Keeping Cool: 2013 365 Challenge #198

The tools need to keep preschoolers cool

The tools needed to keep preschoolers cool

We have enjoyed yet another day of 30+ degrees today. In England! It’s unheard of. British weather is meant to be wellies in June and jumpers in July. My kind of weather. But, no. Two weeks of sun, blue skies and hot, hot, hot.

I’d say the standard British line, “Not that I’m complaining” but I am, of course!

I make no secret of the fact that I am Scandinavian in my soul, if not in my genes. I like it fairly cool. Something between 15C and 20C is just fine. If I don’t have to do anything, you can raise it to 22C, as long as there’s a pool for me to cool off in, and plenty of ice-cold fizzy drinks.

And that was before having children! Now? How do you keep energetic preschoolers cool and covered in sun cream? It’s a mystery. Well, I thought I’d compile my top ten favourite ways of keeping the kids safe and happy, and me out the sun (as the children will tell you, “The hot makes Mummy grumpy”.)

1. Paddling pool. It’s a must. With a slide is even better, for prolonged fun, although that increases the need for plasters, cuddles and something to stop the decking being quite so slippery. We have two paddling pools, a big one (with a leak, that needs re-inflating often) and a little one for every day.

2. Non-muddy puddles. We have a dip in our patio (by design, of course! cough cough) where water gathers. Fill it with a bucket of water and instant puddle jumping.

3. Hose-pipe fight. No explanation required.

This is me: hot cross bunny

4. Sand-pit. Our sandpit is in the shade most of the day (or can be made shady with a brolly and pegged-up towels). It is messy: a blind eye needs to be turned to the spreading of sand outside the sandpit for this activity to last more than five minutes without my intervention.

5. Picnic in the playhouse (much-needed shade and quiet time although it can get a bit hot and stuffy)

6. Ice cream. It doesn’t have to be unhealthy – I have frozen blended strawberries and bananas, although I’m not a parent that worries about a bit of sugar, so the shop bought ones are fine. Two or three mini milks throughout the day cools them down and minimises the whining when the ice cream man rings his bell at 6pm

7. TV. Sorry, this is a must. Our lounge is the only vaguely cool room after 11am and regular stops for TV or iPad time keeps us all from going crazy

8. Craft at the kitchen table. Something simple. Today we made crowns and masks (the latter a really easy kit thing that didn’t need much help)

9. Puzzles in the lounge. See number 7.

10. Trip to the supermarket. That might seem odd but a) the car has air con (although probably more effective for me than the kids) and b) the supermarket has air con. I wouldn’t make a special trip, unless they were really driving me nuts, but calling in on the way home from a play date this afternoon, it was genius.

What other tips can you suggest for keeping cool? I think I still have a few days left of the heatwave to survive before British Autumn arrives!

_______________________________________________________________________________

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:

________________________________________________________________________________

Claire climbed out of the Skoda and stretched, cricking her neck left and right to release the tension. Driving north on a Monday had been a crazy thing to do, but she’d followed the impulse without questioning it too closely. That might be a mistake. She shrugged. It didn’t feel wrong.

Reaching in to the passenger seat, Claire grabbed her bag, then – checking she had the keys in her hand – she locked the car door from the inside and shut it with a slam. Time to get to work.

Two hours later, Claire left the salon and shook her head, feeling her tamed bob skimming her shoulders. It seemed frivolous to pay someone to wash and straighten her hair, but it hadn’t been done since she’d had it cut. Pushing away an unwelcome memory, she brushed her hands down her new dress, admiring the way it clung to curves she hadn’t realised had developed with her travelling regime of climbing hills and forgetting meals.

There was one stop left. Claire entered the department store and headed for the beauty department.

“Good afternoon, can I help you?” The face beaming at her looked ready for a stage performance rather than a day behind a cosmetics counter. Claire hoped she wasn’t the woman she was after.

“Yes please. I’m trying to choose a new foundation, I wonder if you can assist me?”

“Of course. Would you like our make-up specialist to give you a demonstration?”

Forbearing to suggest she wasn’t the only one who needed some hints and tips, Claire nodded. Mission accomplished.

Claire pushed through the glass doors, ignoring the pinch of her new heels and the stab of guilt when she thought of the thirty pairs locked in storage not too far away.

Oh well. This is important. And you can never have too many shoes. The thought was automatic, but felt alien in Claire’s mind. It had been months since she’d worn anything other than hiking boots or pumps. Her calves ached with the unaccustomed stretch of four-inch heels. No pain, no gain. The additional height was important.

Claire approached the steel structure of the reception desk. Designed to intimidate, Claire refused to let it do so.

Smiling down at the seated receptionist, she forced her face to relax. “Hello, I would like to see Mr Thurman, please?”

“Do you have an appointment?” The woman wore her expression like a steel mask.

Claire swallowed. “Can you tell him that Claire Carleton is here to see him?”

Without unbending her features, the receptionist reached for the phone, while Claire tried not to fidget. She watched the receptionist’s face, but her inscrutable expression defied interpretation.

Receptionists must make good poker players.

Claire’s stomach churned and she wished she’d had lunch. Gurgling was not going to add to her presence.

After a short wait and a terse conversation, the receptionist replaced her handset and looked up at Claire. A faint hint of surprise registered in her lifted brows. “Mr Thurman has asked you to go straight up.”

Heart hammering like a night club beat, Claire walked to the lift and resisted the urge to check her hair or makeup in the reflective surface to her left. The lift doors opened with a hiss and she walked in, back straight, head high. As the doors closed behind her, she slumped against the glass and inhaled deeply.

Come on, you can do this.

All too soon, the lift deposited her at her destination. Squaring her shoulders once more, Claire strode from the metal box and walked across the office floor. She felt eyes tracking her progress, and heard the susurration that followed her, as heads bent together and speculation ran rife.

Outside the office, Claire paused, before lifting her hand to knock at the door. Damn. Forgot the manicure. Bugger.

Dropping her hands, she curled her fingers in to hide the plain, short nails that jarred with her otherwise immaculate image.

“Come in.”

The terse voice called from behind the door. It sent shudders through Claire, emotions fizzing along her nerve endings.

Claire pulled the door open and walked unhurriedly inwards to take a chair. When she had positioned herself, knees together, hands clasped in her lap, back rigid, she looked up. Pouring three months of hard life lessons into her glittering smile, Claire met the eyes staring at her from behind the desk.

“Hello, Carl.”

***

Training Day: 2013 365 Challenge #197

Team Day: I wish my bum still looked like that!

Today I gave myself a training day. Just as a good marketer or manager needs a day out of the office to refresh her knowledge of the essential aspects of the job, so a writer needs to brush up on craft.

However, I found it as hard to have a metaphorical day out of the office today as I did when I had a ‘proper’ job. Whenever it was suggested, I used to whine about workload and deadlines and productive use of my time. Particularly if the day out was for quarterly strategy updates or *shudder* team days.

Oh what I wouldn’t give now for a day riding quad bikes and shooting clays, or pretending to do a school sports day (see photos) with a barbecue lunch and a free bar and – best of all – getting paid to do it! How our perspective on life changes.

I did at least get lunch made for me on my training day today, as hubbie’s contract finished on Friday and he’s at home again. So, when I should have been writing Claire installments or chasing the proofreader for an update, I read through Nigel Watts’ great craft book, Writing a Novel, which I discussed last week.

It’s a chatty book, full of great little quotes, which I have been adding to Twitter and Facebook today. The advice is neither new, profound, nor extensive, but I like the book all the more for that. I read through around half today – before the muggy heat sent my brain to sleep – and I’ve been mapping the advice on structure against Baby Blues, Class Act and Two-Hundred Steps Home.

School Girl Amanda (six years ago!)

It’s interesting to see that Baby Blues contains more of the necessary components than I realised, although I suspect I don’t have conflict and resolution in every chapter – I know that’s a personal weakness in my writing thus far.

I also struggled to verbalise Helen’s key motivation or pinpoint the exact nature of her character change. I came up with ‘finding a purpose in life’ or ‘creating a happy home’ as her motivations and her main change in terms of character growth as ‘takes her own decisions rather than letting life dictate them’.

For Class Act I had more detail in some places, less in others. I’m still not happy with the name of my lead protagonist and that is actually hampering me. The fact that I don’t have a name means, to me, that she isn’t fully formed in my mind.

The main reason for my training day was to figure out what to do with Claire and Two-Hundred Steps Home. As I’ve said before, the story is finished. She’s been through most of the stages of the eight-point structure. She’s made crucial decisions and dealt with the climax: assisting Josh to reunite with his wife even though she fancied him, looking after Sky despite her fear of children, standing up to Carl, and freeing herself from Michael.

All the early mystery has been revealed and the suspense answered. However, as Rinelle pointed out in the comments, Claire still hasn’t resolved her work situation. I know she has the strength to do it, but she needs a reason. Maybe that will be driven by love or lust (falling for Mitch and leaving for NZ, though I don’t think that’s likely as they didn’t hit it off), or maybe it’s the job offer in NZ (again, unlikely). Her motivation has always been pride – saving face, not being out done, not letting people (Carl, Michael, Josh) get the better of her. Now, though, she’s ready to move beyond pride. I need to figure out where to.

I effectively need to start a new plot, with a new trigger and a new quest. I just have no idea what that will be!

________________________________________________________________________________

Claire hung up the phone and grinned. It had taken a dozen phone calls and not a small amount of patience, but she had managed it. Now for the difficult call. She stared at the piece of paper in front of her, with the all-important name and number on it, and resisted the urge to put the call off until later. Now. It has to be now, or I’ll chicken out.

Tapping her pen against the table, she waited for the phone to connect, the contents of her stomach doing the hula.

“Good morning, Ruth speaking.”

“Hi, it’s me.” She heard the wobble in her voice, and wondered what was causing it. She was helping, wasn’t she?

“Hello, why are you calling? Is everything okay? I thought you were on your travels again. Did you speak to Mum?”

Claire swallowed. She’d forgotten about her conversation the previous evening. “Ah, yes. She and Dad are away, at a spa or something.” She prayed her sister wouldn’t ask any more questions. There were mental images that were best forgotten.

“What? She didn’t tell me she was going away. Who is going to collect Sky from school? It was all I could do to get her there this morning.”

Ignoring the stab of irritation at her sister’s attitude, Claire reminded herself that she was sick and needed all the help she could get.

“That’s why I’m ringing, actually. I’ve been thinking about it since I left. Mum and Dad need some time to rebuild their bridges-” She heard her sister’s intake of breath, and rushed on, “-Not that Mum minds helping you, but it must be frustrating for you, to always have to ask her for help. I thought about what you said – about needing a child-minder – and I’ve found one.”

“I told you, I can’t afford childcare.” Ruth’s tone made it clear what she felt about Claire’s interference.

“You don’t have to. It’s my gift to you. I should be helping, but I’m stuck doing this stupid challenge. The least I can do is let Carl fund a child-minder for you. They’re still paying me, and my outgoings are minimal. Anyway, it’s all arranged. It might be a bit make-do this term, but Jenny assures me she’ll have plenty of space next term.”

“That’s September, Claire. Four months away. I can’t make-do for all that time.”

Claire inhaled and tried not to react. She’d known it wouldn’t be easy to help her sister.

“All Jenny means is she will have to share the childcare with Mum, as she doesn’t have space every day. But she lives near you, so bringing Sky home won’t be a problem. Even if all she does is walk her home from school, that will help. Won’t it?”

Silence followed her words. Sensing it would be a concession too far from Ruth to admit that, Claire shrugged and let it go. “I’ll text you the details. I’ve asked Jenny to call you about collecting Sky from school today. I’m guessing you’ll have to get it authorised. And Ruth,” she hesitated, then decided nothing ventured. “Try and accept the help, okay. Think of it as recompense for me still doing this awful challenge when I’d rather be playing with my niece.”

She hung up the phone before her sister could respond. Realising she was breathing hard, Claire was about to head down to reception to check out and continue to the next hostel, when the phone rang. Oh, Ruth, don’t be a dummy. Take the help.

Glancing at the phone, she realised it wasn’t her sister calling back, but a withheld number. Hoping against reason that it was Kim, Claire answered the call.

“Hello, is that Claire Carleton?”

“Yes, speaking.”

“Ah, Claire. My name is Linda Small, I work for a recruitment agency. I have a position that might interest you, if you’re in the market for a change of role.”

Claire sank back onto the bunk bed, and listened with wide eyes to what Linda had to say.

***

Counting Blessings: 2013 365 Challenge #196

Vintage Buses

Yesterday I was urged to count my blessings, by a Londoner I bumped into while walking the dog. He was born in our county (Northamptonshire) but hadn’t returned for many years.

Walking across the fields, with the dotted rocks, natural ponds and long grasses (and too many cows for my liking), on a hot summer’s day, he said it was one of the most beautiful places in the country.

With my recent trip to Scotland in mind, and my various excursions to The Lakes or the Peak District, I struggled to agree. The land is too flat and domesticated for my liking.

The heat all too much for my little man

But the particular walk we were on is lovely (I would go more often if it weren’t for the cows). There is a lovely brook I used to swim in as a child, where the dog will chase sticks for hours.

I could see my mum’s chimney from where we stood, and I pointed it out, to loud exclamations of envy. Then, when he asked if I was taking the dog to the river for a swim, I mentioned that I was, to be followed for a dip by me in my mum’s pool. He laughed, with more obvious jealousy, and said he hoped I appreciated how much I was truly blessed to live such a life. In the three days of his visit he hadn’t seen a policeman or heard a siren.

Needless to say, he was not one of the people you meet who think London is the centre of the universe!

Now, I love London, although I’ve never lived there. My various trips for work and pleasure have always been amazing. I have friends who live in beautiful parts of the suburbs, with glorious parklands close by.

A sign of things to come?

But the city is wasted on me. I’m not bothered about going to bars, I hate shopping and I rarely have time or energy for theatres and museums. Walking the dog, though, enjoying silence, breathing clean air: these are things I am regularly thankful for. Having lived in Manchester for several years, and Leeds before that, I tasted enough of city life to know it isn’t for me.

Nor am I someone who needs to be told to count their blessings. I’ve lived in enough places, have played sufficiently different roles, to appreciate who and where I am. (I do occasionally miss my little terrace house, where I lived alone while dating my husband, but I think that’s natural as a parent of two!)

Inspecting the new uniform

Yesterday I took the children to a vintage bus rally at the farm, including a free trip on a 50-year-old double-decker bus. We wandered around, saying hello to people we knew, visiting the new ducklings and playing hide and seek in the barn.

Then we stopped off for a swim on the way home, where both my little babies can now jump unaided into the pool and swim a little bit before sinking. Then we went home to tuck the children in bed, before going up oursevles without worrying about locking the front door (although I always do if hubbie is away!)

This morning I am writing this in a coffee shop in town, nodding to people I know, while hubbie takes our daughter for her last school taster session before the real thing (in her school uniform, too, so adorable!)

For all the trials and sleepless nights, the work worries and the endless toddler chatter, I count my blessings and they are many.

Life is good.

________________________________________________________________________________

_______________________________________________________________________________

Claire heard a familiar voice as she entered the bar, and her heart skipped more than a beat. Her eyes raked across the room, even as she knew it couldn’t be him. Locating the source of the voice, Claire exhaled in relief and disappointment. Now she could see the speaker, she realised the voice didn’t even sound like his. Similar, but with more inflection at the end of the sentences.

The man lounged in the corner of the room, chatting to two young women, both of whom were clearly hanging off his every word. She judged him to be older than Josh, although with the same tan and laughter lines that suggested a life lived largely under the sun.

I guess there must be hundreds of Aussies backpacking round the UK, particularly as it’s winter over there.

Putting the man, and the memories he dredged up, from her mind, she went to the bar.

Claire sensed eyes on her and looked up. The man from earlier stood inches from her shoulder, looking down at the screen of her iPad. Claire bristled and flipped the case closed.

“Thinking of a trip to New Zealand?” The man’s accent added several extra vowels to the words.

“No, just researching a piece I’m writing.”

“Really? I could help ya, whatcha wanna know?”

He pulled up a stool without asking and sat next to her at the bar. Claire was torn between amusement and irritation. She glanced over her shoulder to where the man had been chatting up the girls, but they were gone.

Picking up on her glance, the man laughed. “S’alright, they weren’t with me. Just being friendly.”

Claire stared at him, unsure how to react. On closer inspection she decided he wasn’t all that attractive. On the shady side of thirty-five at least, although his skin was so weathered he could be anywhere between twenty and fifty. His relaxed air and easy confidence set up her British hackles, and her first thought was to tell him to get lost.

But he reminded her of Josh and, with Kim still refusing her calls, her parents getting more action than she’d seen in six months, and the memory of Michael red-hot in her mind, she decided what the hell.

With a glint in her eye she asked, “What part of Australia are you from?” She laughed at his disgruntled expression. “I’m kidding. You’re a Kiwi, right?”

“Ha Bloody Ha. If you’re planning a trip down under you’ll learn not to make that mistake.” His brow furrowed and she was surprised to see he really was put out by her joke.

“Oh come on, it must happen all the time. Could you tell what part of the UK I’m from?”

“Maybe not, but I don’t think you’re Scottish or Welsh and I wouldn’t ask you if you were a yank.”

“Australian is much closer to the Kiwi accent than English to American.” Claire was bored of the discussion but couldn’t think of a way to end it.

“Not to me, chook.”

“Fair enough. Sorry. What part of New Zealand are you from, then?” She wasn’t really interested, but politeness stopped her from turning back to her daydreaming.

“Dunedin. It’s in the south,” he added, “don’t suppose you’ve heard of it.”

“Between Christchurch and the Catlins?” Claire threw out the comment, before taking a drink of her gin.

The man grinned. “You have done your research. What are you working on? I’m Mitch, by the way.”

“Claire.” She nearly held out her hand but thought better of it. “I’ve been offered a writing job over there.” It felt good to finally tell someone. Mitch’s eyebrows lifted in interest and Claire found herself pouring out the whole story.

“But I’ve decided not to go,” she said at the end. “My sister’s recovering from cancer, I need to somehow mend bridges with my best friend before she has her baby, and I don’t want to give my boss the satisfaction of not having to sack me.” She took another gulp of her gin and tonic and wondered why she had spilled her guts to a stranger and, more to the point, why he hadn’t legged it.

He didn’t even look bored. Instead he had a thoughtful frown on his face.

“I see your dilemma. Crappy time to visit New Zealand anyway, unless you like skiing?”

Claire laughed at his response. “Well, I do like to ski, but I hardly think I could afford it on what they’ll be paying me.”

“There’s always work for those that need it. I can see you pulling pints in a backpackers bar.” He winked and Claire wasn’t sure if it was an insult or a compliment.

“What are you in the UK for, holiday?” She didn’t want to dwell on the potential of going to New Zealand, not now she had decided to stay.

“Yeah, not much work in the winter. Thought I’d come see what all the fuss is about.”

“What do you do, in New Zealand?”

“I’m a bus driver for Magic.” Claire raised an eyebrow in enquiry. “Thought you’d done your research? It’s one of the tour companies that take backpackers round to all the sights. Kiwi Experience is the other one, although we have a different name for it.” He told her and she blushed, much to his amusement.

“That’d be the way to do your writing dead easy. Two or three weeks, everything booked and sorted for you. What do you Brits say, A doddle?”

She laughed at his attempt at an English accent. A yawn caught her unawares, and she covered her mouth with both hands.

“Sorry, I think I’m going to have to say good night. It was fun talking to you, Mitch. Enjoy your travels.” With another yawn, she picked up her iPad and headed to her room.

***

Gold Star Day: 2013 365 Challenge #195

The awesome adventure playground

Last week I read a post on the Mummy Kindness blog about remembering to celebrate the small daily achievements, as well as the big ones, particularly as a parent.

On those days when the chores are overwhelming, the laundry endless, the fridge empty, the children impossible and the tears enough to fill a paddling pool (and that’s just mine) it’s important to remember that the little things matter.

Mummy Kindness summed up the feelings of despair eloquently:

“Do you ever feel like your main role in life is simply to move mounds of clothing from one place to the other?

The tallest slide in the world

“Or is that just me? From the floor, to the basket, to the machine. Where it remains for too long. Wash it again. Put it in the dryer. Forget about it. Still damp and smelly. Wash it again. Repeat. Dry it. Iron it (sometimes), put it in drawers and on hangers. Chase moving targets to wrap them in it. Find items on floor. Move them to basket. Repeat, repeat, repeat ad infinitum.”

The point of the post was to reassure us harassed parents that it all matters. Even when the day feels like an endless stress of thankless tasks, it is all important.

“The small things. The chores. The wiping and the chasing and the cajoling and the finding of things. The comforting and the playing and the rushing and the constant busy. It is all part of a very important picture. It may seem ordinary. Mundane even. Sometimes banal. But it is part of the tapestry of family life.”

Summer boy having fun

On days when it feels like you have done nothing but yell at your kids and feed them chocolate (or is that just me?) it’s important to remember that all the tiny details add up to something huge.

My response, in the comments, was this: “I really needed this today. Hubbie had a bad day at work yesterday and, instead of being sympathetic, I stomped round the house grumping that it’s always me that loads and unstacks the dishwasher, buys food and cooks it, cleans floor, kids, clothes, smelly dog, paint-covered-paddling pools and mouldy car carpets (it’s not just you!)”

“It’s hard to not need that pat on the back, but I do try and give it to myself. Every time I manage to get to nursery on time with brushed hair (me or the kids, I don’t mind) and at least one set of teeth brushed, I give myself a mental gold star!”

Well, today was a gold-star day. Today, in 32 degree heat (which makes my brain boil and my temper fray) I managed to get all the way to bedtime without bellowing once. A miracle.

Hiding from the sun

I had the fab idea to take the family to a National Trust property that has a tree-covered adventure playground (star)

I remembered the place is huge and a pushchair is essential, even though we don’t really use one anymore (star)

I managed to pull a picnic together out of half a loaf, some cheese and a pack of museli bars (star).

I covered us all in factor 50 sun cream (star)

I packed spare clothes so daughter could change out of her chocolate-ice cream-covered dress (star),

I remembered the porta-potty, the kids comfort toys and their milk for the trip home (star)

I thought to pack the swimming bag so we could swing by grandma’s on the way home for a swim (star).

In response to my comment, the author of the Mummy Kindness blog said “Maybe we need to think of it as a mental piggy bank for us to fill with our own virtual gold coins. Or to take it a step further, perhaps our very own reward chart complete with stickers, to remind of us of all we do and how important we are!”

My idea? To reward ourselves with a spa day for every full reward chart. I think I earned at least a pedicure today!

A final thought from Mummy Kindness to sustain you on a bad day: “When it feels like we’ll never be enough, we need to remember; Who else knows that the Hulk costume is in the green toy box under the table in the spare room?”

_______________________________________________________________________________

Claire pulled up outside the Oxford YHA, and knew she should have stayed in her own bed. The purpose-built yellow brick building loomed large and soulless against the night sky. A train thundered past and she guessed the station must be nearby.

At least I’m tired enough to sleep through anything.

She peered through the window, trying to locate the car park in the dark, headlights dazzling her tired eyes, before she realised there wasn’t one. Damn, I should have checked when I booked. Bouncing the Skoda up the kerb on a single-yellow, she put the hazard lights on and ran in to ask at reception.

“I’m booked in for the night, but I can’t see the car park. Is there anywhere to leave the car?” Claire panted out the words, barely registering the smart reception or the group of people waiting to check in.

“You have to use the park and ride, love. About a mile away. You’ll be lucky to get a bus at this time on a Sunday, though. Leave your bag, it won’t take too long to walk.”

The receptionist smiled, as if this were perfectly acceptable news for someone just arriving after a long drive.

Claire groaned, and headed back to the car for her rucksack. All she wanted, after two hours of negotiating winding roads and roundabouts and junctions, trusting fully in the satnav to bring her safely to her destination, was a cup of tea and a comfy chair.

Would have been nice if they’d mentioned something on the website.

She thought about walking the streets of Oxford on a Sunday night, never mind leaving her car in a park and ride to be vandalised. Sod that. Jaw set and brow furrowed, Claire climbed into the car and started scouring the local residential streets for a space that wasn’t permit only.

After quarter of an hour, the traffic gods smiled on her, and she found a space just large enough to squeeze the Skoda into. With a smile of satisfaction, Claire pulled her rucksack out and tried to remember the way back to the hostel.

Her tummy rumbled a reminder, as she finally found the building again and walked into reception. Now she was here, with a bar and restaurant tempting her, it felt like the right decision to have come. Had she been at her parents’ house, she would be eating beans on toast and listening to the silence of the unnaturally empty house creaking around her.

The noise coming from the bar promised a rowdy evening, and Claire made a mental note to take a book and headphones down to the bar.

***

Would You Walk? 2013 365 Challenge #194

Playing in the unusual British summer weather!

There’s been an interesting debate on Twitter this afternoon about an incident in the Ashes cricket match, between England and Australia. Listening on the radio, it’s impossible to have an opinion on the event itself, as it’s all to do with a batsman not walking off the field when he was caught behind, even though the umpire said Not Out.

There is a video review system in cricket – DRS – which was introduced for just such moments and, had the Aussies not wasted their reviews on dubious LBW (leg before wicket – a way of getting out) decisions, they could have asked for a review and Broad would have been out.

The commentators are even saying Broad might have walked anyway if the Aussies had had a review remaining, knowing it would be reviewed. As I say, I don’t really have an opinion, although – as an English person – I would hope that he would do the sporting thing. The phrase Simply not cricket is a reference to the scrupulous morals of the game.

Look, Mummy, I found an egg

However, as many people on Twitter pointed out, this is his career. His job is to help his team mates win the game and the tournament. His runs may turn out to be the difference between victory and defeat. With the DRS system there to prevent such travesty decisions, maybe his staying put is a lesson to Australia not to waste them. (After the match, Broad said it was a batsman’s right to await the decision of the umpire.)

One of the more interesting discussions centred around whether an Australian player would have walked in the same situation (along the lines of – they would have stayed put so why shouldn’t our guy?). There, I’m less comfortable. Just because your opponent does something, doesn’t mean you should too.

In the end, the decisions in sport ebb and flow. By all accounts there were a couple of decisions yesterday that went the way of the Aussies rather than the English. These things tend to even out in the end. Of course if it had been the other way around I might have been more outraged, though I don’t think so.

The shift from amateur to professional status for a sport or sportsman must make it harder to take the moral high ground. You do see it, when a snooker player admits to moving a ball with his hand, or when a cricketer walks, but not so much. I ask the haters on Twitter, though, what would you do?

I dislike endless promotion from authors on social media; it doesn’t mean I haven’t done it, when there’s a free promo running or I haven’t had a sale in weeks. It’s my job and I have to grow an extra layer of skin and do things that go against the grain.

My turn to bounce, Mummy

I used to struggle at work with office politics, because I have a writer’s need for honesty and explanation as opposed to poker-face lying and dissimulation. However, I knew I couldn’t change the way the game was played so I chose to leave rather than let the game change me. I was lucky to have the choice.

Hubbie is facing the same dilemma, knowing his family rely on him not to leave. I wish I knew the answer, for those faced with a game whose rules offend their sense of what’s right, but who must play by those rules or lose.

In Broad’s position? If I genuinely knew I hit the ball and was out (and hot spot doesn’t seem certain, so maybe Broad wasn’t) I would probably walk. But maybe only because my guilt would be writ large on my face. I couldn’t lie about my daughter’s age to get her into an aquarium without paying adult prices for a 4-year-old, but I didn’t correct the lady on the till when she made the assumption for me that my daughter was only 3.

Besides, isn’t it hard to be moral in a society whose leaders have the motto ‘What can we get away with?’ rather than ‘Let’s do what’s right’.

________________________________________________________________________________

Claire walked up the path and felt a twinge of anxiety. The last time she had turned up unannounced she hadn’t received much of a welcome. Hopefully her week being helpful over at Ruth’s would ensure a cordial greeting.

The house lurked quietly on the subdued street. I guess six o’clock on a Sunday evening isn’t a noisy time in this kind of neighbourhood. Presumably the residents were all eating a Sunday roast or watching prime-time television in their sitting rooms.

The sound of the bell shattered the silence. Claire waited, listening for the familiar footsteps along the hall. Five seconds passed, ten. The wait made her ears ring and tightened a knot of tension in her stomach.

I’ll count to ten, then I’ll ring the bell again.

Images began to flash through Claire’s mind and she had to resist the impulse to let herself in, unsure whether she expected to find them murdered in their beds, or a note to confirm her father was having an affair, next to a bottle of pills and an empty liquor bottle.

Come on, Claire, you’ve been watching too many Sunday-night dramas yourself. This isn’t Midsomer or an episode of CSI.

Her hands trembled as she raised them to the bell a second time. As the sound cut through the still evening, Claire knew that no one was going to answer. With a rapidly increasing heart rate, she decided to call her mother’s mobile.

Maybe they’re at the pub, or a party. The words sounded false in her mind: her parents never went out. Not together, at any rate.

A sudden vision of her mother stalking her father, spying on him to discover his misdeeds, rose in her mind, only to be banished.

Claire found her phone and dialled the number. It also rang on, unanswered. Claire ended the call and was about to find her house key when her mobile flashed back into life. It was her mother’s number, returning her call. With numb hands she lifted the phone to her ear.

“Hello? Mum? Are you okay?”

“Claire, darling. Sorry I didn’t catch your call, I couldn’t reach the phone.” Her mother’s voice bubbled down the line, easing some of the worry but none of the puzzlement.

“Where are you?” The clear fact that her mother hadn’t been murdered or taken her own life, caused anger to rise, sharpening Claire’s voice.

“Away, darling. At a spa. I left you a message. Didn’t I? Well, I meant to. Your father has whisked me away for the weekend.” She giggled, and Claire heard voices murmuring on the other end of the line. Her mother giggled again, this time in a tone of voice that made Claire’s cheeks flush red hot.

“Mum! What are you doing? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

“Sorry. Your father’s trying to tempt me back to bed.”

“Eugh! I said I didn’t want to know! I take it you sorted out your differences then?”

“Yes. You were right, he wasn’t cheating on me. Fancy your Dad writing a book, at his time of life. I read it. It’s very good. Quite racy in places.” She gave a girlish titter that made Claire feel nauseous.

“I stopped by to see how you are. I’m standing on your doorstep.” Claire knew she was being churlish, but couldn’t help it. “I’m going to Oxford tonight.”

“Oh, are you, darling? How lovely. Did you have fun with Ruth? Thank you for helping out. I’m sure she’ll be fine until we get back tomorrow.”

Claire bit back the retort hovering on her lips. She knew her mother deserved a break, and was glad that she and her dad had sorted out their misunderstanding. Definitely time to look into hiring a child-minder for Ruth. Something tells me she might need one.

Unsure what else to say, and unwilling to continue the conversation, Claire wished her mother a happy holiday and hung up the phone.

Standing alone in front of the hushed house, she found herself drawn towards the door, keys in hand, an urge to let herself in and curl up in her old bed pulling at her like gravity. With a shake of the head, she turned away and strode back down the path to the car.

***

‘Broad should have walked’ (bbc.co.uk)
Ashes 2013: Stuart Broad cheat storm after England star refuses to walk (dailymail.co.uk)
Ashes 2013 1st Test recap: Bell puts England in the driving seat whilst Broad controversially refuses to walk (mirror.co.uk)

Stuck: 2013 365 Challenge #193

I promised pictures of the new playhouse

I’ve been trying to get Two-Hundred Steps Home back on track today. I’m definitely at that middle dip part of a first draft where, in a normal length novel, I’d be counting the chapters to the climax.

Although the challenge was always about trying to write something every day, knowing it was first draft standard, I do feel a responsibility to the c.300 people who have downloaded volume one.

It is noticeable that the download numbers drop off, and the reviews dry up, as it gets to volumes four, five and six. I haven’t re-read any of them but I know that the story stuttered once Josh left.

Anyone still reading the daily installments will see that I have um’d and ah’d about sending Claire to New Zealand or maybe killing off Ruth, but it hasn’t seemed right to do either. Claire’s journey needs to happen without too much external force. The problem is, I don’t know what Claire’s journey is anymore. I’m nearly at 150k words and I feel Claire has developed nicely into someone who thinks about others, who wants a more meaningful future. Someone who isn’t going to be walked over by a man, or treated like a little princess. But, like real life, she’s drifting between her past and her future, waiting for something to happen.

Glorious poppies in the garden

Writing in small installments every day, and needing an element of sense in each scene, the book has dragged to a halt and has taken my imagination with it. I’m stuck.

Do I write a happy ever after, where Claire meets a man she wants to have babies with? Do I send her to NZ for more adventures, hoping that a new environment will allow her character to grow? I am feeling my inexperience as a writer, in this period of inertia. If this were a manuscript, this is the point at which I’d shelve it for a few months and come back with fresh eyes.

I’ve also noticed a change in my writing style, following feedback on Baby Blues. I’m trying not to write too many thoughts in italics. As a result I feel more distanced from Claire, which makes it harder to keep interest in what happens to her.

So apologies to any faithful readers who have followed Claire from the beginning. Sorry she doesn’t have quite so much fun and there are fewer laugh-out-loud moments (which hubbie assures me there were in the first volumes).

I’m hoping to find some energy to put back into her story. Here’s hoping for some inspiration!

________________________________________________________________________________

“Do you have to go? It feels like you just got here.”

Claire looked askance at Ruth, wondering if she was joking. The week with her sister and niece felt like a month. The weekend had been okay. She’d taken Sky to a museum and then the cinema and was surprised at how much fun it had been. But the four days of school – getting Sky up and dressed in the morning, making it to the school gates on time, and then remembering to collect her six hours later – had been more challenging than any week back in the office.

Even though she hadn’t had to travel and change accommodation every day, she found she had less time to write her blog. Between taking care of Ruth – ensuring that she ate and dressed – cleaning the kitchen and helping Sky with her homework, the day was chock-full of tasks that numbed her brain and left her exhausted. Instead of writing her blog in the evening, she fell asleep on the sofa with one of Ruth’s awful reality shows blaring in the background.

“Sorry, sis, Carl was quite clear he would only let me have a week.”

Ruth’s face fell, and Claire felt the guilt pierce through her exhaustion.

“It’s been great, having you here. Mum helps, but it’s not the same. I feel bad that she’s spending so much time away from Dad. It’s been nice, knowing you have no-where else to be.”

The words hit Claire like a slap. Her first thought was, how dare she? I have a life. Then honesty forced its way through the lie. No I don’t. My best friend hasn’t contacted me in a week, since I wrecked her wedding and possibly her career. Michael, thankfully, has got the hint and the only other person I consider to be a friend lives 10,000 miles away.

Dragging her thoughts back to the present, Claire inhaled; the scent of coffee and daffodils awakening her senses.

“What you need is a child-minder. To take Sky to school and collect her, and have her in the holidays.”

“Yes, and a bloody lottery win to pay for it.” Ruth stopped abruptly, before continuing in a softer voice. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bite your head off. I would love a child-minder but I just can’t afford it. I’m only getting statutory sick leave and, even assuming I get back to work anytime soon, my wages barely cover the bills.”

Not for the first time, Claire thought it appalling that Ruth’s salary as a teacher was less than one of the marketing execs that used to work for her. Before she’d spent any amount of time with her niece, she’d thought it fair: how hard could it be minding children for a few hours a day and getting long holidays?

Now she knew better. Not only was it exhausting and challenging managing one child, never mind thirty, she knew there was much more to it than that. Even now, signed off sick and undergoing chemo, Ruth still spent time compiling school reports and completing paperwork.

“Are they expensive, then? Child-minders?”

“Finding one that would pick Sky up from here and drop her back would be. Usually they have a dozen children under their care after school.”

The conversation drifted onto a new topic, but the thought stayed lodged in Claire’s mind. Maybe that’s what I can do to help, at least until Ruth’s better. If I’m going to carry on with Carl’s stupid challenge, money isn’t going to be an issue. She vowed to make some calls.

“Have you spoken to Mum?”

Ruth’s voice cut through Claire’s thoughts.

“Not since last weekend. I wonder if she had her date night with Dad?”

Ruth giggled and Claire joined in. The idea of their parents going on a date was both weird and a bit icky.

“I’ll pop over later – say goodbye – on my way to Oxford.”

“Is that your next stop?”

“Yes. I want to head south, but there’s no point driving straight to Cornwall. I’ve actually mapped out a route, for the first time. I’ll head down through the New Forest, Dorset and Devon. Hopefully I’ll get to Cornwall in time for some decent weather.”

Ruth’s face twisted, as if she wanted to say something nasty, about how lucky Claire was, but knew it would harm their new-found cordiality.

“Don’t be jealous,” Claire said, interpreting her gaze. “It’s not like I’m travelling round New Zealand. One hostel is pretty much like another, and it is really just a job. Besides, I’ll be finding new adventures for the blog. You can enjoy me chucking myself off high things, even if I don’t.” She shuddered, only partly an act.

“Oh, Claire. No one’s life is perfect, is it? I used to envy you, but it must be lonely on the road, having to move on every day. At least I have Sky to talk to and cuddle with.”

She reached over and wrapped her sister in a huge hug. Claire swallowed the lump in her throat and willed herself not to cry.

***

The Zen of Cleaning: 2013 365 Challenge #192

My lovely clean kitchen

I very much subscribe to the view that life’s too short for housework. Certainly life’s too precious, time is too precious, to be wasted on housework when there are more enjoyable or creative things to do.

Like writing, or designing book covers.

Unless it can be done when the children are playing in the garden, cleaning doesn’t happen. It certainly doesn’t take place when my children are at nursery. Paying ten pounds an hour for them to be looked after, just for me to hoover, is plain silly when I could hire a cleaner for £8 an hour*.

However, when I signed them up for a morning at preschool a week (much cheaper than nursery and too short a time-slot to really get into writing) it was meant to be designated house time. So far it hasn’t. I’ve been catching up on the blog or editing Baby Blues.

Today, though, I spent the morning cleaning and sorting. I have to admit, I feel refreshed even though I didn’t get much done. Two hours wasn’t going to make a dent in the carnage that is my home. However we no longer have a nursing chair in the middle of the kitchen. The dog hair tumbleweed has been sucked from the corners of the hallway, and the dolls house relocated to my daughter’s room, instead of behind the clutter under the stairs.

I confess to spending twenty minutes cleaning and arranging the dolls house furniture. What can I say? It was hot and I needed a breather.

Daughter’s new hideyhole under the stairs

As if in some karmic reward, the children gave me 90 minutes to read my book and another hour to clean the kitchen when we got home. My daughter curled up on the nursing chair in it’s new location under the stairs (I can’t quite bring myself to sell it yet) and my son fell asleep in the tidy lounge.

Hubbie even noticed the unprecedented cleanliness when he got home. Brownie points all round. I’m amazed at how calm I feel, just knowing tomorrow’s writing day can be done in a (mostly) clean house. As long as I don’t go near the playroom or our bedroom!

I’d like to say this zen of calm will encourage me to become house proud and tidy but, sadly, I know myself too well. I shall just enjoy it while it lasts.

*We did have a cleaner, but we lasted three weeks before splitting by mutual consent. I couldn’t cope with the two hours pre-tidy that had to take place every Tuesday and she couldn’t cope with my overly high expectations of what could be achieved in two hours!

_______________________________________________________________________________

________________________________________________________________________________

“Are you coming to the May Day Fete at my school, Auntie Claire?”

Claire looked up from her coffee cup and gazed at Sky until her words penetrated the sleepy fog in her mind. After two nights of little or no sleep, all she wanted to do was go back to bed.

“Yes, do come, Claire. You can write about it on the blog. It’ll be fun. There’s an obstacle course for the children and craft and stuff.”

Sounds like torture, Claire thought. Out loud she said, “Sure, honey. What time?” Her sister’s words registered, and she added, “I don’t have to do the obstacle race, do I?”

Ruth and Sky laughed and shook their heads, the likeness between them emphasised by their matching smiles.

“No, it’s just for the little ones. Your role will be cheering from the side-lines. Although, having read about your space-hopper race, I would have thought you’d romp through an obstacle course.”

“Blimey, sis, you really have read all my blog, haven’t you?”

Ruth flushed. “I told you, it’s my only escape. I follow a few others, too. People further afield. There’s one woman who is travelling across America, hitch-hiking and staying on people’s sofas. I’m glad you’re not doing that, it would terrify me.”

She patted Claire’s hand, then rose from the table.

“Come on Sky, let’s let Auntie Claire have a moment’s peace while we get dressed. We don’t have to leave for half an hour.”

Claire sat in the silent kitchen with emotions roiling in her stomach. Even though she’d opted not to take up Roger’s offer, the idea wouldn’t leave her alone. Deciding she needed to focus on the next leg of her UK journey, Claire pulled the iPad out of her bag and loaded the YHA website.

“Come on, Sky, throw your heart over it, you can do it.” Ruth’s voice carried on the wind, along with those of the other cheering parents.

Claire looked across at her and was pleased to see the colour flooding her sister’s cheeks. It was good for her to be outside in the fresh air. Although it wasn’t warm, the sun was shining and there was little wind.

The May Day celebration was being held in a school playing field surrounded by a stone wall and cherry trees, coming into their pink blossom. It was a picturesque English scene, and Claire was surprised at how comforting it was. She realised she had been unconsciously comparing it to how she imagined New Zealand might look.

Stop it! Leave it be, brain, for goodness sake. I am not going.

Sky ran over and wrapped herself round Claire’s knees. “Did you see, Auntie Claire, did you see? I came second!”

Claire forced herself back to the present. Dropping to her haunches, she wrapped her arms around Sky and gave the girl a quick hug.

“Eugh, you’re all sweaty, Sky!” She laughed, to take the sting from her words.

“I’m hot, too. Can I have an ice cream, Claire, pleeeaassee?” She opened her eyes wide and hopped up and down.

“If your Mummy says you may, yes.”

Ruth nodded, and Claire led Sky towards the ice cream van parked in the corner. Sky’s hand warm in hers.

I’ll call Roger tomorrow. Tell him thanks, but no thanks.

With a sigh, Claire joined the queue for ice cream.

***

Heat and Time-Eating Hell: 2013 365 Challenge #191

We are so lucky to have these beautiful birds flying overhead

CreateSpace approved my cover PDF yesterday (I wasn’t expecting them to). I am impressed, because they adjusted the spine width and the bleed area, at no cost, in order to approve the picture for print.

Unfortunately I spotted a missing full stop in the ‘blurb’ and I wasn’t entirely happy with their revised spine. But, boy oh boy, tweaking an adobe file EATS time. I spent so long working on it last night I didn’t get around to doing my post, so I’m desperately writing this when I should be making the kids’ pack lunches for preschool this morning.

(Pre-school drop-off takes so long I don’t get home until after my 10am deadline. Unless I get my Claire post written now, too, today’s post will be a tad late!)

Dive-bombing the paddling pool

My only complaint about CreateSpace vs Lulu (my preferred print-on-demand service) is I can’t seem to find a PDF template on CreateSpace. That’s not to say one doesn’t exist. And they do have detailed instructions on sizes. However, I followed those detailed instructions and still apparently got it wrong.

With Lulu, you can download a PDF template and include it as a layer in adobe, to build the cover on top of (sorry if this is too much boring information!). Ah well. The proofreader won’t be finished for three weeks, so I have time to play! I just have to be stronger-willed about when.

Sliding in super-fast

The heat is also frying my brain at the moment. I know, it makes people in proper hot countries laugh, because it’s only in the high twenties (C) here. But we’ve had eighteen months of rubbish weather, so I’m acclimatised to rain and jeans. I don’t have the clothing or the temperament for hot! Chasing kids with sun cream, hats and water is exhausting.

Thankfully, I am super-fortunate that there is a drop-in centre in town on a Tuesday where some lovely ladies from the Methodist (or Baptist?) church provide tea and coffee, toast and toys, so the children can play and the Mummies can chat.

Hot dog trying to stay cool

My son doesn’t normally enjoy it, but yesterday the courtyard was open and they sat out having a picnic. Kids love picnics. Plus there was cake. Can’t go wrong with free cake.

Then we went to the pocket park and another picnic. Home for milk and quiet time (and more tea for Mummy to try and stay awake!). Why is it that hot weather is so exhausting?

In the afternoon we took the dog to the Farm, because it’s getting hard to walk her with all the fields overgrown. She enjoyed the fuss made of her by the staff, but she didn’t like that she wasn’t allowed to chase the ducks and birds. My kids spent an hour watching the staff feeding the ferrets, mice, rats and guinea pigs, and I spent the time convincing Kara that they animals weren’t her dinner!

Then home for paddling pool and tea. At least the kids found a way to stay cool, sliding into the paddling pool and covering the decking with water. I’m really impressed with how my daughter has overcome her fear of getting her face wet. At the weekend she swam for the first time without her float jacket on and last night, in the paddling pool, she was more adventurous than her brother! That’s a first.

The kites are loving the weather. We have two or three pairs of them that fly over the house. When the electricity cables are taken down later in the year, we’ll be able to entice them into the garden. I’m looking forward to getting some amazing pictures. Life is good.

________________________________________________________________________________

Ruth’s words haunted Claire. All during the evening, as she battled to put Sky to bed. During the night, instead of sleeping, the phrase Life’s too short echoed round her head. The lure of running away to New Zealand grew stronger, the longer Kim remained silent. Claire had sent her friend a grovelling text message, unwilling to intrude on the remainder of her wedding weekend by phoning. But Kim’s silence was deafening.

Would it be running away? Or running to? She tried to imagine what it would be like, being so far from home. No different to being on holiday. Four hours on a flight or twenty-four, it isn’t all that different. And how different could it be, staying in Kiwi hostels, compared with the UK ones? They looked a bit more informal, but some of the bunkhouses in the UK were pretty basic.

By the time the sun peered through the curtains, Claire dragged herself upright with a muggy head, no closer to a decision. Heading downstairs to make Ruth breakfast in bed, she was surprised to hear laughter coming from the kitchen.

Sky and Ruth sat opposite each other at the pine table. Sky was gesturing, telling some story from their trip to the Farm, and Ruth’s face was alight with amusement. When Claire caught the drift of her niece’s words, she flushed.

“Well, it was disgusting. I’m sorry, I had no idea a cow’s tongue is about a foot long and covered with slime. It slobbered halfway up my arm.” Claire shuddered at the memory of feeding the giant black and white beasts in the barn.

“I can’t believe you did it. I won’t go near them. Sheep, yes, they’re gentle. Even the goats are okay, if they don’t head-butt you. But those cows! Yuck.” Ruth giggled.

Claire blushed hotter as her sister and niece revelled in her discomfort. After a moment, she joined in. “I got my own back, anyway.”

“Yes!” Sky said, snorting with laughter, “You wiped your hands all over me.”

Ruth turned to raise an eyebrow at her sister, her smile slipping.

“Only her hands, and we washed them straight away.” Taking a seat at the table, Claire poured cereal into a bowl. “You’re both up bright and early for a bank holiday.”

“School hours become a habit,” Ruth shrugged. “Besides, I feel great today. You must have tired Sky out, yesterday, as she slept right through.” She shone a grateful glance at her sister.

“Glad to help.”

There was silence, as the three of them concentrated on their food. Claire was relieved to see Sky and Ruth both eating well. It was gratifying to see that her presence had a positive effect. The see-saw of indecision in her mind swung back down to staying put in the UK. Her job was to help her sister get better, not gad about on beaches and in rain forests.

“Where to next then, Claire?” Ruth looked up with genuine curiosity. Claire realised it was the first time her sister had shown any interest in her career.

“I don’t know. There are still loads of hostels in Wales I haven’t covered. Plus, of course the whole of the South of England, and a bunch I need to pick up that weren’t open when I was up north.” She said the last phrase in her best impression of a northern accent, and Ruth giggled again.

“It must be fun, seeing the country, getting to meet new people. I love the blog. You should write a book.”

With a stab of guilt, Claire thought about the job offer. She wondered if she should tell Ruth, ask her advice. It was so nice having a normal conversation with her, though, she was reluctant to spoil it. Ruth’s reactions could be unpredictable, particularly where opportunity and money were concerned.

“Maybe I will. Write a book. Lots of the people who follow the book are authors, with self-published books to promote. It seems quite easy, although I don’t know who would buy it, when all my adventures are there on the blog for free.”

Ruth sat forward, her hands clasped loosely round a glass of juice. “I’d buy it. There must be stuff you don’t put on the blog. Things that the YHA wouldn’t approve of?”

Claire thought about the unnamed Scotsman. Josh. The wedding show-down. Yes, there was plenty of drama. Perhaps that would be a better option than running away down under. She could head down to Cornwall instead, and lose herself in words.

“I’ll bear it in mind. Thanks, sis.”

***

CreateSpace Distraction: 2013 365 Challenge #190

First Draft Create Space Cover

I derailed my intended work schedule today by reading a blog post, by Chris McMullen, on why it’s worth having a print-on-demand edition of your self-published book as well as an e-book.

My main reason for not producing print versions for Dragon Wraiths and Baby Blues is largely to do with effort. It’s harder to create a professional-looking paperback, and print-on-demand books are expensive for the consumer. I might find people willing to spend £2 on an ebook from an unknown author, but £8 or £10 for a paperback? That’s a much bigger leap of faith. I would actually be embarrassed to ask someone to pay that much, and would worry much more about my lack of professional editing.

Chris McMullen discusses some interesting reasons why it’s worth bothering with the pain of creating a print-on-demand version (e-books are a doddle by comparison.)

1. Some customers only buy print copies. (This is true: my friend Hugh keeps asking when he can buy a print copy of my books).

2. If you link your CreateSpace book with your kindle version, it shows the kindle price as a discounted price against the paperback list price. This may aid ebook sales as the ebook looks like a bargain.

3. Having a printed version allows you to do a Goodreads giveaway. (This is something that has been bugging me for a while: that you can’t do a giveaway on Goodreads with an e-book voucher.)

4. You can sell the paperback version in person (for example through independent bookstores or maybe a book-signing event at your local library).

Chris lists other reasons, such as it is easier to edit a print book; a paperback is a must for press releases; paperbacks are great marketing tools: (you can’t see what people on the bus are reading on a kindle); and people are more likely to remember to review a paperback, if it’s visible in their house.

I liked this quote:

If you give away copies of your book to friends and family, give them paperback editions, especially if they are likely to read in public places (“Guess what: I’m going on a trip this weekend,” “Really? How would you like a free book?”).

Bookcrossing. Set them free

I love the idea of handing books out to people to read and then leave lying around somewhere, like your own personal Bookcrossing. (Have a look at the link if you haven’t heard of it: it’s brilliant! It’s all about leaving books in public places, like coffee shops and on buses. “If you love your books, let them go.”)

So, as I’m easily distracted and easily influenced, plus shattered from a hot and emotional weekend (I’ve just re-watched the Andy Murray documentary, that has been updated already with footage from yesterday’s match. Hence it’s nearly midnight and I’m only just getting to my post), I have spent all day formatting Baby Blues for Create Space.

Even though the book is with the proofreader, it isn’t wasted effort, as it takes several (loads of) attempts to get the book uploaded with the right pagination, guttering etc. Also, with the cover design, you have to know how many pages your book is to get the spine the correct width.

I’m not sure if I’m 100% happy with my final design, but it came out better than I could have hoped at lunch time! I may even order a copy so I have an original to compare against my proof-read version. Did I mention, I just love doing covers?!

Anyway, before I turn into a pumpkin I must think of something to happen to Claire. I can’t write it in the morning, we have to swing by nursery as soon as it opens and retrieve my daughter’s comfort toy which got left behind. Oops.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Well done.”

Ruth smiled, as Claire trudged into the lounge behind a skipping Sky and winced when the girl shrieked her greeting to her mother.

“You survived, then. What did you think of the Farm?” The look on Ruth’s face hovered somewhere between eager inquiry and amusement. “It’s one of my favourite places to go. I call it ‘Farm Calm’ because I relax as soon as we go through reception.”

Claire considered the amount of times she had lost Sky, who kept disappearing up ladders and down narrow paths between buildings, and thought calm was a long way from her main emotion. Sensing her sister’s need for approval, Claire dredged up some enthusiasm.

“It is beautiful. I loved the Mill House, and the goats are funny. Nice coffee, too.”

Claire remembered Sky’s tantrum in the coffee shop, after she’d insisted her niece have a piece of fruit with her cake. “The staff were friendly.” They didn’t chuck us out, that’s a bonus.

Slumping down into the armchair, Claire began to feel the effect of missing a night’s sleep.

“You look shattered, Claire. Was Sky a handful?”

In her mother’s arms, Sky began to protest that she had been on her best behaviour. Ignoring the blatant lie, Claire shook her head.

“No, Sky was fine. I’m just tired, that’s all.” She sensed Ruth’s response, and held her hands up to stall it. “I know, you feel worse. I didn’t sleep last night, and it’s catching up with me.”

“Oh, why?” Ruth leaned forwards, eager for gossip. Claire was tempted to fabricate something, but if her story entertained Ruth for a few minutes, then the weekend experience wasn’t a complete loss.

“Kim and Jeff got married yesterday and I made the mistake of letting Michael come as my date. We had a big showdown and he blurted out in front of everyone that Kim’s pregnant.” Oh, damn. There’s another person I’ve told. At least Ruth doesn’t know any of Kim’s friends.

Claire glanced up from mentally mapping the stains on the carpet, surprised that Ruth hadn’t responded. She let out a giggle at the expression of shocked amazement on her sister’s face. Eventually Ruth managed to find some words.

“Woah. Wait a minute. That’s like five episodes of Eastenders all at once. I don’t know where to start. I thought Kim and Jeff weren’t going to get married for years, or have children for that matter. And you and Michael? No wonder you haven’t slept.” She raised her eyebrows at Claire in a knowing way.

“I haven’t slept because I stormed out at midnight and drove to Mum’s from the Welsh border.”

Ruth’s face dropped into a frown, like a parody of theatre masks, grinning and scowling alternately. Suppressing a sigh, Claire realised she would have to start at the beginning, with Kim’s visit to Hunstanton while Sky was on her Easter vacation.

“Let me at least go and make a cup of tea first. It’s quite a long story.”

When Claire finished her story with her mother’s revelation, Ruth tutted.

“What a mess. I don’t know who is more daft: Michael for refusing to take no for an answer, Kim for getting into a paddy, or Mum for being so foolish as to think Dad’s having an affair. He’s got some secret project on that he won’t tell me about, but I know it involves spending time at the library because Sky and I have bumped into him there half a dozen times.”

Claire forced herself to hold her tongue. If their father hadn’t shared his secret with Ruth, it wasn’t her place to tell. She was surprised Ruth took her side over Michael, especially after her comment about the two of them being great together.

“I thought you’d be rooting for Michael.”

Ruth shook her head. “It’s your life, your body. If you don’t want children, then Michael needs to accept that, rather than keep trying to change your mind. Life’s too short.”

Her words made Claire shiver. For most people it was just a phrase, a reminder to not sweat the small stuff. For Ruth, it felt like a prophecy.

***

The Stangest Thing: 2013 365 Challenge #189

Well done, Andy

Phew! This Sunday, Andy Murray became the first British male winner of Wimbledon in 77 years. People will ask one day, what were you doing during the match? We spent the duration trying to juggle love of brilliant tennis with necessary parenting.

There’s a bit in the Disney movie Tangled where Flynn Rider is fighting with a frying pan against a horse wielding a sword. Flynn says, “You must know, this is the strangest thing I’ve ever done.” (It’s one of my favourite moments in the movie).

Well, this afternoon I found myself watching nail-biting awe-inspiring 30-shot-rally tennis, cuddling a hot, sweaty and mostly naked two-year-old (it was HOT this weekend), while listening to Disney’s Jungle Book in German on the iPad (after daughter found it on YouTube). Bear Necessities, the elephant marching song, all in loud German. I have to tell you, it was the strangest thing I’ve ever done!

Amazing tennis (even watching the last set surreptitiously while doing jigsaw puzzles with a bored and close-to-meltdown four-year-old ). Amazing kids, surviving Mummy and Daddy cheering at the TV. Thankfully little man slept for the last 90 mins. And can I say, Andy Murray? Thank your sweet heart for wrapping it up in three sets (even if it took as long as a five-set match). The children were not going to survive another set!

So, Wimbledon is over. Back to working without distractions. Lucky I don’t have Sky Sports: The Ashes starts this week.

________________________________________________________________________________

Claire looked for blonde hair, amidst a sea of children and cages, and felt her heart quicken when she couldn’t find it. Ignoring the pulse throbbing in her neck, Claire turned and searched, standing on her tiptoes to peer over rabbit runs.

“Over here, Auntie Claire. Look, come and see the ducklings.”

Sky’s face peeped around a wooden barn door, and Claire exhaled. Her head spun as the oxygen flooded her lungs, and she strode over towards her niece, trying to smile.

“Poppet, you gave me a fright. Can you tell me first, if you’re going to go out of sight? Your Mummy isn’t going to be happy if I lose you.”

Sky’s bottom lip quivered and she hung her head, her hair falling to hide her face.

“Sorry, Auntie Claire. I wanted to see the ducklings.”

Feeling guilty, Claire dropped to her haunches and brushed the blonde hair away. “Auntie Claire isn’t telling you off, sweetheart. I was worried, that’s all. Show me these ducklings.”

The wobbly lip vanished and Sky’s face lit up. “This way!” She pulled at Claire’s hand, nearly tugging her off her feet.

Claire grabbed the door frame to steady herself. “Hang on, Sky. Let me stand up.”

Sky released her hand, and ran forward into the barn. Claire followed, allowing her eyes to adjust to the gloom, after the unexpected spring sunshine outside. The room felt dank and cold and smelled musty. In the corner, Sky crouched down beside a wooden pen, her hair perilously close to the heat lamp hanging overhead.

“Be careful, Sky, mind the light.” Claire reached out a hand, to tug Sky away, but the girl had already moved.

“Aren’t they cute?” Sky pointed into the cage and Claire peered over the edge. Half a dozen scruffy ducklings huddled beneath the heat lamp. Their grey feathers stuck out at all angles and patches of pink skin glistened in between.

Claire thought they were the ugliest things she had seen in a long time. Conscious of the Ugly Duckling story Sky had read as part of her homework at Easter, Claire hitched a smile on her face.

“Beautiful, Sky. They’re lovely.”

Sky turned and grinned. “Mummy says they’re scruffy and ugly, but I like them. I think their bald patches are funny.”

Claire laughed. With kids you never got it right.

Sky dragged her into the next barn to see if the ferrets were awake. The smell hit Claire like a house brick, and she surreptitiously covered her nose. She didn’t want to be like the posh mummies she’d seen, trying to keep their white jeans clean, or striding around in their pristine Hunter wellies. But, really, the smell was awful.

Sky hopped up and down next to a large cage with hammocks and tubes in sections. The smell increased as she approached, and Claire was glad there was nothing in her stomach.

“The ferrets are always asleep. They’re so boring. And they smell.” Sky wrinkled up her tiny nose, and Claire wondered if she was somehow testing her Auntie to see how much she could endure.

I think I’ve endured enough. Time for coffee.

“Very nice, Sky. Would you like some cake?”

Her niece spun round, hair flying, and grinned. Claire ignored the pang of guilt, as she remembered Ruth’s request that Sky eat something healthy. Somehow she felt she sure she wouldn’t bribe Sky to the coffee shop with a promise of soup and a roll.

I’ll make sure it’s carrot cake.

***