Chocolate and Cheeky Amazon: 2013 365 Challenge #91

Scattering grass seed with Daddy

I got my first five-star review today for Dragon Wraiths. And Amazon deleted it. It was left by a lovely lady who recently started following me here and on Twitter and who read the book without any prompting from me.

Unfortunately she’s also an author and apparently Amazon frowns on authors leaving reviews on other people’s books. Which is a shame because generally writers are avid readers (and eloquent reviewers) and they also know the value of reviews. I guess the system gets abused, as all things do. All I know is that five-star review might have brought me some much-needed sales.

Shadow Forest by Matt Haig

On a nicer note we had a lovely peaceful Easter Sunday. I spent the morning feverishly uploading ebooks – my Volume 3 and the ‘Story so Far’ version, which contains all the posts since the beginning of January. Even though I’d done most of the formatting and the book covers etc it still took far too long and we were nearly late for lunch. People who think self-publishers are cheeky charging for their books without paying professionals to do the editing, proof-reading, formatting etc, don’t always account for how much effort can be put into these things by the author. The Story So Far represents about 300 hours of effort. I think selling it for the price of a cappuccino is fairly reasonable, especially as you can download the separate volumes for free!

I’m all full of cold and had a welcome break at my Father-in-Law’s today as he and his partner took the children and dog for a walk. I read my book (a great MG fiction called Shadow Forest by Matt Haig) and David watched The Mummy. Again. Children were tired-whiny after our long day yesterday so it was nice for all of us to have some time apart. Now all I have to do is try and ration the copious amounts of chocolate we have accumulated despite my best efforts. Even I’m sick of the sight of chocolate and I never thought that was possible!

Anyway, time to start Volume 4 of Two-Hundred Steps Home. Blimey. How did that happen?

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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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“Excuse me, is everything alright?”

Claire looked up at the concerned face trying to peer under her shield of hair. Her eyes met two sapphires sparkling amidst a sea of wrinkles.

“The school is closed today. Were you meant to meet someone?”

The words sank in through the fog in Claire’s mind. Closed? “The school isn’t open? But I was supposed to collect my niece. Ruth – my sister – she clearly said today at 3pm. I thought I was in the wrong place. But it’s definitely here. She’s going to be so cross, and she’s ill and I’m meant to be helping.” The words tumbled out until Claire’s voice broke and she sank her head back into her hands.

A gentle patting on her shoulder reminded Claire that the old lady was still standing in front of her.

“There, there, my dear. Don’t cry. Have you telephoned your sister? I am sure there has been some misunderstanding. I believe there is a training day today and therefore the children finished for the Easter vacation yesterday.”

Relief washed through Claire like a spring breeze, followed by an arctic blast of anger. That’s just like Ruth to scare the hell out of me. She must have Sky home with her: why didn’t she call me?

Claire looked up and smiled ruefully at the helpful passer-by. “I’m sorry; I don’t mean to be a watering pot. It was quite a struggle to get here for 3pm through the snow – I’ve come from the Derby Dales – and now, to find…” She shook her head. No point unburdening herself to a complete stranger.

The lady raised a hand as if to brush away Claire’s apology. “I quite understand. These things happen. Why not come with me to the café? You can settle your nerves before telephoning your sister. Everything will seem better after a cup of tea.”

Pushing herself off the wall, trying to ignore the numbness in her bottom from sitting on the cold stone, Claire smiled gratefully at the woman. “Thank you, I might do that. No need to come with me, I’ll be fine. I haven’t had lunch, that’s all. As you say, I’m sure I’ll feel more the thing after some food and a hot drink.”

The woman hesitated, as if unsure whether to leave Claire alone.

What must she think? I’m a grown woman, I shouldn’t be sat sobbing outside a primary school. Grow up and stop being pathetic, girl.

“I’m fine, really. I appreciate you stopping to tell me about the school. I know where the café is – I’ve been here before – and I don’t want to hold you up any longer.”

“Well, if you are certain?” Claire nodded. “Alright then, my dear. You take care.” The lady gave a little wave and walked away.

Claire filled her lungs with freezing air and brushed the hair back from her face. She knew she should call Ruth, to confirm that her niece was safely at home, but she was still too cross. That’s just like her, to have me race across the country on a wild-goose-chase without so much as a text message. She stomped towards the coffee shop, remembering all the times Ruth had let her down or forgotten to tell her something important. Just because I’m the youngest, doesn’t mean it’s okay to leave me out all the time.

She could almost sense her bottom lip jutting out as it had done twenty-five years ago, when such behaviour was just about acceptable.

It was only when she was tucked into a window seat nursing a cup of Earl Grey that it occurred to Claire there may be another reason for Ruth’s lack of contact.

What if she’s had complications and had to go back into hospital? What if she wasn’t able to call me and Sky’s been left with Dad?

Her empty stomach twisted in fear and the blood drained away from her face until she thought she might faint. Placing the cup down on the saucer, spilling her tea in the process, Claire pulled out her phone and selected her sister’s number. She listened to the endless ringing as she waited for the phone to connect.

Come on, come on, just pick up the phone.

***

365: 31.03.13 #91 An Easter egg hunt (ghostwritermummy.co.uk)
Give a loved one a book this Easter! (sunpenny.wordpress.com)
Matt Haig: 30 things that every writer should know (telegraph.co.uk)

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

My new YA cover

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

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

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

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

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

Sneak Preview of March Cover

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

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

I will do. One day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

Tricky Question of Cashflow: 2013 365 Challenge #87

“Driving to see the Pigs”

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

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

“Look Mummy, no hands!”

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

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

Idiot.

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

Didicar Fun

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Depends on the child.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s just one more day.”

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

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

***

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

Thankful Tuesday: 2013 365 Challenge #86

Remembering Summer

Today I am thankful.

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

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

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

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

Feel the warm sun

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

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

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

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

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“Mummy, Lucas pushed me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank goodness.”

***

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

Saturday Every Day: 2013 365 Challenge #82

Mummy and daughter craft

It has been Saturday in our house for five months. Since hubbie was made redundant last October everyday has felt like the weekend. Sometimes that’s good, sometimes frustrating.

Today was one of the good days. Normally Friday is my day to take the kids to Play and Learn at the local primary school, followed by a trip to the library.

Well, I say normally but I’ve probably done it once this year. Instead I’ve been writing posts first thing and then we have done a different activity like the Farm or zoo. I deliberately finished yesterday’s post before bedtime so I could make up for weeks of being Crap Mum and be Supermummy today. I failed.

Ingenious creation of a caravan

Before I even made it out of bed I read an email from a reviewer of DW, informing me of a typo on the first page, and it foolishly plunged me into the bog of eternal self-rebuke. Yes, typos happen but not on the first page and not in a self-pub with something to prove. I broke. Darling hubbie ended up with the kids while I cried and cleaned the kitchen floor: What else do you do in a crisis?

I took over at 10am and thought about doing the usual day trip, or even taking the kids to town to buy them new waterproofs, seeing as winter looks set to hang about for a while longer. But it’s Arctic outside today: any ideas of being outdoors vanished in a gust of snow when I poked my head out the front door.

I want this trailer when I go on holiday!

So hubbie and I ended up doing Relay Parenting, as I like to call it. I took the baton until lunch, playing cars and taking the dinosaurs on holiday to a (quickly sketched on paper) seaside resort. Hubbie took them for afternoon milk and video while I snuck upstairs to read for an hour. Then we did Divide & Conquer: he took little one to the tip while I did craft with Amber.

I really enjoyed helping her make a paper shell necklace and an underwater scene complete with sock octopus (thank you Charlie & Lola magazine!)

It felt like a good day.

Until I told Amber how nice it was to do craft with her and it had been a while and she replied “because you’re always working mummy”.

Ah, hello Guilt. Do come in.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

Youlgreave turned out to be a cheery little hostel with spacious rooms and a homely feel. The bunks had individual lights and Claire curled into the corner of hers as a mouse might his winter nest. She pulled a paperback from her bag – one of several she had treated herself to at Sheffield station – and let the world slide away.

After what felt like minutes, but was nearer to an hour, her phone chimed to say the sync was complete. Claire sighed and put down the book, her mind still caught up in a world of Games and tributes. She opened her email and scanned the list, hoping for nothing new. When she saw the email from Julia she had to stop herself launching her new phone out the window. I’d forgotten about the bloody challenges. Don’t let a mugging stop you Julia, you carry on regardless, heartless cow.

Reading the email, Claire felt her lungs fill with anger. Callous bitch.

Claire

I heard about the accident. If you will wander round like a hoyden, these things will happen. Carl said if anything was stolen you will need to claim on your own insurance due to the event occurring outside office hours.

Please find below your task for this week. As you only saw fit to undertake one activity from my previous list I have not researched any more than this.

Your next assignment will be sent on Thursday owing to the office being closed for the Easter weekend. Carl asked me to inform you that you are still expected to stay in hostels over the bank holiday.

Julia

http://www.peakhanggliding.co.uk/

Claire didn’t need to open the link to discover what Julia’s maliciousness had concocted for her. The bitch knows I’m scared of heights. Hang-gliding? She has to be kidding. I’m almost impressed that they want me to resign this badly. Well, tough.

She laughed, her eyes crinkling in mischief. Pulling out an envelope from her bag she retrieved the letter inside and smoothed it flat, before taking a picture with the iPad.

Dear Julia

Please find attached the Doctor’s Note I received, following the severe physical attack I suffered while working for your organisation. I have been advised to avoid any activity which may result in a worsening of my condition. I am sorry to inform you that I am certain Hang-Gliding will fall under that category.

I will notify you when the doctor deems me fit for physical exertion. Until then I will continue in my assignment to the best of my ability.

Kindest regards

Claire

Claire stroked the Doctor’s Note before slotting it into the back of her paperback. Best forty-pounds ever spent. Then she tucked her phone and tablet back into her rucksack and curled up in the corner of her bunk, feeling as if she had done Katniss proud in her skirmish with Julia.

***

365 11.03.13 (hpmcq.com)
365 Days of Dangermas: Day 80 (dangerouslee.biz)

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

A random selection of books

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

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

Oh dear.

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

Much more attractive than a kindle

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

__________________________________________________________________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello, Sky speaking.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

Reviews, Hormones and Biscuits: 2013 365 Challenge #75

Buying a box of biscuits – big mistake!

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

Oh and a day of biscuits.

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

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

Running after Aaron like a hamster in a cage

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

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

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

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

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

a gallop for the imagination, 14 Mar 2013

This review is from: Dragon Wraiths (Kindle Edition)

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

Happy with that!

_____________________________________________________________________________________

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

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

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

Then a word stood out in the wall of noise.

“Claire?”

Oh.

“Claire Carleton?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re bleeding.”

“I think a polar bear hit me.”

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

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

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

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

“Blimey do you even have one?”

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

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

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

The police officers conferred and seemed to reach an agreement. Claire was raised to her feet and guided to the back seat of the car.

“One more thing, please?”

“Yes?”

“Can you turn off that damn siren?”

***

Title: Dragonsdawn by Anne McCaffrey (jaschmehl.wordpress.com)
Heavenly homemade biscuits!! (priceperfecteventchef.wordpress.com)

A Manic sort of Day: 2013 365 Challenge #72

Mega Blocks Garages: a moment of calm

Phew. What a non-stop day.

It started at 7am when Dragon Wraiths went free on Kindle for my first promo day. There began a crazy 12 hours of tweeting, Facebook updates and madly checking my KDP Dashboard to see how many downloads I’ve managed. (124 as I write this).

It’s addictive, checking the KDP Dashboard every five minutes (125 now) and I can see why people have programs on their computer to disconnect the internet so they can get some real work done. Actually I was wondering today when I’ll ever get round to start/finishing a new manuscript. Between the daily blog, revising Baby Blues, and keeping up with Social Media stuff, there isn’t much time left to write.

I hope I haven’t overdone Twitter today. I do get frustrated by the clutter of promos in my Twitter Feed day in, day out. I know I follow a lot of self-published or new authors but there is often no actual human interaction and I don’t want to join that noise. That said, my increased Twitter activity is obviously paying off as I also reached 100 Twitter followers today. Not sure one of them would buy a book or retweet a comment – I think it’s mostly follow and be followed – but it’s a start and we all have to learn somehow.

Preparing for a possible return to Contracting

Then came the next manic bit of the day: finding out I have an interview for a contract job tomorrow. I was really hoping they’d let hubbie take the contract but that hasn’t happened so I’m off to London.

I’m terrified.

Not of going to London, although it will be the first time in two years aside from a family trip to the Olympics. I used to go to Agency and Client meetings in the Big Smoke all the time when I worked for a living (said tongue in cheek of course!). Funny how four years at home with a couple of kids can erase all your confidence.

I know I can do this contract, whatever is involved (unless it’s databases: I hate databases) but the learning curve will be steep. I haven’t used Excel in two years except to keep track of Claire’s hostel visits and I haven’t put in a full working day in over a year. Thinking about concentrating for that length of time in a strange office with a new brief for a new company (my last contract was back at my old office) is making me feel more than a bit sick. But we’re in a recession and I can’t turn down work, especially not when I went cap-in-hand asking for it! So I will squeeze my post-pregnancy feet into my heels, and my post-pregnancy tum into my stretchy trousers and get on a train. Wish me luck! (Oh and if I get the contract there may be a few days a week when Claire will be ill in bed with the flu or reading a good book…. The contract is an hour’s drive away so there won’t be much writing time in the day!)

Talking of which, it’s bedtime and I’ve completely failed to write a Claire post after falling asleep on the sofa. Another favour from hubbie required to take kids in the morning then! Oops. Apologies if it’s a short one!

Morning Update: Was up most of the night because my brain was running a zillion miles an hour. I had 332 total downloads for my first promotion day. Wow! If only 1% read it that still means 3 strangers reading my book. Feels weird.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Claire ignored the twisting in her stomach and opened the email. How bad can it be? Then she remembered her leaving party and the things Julia had said. Okay, pretty bad. Then let’s get it over with at least.

Claire

Carl has asked me to collate a list of activities to inject some fun and humour into your blog. These are all near your current location in Castleton so you’ll have to pick the ones that are available. We suggest number five and/or six as they are activities more specific to the Peak District. If you can furnish me with your future itinerary I will find some other activities that have Carl’s approval.

Julia

1. Kayak and/or Canoe
2. Raft Building
3. Climbing/Abseiling
4. Mountain/Hill Walking
5. Weaseling
6. Caving
7. Orienteering
8. Rope Course
9. Search and Rescue
10. Archery

Future Itinerary? Does she think I’m planning that far ahead? Actually Julia probably plans her sick days. Claire thought about the list of hostels booked for her time with Sky. Oh I can at least look a bit organised, that will be nice. As long as she finds things I can do with a six-year-old girl. She remembered the kids on the Go Ape rope course and decided that Sky was probably more suited to adventure activities than she was. She scanned the list and laughed, relief flooding through her like caffeine.

What is Julia going on about? I’ve done half of these and the rest aren’t exactly High Adrenalin. I mean, Raft Building? I’m hardly going to get eaten by a crocodile or fall into shark-infested waters, however much she hopes I might. I guess her main desire is that I get wet and humiliate myself.

Checking Julia’s email again, Claire looked at the activities at number 5 and 6. Caving. I’ve been in the Blue John Cavern, isn’t that caving? And what the hell is Weaseling? Julia’s email had a link at the bottom to a website with more information. Knowing she would regret it Claire clicked on the link and scrolled down to Weaseling.

Weaseling is all about getting into a tight spot – and then getting out of it! This activity is very similar to rock scrambling, as the fun comes from low-level climbing. It’s also fairly similar to caving, with small, often dark spaces forming the perfect playground for intrepid weaselers, but it all takes place above ground level. Weaseling doesn’t require ropes as there are no big drops or climbs, so it’s great for younger children.

Great for younger children? Should be fairly easy then although I can’t say I’m that keen on the ‘dark spaces’ bit. With a sigh of resignation Claire followed the information and wrote down the phone number to book a day Weaseling.

I’ll remember this Julia, don’t think I won’t.

***

Dressing up, Dog Walking and Self Doubt: 2013 365 Challenge #63

My proof copies and my craft books

Today was a lovely Sunday of swimming, dog walking, family visiting and playing dressing up with Mummy’s wedding dress. (Not me, obviously, I can’t get it on any more!)

My little babies managed to walk all the way to the top of the field behind my parents’ house and back without being carried. That’s a first. We saw deer and rabbits and the kids and dogs had a great run in the sun.

Perfect.

It made up for getting to the pool this morning to find a Gala on. We had to drive to the next town and suffer an inferior swimming experience. At least we’ll appreciate our local pool all the more next time we get there, especially a dry changing room floor! It’s the little things.

Self-doubt came swooping down today, through the medium of Social Media. I read two things that reminded me not to get too cocky or over confident, although neither was intended that way or was even directed at me. (And I can’t imagine being cocky or self-confident in any universe).

The first lesson came from a thread on a LinkedIn Group I follow and it was about self-published authors not having their manuscripts properly edited. Lisa Tannier wrote:

I see so many complaints lately from Indie readers about lack of editing. It is like the author is in such a hurry to publish that they skip over a crucial part of writing the book.

Guilty! I can’t afford an editor and I know I should probably have done at least one more revision on Dragon Wraiths before I stuck it on Kindle. Lisa’s comment was followed up by one written by an Editor (although I did note it had a couple of I-wrote-too-quickly typos, which wouldn’t endear me to an editor!) Caryl McAdoo replied:

And, thing about self published authors, many DON’T have a good story told from characters from their Point of View – their work is full of passive to-be verbs, attributions, too many ‘ing’s and ‘ly’s, and unnecessary prepositional phrases.

I confess I didn’t even understand all of her comment: my grammar is pretty poor and mostly I’ve focussed on getting my punctuation right. I know full well my writing is too passive and I don’t use enough punchy verbs, instead of littering ‘ing’s and ‘ly’s through my prose. It made me shiver to read her comment because I fear a slating review (though with only 4 Dragon Wraiths copies sold I don’t think anyone is going to bother writing one!)

My little girl growing up

The second chastening lesson came via a conversation with Charlene K Blackwell on Twitter. She mentioned that she’s reading Orson Scott Card’s craft book Characters and Viewpoint. I have a copy on my shelf, it’s a great book. But I haven’t read it in at least a year, possibly more. I bought my craft books when I taught Creative Writing briefly to an adult education class (much to my shock and terror as I never expected to get the job.) I also studied craft with the Open University while pregnant with my first child. I confess, though, that I rarely open a craft book these day. They sit on my shelf next to my print-proofs and that’s probably as close as they’ve got to each other.

The thing is, I’m impatient. Terribly, terribly impatient. And easily bored. I can cope with two, maybe three, revisions of a manuscript then I’m sick of the sight of it. Part of the reason I put Dragon Wraiths live was to get some critique on it because I don’t have the guts to join a critique group. How nuts is that? I don’t want honest feedback from a small group of fellow writers so instead I’ll put it out for any random stranger to tear it apart!

Actually I have spent more time editing and rewriting my Claire instalments than any of my manuscripts. I used to think I had to plough through a first draft and then edit it after the words were out. Now I suspect the new way is better for me. Write a little bit every day and then polish it until it shines because chances are I won’t have the patience to do it properly when the book is finished. It’s a lowering thought.

So my new aim is to start re-reading my craft books and to incorporate bits into my Claire posts. I’ll relearn the things I’ve forgotten and maybe I’ll manage to eradicate some of the passive verbs and ‘ly’s. Here’s hoping.

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Claire paced through the milling crowd of passengers and tearful family members without registering them. At the back of her mind a nagging sense of loss itched like nettle rash. She patted her pockets for the fifth time, convinced she must have left her phone or keys in the café.

“Claire?”

The sound trickled through the hubbub of noise and brushed at Claire’s cheek. She half turned her head then carried on walking.

Even the memories are taunting me now. Thanks guys, impeccable timing.

“Claire Carleton?”

Stronger this time; more stream than trickling brook. It cut through the swaying trees of strangers and curled around her feet. Her heart stopped and her body followed suit, frozen in place by an impossible sound.

Not impossible though. Not even unexpected. He practically lived in this place when he wasn’t at mine.

Glacier-slow, Claire twisted her head to locate the source of the sound without giving away that she’d heard. Except of course her body had betrayed her by standing still. Stillness gave you away in a place of perpetual motion and Michael was by her side before she’d even had a chance to locate the direction of his voice.

“It is you.”

He stood too near for comfort but too far for touching. His hands hung loosely as if they had already reached out for an embrace and been repulsed.

Claire kept her head low, allowing a wall of hair to shield her. She could tell Michael was itching to reach forward and brush it behind her ear as he always did: to laugh as he always did when it fell forward again with the irresistible pull of gravity.

His breathing was fast, as if he had run across the Arrivals hall to catch her. A hurrying man with a case on wheels and a laptop bag pushed between them, oblivious to the tight cord his movement had severed. The wave of his passing swirled the scent of Eternity round Claire, weakening the joints of her knees and making her tummy wobble.

They smiled then, sharing a moment of humour at the severance of their precious moment. As always, his smiled jolted her heart and warmed her skin like summer sun.

Oh Michael. Damn you for being here. Now. When I desperately need a hug.

She raised a foot to step towards him, reached a hand to clasp his arm and lean in for a continental greeting. Another voice called out; spewing forth like a burst pipe.

“Michael? Where are you? We’re going to miss our train. Oh…” The voice approached and stopped short of where Michael and Claire stood face to face.

“Claire. How lovely to see you. Michael said you were in the Outer Hebrides or something.” The clipped tones could cut glass. Or hearts.

Claire heard only half the sentence: the remainder was drowned out by the roar of blood in her ears. She felt it rushing to her face, heating the skin until it glowed like blacksmith’s steel.

Michael’s face drained of colour in response, as if she now had all his red hue too. He opened his mouth to speak but Claire raised a hand to fend off his words. She blinked at the tears welling in betrayal and spun herself round before he could witness them.

As she stalked away she heard Debbie’s strident tones curling after her.

“How rude. She never did have much grace.”

Claire broke into a run, not caring who saw, the need to escape stronger than her sense of pride.

***

Writer’s Guilt: Don’t Let it Drown You (Writability: http://avajae.blogspot.co.uk)
Can you Lose the Ability to Write? (Writability: http://avajae.blogspot.co.uk)
Why Critiquing Others Helps You (Writability:http://avajae.blogspot.co.uk)

You’ll find me in the Kitchen: 2013 365 Challenge #58

I’m still a Luddite when it comes to Twitter

I had my first real-time conversation on Twitter today. It feels like some sort of milestone, albeit a tiny one for the Social-Media Minded. I freely confess to being a Luddite where twenty-first century technology and communication is concerned. I love my blog and following other blogs. I love my personal Facebook account for seeing pictures of my niece and nephews and all my friends’ kids, holidays, pets, news etc. But the more hazy world of Twitter has always frightened and befuddled me. I used it merely for following one or two famous people I liked or getting a more frequent fix of funny from the various parenting blogs I follow. Some days you NEED funny!

My son refusing to eat his dinner. So cute…

It’s only recently, following the advice of Kristen Lamb, Jonathan Gunson and others offering advice on building an author platform, that I’ve ventured further into Twitter. I started by following agents and publishers, looking for hints and tips and competitions. Then I followed other bloggers and authors to see what they were saying. Too many were flogging their book every which way which I didn’t like.

Kristen (and others) tell us to think of Twitter as a cocktail party. You chat, you mingle, you share gossip and occasionally you might discuss work but not too often.I treated it like I would a real party: I hid in the kitchen by myself and eavesdropped on others who always seemed to be having way more fun.

Amber trying to cheer her brother up

Then today, yay, someone replied to one of my random parenting observations and we exchanged conversation. We made a brief connection. And I understood what Twitter could be if there weren’t so many people talking rubbish and bragging about their pay-cheque (if that metaphor stretches that far?)

Recently I’ve been trying to think of ways to tweet more often; to pick up followers and build my author platform. (Jonathan Gunson is full of great advice on his Twitter feed and Facebook page). But the only post on my blog this month that received no likes was the one featuring my Dragon Wraiths book cover and offer code. It might be a coincidence but I’m taking the hint. I don’t want to be the obnoxious one at the party being pushy, trying to sell my stuff. I’d like to sell some books but not my soul so until I’ve figured out how to do one without the other you’ll find me lurking by the fridge supping my G&T.

BTW: my son was being uber cute at dinner getting all grumpy and refusing to eat his sausages. He ate them in the end but I had to take a couple of pictures, especially as I knew I had no others for today’s post!

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“How come you’re staying in a hostel then if you come from Cumbria?” Claire cupped her hands round her mug and inhaled the scent of freshly-ground coffee. She watched Maggie through the rising steam.

“Oh I don’t live here now. I met my husband at school and we moved south. I come back while the kids are away, to indulge in nostalgia and stock up on gingerbread.”

“By yourself?” Claire didn’t mean to be inquisitive but the words were out before she could swallow them.

Maggie just smiled and brushed a stray hair away from her face. “Oh yes. Steve hates it up here in the spring. Too soggy. He says it takes him a month to dry out. I like the weather. Sometimes it’s nice to walk with the mizzling rain on your face keeping you cool. There are fewer tourists at this time of year too. You saw how busy the shop was today: imagine what it’s like in August.”

“Did you actually live here in Grasmere?”

“No, our place was out on the hills. I liked to come here as a child and wander through the graveyard. You know Wordsworth is buried near the Gingerbread Shop? The place is flooded with daffodils at this time of year. It’s beautiful, we should go there.” Maggie moved in her seat as if ready to flee the café and wander amidst wild daffodils for the rest of the day.

Please, God, no. I think I had my fill of Wandering Lonely as a Cloud during A Level English. She didn’t want to offend Maggie so she nodded absently as if the suggestion had been rhetorical.

“Has the place changed much?” Claire decided distraction was the best way to take Maggie’s mind off a tramp over the heads of a load of dead people.

“Well the Gingerbread Shop hasn’t changed but then it’s been the same for 150 years. As for the rest of Grasmere, it’s all got a bit posh to be honest. Not the place I knew when I was young, that’s for sure.”

Maggie chatted about growing up in Cumbria, about other local landmarks and famous people; Beatrix Potter and John Ruskin.

“I went to Brantwood,” Claire chipped in, feeling the same gratification she did when a question came up on University Challenge that she knew the answer to. “I bumped into an old school friend.” A frown pulled her face down before she felt it and forced her skin smooth.

“That’s the thing about staying in hostels, travelling around. You always bump into people you know in the most random places. I stayed in a hostel in New Zealand once and met a lad I knew from University. The hostel was out in the sticks, only ten beds in the place. We had to shoo sheep out the kitchen. You wouldn’t believe it if you read it in a novel.”

Claire nodded and was about to comment when her phone buzzed. The half-eaten scone from earlier dropped to the bottom of her stomach and her ears rang with rushing blood.

“Are you okay, you look pale?” Maggie reached a hand across the table and Claire jumped at her touch. “Was that your phone? Don’t mind me, you answer it.” Maggie sat back in her chair and gazed away as if giving Claire as much privacy as the busy café afforded.

She nearly dropped the phone as she picked it off the table and unlocked it. The buzz wasn’t a text message as she’d hoped but notification of an email. Claire was about to put the phone back next to her coffee cup when she noticed who the email was from.

What does he want?

Glancing up at Maggie she could see she was absorbed with her own thoughts. Claire quickly loaded her email and clicked open.

Claire, I need to see you. Are you still at Grasmere? Can you stay another night? J

“The cheek of him!” Claire only realised how loud she had spoken when the couple at the next table turned round. Her face flushed oven-hot and she dropped her head so her hair would shield her.

“I take it that wasn’t about your sister?” Maggie looked amused at Claire’s outburst.

“No, just some annoying bloke I met in Kielder. Being all cryptic and commanding.”

“Oh?” Maggie raised an eyebrow and dimples appeared in her cheeks.

Claire felt herself bristling at the expression, then she laughed. It felt good, like a spin class after a tricky board meeting. “It’s not romantic, if that’s what you mean. He’s a friend, as much as anyone is when you’ve known them a week or two. But he’s the most mysterious bloke. I wonder what he wants? Probably to cadge a lift somewhere. I’m pretty certain that’s the only reason he befriended me in the first place.”

“People make friends on the road for all sorts of reasons. The same as there are all sorts of reasons why people are on the road.” Her face grew distant and Claire wondered for the first time if Maggie had told her the truth about why she was travelling alone.

Honestly, I thought this was a simple work assignment. It’s starting to feel like an episode of Days of Our Lives.

She inhaled the scent of fresh coffee and banana bread and sat back in her chair. The sound of happy chattering and the splash of cars driving on rain-drenched roads outside the window wrapped around her like strands of pulsing life.

Still, it beats working for a living.

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