, staying in the Cambridge hostel with a small child or kipping on her sister’s couch. It might be nice to spend a night away from the hostels. Carl doesn’t need to know.

“Sure sis, I’ll come Thursday. I can collect Sky from school.”

“Okay.” The phone went silent. Claire didn’t want to hang up. The words you’ll grieve thrummed in her mind. But it was clear her sister was exhausted.

“Great. I’ll see you then. And sis… take care.”

***

books – ebook vs dead-tree (espressococo.wordpress.com)

Reviews, Hormones and Biscuits: 2013 365 Challenge #75

Buying a box of biscuits – big mistake!

I’m due on tomorrow which means today was a day of being narky to everyone and then saying sorry. (More than usual, that is!)

Oh and a day of biscuits.

I made the mistake of buying a family selection box at M&S when we went shopping for socks. Family selection? Really? I let the kids have two each, but that was only to keep them quiet on the hour-long drive home. I’ve eaten about half the box. 😦

We had a lovely family day at a place called Springfields – one of these discount retail outlet places that also has a playbarn for the kids. We went a year ago and bought shirts for hubbie and I took them back because they were too small and impossible to iron. It’s taken a year (and the promise of contract work) to get us back out there again to spend his refund voucher on more shirts!

Running after Aaron like a hamster in a cage

I always get the short straw when we go to Springfields. Hubbie spends the time shopping (because he has less guilt than me when it comes to spending money on himself) while I climb round the playbarn like a hamster with the kids.

Actually the playbarn was lovely today as it’s a week day: there were only three other preschool-age children and Amber went off with the eldest which meant I only needed to keep Aaron out of trouble!

At the weekend it is a battlefield of storming child-troops and shouty or indifferent parent-sergeant-majors

The only sad part is that it always rains when we go. It’s out in the Fens and I guess there’s nothing stopping the weather sweeping in and drowning the colour out of the place. I say sad because there are beautiful gardens full of dinosaurs and daffodils and we were looking forward to a walk. As the kids had soaked themselves in the outdoor part of the playbarn we had to just head to the car. Fun family day though.

I also got my first review for Dragon Wraiths today. It was three stars so I read it with shaking hands and thudding heart: even though I swore I wouldn’t care about bad reviews. As it turns out it was lovely (and makes me wonder what he didn’t like that made him dock two stars). Because it’s my first I have to repeat it here, but I promise I won’t bore on every time someone comments on something! 🙂

a gallop for the imagination, 14 Mar 2013

This review is from: Dragon Wraiths (Kindle Edition)

Entertaining, imaginative, romp with thoughtful characters and scenic descriptions. Fans of Anne MaCaffrey’s Dragons of Pern series should enjoy this tale.

Happy with that!

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The first thing Claire noticed was the cold. She felt as if she was floating on an iceberg in a choppy sea. That would explain the seasickness and the fact I’m freezing. But not the pain. Did I get walloped by a polar bear? And how the hell did I end up in the Arctic Ocean? She tried to remember but it made the pain worse.

The next thing she noticed was the siren, quiet at first but getting louder. Not quickly like a fire engine rushing to the scene but a slow rise, coming up from murky depths. Why is there a fire engine in the ocean? I wish it would bugger off: it’s stabbing straight through the hole that damn polar bear made in my skull. She reached up a hand and it came back sticky. A polar bear with a blunt object.

The siren came nearer and Claire’s head throbbed in time with the rise and fall of the wail. Blue light flashed at the edges of her vision and she closed her eyes, willing it to sod off so she could get back to sleep. Another noise joined the wail. A voice, deep and stern, like a hall-stalking headmaster. I’m not smoking or late, go away and leave me alone.

Then a word stood out in the wall of noise.

“Claire?”

Oh.

“Claire Carleton?”

The noise came with the purr of an engine and then dazzling white light shone over her.

That’s it, I’ve died. I don’t remember dying but at least I can see the light.

The engine hum went away but the light didn’t. A loud slam made her jump and she cursed at the stab of pain.

“Miss Carleton? Thank god we’ve found you, are you hurt?”

“Who are you and what are you doing on my iceberg?”

“She’s delirious.” This was said over the man’s shoulder. Claire heard a second slamming noise and footsteps.

A kinder voice said “We’re here to help. Your boyfriend said he thought something might have happened to you and that you’d Tweeted you were just leaving the Old Nags Head. We’ve been searching the route. What happened?” She hunkered down next to Claire and smoothed the hair away from her face. Immediately she pulled her hand back and examined it.

“She’s hurt. Best phone for an ambulance.”

“No. No more sirens or lights it makes my head ache. I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“I think a polar bear hit me.”

“You’re not making sense love. Were you attacked?”

A flash of memory lit up as if illuminated by a search light. She nodded, then regretted it when the world twisted.

“They took my bag. And my phone, the bastards.” She sat up, then fell sideways against the woman, nearly knocking them both over.

“I’d be happier if you saw a doctor. Will you let us take you to A&E?”

“Blimey do you even have one?”

“The nearest is Sheffield, it’s about forty minutes.”

Claire thought about the drive, the three-hour wait, endless questions and more bright lights.

“Can you take me to the hostel instead? I’d like some dry clothes and a mug of Earl Grey.”