All About Me: 2013 365 Challenge #142

My Author Interview on Rinelle Grey’s site

I recently did a guest post over on the lovely Rinelle Grey‘s site, answering questions about my books and my writing. Then I realised I hadn’t reblogged it over here.

It’s a bit long, so apologies and if you’re reading for the Claire post just keep scrolling to the bottom!

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Today I have author Amanda Martin here to talk about her writing, blogging, being a mum, and her YA fantasy novel, Dragon Wraiths.

Have you always wanted to be an author, or did something else inspire you to write?

First of all, thank you Rinelle for letting me visit your lovely blog! It’s so nice to have a change of scenery, particularly as I spend far too much time on mine these days.

I’ve always loved stories and when I was younger I enjoyed creative writing. However a desire for grades took over and I discovered a passion for academia. Fiction fell by the wayside until I became pregnant with my first child and started a Creative Writing course to give me something to keep my brain active. I found that writing stories was even more fun than writing essays.

I had attempted to write a novel before, but never got past the first page because I didn’t think I had a good enough imagination. The Creative Writing course, together with discovering NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writers Month – writing 50,000 words in 30 days), introduced me to an ability to write that I was previously unaware of. Thank goodness!

I know you have two small kids, any tips on finding time to write as a mother?

I am fortunate that they go to nursery for two days a week. Before starting the daily blog challenge I mostly wrote on those days. Now I do have to find time to write every day, as well as keeping up with the social media that accompanies self-publishing. I write my blog in the evenings after the children are in bed, often not getting to bed myself until midnight. The social media I do during the day on my phone or iPad. I do get told off by my children, but they are beginning to learn that Mummy has to do some work during the week.

I also write while walking the dog. I have an old-fashioned phone that still has a number-pad and I can tap out 1500 words in text messages on a 45-minute walk. I find the rhythm of walking particularly conducive to writing dialogue or the diary section of my daily blog.

Two-Hundred Steps Home Vol1

This year you’ve committed to writing a post a day for the year. What inspired that, and how are you finding it? (I think you’re really brave by the way!)

Brave, or maybe crazy! The idea to take part in postaday 2013 came on New Year’s Eve. I was struggling with the lack of routine caused by my husband being made redundant (laid off) in October. I didn’t want to start a new manuscript as I was meant to be promotingDragon Wraiths and editing my contemporary women’s fiction novel, Baby Blues & Wedding Shoes. I thought writing a daily blog would give me a challenge without detracting from my other projects (I was wrong!).

I came up with the idea of writing a first draft of a novel in daily instalments, with a separate bit that originally was to be about the writing process but has ended up being more of a parenting diary.

As part of your blogging every day, you’re writing an instalment of “Two-Hundred Steps Home”, a story about Claire and her job to visit all the Youth Hostels. Do you have this planned out, or are you pantsing it?

Pantsing it, definitely! I’m a pantser to the core, although I did discover with Dragon Wraiths the pitfalls of making it up as you go. Sometimes you get in plot cul-de-sacs that are hard to get out of. With Two-Hundred Steps Home (named for the 200 YHA hostels in the UK) I obviously have the journey around the UK hostels as a rough guide, but the actual story is evolving daily. Some days I know what needs to happen next – for example I knew a week or two in advance that Claire’s niece would be travelling with Claire or I have an idea what the month-end cliff-hanger might be – but I don’t know what I’m going to write on any given day until I open my laptop.

I’ve really enjoyed reading about Claire (The catch up novels are free by the way). What do you plan to do with Claire’s story once you’re finished?

I have no idea! The daily blog was intended as a way to promote myself as a writer, bring more people to the blog and hopefully help build up a following. I suspect that hasn’t been entirely successful, as it is hard to write good prose every single day. I would like to edit Claire’s story down into a novel – it’s likely to be the length of three novels by the end of the year, and definitely needs cutting down as there is a lot of repetition for people who haven’t read from the beginning. Unfortunately the thing I have always found nigh-on impossible, as an academic and a fiction writer, is cutting out significant word count. For essays I had to write tightly to the necessary word target or I would fail. My novels are all over suggested length by an agent’s standards but I cannot cut out huge chunks of words. Hopefully that will be something I learn to do as I grow and develop as a writer.

Dragon Wraiths cover

I loved your first published novel, Dragon Wraiths, do you want to tell us a little about it?

Dragon Wraiths follows the journey of orphan Leah as she learns to fight, love, and above all, survive.

It’s the day before Leah’s sixteenth birthday. Instead of planning the perfect party she’s stuck in a shabby B&B in the middle of nowhere. She’s not worrying about pimples and presents: she has bigger things to freak her out. Like her Mother’s dying words telling her she will die on her sixteenth birthday. Spending her teenage years escaping from falling trees, burning buildings, killer bees — and the unseen enemies trying to murder her. Or falling in love with a boy who won’t admit she exists, even though they’ve been on the run together for months.

As her birthday approaches, Leah tries to piece together the events that led her there and wonders if she’ll live past lunchtime. What she doesn’t know is her future will include conspiracies, dragons, new powers: Her first kiss.

And the responsibility to save two worlds

What inspired you to write YA? Is it your normal genre?

YA was not my normal genre at all when I wrote Dragon Wraiths. You could say the book wrote me. I woke one-day with the story in my head, including the first line, and it grew from there. Initially I began writing because I needed a new challenge, after getting bogged down in revisions of Baby Blues & Wedding Shoes. I shelved the manuscript after the first 30,000 words as I couldn’t really see where it was heading. Then I read about the Mslexia Children’s Novel competition and decided to enter it for that. It was meant to go in for the Chicken House competition also but it ended up being 30,000 words too long. Did I mention I tend to over-write?

The dragons in your novel are rather unique, I don’t think I’ve read anything quite like them before. Where did the idea for them come from?

Thank you! It is a relief to hear that, as dragons are so often written about and it is difficult not to steal someone else’s great ideas. I love dragon stories – the one I read most recently (although after finishing the first draft of Dragon Wraiths) was Eragon by Christoper Paolini, so some of the finishing touches may be influenced by that. One reviewer compared the novel to Anne McCaffrey’s Dragons of Pern novels but I haven’t read any of them (and I’m scared to now!)

Mostly, the dragons evolved organically from Leah’s story. I can’t quite recall, as I draft from my subconscious rather than conscious mind, but I believe I had the title, Dragon Wraiths, in my mind from the beginning and the dragons evolved to fit the Wraith concept.

What do you think you’ll write next? YA again, or something different?

I really want to have a go at writing Middle Grade fiction. I’ve gone through a long period of reading only MG books (apart from Reckless Rescue!) and I love the genre. I like the world building and character development, heroism and morality, in MG fiction that is not overly-bogged down with politics or too much introspection. I also find that, while MG Fiction can be sad or scary, because it is aimed at the younger age-group it is gentle and uplifting to read. Since having children I find I can’t read books that affect me too deeply because it gives me nightmares. The joy of hormones I suppose!

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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 scurried into the dim building and caught her heel on a snaking line of black cabling stretched across the floor. Nearby a large speaker wobbled and threatened to topple forward. The world slowed to treacle. Before she could think Oh Shit! a man in black stepped out of the shadows and put a steadying hand on the teetering music system.

“I’m so sorry!” Claire’s voice echoed loud in the silent building, resonating high into the roof.

The man frowned and turned away without speaking. Remorse turned to indignation. “Charming,” she muttered, none too quietly. “What’s all this stuff doing in a cathedral anyway?”

“We recorded a BBC Three concert last night, and the lads are still packing up the equipment. My apologies.”

Claire turned at the sound of the lilting Scottish voice behind her. She felt as wobbly as the speaker as her gaze met a pair of chocolate-brown eyes, twinkling at her in the gloom.

“Er, that’s okay. I’m sorry I tripped. It’s raining cats and dogs outside, I was more interested in getting dry than looking where I was going.”

“Would you like a tour of the cathedral?” The stranger gestured along the aisle as he spoke. “The lads don’t need my supervision and, to be honest, it’ll be nice to have some refined company.”

The words were cheesy, but the smile seemed genuine, and the way he rolled his rs resonated deep in her chest. Claire shrugged. “Sure, why not. I need a few interesting stories for the blog. I don’t suppose you have any inside gossip?”

They walked on, side by side, their footsteps echoing around them. The man gave a low chuckle. “It depends what kind of blog you’re writing, Miss – I’m sorry, I’ve been very rude and haven’t introduced myself. The name’s Anthony.”

He held out his hand and Claire took it, trying not to notice the smooth skin or the grip that went on a fraction longer than expected.

“Claire.” The single word seemed inadequate and she searched for something else – something interesting – to fill the space. “It’s a travel blog, promoting the healthy outdoors.”

Anthony raised an eyebrow and flicked his gaze around the spectacular building surrounding them.

A blush suffused Claire’s face until her complexion matched the red glass of the stained window. “Yes, well, there isn’t much healthy outdoors I want to be doing in a thunderstorm. To be honest I write about whatever has happened to me on any given day, and you can’t always be scaling waterfalls or swinging through the trees.”

Her words raised a glint of interest in Anthony’s eyes and she felt her body respond to his renewed appreciation, like a flower twisting towards the sun. Following his broad shoulders as he led her around the cathedral, she thought how nice it was to let someone else take the lead for a change.

All too soon the tour was over and Anthony had located his team leader to discuss their progress. Claire hovered uncertainly, not sure if she had been dismissed. After a lengthy discussion with the man who had saved the loud speaker from crashing to the floor, Anthony turned back to Claire and raised his lips in a devastating half smile.

“We’re finished up here, would you like to go for a coffee?”

Is he asking me out? Claire felt awkward. After the confusion with Josh, she wasn’t sure she knew how to read the signs anymore. His smile was enticing, but she had fallen for a warm smile before, and found it only burned. Still, coffee was coffee, and she hadn’t yet managed her morning caffeine hit.

“Sure, coffee sounds great. Where’s the nearest Starbucks?”

***

Learning Happiness: 2013 365 Challenge #141

The Speak Happiness Blog

One of the ebooks on my iPad waiting to be read is a book called Learning Happiness as a Second Language by Valerie Alexander.

I came across the book on the author’s blog Speak Happiness (which goes to show that having a blog can sell books. Maybe I just need to try harder).

The blog is one of my favourites (I recently nominated it in my Liebster Blogger Award) because Happiness is so vital, yet so elusive. It is also one of the more challenging blogs for me to read.

Something holds me back from happiness and I don’t understand why. It stems from this fear that, if I’m happy, bad things will happen. As a result whenever I come across a great blog like Speak Happiness I feel resistance.

While walking the dog recently, after reading a post on Valerie’s blog, I randomly asked myself a series of questions, to try and understand my resistance.

“Am I happier when the kids are happy?”

“Am I calmer when hubbie is happy?”

“Do I feel more in control when I’m happy?”

“Do I want the kids to learn how to be happy, to make friends and be popular in a good way?”

“Do I want their glass to be half full and to always see the positive?”

I answered yes to all the questions in my mind. Then I asked the final question:

“Am I prepared to change, throw off the shackles of my genes and my upbringing, and learn Happiness?”

The answer, of course, is yes. And still… There’s a part of me that welcomes sadness. That sees it as a comfortable place where there are no expectations of me. I remember a boyfriend who used to say “Smile, you boring old scrote.” All. The. Time. I still hear it in my head now, twenty years later. I can’t think of anything less likely to make me smile. Yet I felt there was something inherently wrong with me because I wasn’t smiling. I was 16. Happiness is not a natural state at 16.

My children are good at Happy

Now, as an adult, it’s as if I’ve decided being miserable, guilty, sorry, negative is my prerogative and I’ll damn well do it if I want to. Sometimes, of course, it’s enhanced by a dip towards depression. Lowness that I can’t shift. But the danger is it becomes a habit. Something I get away with. No one tells me to Pull it Together because they know I battle depression.

Maybe sometimes they should. Or I should.

So I want to try. I want to learn happiness as a second language – for the same reason I’d like to learn Italian. For my kids, for me. Maybe what’s holding me back is the fear I will disappear. If I learn Italian I’ll be another voice in the crowd. I’ll be expected to join in, I won’t be different, I’ll have to make an effort. If I learn to be happy no one will notice me anymore. After all, sympathy is attention. If I have nothing to moan about will I have nothing to say?

All these things hold me back. Still, now I have the iPad I at least no longer have an excuse not to read the book. I started it this week and was hooked by the first chapter. By the concept, even, that happiness can be learned, has to be learned, rather than being a natural state. As Valerie explains on her blog (and in her book):

If you did not grow up speaking Greek, you wouldn’t expect to leave home and instantly be fluent in it, so why is it that we expect to suddenly be “fluent” in Happiness if Happiness wasn’t spoken in our homes?

Wise words. And hopeful ones. Maybe it isn’t too late for me to learn.

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“Louth: Capital of the Lincolnshire Wolds.”

Claire read the sign signalling her entry to the town. What is a wold? Whatever it is, it doesn’t look like there’ll be a Starbucks.

Even though she had grown up in the area, or maybe because of it, Claire couldn’t imagine there being anything impressive in Lincolnshire, apart from maybe the cathedral at Lincoln. And it’s raining too much for me to think about driving that far.

When Claire had looked out the window after a night of uninterrupted sleep, it was to see heavy rain clouds and deep puddles. Her plan to visit the Cathedral had been driven away by a strong need for caffeine. A glance at the map revealed Louth as the nearest town and she’d set off without checking what she would find when she got there.

Claire drove down the main street, reading the names of the shops through the rain being pushed slowly away by weary wipers. Luck of Louth, Dragonfly Kitchen, Madhatter’s Tearoom. Where am I, for goodness sake? I feel like Alice in bloody Wonderland. Maybe this was a bad idea.

She came to a small square, hemmed in by charity shops and a large Greggs. Great, I can have a soggy pie or buy some paperback books. I want coffee! Reluctantly, Claire parked the car and shrugged on her raincoat. There must be a coffee shop somewhere. I couldn’t move for them in Stamford and it was no bigger than here.

Not wanting to wander aimlessly in the rain, Claire ducked into the nearest charity shop to ask for directions. She shook the rain from her hood and threaded her way through racks of clothes and books until she located the counter. A lady of indeterminable age was serving a customer with a plastic hood over blue-rinse curls. Claire waited impatiently, dripping rain onto the clean floor.

Eventually the women ceased their chatter and, with many cheery farewells, the customer left.

“Excuse me, is there a café near here, please?”

The lady looked at Claire in surprise, as if she hadn’t noticed her waiting by the counter.

“I’m sorry, dear?” She spoke in the loud tones of the deaf, even though she had been conversing normally with the previous customer.

“Is there a café?” Claire decided two could play at that game, and enunciated her words slowly and loudly.

“Of course, dear. Tina and Lynne’s is just round the corner. They do lovely tea.” She rambled on about the quality of the home-made tiffin, while Claire resisted the urge to say it was coffee she was after and it was far too early for cake.

Gradually retreating backwards towards the door, with a smile fixed on her face, Claire managed to escape the lady’s chatter. She raised her hand and a muttered a quick goodbye, then ducked out into the street, not caring about the rain or where the coffee shop was.

Sod this, I might as well drive to Lincoln. At least it’s on the way to the next hostel. Bugger the rain, I need to be in a city and soon, before I’m stuck in Wonderland forever.

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Postaday Lessons: 2013 365 Challenge #140

200 Posts!

With yesterday heralding my 200th post, it got me thinking about blogging and – more specifically – my daily blog challenge for 2013.

The daily blog challenge occurred to me mostly as a way of increasing the profile of my blog and as a way to sell some books. Self-publishing (or just being an author) is all about having the right social media platform, so the experts say, and building up your Author Brand.

In reality it has become an amazing personal challenge about writing every day, sharing part of myself, engaging in discussions about life, parenting, writing, reading and being me.

Which is just as well because the main thing I’ve learned is that blogging every day is not the way to increase your followers.

I read a quote recently on the blog Life is Good, that made me realise something I hadn’t fully appreciated out about blogging. In a post called A Little Blogiquette, Tina writes:

As I’ve said before, this isn’t, “If you write it, they will come.” NO. It’s, “If you visit, they will come.”

The art to attracting visitors and followers to a blog is to visit and comment on the sites of others (to prove a point, I came across Tina’s blog after she commented on an author interview I did on someone else’s blog!). So I know it’s true, I’ve seen it work.

It doesn’t have to be shameless, like some sites I see with no content and a zillion followers because they’ve gone out and randomly liked a thousand sites. I mean taking time to read and leave intelligent comments, to build up a relationship with other bloggers.

My books on Smashwords

Unfortunately, since starting my postaday challenge, that’s time I no longer have. It takes a large chunk of my day just to write my posts, and Claire installments, and respond to comments on them. Any extra time is spent promoting Dragon Wraiths or preparing my monthly ebooks for download (or doing housework).

I spend less time reading other blogs now than I did before I started the challenge, even though my reader is chock full of posts I want to read, from people who have visited my site.

I’m not sure what the answer is.

Hopefully when the children go to nursery from some extra days in June I’ll be able to catch up. It’s disheartening to see the visits and likes dwindle, when so much effort goes into the blog. Blogging is so transient – even though the content stays forever, people rarely read the archives – so if they don’t come, my words are wasted. My new mantra, therefore, is “Visit and They Will (Hopefully) Come”!

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Endless fields stretched to the horizon. Claire had a sense of déjà vu and searched her mind for the parallel. Oh yes, driving back to Mum’s house with Sky. Glad to have an explanation for the sense of oppression the interminable flatness pressed on her soul, Claire was nonetheless relieved when the satnav announced they had reached their destination.

Claire looked around for a hostel, but could see only a cottage partially hidden by high hedgerows and surrounded by trees. There was no sign to say if it was the YHA hostel or not, but Claire had an inkling it was somebody’s home.

Great.

She was trying to decide whether it would be better to turn round, call the hostel, or go and ask for directions at the house, when a loud beep behind her made her jump. Her gaze shot to the rear-view mirror and she swallowed as she saw the monster-sized tractor parked directly behind the Skoda.

With a wave of apology in her mirror, Claire pulled into the driveway and looked down as the tractor came past, not wanting to meet the gaze of an irate farmer. The tractor pulled onto the verge in front of her and stopped.

“Oh crap.”

With a dry mouth, Claire watched the driver climb down and walk over to the car. Without looking out the window, Claire wound down the glass and waited for the tirade. It didn’t come.

“Are you lost?”

Claire looked up at the sound of clipped southern vowels and was surprised to see the voice came from a tanned and wrinkled face, dressed in stained blue overalls.

“I’m looking for the youth hostel.”

The face split in a wide grin and the farmer nodded. “Ah, yes. Following your satnav? It always brings people here. It isn’t a problem of course, but maybe we should put up a small sign.”

When Claire didn’t respond, the smile lost some of its brilliance. Oh bugger, was that meant to be a joke? Claire gave a belated grin and was rewarded with a row of shiny teeth.

“The hostel is down the road behind you, about one hundred metres, on your left. I’m afraid there isn’t much there; I do hope you’ve brought some sandwiches.” He smiled again and this time Claire remembered to laugh on cue. She was rewarded with a conspiratorial wink.

The farmer leant forward, resting his hands on the car door. “I’m only having fun, young lady. There’s a charming public house in Tetford. The White Hart Inn. Tell them Andrew sent you, they’ll treat you well.”

I’ll do no such thing, Claire thought, relieved when the strange man pulled his head out the car and sauntered back to his vehicle. With the speed and precision of a racing driver, Claire slammed the Skoda into reverse and forward again, leaving a cloud of dust behind her as she wheel-span back onto the road.

Sure enough, the hostel was up on the left, tucked into a pocket of trees. No wonder I missed it. It’s not exactly a palace. Claire swung in through the narrow gateway and pulled up outside the building. It was single story, as far as she could tell, with a mixture of whitewashed walls and red brick. Fields stretched away behind; a blanket of unrelenting brown, as yet unadorned by spring crops.

A bit different to Thurlby. Never mind. All I’ve got planned is a hot shower, a decent meal, a glass of vino, and my bed.

***

The Book Wrote Me: 2013 365 Challenge #139

Thank you Olivia!

Today is my 200th Post.

I can’t believe I made it this far. I remember when WordPress gave encouraging messages because I’d reached my 5th post and then my 10th. I couldn’t imagine writing 200.

So as a little treat I’m taking the day off and sharing a guest post I wrote for Olivia Martinez who kindly agreed to share it on her blog. This is the post, about how I came to write Dragon Wraiths:

The book wrote me

I write romance novels. Contemporary women’s fiction is the category I’ve decided they fit into. I’ve started (and almost finished) four. I like female protagonists in their late-twenties / early thirties (like I keep thinking I still am). My protagonists are women who are searching for their place in the world, coming to terms with realistic relationships and (lately) having children. The novels are written in the third person, often from both male and female perspectives.

The first Dragon Wraiths cover

So why is my first self-published novel written in the first person. By a sixteen-year-old girl. And why is it about dragons?

I didn’t set out to write the book. The book found me: Last Easter to be precise. (You can read about it here)

I woke one morning, after a broken night full of strange dreams, and the entire story was in my head. Unfortunately by the time I’d wrestled past two small children to find pen and paper (or more accurately my mobile phone) the story had evaporated, as they so often do. I believe if I could only capture my dreams writing would come much easier to me than it does now.

All that remained was the idea of dragons and the first line of the story. “My name is Leah, and I know the time and place of my death.”

In the twelve months since I wrote that first line it hasn’t changed much. It now reads

“My name is Leah. For a quarter of my life I have known the time and place of my death. I have spent the last four years running, from the truth, from the place. I can’t run from the time. It’s tomorrow.”

And that’s how Dragon Wraiths was born. By the beginning of May (less than a month after the dream) I had written 35,000 words and I still didn’t really understand what the novel was about. I hadn’t got to the part with the dragons. I was lost and decided Young Adult literature was not for me.

I need to learn to finish a book before I design the cover! 🙂

I abandoned the novel and concentrated on releasing my contemporary novel, Baby Blues & Wedding Shoes (or Pictures of Love as it was called then) as a self-published ebook. My writing journey is interspersed with self-doubt, not just about my abilities as a writer but about combining writing with raising two small children. I often feel that, if I’m going to send them to nursery two days a week, I should be earning money on those two days. I wanted a finished book out there earning pennies and I felt the contemporary fiction was a better bet.

Then in July I found out about the Mslexia Children’s Novel competition and remembered my languishing YA novel. Baby Blues & Wedding Shoes was with beta readers and I decided why not? Suddenly I had a deadline of September for completion of the first chapter and November for the finished/edited manuscript.

I discovered I work best to deadlines. Generally I’m terrible at knuckling down and getting on with editing but I really wanted to enter the competition.

To cut a rambling story short I entered the Mslexia competition and was long-listed (meaning they requested the full manuscript). I didn’t make the shortlist but I was encouraged enough to pass the novel to friends and family. Their reaction was amazing. My stepdad, who is a slow reader, finished the book in a day and said “Next one, please.”

I started querying the novel, although it is over-length for a YA book at 109k words (the average is 60-70k). When that didn’t work I decided to self-publish and see what happened.

And so here I am. It’s early days, I haven’t sold many copies but over 1200 have been downloaded during free promotion days. I’ve received several positive reviews, including one that compared Dragon Wraiths to Anne MaCaffrey’s Dragons of Pern series. Praise indeed.

I’m still not sure self-publishing is for me. Or Young Adult for that matter. But I’m glad Dragon Wraiths found me, in my sleep-deprived state. I enjoyed writing and editing it more than anything I’ve done before or since. And who knows, one day it might be as famous as Dragons of Pern. Now wouldn’t that be nice?

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Claire flicked through the photographs on her iPad, as she waited for the serving person to bring her coffee. Maybe I should just put photographs up on the blog every day, rather than writing my usual waffle. Some of these are quite good.

Her Burghley House folder had nearly 100 pictures. The tour had taken some time and there had been endless things to see. There was the shot from behind the building that was straight out of Kiera Knightley’s Pride and Prejudice. This one showed the rooms used for the interior of Castel Gandolfo in the Da Vinci Code movie. And that one was from Elizabeth: The Golden Age.

Oh and of course all that lovely architecture and works of art. Not that anyone is interested in that sort of stuff, certainly no one who follows my blog.

Claire looked at the photograph of the stair-lift going up the ‘Hell Staircase’. There was something slightly creepy about old and infirm people being able to take a stair-lift to hell. She shook off the thought as inappropriate, and continued to flick through her images.

Draining the last of her coffee, Claire looked at the blue sky and then at her watch. It’s too nice to get straight back in the car and drive to the next hostel. She wandered into the rose garden that filled the courtyard outside the Orangery. There was a low railing surrounding a large circular pond. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she went to peer in the water, phone in hand to take some pictures.

“Holy crap!” Claire nearly dropped her phone, as a fish the size of a small shark rose out the water beneath her. Heart thumping loudly, she took a step back, then glanced around to see if anyone had witnessed her outburst.

Relieved to see she was alone, Claire ventured back to the railing and peered into the murky pond. Dozens of silent shapes glided and danced in the water, glowing gold or white in the darkness. I hate fish. Particularly big fish. With a shiver, Claire took a couple of photos, then turned and went back through the restaurant to wander in the sculpture garden.

***

In the distance a clock chimed, startling Claire from her reverie. She checked her phone and was shocked to see she had been in the garden over an hour. Ambling beneath the trees, seeking out the hidden sculptures, she had been lost in her own meandering thoughts, wondering what it might have been like to live in a great house like this. To walk through the gardens collecting flowers and having secret assignations with ardent lovers.

Okay, that’s too much A Level English Literature going on right there. I’m sure, in the real world, handsome men didn’t profess their undying love and sweep the lucky lady off her feet. No different then than now.

To her right, half-hidden by trees, a large metallic face with an enigmatic expression gazed across the garden. She’d seen scrawny cows and metal deer, and a meadow of silver pots that look like an alien invasion. Despite studying The Arts at university, sculpture wasn’t really her thing, so she was surprised at how peaceful the garden had seemed.

All good things come to an end, though. Time I was getting a wriggle on to Woody’s Top. Another lovely self-catering hostel. I need to either buy food or get there in time to go to the pub. She hesitated. The latter, definitely. A glass of wine is long overdue.

***

EBooks – A Retraction: 2013 365 Challenge #136

My long-awaited copy of The Humans

A while ago I wrote a post about how I would always choose the paper book over an e-reader (such as a tablet, nook or kindle). I was wrong. I bought an iPad two weeks ago and since then have read several books, more than I would have managed otherwise.

My long-awaited copy of The Humans has just arrived – a great big chunk of hardback – and I’m wondering why I didn’t buy the kindle edition. I just don’t know when I’m going to manage to read it. It’s too big to fit in my handbag, I can’t read it at bedtime because the bedside light is broken, and, well, it’s too beautiful to besmirch with toast crumbs and crayon.

We are going on holiday to Scotland next week and I know that The Humans will stay behind, even though I’m desperate to read it. It isn’t merely about packing room – although with two kids that’s pretty tight – it’s the fact that I won’t be able to read it discreetly while the kids are playing, or during the seven-hour trip in the car (for some reason I find I can read the iPad in the car, but not a paper book).

So, in all fairness, I thought I ought to confess my conversion and explain the reasons I love my iPad for reading:

I can read while still cuddling both children (with the occasional wriggle to turn the page)
I never ever have to find my place because the kids have removed the bookmark or it has fallen out. I turn it on and there it is – hours of reading time saved.
I can take it everywhere and read a bit while I’m waiting for a website to load or when the kids are asleep
The kids don’t notice me reading so much and so are less likely to bring one of their own books over to read (I didn’t say this was about good parenting, did I?)
I’ve already read at least one free book I would never have heard of otherwise. And it was lovely – not earth shattering or award winning but a lovely thought-provoking story
I can show people the books I’ve written when I tell them I’m an author, instead of explaining they’re not available in print
I can finally read all the ebooks I’ve downloaded over the last year
I can read at nighttime without waking my husband.

The Humans Kindle Version

I also love the iPad too – for checking emails, taking pictures for the blog, entertaining the children (we’re busily downloading from bbc iplayer for the long trip north) – but that’s a different story!

I still find it hard to buy the kindle version when the paperback isn’t much more expensive. If I want to lend a book it has to be a hard copy. I continue to love borrowing books from the library and seeing books around me on the shelves. They are beautiful. But, here and now, the iPad rules! (Sorry)

And to prove how much I love my iPad, I’ve spashed some cash to buy the ebook version of The Humans. Problem solved. Matt Haig’s lovely book is coming to Scotland after all! Hurrah!

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Claire was conscious of nerves as she waited on the doorstep. Things had been strained between her and Ruth since the revelations about Chris and the ballet teacher. Even so, it hurt to be saying goodbye to her sister and her niece. The week in the hospital, reading on the bed next to Ruth, entertaining Sky in the canteen or taking her to the park, had been strangely restful.

The week was spent encased in a cocoon of waiting: Ruth had responded well to treatment and the days were merely marking time until the doctors said she was strong enough to return home. Claire had enjoyed helping Sky complete the remainder of her homework. They had even written a letter to Sky’s father, although Claire had felt a stab of guilt, knowing she wasn’t brave enough to tell her sister about it.

Claire stood waiting for her mother or Sky to open the door. Even though she had stayed with Sky at her house for the week, now Ruth was home it felt impolite simply to walk in.

In the back of her mind she remembered the last time she had waited in the same spot, when she had come to look after Sky, the day of the hospital tests. Blimey that was nearly two months ago. In some ways it felt like only days before. In others ways, a lifetime had passed. She had experienced so much, travelling with Josh and looking after Sky. That morning’s conversation with her father still echoed in her mind.

How little we really know our family. Look at what I’ve discovered in a few weeks, that I hadn’t realised in nearly three decades: My brother and his perfect wife aren’t so perfect, Ruth’s ex isn’t a bastard but actually a doting dad, my father is writing a novel – a thriller for goodness sake – and hiding it from his wife. He hates golf. And Mum spends her time keeping up with the Jones’s to forget she used to be her husband’s secretary. You couldn’t make it up. We’re living an episode of Days of Our Lives.

Hearing footsteps thundering down the corridor, Claire braced herself for a whirlwind of blonde hair and beads. At least Sky hasn’t changed.

Claire held her sister tightly, aware only now of how awful it would be to lose her. She knew, too, that when Ruth was better they would never be quite as close as they were at this moment. Even the betrayal of introducing Sky to her half-sister was forgotten.

“Stay well, sis. Be strong. If you need anything, call me.” Claire spoke deep into her sister’s shoulder, where her hair would once have been. All that tickled her neck was the floral scarf tied tightly round Ruth’s head. Words that couldn’t be said face to face could be whispered cheek to cheek.

“You have an amazing daughter. Thank you for letting me get to know her better.” She stood back, tears blurring her vision. “I promise I’ll call more often, and I’ll stop by when I head south again. It won’t take long to get through the hostels on the east coast I didn’t get to with Sky.”

Ruth squeezed Claire’s arms, then let them drop as she reached for a tissue. “Thank you for everything, sis. Sorry I got upset about the whole Chris thing. I know you were in an impossible situation. And, well, if the worst does happen.” She stopped, unable to say the unthinkable words.

Claire was glad they remained unspoken. In the whole week she had spent in the hospital with Ruth, they had never talked about what might happen. While Ruth was responding to treatment it seemed like tempting fate to discuss the future.

“Try and enjoy your travels. I know it isn’t what you wanted, but you seem…” Ruth searched for a word. “You’re more alive, since you started the trip. When you looked after Sky in February you looked tight and tired and, I don’t know, somehow bitter at life. Now, well actually now you still look tired.” She laughed. They both knew what looking after Sky was like. “But it’s different. It’s a lack of sleep because my niece was up all night tired.”

The words seemed to run out and Ruth let them trail away. Even though the doctors had sent her home, she still looked exhausted. Claire gave her another hug, then turned to where Sky was snuggled up with Nana in the armchair, her face wet and blotchy.

“Come here, Sky, give Auntie Claire a cuddle.”

The girl hesitated, them scrambled down and ran across the room, sobbing.

“Don’t go, Auntie Claire. Please.”

“I have to poppet. I’m not ready to be fired just yet, and my mean old boss won’t let me take any more holiday.”

Sky clung tightly to Claire’s neck, and she was conscious of a warm sensation deep in her heart. She no longer wanted to shake her off.

“I’ll be back soon. You take care of your Mummy, okay, and do what Nana tells you. I’ll call and find out what your teacher thought of your story.”

Pulling the thin arms away from her neck as gently as she could, Claire took Sky’s hand and led her back to sit with Nana. Then with a quick wave and no more words, she hurried from the room, swallowing down the lump stuck deep in her throat.

***

Liebster Blogging Award and the Very Inspiring Blogger Award

Thank you Rinelle for my Award

Way back in March I was nominated by Kelly at Free Little Words for the Very Inspiring Blogger award (my second nomination) and I confess I didn’t have capacity to accept the award, despite my best intentions. Since then I have also been nominated for the Liebster Blogging Award, by Rinelle Grey (gosh, that was a month ago too! How time flies). I haven’t received the Liebster Award before.

Therefore in today’s post I would like to thank Kelly for her nomination, and also thank Rinelle Grey for hers. I will respond only to the Liebster Award, as I would nominate the same blogs for both awards anyway!

What is the Liebster Blog Award?

The Liebster Blog Award is given to up and coming bloggers who have less than 200 followers. “Liebster” is German for “favorite”. The rules of this award say I need to give 11 random facts about me, answer 11 questions asked by the person who gave me the award, and nominate 11 bloggers with less than 200 subscribers.

11 Random Facts about Me:

I’m a Libran, born in October, and I sit on the fence so much I have splinters
I always swore I was a paper-book person and couldn’t see the point of ereaders – until I bought an iPad. *Blushes*
I was born and live in the UK but I spent 12 months travelling, working and living in New Zealand. A little part of my heart is still in Dunedin.
I once learned British Sign Language, as part of a qualification I was trying to get. I love it now when my kids watch Something Special (a UK children’s programme that teaches sign language) although I remember virtually none of the signs myself anymore
I trained as a First Aider and discovered the sight of blood makes me sick
I love stargazer lilies but my husband hates them and they’re not allowed in the house. The lilies in my wedding bouquet had to be unscented
I once took the carburettor off my car and took it home in a bag for my stepdad to fix, before returning and putting it back on the car (it still worked). Now I have a husband for that kind of stuff!
I love plants and want a beautiful garden but I have the opposite of green fingers: plants come to our house to die.
I’m a rubbish cook.
I read Clarissa by Samuel Richardson as part of my English Masters – one of the longest novels in the English Language at nearly 1 million words. Two months of my life I’ll never get back! J
I wrote my English Masters dissertation on Marriage and Divorce in Eighteenth Century Novels – and handed it in the week before I got married!

Answers to Rinelle’s 11 questions:

What pets do you have?

We have one dog, called Kara. She’s a labradoodle, big on curly hair, crazy behaviour and eating cheese.

What’s your favourite food?

Biscuits. Chocolate Chip ones preferably.

Do you prefer sunrise or sunset?

I like both but since having kids I’ll stick with sunsets please. If they sleep past sunrise that’s a good day.

If someone gave you $1000, what shop would you hit first?

Kids’ toy shop. I love buying things for my children. Pre-kids it would have been books or nicknacks for the home.

Who is the most important person/people in your life?

My husband and children, no question.

What is your biggest personal achievement?

It’s a tie between being a Mummy and publishing a book on Amazon. Both things I thought I’d never do, certainly never do well, and yet here I am!

Do you have a goal for this year? If so, what is it?

Yes, I’m doing a daily blog challenge, writing a novel in daily instalments on my blog.

What’s your favourite computer game?

I don’t play games on the computer. I used to play Tetras and I liked platform games like Tomb Raider when I was younger. Now that ‘down time’ urge is taken up with Facebook and Twitter.

What sort of camera do you use?

Whatever’s to hand most of the time – my Nokia phone / the iPad mostly. My pride and joy is my SLR Canon 40D which I just paid £200 to have repaired after my youngest dropped it on the floor. Needless to say I don’t use it that often any more.

What’s your favourite YouTube video?

Charlie Bit Me (inexplicably funny) or Fenton the Dog (also funny, though I do wince because it’s the kind of thing my dog would do)

If you could meet anyone, living or dead, who would it be?

This is a really tough question because I often think it would be a terrible disappointment to meet our idols (living or dead) and find out they were nothing like we imagined. I think I’d like to meet the current Doctor Who (Matt Smith) as Doctor Who. He could whisk me off in the blue box, although I would make a terrible Companion because I’m a scaredy-cat!

In return, I nominate the following blogs:

I am meant to nominate blogs with fewer than 200 followers. That’s tricky because many of the great blogs I follow have followers in the thousands. So I’ve gone for the blogs I think probably do, and for the ones I really love that still have followers in the low hundreds, as this is effectively my Favourite Blogs award! There is no obligation to accept!

1 http://fancythatfancythis.com/

2 http://mummylovestowrite.com/

3 http://rinellegrey.com/ (I know she nominated me, but this should still be here!)

4 http://kenthinksaloud.wordpress.com/

5 http://blogaboutwriting.wordpress.com/

6 http://speakhappiness.wordpress.com/

7 http://findingmycreature.wordpress.com/

8 http://apprenticenevermaster.wordpress.com/

9 http://theclotheslineie.wordpress.com/

10 http://ascenicroute.wordpress.com/

11 http://rmbenson.wordpress.com/

These are all brilliant blogs, for various reasons and across loads of topics. They’re all worth a visit.

If you do choose to accept, here is what you need to do:

Post the award on your blogs
Thank the blogger(s) who gave you the award and link back to their site
Post 11 random facts about yourself
Answer 11 questions that the presenter of the award has asked
Nominate 11 new bloggers with fewer than 200 followers that you want to pass the award to
Ask your nominees 11 questions

Finally, my 11 questions for the nominees:

What can you see out your window as you respond to this?
What is a perfect Sunday?
What was the last book you read (or movie you watched) that stayed with you after the end?
Twitter or Facebook?
What did you want to be, when you were seven?
What was the last thing that made you laugh until you cried?
Where’s the furthest place you’ve been from home?
What did you eat for breakfast?
Are you a lark or an owl?
What song do you play to cheer you up?
(I’m going to steal this one from Matt Haig’s The Humans Twitter campaign): What advice would you give to a fellow human?

Calming Coffee Shops: 2013 365 Challenge #133

Starting the Day with a Latte, like Claire

I love sitting in coffee shops to write. They are relaxing places: there is no housework, or staring dog begging for a walk. Sometimes I don’t get much writing done though, because I’m too busy eavesdropping on other people’s conversations.

This carries on from yesterday’s post on ‘Stealing memories’. Is it bad to eavesdrop on other people’s discussions and then steal some of their dialogue or mannerisms, filing them away for later?

I’ve been known to transcribe a conversation almost verbatim, so I could get a feel for the rhythm of the dialogue. I feel like a spy!

This morning I am meant to be writing my Claire post, having not had the energy to go near it last night, after a weekend of Farm visits and Children’s Parties.

Oundle town centre

In fact I went to bed at 9.30pm aiming for a good night’s sleep to try and staunch the endless tears of tiredness, which would have worked well if Hubbie hadn’t come to bed at 1am, Amber crawled into bed with us at 3am then woke again at 4am! So, I need to write about Claire, but I’m too rung out and tired and easily distracted. I’ve come to a different coffee shop to my usual one, because I knew this one would be quiet and more conducive to writing. Unfortunately it’s too quiet and the chatter is harder to tune out.

Instead of working, therefore, I am listening.

Directly opposite me, as I sit on the leather sofa with my laptop on my knee, there are two women, one with a small child in a pushchair. The women are talking about artificial flavourings in food and how they teach children to expect strong-flavours and not appreciate real food.

The women are German. I’m interested to learn that children don’t go to school until six in Germany, and that their children had never before had baked beans or jacket potatoes (I hadn’t realised they were such British things). I love details like that.

At a table in the window sit a couple of ‘old boys’ who have been to the market and are enjoying a drink together watching the world go by. The distinctive blue carrier bags used by the veg stall cluster round their feet. ‘Old boys’ make me a bit sad because they remind me of my dad. He never really got to be ‘old’, as he died before he reached sixty.

Sometimes, though, I see men and want to adopt them. Like the man who has just cycled into town to do his shopping at the market and discovered he’s forgotten his wallet. I want to drive him home to collect it.

View from the coffee shop

I saw a man in a wheelchair at the Farm last week that made me think that’s what Dad would have looked like at eighty. He was having such a blast feeding the goats from his wheelchair, I felt a stab of nostalgia, although I wonder if I would have had the time and energy to push him round while caring for my young children. I did keep grinning at him, though. He probably thought I was nuts.

Outside the window the sun is casting shadows of dancing leaves against the pale yellow sandstone brick of the school buildings. Coffee shops can be such peaceful places. A little patch of calm and a microcosm of the world around, or certainly my tiny part in it. Part of me looks forward to the day when I can come to a coffee shop and just sit rather than busily typing away with my head down and my back to the world.

Right now, I’m trying not to listen to the German women talking about kids and food. I know my kids don’t have the best of diets – they spent the weekend eating rubbish for various reasons – but I’m just about okay with it. It doesn’t mean I don’t feel guilty listening to how hard other mothers try to get vegetables in their little ones! Sometimes eavesdropping isn’t a great idea. Let’s get on with Claire!

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Claire sensed trouble the moment she entered Ruth’s room. A whole day without Sky spilling the beans was apparently more than fate thought she deserved. Pushing aside the argument she’d just had with Julia, about booking a week’s holiday from work, Claire took a deep breath and entered the arena.

“There you are, Claire. Sky’s just been telling me all about her baby sister. Would you care to elaborate? At what point were you going to share this element of your expedition?”

Oh crap she’s gone all school teacher on me. Ruth’s school-ma’m manner usually irritated Claire but it was such a relief to see her sister back to her normal self she smiled. It was a mistake.

“You think it’s amusing, do you? Cavorting with my Ex and that…” She grasped for a PG-rated word. “That harpy.”

Great insult, Claire applauded internally. Sometimes she forgot how smart Ruth was and that she’d also studied the Arts. It was too easy to remember the big sister who mucked about and got into trouble.

“I wasn’t smiling at that, just glad to see you with some fight in you. And I don’t think she’s a harpy.”

Claire realised the idiocy of her words as she watched Ruth’s face lose any hint of ashen pallor and turn a dangerous hue of red. She struggled against years of habit and forced herself not to fight back. Instead she perched on the bed, prepared to be conciliating.

“Sorry.” She reached a hand towards Ruth, and dropped it again at the expression on her face. “All I meant was perhaps now isn’t the time to discuss the merits of the woman.”

Claire looked meaningfully over at Sky and almost laughed again at the mixture of shock and glee on the girl’s face. Her Mum and Auntie scrapping like school kids was high entertainment.

“The truth is I didn’t tell you because I knew this would be your reaction and I wanted to tell you when you were better. The meeting was accidental,” The first one at least, Claire thought guiltily, “And I gave Chris both barrels, I promise you. Then he produced the child. Sky should know her sister, particularly –” She stopped, unable to continue. Ruth’s face resumed the colour of milk and her eyes dilated in horror.

Claire felt sick. Oh God, that’s going to finish her off. The idea of Sky living with her Ex, the woman that betrayed her and their new baby is not something Ruth is strong enough to handle. Then another thought drifted into Claire’s mind. The kind of horrible thought that couldn’t be undone. Maybe this will give her what she needs to fight the illness. The knowledge that, if she dies, Sky will go to them.

Similar ideas appeared to fill her sister’s brain. Her face contorted as she processed too many unwelcome images. Pressing her lips into a tight line, Ruth glanced at her daughter then back to Claire.

“We can talk about it later.”

Claire had enough sense to recognise the finality in her sister’s voice and dropped the discussion. Sky didn’t.

“Does that mean I can see Daddy and the baby again, Mummy? Please. I won’t talk to the harpy.”

Claire stifled a snigger. She’s sharp that child. Either that or she’s vicious.

Cornered, Ruth just shrugged. “As long as I don’t have to bear witness.”

Claire wasn’t sure if that was a concession or a way of saying over my dead body. It was no longer a phrase to be thrown around lightly. Let’s hope it never comes to that.

***

Coffe Shop Secrets (adithyaentertainment.wordpress.com)
My Coffee Shop (cealiajane.wordpress.com)
C.a.l.m. (quenphil.wordpress.com)

Stealing Memories: 2013 365 Challenge #132

Dad in Mount Vernon receiving chemo

As a writer it is difficult to know how much to borrow from the people around you. I often have stabs of conscience regarding writing about the children on my blog, particularly as I use their names (I’m not a big fan of calling them child 1 / child 2 or anything).

I rarely share stuff about my husband or friends, particularly not names or specifics. But utilising stories, that’s different. I need other people’s lives and experiences. I have a great set of my own memories to draw upon – I’ve had a varied and not always easy life – but there are also many things I haven’t done that my friends have.

I have a doctor friend, two teacher friends, a nurse. They share titbits about their lives that I end up weaving into stories. Never the exact tale, certainly never exact people, but definitely flavours. And it does make me feel uncomfortable. How else to find stories though?

My Dad how I like to remember him

Right now I am borrowing my husband’s memories, combined with my own, to write Ruth’s story in Two-Hundred Steps Home. My father suffered from cancer and eventually lost his battle (not specifically with cancer, but associated complications). My relationship with my father was rocky, though, and I live more with the guilt of not doing enough, than with the memories of caring for him. If I’m honest I could have done more and been with him more, but he didn’t want to burden us with how bad it really was and it was too easy to take him at his word.

My husband lost his mother to a brain tumour, a year or two before I met him. They were very close and he felt the loss deeply. He has spoken of it many times and the memories of his last few months with her are raw and beautiful.

I haven’t recreated either scenario completely in Two-Hundred Steps Home (or in the Nanowrimo manuscript I wrote last November, that also features hospital scenes), but I do ask Hubbie about details to make my stories authentic. It feels wrong, though, to ask personal questions just for the sake of my writing. When does it stop being acceptable and become a bit icky? I suppose that’s one of the many unanswerable questions that comes with being a writer.

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“Mummy, Auntie Claire says she’ll pay for me to go to ballet again, can I go, can I, please?”

Sky’s rush of words made Claire’s tummy squirm. She looked up guiltily at Ruth, remembering her thoughts about why the ballet lessons had stopped. Don’t say anything spiteful about the ballet teacher, for goodness sake. Then Sky is bound to tell you she met up with her father and said ballet teacher’s baby.

The morning with Sky and Ruth had not been an easy one. Sky’s chatter, irritating at the best of times, came with the added burden of fear, worrying what titbit from her ten days with Claire she might toss out for Ruth’s entertainment. On top of that, Claire could see her sister was sagging under the weight of endless words, but didn’t want to let her daughter out of her sight.

Mouthing, “Sorry,” at Ruth, Claire fished in her handbag for the iPad. “Sky, poppet, would you like to play that word game I downloaded for you, so your Mummy can have a rest?”

Sky’s head spun quickly, her hair whipping Ruth across the face. She scrambled off the bed and climbed onto the pull-down mattress next to Claire. “Can I paint nails instead? Pleeeeease.”

Claire’s cheeks flushed red-hot in the stuffy room. Great, now Ruth’s going to blame me for letting Sky play silly computer games. This isn’t how it was supposed to go: I was meant to drop her back home and carry on with my assignment, not sit and listen to all my Auntie-Fails being revealed.

She studied Ruth’s face to see what level of censure it contained, and exhaled in relief at the sight of her closed eyes. Poor thing. I find Sky exhausting, and I’m not sick.

Silence spread through the room, punctuated only by the buzzing light and the whir of technology monitoring Ruth’s life-signs. Claire let her mind drift, wondering where Robert had disappeared to, and whether Carl had noticed yet that she hadn’t blogged a new hostel.

I’ll have to call in and book this week as holiday. I have no idea how long Ruth is going to be in here and it doesn’t seem right to dash off to whatever remote destination boasts the nearest hostel. Carl will just have to sod off.

Settling back against the wall, Claire shifted until she was vaguely comfortable, then she followed Ruth’s example and closed her eyes.

When Claire woke, Sky was no longer sat next to her on the bed. Heart hammering in panic, she flicked her gaze towards Ruth’s bed. Ruth was still sleeping, but her daughter wasn’t with her. Rising slowly, trying not to disturb her sister, Claire crept from the room and prayed her niece was out in the corridor.

Maybe she’s gone for a wee. Yes, that must be it. Claire trotted to the ladies and called out for Sky. When there was no answer, she went back to the nurses’ station and asked if they’d seen a blonde child.

“Yes, she went up to the canteen with the man that came in this morning. Mr Carleton? Is that Ms Carleton’s husband?”

Claire frowned, wondering if Chris had come to the hospital. How would he know? I can’t believe Ruth would have called him. Then the penny dropped. Mr Carleton. Robert, of course.

With a smile she shook her head at the nurse’s assumption. “No, that’s our brother. He flew in from Geneva this morning.” Another thought teased into her brain, scratching at her mind like a briar. Mr Carleton? Not Mr Carleton-Bise? Since when did he drop Francesca’s surname? I thought they loved that whole double-barrelled thing.

Claire’s mind whirled with conjecture as she walked the now-familiar route to the canteen. I wonder if everything is alright with him and Francesca. She recalled their conversation over coffee what seemed like days ago but in reality was only that morning. Now I think about it, he was acting a bit odd. It made the knots in her stomach tighten even more. Robert and Francesca had been together since she was a teenager. The idea that anything could shake their marriage gave her the shivers.

***

Am I Sheep or Goat: 2013 365 Challenge #129

Feeding the Goats

We went back to Old Farm (Sacrewell Farm) today and it was lovely. I selected it because of suspected rain (there’s more to do indoors) and because I needed to be home mid afternoon for the shopping delivery.

The children have been hankering for New Farm (West Lodge) but I think that’s the novelty factor. I’m enjoying the familiarity of Sacrewell and the timely reminder that new isn’t necessarily better.

It’s too easy to let familiarity breed contempt or to need there to be a better and less better in everything. I think that’s preschooler behaviour rubbing off (or maybe they’re like that because of me). It’s like parenting, when one person’s way needs to be better than another’s: we can’t all just be different.

I filled out all the school forms this morning for daughter’s start in September and it was hard not to be swept up into the parental discussions and to be swayed by the opinions of others. I guess that’s only going to get harder the older the children get. Mostly I’m okay with my choices but when there are parents, teachers and other professionals telling me otherwise, how will I fare? Will I stick to my guns, as I did today bringing the children to Old Farm against protest, or will I be swayed by majority opinion, strong personalities or the will of others? Will I be a sheep or a goat? Hmmm might be time to learn some of my children’s stubbornness!

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_______________________________________________________________________________

“How are Francesca and the boys?”

Robert looked up from his coffee as if the question surprised him. “Fine. They’re fine.”

He looks uncomfortable? What’s that all about? “Did they come with you?”

“No.” The word shot out like a bullet. “No,” he said again, more softly. “Can’t take the boys out of school, you know.”

Claire tried to work out how old Jack and Alex were, and realised she had no idea. How can I not know the ages of my own nephews? I really am a rotten Auntie.

They sat in silence, sipping coffee and watching hospital staff stride in for their takeaway caffeine. A pocket of strained calm surrounded them and Claire was glad for her heavy eyes and foggy brain. There was no urge to fill the emptiness with conversation. Not that I’ve ever figured out what to say to Robert. You’d think by our age, a six-year gap between us would be irrelevant. Sometimes it feels like a hundred-year gap.

She looked at Robert, his uncrumpled shirt buttoned to the collar, despite the early hour and long journey. He looked like a nineteenth-century doctor, not a twenty-first century businessman. Whatever it is that he actually does over there in Geneva. I have no idea about that either.

“How is Ruth?”

Robert’s question startled her, and she spilt coffee across the table. Keeping her eyes focussed on mopping up the spreading liquid, Claire shrugged. “How much do you know?”

“Only what Mum told me on the phone, yesterday. That the cancer has spread and they need to change her treatment.” His matter-of-fact tone set Claire’s nerves on edge. She raised her head, about to expostulate, and saw the red tinge surrounding his eyes.

Dropping her head back to the table, away from the horrific image of her brother close to tears, Claire shrugged again. “You know as much as I do, then. I guess we’ll know more later, when the doctor has done his rounds.” In her mind she added, When you have spoken to the doctor. What were big brothers for, if not to deal with the authorities. Claire felt queasy at the idea of discussing her sister with the intimidating people bustling around the building. She waited, hoping Robert would pick up on her unspoken vibe.

“Right. I will speak to her doctors and discover what the situation is. Leave it to me.”

A week ago his assumption of control would have irritated her: Now she felt a rush of relief. For the first time in a very long time she was content to be treated as the baby of the family.

***

I Love a Wedding: 2013 365 Challenge #124

Gemstone Bay, Coromandel, so nice I came twice

Today I get to live one of those other lives I’ve talked about through my Claire book. Well, I lay the seed anyway.

Writing really is a great way to experience a different life: you know, the one you could have had if you’d been in possession of all the facts earlier on. Although how boring would that be? Like taking my husband to New Zealand on our honeymoon and then driving him nutty by constantly saying I did this here, or We can do that, or Let’s go see this great beach I know.

Life’s adventures need to come without a map.

Our unconventional wedding

However, since reading about YHA hostels, and how you can hire the whole building for many of them, I thought – what a missed trick. We should have done that for our wedding. There are some amazing buildings in the YHA stable and we could have easily filled the largest of them with hubbie’s friends. It probably would have been cheaper and the party could have continued all weekend.

I also wouldn’t have had a phone call the week before saying, “Your bride has been booked into my bride’s Bridal Suite.” which is not what you want to hear after six months of detailed planning.

So now I have a wedding to look forward to. I haven’t been to a wedding in ages, and if I’ve been getting a bit bored with Claire’s journey? Well, how much fun is there to be had at a hostel-based wedding? Hee hee.

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“How many weeks gone are you?”

Kim and Claire sat watching as Sky and Jeff fought over the last hole. No words had been spoken since Kim’s revelation, but Claire wanted to reassure her friend that she had her full support.

“Sixteen.”

Claire did a quick mental calculation. Four months, already? The baby will be due in September. She shivered. Trying to hide her unease, Claire smiled at Kim. “You’re not showing. When did you find out?”

“Two weeks ago.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Claire could hear the hurt in her voice.

“How could I? We always said we would build up our careers before we had kids. If we ever had them at all.” Something in her voice suggested maybe she hadn’t been as clear on the latter point as Claire. “Besides,” she continued, her voice low, “I needed to decide what I was going to do before I told anyone.”

Claire thought about her friend going through that decision process alone. Not alone. With Jeff.

“How did Jeff take that?” Following on from what Kim had said earlier, she imagined him pressuring Kim to keep the baby.

“He said he would support me, either way. It wasn’t planned. We always said we would get married first and see where we were then. But now…”

Something else her friend had said came back to Claire. “But now you’re getting married and having a baby.” She hadn’t meant to sound accusatory, but she felt Kim flinch away from her words. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that how it sounded. My brain is still catching up.”

There was a pause, then Kim sighed again. “That’s okay. It’s taking a while for me to catch up and I’ve had longer to think about it. Yes, we’re going to get married. Jeff’s family are quite traditional and, though his mother hasn’t said anything, I know they’d be happier if the baby wasn’t born out of wedlock.”

Claire tried to imagine what her parents would think about it and realised she had no idea. Probably they would think the same and force her to have some hideously formal event at the Country Club.

“When’s the wedding? Will you have a big do?”

“We can’t afford it. Jeff’s wages are more than mine, but only just. Actually, your blog has given us an idea. We thought we might see if we could hire one of the smaller hostels and invite all our friends for the weekend. Ask them to pay for their room instead of bringing a gift. What do you think?”

“I think it sounds brilliant. There are some gorgeous buildings,” she gave Kim a cheeky grin, “and I can write about it for my blog!”

***