Pumpkin Carving: 2013 365 Challenge #301

Getting stuck into the pumpkin

Today was hubbie’s ‘day off” so, after taking an hour in the morning to write my post, I took the children to the Farm for some Hallowe’en half term fun.

Our local farm always has some great activities on during the school holidays. This time they had a room full of craft (great, considering a huge storm is about to hit the UK, so indoor activities are essential) as well as the spooky house tour and pumpkin carving.

We skipped the spooky house tour – I think I’d like an extra parent with me before attempting that with under fives – but the craft room was empty when we got there, so we had great fun making paper spiders and cobwebs, Hallowe’en masks and origami cats. We played spot the difference and did spooky word searches and Mummy had lots of fun doing colouring in! 🙂

After that we ventured outside into the sunshine and wind, to see the animals. The larger beasts all look a bit sorry for themselves, covered in mud and sheltering from the incoming winter. We were lucky though – apart from a wind strong enough to blow us away, the weather was lovely. It was so nice to be able to get outside for the first time in weeks.

Which face is more scary?

The kids made sand castles, fed goats and ducks, and stroked the horses. We went to see the baby quail chicks – oh my goodness but they’re tiny (I didn’t have a camera, unfortunately): they’re a week old and still only about half the size of a kiwi fruit (you have no idea how long it took to come up with a size comparison that made sense either side of the Atlantic!)

Then came the pumpkin carving. This is the first year either of the children has been able to actually do any of the carving, although I noticed the delightful job of scooping out sticky seeds still came to Mummy. My son wanted to recreate his own face on his pumpkin, while daughter went for a cat. I have to say, they did a pretty good job! (Shame about the photos, but you get the idea).

After a lunch of chips and ice cream (The clocks went back last night, so they’d already had a decent brunch, thankfully!) we had one more trip round the animals before heading off to the supermarket. An hour of shopping and all three of us were exhausted. Unfortunately, I still had bath time to tackle when I got home. Poor daughter is ripping up her neck itching after her unwelcome visitors, so we took some Twitter advice and washed their hair in tea tree shampoo, (to much chorusing of “it stinks!” Hopefully the crawlers think so too).

An hour of Daddy tiring time and then to bed. Unfortunately, somewhere along the line I appear to have picked up a cold, so tonight’s post is a bit lacking in glamour. As it’s half term tomorrow and I get no childcare for a week, all the posts might be a little under par. I’ll do my best! 🙂 I’m off for a dinner of pumpkin soup now (shop bought, I confess) as I don’t have the energy to cook anything else and hubbie doesn’t really do cooking!

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

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Claire had no idea what time it was as she swung the car into the hotel car park. Her twenty-year old banger didn’t have a dashboard clock and the black rectangle of her phone had as much life as a house brick.

I really ought to invest in a watch.

Smoothing down her trousers, Claire locked the car and headed into the hotel. As she walked, she let her heavy hair fall over her face. It wasn’t going to pass close scrutiny, but she could live without the curious stares of strangers as they tried to work out if she was injured or deformed.

The hotel lobby echoed with the clipping sound of her heels as she paced to the reception desk. When she spoke to the woman behind the counter she was surprised to hear a wobble in her voice.

“Hi, I’m meeting someone for dinner. I doubt he will have made reservations, is there somewhere I can wait?”

“Are you Miss Carleton?”

Claire’s face grew hotter, and she gave a minute nod.

“I’m so glad. Mr O’Keefe said he tried to call you, to inform you that he was running late, but was unable to contact you. Please wait in the lounge, and he’ll come and find you when he arrives.”

Damn, damn, damn.

Claire nodded her acquiescence at the receptionist and followed her directions to the lounge.

I can’t believe he tried to ring me when my phone was flat. Now he really is going to think I’m incompetent.

Claire ordered a latte and chose a seat in the dark shadows at the corner of the room. She wished she’d brought a book, and vowed to replace her much-missed tablet with her first pay cheque, assuming one actually arrived and Conor didn’t sack her for ineptitude in her first week.

For want of something to do, she pulled out the notes she’d made at the library, and tried to cram the information into her beleaguered brain. The facts and figures refused to stick. Her mind buzzed with concern at her boss’s imminent arrival and her body yelled in pain every time she shifted in her seat.

She had taken to counting the bottles behind the bar by the time she heard a familiar voice calling her name.

“I’m over here,” she replied, raising a hand, and making sure her hair still hung low over her face.

“Claire, hi, I’m so sorry I’m late. Last minute hiccup. I tried to call you.” Conor strode over to where she sat, wheeling a small case behind him and carrying a suit bag over his shoulder.

“Sorry, my battery died while I was out walking today and I didn’t get a chance to charge it. You know smart phones; they only stay charged for about ten minutes.” She kept her voice light and hoped that honesty was the best policy.

“Beautiful day for a hike. Where did you go? No, wait, let me just run these things up to my room. Why don’t you go through to the restaurant and I’ll meet you there?” He waited only for her to signal her agreement, and then he was gone.

Claire felt strangely flat, as she watched him weave his way through the tables and back out towards the lifts. As he disappeared out of sight, she had to remind herself this wasn’t a date, it was business.

***

How To: Preserve a Carved Pumpkin (wendyandbriantietheknot.com)
Practice Pumpkin Carving (erinhueston.wordpress.com)
Stunning Rorschach Pumpkin Carving (betweenthepagesblog.typepad.com)
Stunning Disney Villains Pumpkin Carvings (betweenthepagesblog.typepad.com)
No Carve No Cut Pumpkin Projects (frogprincepaperie.com)
Pre-Hallowe’en Writer’s Block – Catch the Flu Fever… (pharmaspire.wordpress.com)
Tips for carving a great pumpkin (readingeagle.com)

Downtime: 2013 365 Challenge #299

I get my downtime when I’m asleep

One of the things I’ve discovered through doing the daily blog challenge is the psychological and physical effect of having no downtime. For probably 98% of the 299 days of blogging and writing this year, I have put the children to bed at 8pm, gone downstairs, cooked dinner, eaten it while catching up on social media and blog comments, then opened my laptop.

At some point between that point and 11am the following morning, between normal household duties – dog walking, dishwasher stacking, cooking, ironing, child hugging, sleeping – I find the time and energy to write my 1000-1500 words.

Sometimes, like today, they were written in a supermarket café with free WiFi while placating a whining small child with crayons and cookies. Sometimes, like now, I stand at the computer at 11.38 p.m, having just been woken up from a three-hour sofa doze by hubbie going to bed. On very rare and wonderful days I’ve actually written some of it in the day time and I only have to format the post, add photos and tags and publish. Those are good days.

I’m not saying this for sympathy or to have a moan. Well, maybe a little bit. 😉 I’m saying it because a) it’s 11.40pm and I have to think of something to waffle on about and b) I’ve realised that the lack of downtime is starting to send me slightly doolally. It isn’t the work: I don’t mind working hard. Plus, I get whole chunks of my day when I’m sat cuddling a child on the sofa, or walking the dog, or driving to and from school, when I’m free to just think. What struck me was the lack of guilt-free downtime and the effect that has on the mind.

This is my downtime!

When you work a paid job, you get a lunch break. You might not get to actually take it (I ate at my desk pretty much every day of my ten-year marketing career) although I think you should always make a point to try. As a contractor I made sure I took my full thirty minutes or an hour, every day, to eat a proper lunch, get some fresh air, and switch off. It’s guilt-free time. You’re being paid to take a break.

Then you get home, sometimes late, granted, (I think 2 am was the latest I got home from work after a particularly challenging deadline), and then that time is yours, until the alarm goes off in the morning and it starts again. And then there are weekends. Well, if you’re not working of course!.

Of course all that goes out the window when you have children, although they do sort of sleep at least some of the time, theoretically giving you an element of guilt-free downtime. Maybe.

When you’re self-employed, though, that guilt-free time is so much harder because, if you’re not working, you’re not earning. I’m not earning anyway, but that’s beside the point. I am trying to make money, and to do so I have to keep on working. Some days I check my sales reports obsessively, as if hoping to see something to make the pain worthwhile (I rarely do.) But all work and no play makes me a grumpy, tired, stressed bunny.

David Eddings’ Belgariad

Last week I re-read David Eddings’ Belgariad series and it felt like being on holiday. Reading = work for an author (well, mostly! It helps if you’re reading something brilliant or within your genre).

Spending a few hours every day curled up around my favourite book was a way to escape without feeling (too) guilty. Unfortunately I came to the end of book five yesterday and the next five books (the Malloreon) are at my Mum’s house. She’s asked to have a week of peace, after my sister and her family went back to the states, so I can’t go and get them until tomorrow.

Probably just as well, as I need to catch up with the writing. Except I haven’t. Instead I’ve been falling asleep on the sofa and waking up at midnight, blurry eyed and numb-brained, trying to make up words for the blog and Claire, trying to think up deep and meaningful tweets or FB status updates, trying to choose front cover images for Two-Hundred Steps Home (October is proving particularly challenging as it hasn’t had a ‘theme’ in the way the other months have).

All the while, in the back of my mind, I know I want to do NaNoWriMo (Hahahahaha falls on floor laughing), it’s half term next week, and I just discovered in my diary that I agreed to give a talk on abstract art to a local college on the first Monday after half term. Eek! There goes any chance of guilt-free downtime in the near future!

Anyway, apologies, this has just turned into a bit of a whinge. It wasn’t meant to be. It was meant to be an insightful discussion of the effects of life in the twenty-first century where we are never off work, we’re never switched off, we’re never free. Hmmm. Maybe I’ll file that one away to write about another day!

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Claire smiled as the sun streaming in through the window gently woke her; warming her skin and sending sun fairies dancing across her eyelids. With a sense of impending adventure, she pushed back the covers and wondered what was causing the fluttering of anticipation in her stomach.

As she rose and walked to the window, Claire remembered where she was. The gorgeous hostel perched on the hillside with views to die for. It was still early and the other occupants of the room were sound asleep. Pulling on yesterday’s clothes, Claire crept from the room and headed for the kitchen.

The silence continued throughout the hostel, and Claire wondered just how early it was. The kitchen clock said 6 a.m. and Claire laughed, the sound echoing around the empty room.

When did I last wake at dawn without an alarm clock?

Her body felt alight with energy, and Claire thought she would burst if she didn’t do something with it. She wolfed down a quick breakfast, scalding her mouth on too-hot tea, then paced quietly back to her room to grab her boots and bag.

Her discussion with the manager the previous evening had revealed that the South West Coastal Path ran almost from the door of the hostel. The manager had raved so much about the spectacular views that Claire had decided to walk some of the route before driving to Plymouth to meet Conor.

Thinking about the meeting gave her butterflies, so she pushed the thought aside and stuffed snacks and a jumper into her bag. The manager had said a map wasn’t necessary, as the path followed the coast all the way round to Hope Cove. Having checked the map, she suspected she wouldn’t make it quite that far.

The hostel remained silent as she let herself out and into the tropical gardens of the National Trust property. With a deep breath Claire inhaled the scent of plant life soaked in dew, smiling as it sparked memories of the New Zealand bush. She shivered as the early morning air raised goosebumps across her skin, and set off towards the path.

The sun greeted her again as she left the trees and reached the path, and she soon settled into her stride. To one side lay the estuary, sparkling blue beneath her. That’s a long way down. Claire looked around, as if only just realising how high up the path was along the cliffs. I hope it isn’t too steep. She remembered being up near Old Harry Rocks and shuddered.

The path grew steadily steeper, until it was nothing more than a trail of rocks climbing vertically towards the azure sky. Forcing herself not to look back or down, Claire concentrated instead on keeping her footing on the uneven path.

It would be so much more convenient if I hadn’t discovered that I’m scared of heights.

She chanced a look at the view, and swallowed the bile that rose up her throat. Beneath her, crumbling rocks appeared to tumble in slow motion to the sea, as if frozen in the very act of falling. The sea itself rippled in a palette of blues and greens, darker and more foreboding than the sparkling strip of water seen in the distance from the hostel. On a sunny day it seemed merely stark. Claire couldn’t imagine what it would be like in a storm.

Encircled by the stunning vista, Claire wondered for a moment what had possessed her to fly half way round the world, bankrupting herself in the process, to admire the beauty of another country, when she’d barely scratched the surface of her own.

If I thought the Lake District was pretty in winter, that’s going to be nothing to what this place is going to be like in June.

As the sense of adventure built within her, Claire pushed on up the steep path towards the outcrop of rocks silhouetted against the sky above her. The change from light to dark left sunspots in her vision and she blinked to clear it.

Then the world went sideways. Slipping on loose shale, Claire lost her footing and began to slither back down the path towards the cliffs. Thrashing like a landed fish, Claire grabbed around at the grass in an attempt to slow her passage, as the rocks tore at her bare legs and arms.

At last her frantic attempts worked and she came to a halt at the very edge of the path. The rocks loosened by her passage continued on over the edge, falling away to the sea far below.

Claire lay panting, unable to process anything but the fact that she was still alive. Slowly, one piece at a time, her body began to yell out its grievances. Clawing her way back up to a flatter part of the path, Claire assessed the damage. Both shins and arms wept blood, and a tentative exploration of her face revealed a similar story.

Great. I look like the victim of a traffic accident.

She bit her lip against the pain and humiliation, glad no one had been there to witness her fall. Bad enough that she felt like a peeled plum and was going to be sore for days. Then another thought crept in unwelcome and she groaned.

Conor’s going to die laughing.

***

The New Normal: 2013 365 Challenge #294

Bottle top faces

This evening marks the eve of the new normal for our family. After a year of unemployment, self employment, projects, lucky breaks, disasters, starting school, publishing books, and finally seeing my sister and her family for the first time in nearly three years, we’re about to embrace a new start: hopefully one with a semblance of routine and normality.

I said goodbye to my sister tonight, and the cousins – who only really met for the first time twelve days ago – had to have the last screaming game of chase and the last negotiation of cuddles for at least another year.

We all cried. When we got home, despite it being bedtime and hubbie retreating poorly to bed, I made pancakes and the children and I settled down to do craft. Normality creeps in through the chaos.

Tomorrow morning hubbie starts his new job. The children will be at school and preschool. My sister and her family will board a plane back to Boston. I’ll write my next Claire installment and iron some clothes. Walk the dog; do the weekly food shop.

Super cool dude

Miss my sister. Enjoy the silence.

The normality will only last a week, before it’s half term and I have to figure out how to write seven daily blog posts with no childcare and no hubbie at home to help. Fun times ahead!

I’m looking forward to our new normal though. Much as I love having hubbie at home and able to spend time with the kids, I do like routine. Even getting into a rhythm of ironing shirts and uniform, making packed lunches and finding book-bags on a Sunday night fills me with a quiet sense of achievement. I’m not an organised person, but when it falls into place it feels nice.

And, of course let’s be honest, I’m rather looking forward to having a bit of time by myself. Even with the extra duties that come with hubbie being out the house all day, I do rather like shutting the front door and knowing it’s just me and the dog for a few hours. When you know there’s only you to do the work, it doesn’t seem so much of a chore somehow. Here’s to the new normal. Let’s hope this endless rain isn’t part of it!

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Claire meandered down the high street and watched the busy shoppers scurrying from store to store, their hands clutching bags of all sizes and colours.

As she looked about her at the town centre, with the endless row of cream buildings towering over her, Claire felt a strange sense of displacement. It was Saturday, and she didn’t know what to do with her day.

Trying to view everything as a tourist, to take in what worked and what didn’t, occupied part of her mind. In the back, however, like chattering children in the cinema, her thoughts kept making disturbing observations.

What did I used to do at the weekend, when I had a normal life? When I wasn’t working, sleeping off a hangover or visiting my parents?

With a pang she realised that, up until last Christmas, weekends had been spent with Michael. Even then, she couldn’t really remember what they did. On a Sunday they read the papers in comfortable silence in one of the many coffee shops. Saturdays usually meant the cinema or going out to dinner or maybe a walk in the park. Mostly they spent too long in bed or talked about work.

What do single people do? Do they just go shopping, and spend all the money they’ve worked so hard to earn during the week? Go to theatres and museums by themselves? Meet with friends? Read a book? Clean the house?

She’d been shocked when Ruth had reminded her it was only four months since she’d left for Berwick-upon-Tweed. Normal life seemed such a long time ago. Still, she guessed that four months of never really knowing what day of the week it was, and there being nothing to mark the difference in days except some things were shut on a Sunday, made it feel much longer.

Claire wondered if that was what had prompted Ruth to start attending church on Sunday, once she had free time without Sky. Was it for a sense of routine? Or to meet people?

As she let her feet direct her into a café for lunch and a latte, Claire became conscious of an overwhelming sense of the futility of things.

We go to work, to earn money, to buy stuff to make ourselves happy because we’ve spent all week at work. What on Earth is that all about?

It was easy to feel there was no point at all without someone to share it with. But looking back on her time with Michael, it hadn’t seemed all that different. Of course she had enjoyed his company, in and out of the bedroom. But what did they ever actually talk about but the latest scandal at work or where to go for dinner. That all seemed pretty meaningless too.

Is that why Michael wanted children? To give life some purpose.

She thought about her time with Sky. It certainly filled the day with things to do, but she couldn’t see how it gave life meaning. Headaches, heartache, insomnia, but not meaning. If not work, or children, or friends or lovers, then what?

Claire wrapped her hands around her mug of coffee, waiting for some low-paid barista staff to bring her an overpriced Panini, and wondered if somehow she’d missed the point.

***

A Breather: 2013 365 Challenge #291

My smart son

As you may have noticed, I ended up separating the ‘top part’ of my two-part daily blog challenge today and publishing it on its own. If you didn’t spot it, I wrote this, all about the news that the likes of Kobo and Amazon are deleting e-books they consider to be inappropriate.

It ended up being rather long (over 1000 words) and emotive and didn’t sit happily with a Claire installment. It also ate up all my writing time this morning (darling hubbie has taken our daughter to school and our son to the barbers so I can have some time to catch up, but they’ve just got back).

So, I’m off to find something for Claire to do today, while my boiling brain comes down from researching and writing about e-book censorship, and my son watches a DVD.

In the meantime, here’s a lovely picture of my son proudly wearing his new Red Sox baseball top, courtesy of his auntie and uncle. Doesn’t he look smart?

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Claire drove along the twisting tree-covered lane and let her mind drift, enjoying the empty car and empty roads. She wondered how Kim was settling in at her parents’ house and hoped her friend wasn’t holding any grudges.

I guess that’s probably too much to ask for. If she’ll forgive me when she’s better, that will be enough.

The sense of freedom filling her spirit made her heart ache with a mixture of joy and guilt. It was good to be free of the coach and the schedule, and – if she was honest – free from Kim’s constant misery. Did that make her a bad person?

As if running through the events of the year, her thoughts turned to Josh. She hadn’t heard from him since his return to Fiona, and she hoped it was because he was pouring his energy into making his marriage work, and not because he had found his escapism elsewhere.

I really should send him a note, make sure he’s okay.

She added it to her list of things to do and tried to push it out of her head. Another face tugged at her mind, someone else she hadn’t contacted recently enough. Ruth.

Damn. I meant to call in and see her before I left for the south. In all the confusion with Kim and not having a bloody car, I forgot.

Remorse twisted at her stomach and she vowed to ring her sister as soon as she got to the next hostel.

That’s assuming I ever get there.

Claire pulled the car around another sharp bend and tried to rein in her frustration. On the map, the tiny white road along the edge of the county had seemed to promise stunning sea views or at least beautiful scenery. So far it had delivered mostly urban roads and tree-lined lanes. She knew the sea was somewhere to her left, but it didn’t show itself very often.

I think the first thing I need to do is buy a new guide to Britain. Goodness only knows what happened to mine.

It was hard not to feel like her life had come full circle, as she followed the SatNav’s directions into town. It had been less than four months since she’d driven to Berwick-upon-Tweed with little idea of what the future held in store for her. In all those weeks she’d stayed in so many different places, home and abroad, that they were all beginning to merge together.

The hostel, when she arrived, looked like just another Victorian terrace in a wide street of cream houses. It didn’t feel particularly touristy, but she could at least see the sea in the distance as she pulled up outside.

With a sigh, Claire found somewhere to leave her new car, grateful that it had travelled the short distance without breaking down, and went to check in.

Inside, the building felt more like student digs than a hostel. The website had suggested it was a good base for seasonal workers, and Claire figured that probably explained most of the residents. It gave it a strange feel, as if she were intruding; coming to crash on someone’s sofa. More than anything, it made her yearn for a place of her own.

Forcing a grin, she strode up to the reception and dropped her bag. “Hi, I’m here to check in.”

***

The Life We Choose: 2013 365 Challenge #290

Laundry Mountain

Sometimes the choices we make for ourselves are the hardest ones to live with. Situations that life throws at us can be endured, but taking responsibility for our own actions, our own choices, takes more courage.

Six years ago I chose to leave a good job because it wasn’t for me and was making me miserable. Hubbie supported me in my decision, even though I had no job to go to. I had every intention of making money selling paintings, not realising what a daft dream that was, and ended up contracting instead. Hubbie had to put up with my grump as I commuted four hours a day, leaving at 6am and getting back at 8pm.

Then I got pregnant and knew I wanted to be at home with my children as much as possible. Not full time, I wasn’t capable of that. But we reordered our finances so I could have a day or two to write without feeling pressured to earn enough to pay for the childcare. My part of the deal was taking on all the household chores. It was a fair trade.

When hubbie was made redundant I accepted that most of those chores and childcare duties would remain mine as he sought work and undertook DIY projects. But it’s one thing doing all the house stuff when you’re the only adult in it and another still doing them when someone else is there, even if they’re busy working. Mostly I manage to keep perspective, with the odd request for hubbie to empty the dishwasher or cook dinner.

My amazing hubbie

During the daily blog nightmare, hubbie has been amazing, taking the kids, doing the school run, giving me time to write. And I love him for it. But on days like today, when time is precious, and more hours have been spent on housework and chores than writing, I find myself getting resentful and snappy, even when I know he is working too.

Hubbie and I had a row as I chucked the makings of stew in the pot before rushing out to collect the kids. I haven’t written a word today and it makes me crabby. But these were my choices. I don’t have to go to work on Monday. He does. I don’t have to worry about meeting new colleagues or still finding time for the kids. I appreciate everything he has given me and I try so hard not to complain.

So this is an apology to him. I know I made my choices, and they genuinely make me happy. Sorry I forgot for a moment.

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Claire looked around at the endless rows of cars and tried not to panic. Remembering her father’s advice, she pushed her shoulders back and pasted a smile on her face. Confidence, that was the key. That, and knowing he had agreed to lend her five hundred pounds to buy her first car. She felt eighteen years old.

Claire peered through the window of the nearest vehicle, despite the price tag hanging from the window. She wondered if there was anything in her price range.

Probably tucked at the back, out of sight.

She sighed. There was no denying that it hurt to be looking for a tatty rust bucket rather than a nice Audi or BMW.

I made my choices, I guess.

“Can I help you, madam?”

The voice greeting her was closer than she expected, and it made her jump. Turning to face the source of the voice, she had to suppress a giggle. He looked about ten years younger than her, in a shiny suit that didn’t seem to fit very well.

“I’m looking for a car.”

“Well you’ve come to the right place.” He laughed, then stopped as Claire raised an eyebrow at him. “What kind of car are you looking for?”

The salesman looked her up and down and she could imagine him taking in her stretch jeans and polo shirt, the sunglasses holding back her heavy brown hair, and trying to decide what would best suit her.

“How about a nice Range Rover, or the BMW X5?” He looked around, as if surprised to discover there weren’t any parked right by him.

Claire didn’t know whether to be flattered or horrified that he clearly took her for a yummy mummy. “I’d love one, but my budget doesn’t stretch I’m afraid. I just need a runabout that will take me around the West Country for a few weeks. When I return to the city I won’t need it.” She hoped her cover story – that she was on assignment from a City job – didn’t sound too forced. Then she wondered why it mattered what some lad in the sticks thought of her.

“Oh, right.” The salesman’s face fell dramatically and Claire half expected him to stick out his bottom lip. She guessed he was paid commission.

There’s not going to be much coming from me, I’m afraid. Better luck next time.

She followed the man through the sparkling sea of cars to the back of the lot where, as she suspected, the two or three cheap cars lurked unwanted and unloved.

Her Dad had explained they would be trade-ins and there wouldn’t be much choice, as the garages usually off-loaded them at auction. “I don’t need choice,” had been her response, “I need reliability.”

Her dad had sucked air in through his teeth and asked her if she had breakdown cover. It didn’t bode well.

The salesman started rambling on about low insurance groups and minimal tax. Claire let the words wash over her as she peered in the windows of the brown, beige and grey cars huddled together as if for protection.

Why do older cars look so furtive? As if they’re glad to have escaped the crusher?

Even with the fondness she had developed for the Skoda, Claire still shuddered as she opened creaking doors to be greeted by the stink of stale smoke and overpowering air fresheners.

She climbed inside the least awful car and flinched as her hands touched the sticky seats. Quickly climbing out, Claire smoothed the grimace off her face and turned back to the salesman.

“Is this all you’ve got?”

He nodded, all his exuberance gone as he realised he was unlikely to make a sale.

With a shrug, Claire looked them over again. “Which is likely to be the most reliable?”

The boy shook his head, to indicate he had no idea.

“Well, can I speak to your boss, then, please?” Claire stood with one hand on her hip. The salesman hesitated, then nodded again and strode across the parking lot.

It was several long minutes before an older man threaded his way through the cars towards her. Claire had had time to regret her request. It was easy to keep up a front with the inexperienced salesboy, but a manager was likely to prove tougher.

“Can I help you, madam?” The man asked, in a deep gravelly voice. His eyes twinkled and his face showed signs of habitual laughter.

Claire felt herself relax slightly. “I need a cheap runabout to get me round the West Country without breaking down. I’ve only got five hundred quid.” She gave a wry smile. “The Company doesn’t believe in exec cars, and I’ve never needed one before.” That was mostly the truth.

She half expected the man to rub his hands in glee and sell her the worst of the lot. Instead he smiled, and gave an understanding nod.

“It’s going to be tricky to find reliability for that kind of money. What you need is something that’ll be cheap to fix.”

It wasn’t what Claire wanted to hear. Maybe hiring a car would be a better option after all.

“We’ve got a nice Vauxhall Cavalier. You could probably fix that yourself if it broke down.” He gestured towards a boxy red car in the corner that Claire hadn’t noticed before. She walked over and peered through the window. She felt some of the tension leave her neck and shoulders as she saw a neat black interior. When she opened the door it smelled clean and cared for.

“Owner didn’t want to part with her, but the wife popped out a fourth and they had to get a seven-seater.” The manager walked up beside her. “It’s only done forty-thousand miles. Twelve months MOT, six months tax. It’s got a sunroof and electric windows, which is pretty good for a twenty-year-old car. It’ll get you forty to the gallon, which you’ll need if you’re putting in some miles. Petrol, too, so cheaper to run these days. Not like it used to be.”

Claire climbed into the car and let the man’s words flow around her like summer rain. It was bigger than the Skoda, more comfortable too.

“You’ll need to watch the oil and water,” the man continued, “they can get a bit thirsty. Should be cheap to insure though. Small engine.”

With her hands on the steering wheel, Claire sat back and let her body sink into the seat. A car. Her own car. To drive wherever she need to go. A smile spread across her face.

“I’ll take it.”

***

Hello Crabby Me! (christrytnow.wordpress.com)
The Importance of Household Chores (ctworkingmoms.com)
Changes at Home (thewordnerds.wordpress.com)

Work, Life and Dreams: 2013 365 Challenge #282

Cousins doing craft

Apologies that today’s post is a little late. I try and have it live by 10am GMT, usually writing it the night before, but various things have cascaded this week and I’m rather behind.

My sister and her family arrived from America yesterday, so we spent the evening with them, letting the cousins meet and play properly for the first time. Then, this morning, after a rather hectic double drop off for school (having had to wake a tired son ten minutes before leaving the house, and asking nursery to feed him!), I got chatting with some of the other mums about school and life in general.

It was an interesting discussion. They’re both teachers and finding it tough adjusting back to work after the vacation, because the ante has been upped (new Head) and the workload is even more impossible than before. I really don’t know how they do it. We got chatting about public vs private sector (I’ve always worked in the private sector in various listed or privately owned organisations). They have their pluses and minuses, with the main difference being job security and holiday time versus better pay.

Captured for posterity: cousins cooperating!

The middle ground, that I think more and more of my generation are moving towards, is self-employment. Working freelance so you control your own holidays and remuneration, in exchange for even more sketchy job security!

When I got home, I ran through the discussion with hubbie, because it’s just as relevant for him at the moment, having (finally, hurrah!) got a job. Particularly now he has to be in a company two years before getting any kind of payout if he gets made redundant again (the nature of his job is that he quite often does it so well he does himself out of a job, if that makes sense. He’s been made redundant three times).

We had a great conversation about setting five year goals; about having a dream and visualising it so you know what you are working towards. I understand it now, because that’s how I feel about with the writing. When I left work, six years ago, it was because I hated my job. I didn’t really have a viable plan of how I was going to replace that income. I had a dream that I would sell paintings to hotels and restaurants and make money that way, but it was a pipe dream because I’m rubbish at sales.

Now I’m looking long term and without the rose-tinted specs. I know it will be years (if ever) before the books make the kind of money I earned in the private sector. But I have job security: I decide when to write, when to publish, where to promote and at what price. I have flexible working: I can take my kids to school and pick them up and I don’t have to pay a fortune for childcare. Above all, I have self belief. I know the path I’m following and I’m happy about where I think it will lead.

Embrace Life. Trust Love. Cherish Dreams.

When I worked in an organisation, I never fitted. I desperately tried to change my personality to enable me to keep my job and get promoted.

The things that made me me – the things I felt I could offer that were of value – were all the wrong things as far as my colleagues and managers were concerned. Now I can use those traits to advantage: I can be open and honest, without having to play a political game, I can work inside my own moral and ethical code, I can be myself.

I know I am hugely fortunate. My much-missed Dad left me enough to follow my dreams and I thank him for it every day. I know he would be proud and would very much approve of my choices. He always ploughed his own furrow, mostly he always worked for himself, and he kept his dreams simple. I’m happy to forgo skiing holidays, new clothes, a car that doesn’t rattle and randomly decide not to start, in order to be content.

Maybe that’s why my author tagline is “Embrace Life. Trust Love. Cherish Dreams.”

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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:

________________________________________________________________________________

Claire ran her hands around the steering wheel and smiled. The endless grey tarmac outside the window flashed passed as she pressed the accelerator, and her smile widened. After weeks trapped on a coach, it felt great to be free.

“Oi! Steady on. My car isn’t used to going above fifty.”

Claire grinned sheepishly at her friend. “Sorry, Kim.”

Kim grimaced and Claire felt some of her elation seep away. Kim had found fault with everything since their departure early that morning. Although she tried to be sympathetic it was starting to grate.

I have to remember she was in hospital until last night. This must all be so overwhelming.

Claire flushed guiltily as she thought back to her conversations with Kim. Her friend had wanted a few more days to recover but, conscious of her money and Conor’s goodwill both slipping away, Claire had pushed her friend to leave immediately.

And it doesn’t do to dwell, I can see that. Keeping moving is the thing.

She thought Kim had fallen asleep and so her voice made Claire jump.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Oh crap, really? You poor thing. Hang on, I’ll find us somewhere to stop.” Claire searched alongside the motorway for a sign to indicate how far away the services were. She didn’t fancy stopping on the hard shoulder. At last a blue sign informed her that it was three miles to the next service station.

“Can you hang on for five minutes?”

When Kim didn’t respond, Claire glanced over. Her friend was slumped forward with her hands covering her face.

Crap, crap, crap. Stupid idiot. I should have listened to her, let her stay home and rest. I’m sure Conor would have understood. Now she’s going to end up back in hospital and it will be my fault. Again.

Gripping the wheel with slippery hands, Claire indicated for the turning and guided Kim’s hatchback up the ramp to the car park. Parking close to the grass, Claire jumped out and ran round the car to help her friend.

Within minutes they were perched on a picnic bench, although Claire was grateful that her friend hadn’t yet vomited. It was too early in the morning for that.

“What can I do? Do you want water? Something to eat? What did the doctors say?”

Claire wondered if she should call Jeff. The hospital hadn’t given much advice when they’d discharged Kim. Only to say that she needed to be watched; to make sure she took her anti-depressants and to check back in from time to time. Nothing about the physical side effects of the overdose.

Helplessness washed over Claire as she watched Kim staring at the floor, her face a pale tinge of green. It wasn’t worth it. No job was worth making her friend more sick.

“Sorry, Kim. I rushed you into this. Do you want to go home? Back to the hospital? We’re only about two hours away.”

Kim shook her head, but didn’t speak. Claire’s mind raced with options, her throat aching with supressed tears.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

“I’m okay.” Kim’s voice drifted up to Claire amidst the noise of the busy car park. “The stuff they made me drink – the charcoal – I feel like it’s still in my mouth, in my stomach. It was awful.” She gave a dry chuckle. “Makes my poo black too. Like I’ve eaten a mountain of liquorice.”

Claire strained to hear Kim’s words; her ears muffling out all the other sounds until her focus was completely on her friend. She wanted to ask more, ask her if she thought she might do it again, but it felt like prying.

“Could I have some water, please?”

Claire nodded, then hesitated, unsure whether to leave Kim alone while she went into the shop.

“I’ll be okay, I promise,” Kim said, interpreting Claire’s indecision. “I’m not going to do anything stupid. I don’t want to die. It was just then, at that moment, I didn’t know how to live. I wanted the pain to stop. I felt like I was trapped in a burning building and it was jump or be burnt alive.” Kim clasped and unclasped her hands, and Claire watched, mesmerised.

“I’m still not sure if I know how to live, but I’m fighting it. You’re here, now, and Jeff. We’ll find a way.”

“I’m here,” Claire agreed, but the words tore through her.

I’m here, but you shouldn’t be coming to Cornwall. You need constant care, and a therapist to help you. What if I get it wrong and you try again and we don’t stop you. What then?

Fear, indecision, guilt all dragged at Claire. She had to start her job, to pay off the bills before the credit card companies made demands. But Kim needed her.

I don’t think I can do this.

The darkness washed around the edges of Claire’s vision, and the world pitched and fell, as if she and Kim were cast adrift on a sinking ship. She wasn’t sure she had the strength to keep them both afloat.

***

Why we need government job?how it is better than private job?know the perfect answer? (rahuldhelord.wordpress.com)
Holidays: definitely not for wimps (reed.co.uk)
Singapore, a place where dreams die? (silvershootingstars.wordpress.com)
The Universe Wants the Best for Us. ~ Sarah McMurray (elephantjournal.com)

Life Sucks and you Move On: 2013 365 Challenge #270

Focussing on what’s important

You spend your life worrying about the little things – have the kids eaten a healthy tea, can I afford to take the youngest for lunch in the coffee shop or buy them new pyjamas? Then life throws you a curve ball, like being laid off or an illness, and all those petty worries seem meaningless.

Only they don’t. They seem huge; bigger than before. Because in a world gone to shit they’re the things you think you can control.

As parents we can’t keep our kids safe all the time, so we stress about making sure they’re fed and have slept well.

In work we can’t stop ourselves being in the next round of budget cuts so we focus on not getting fired at least.

You might have gathered that we got thrown a curve ball today. Not something I can discuss, except to say I’m gonna have to sell a whole heap of books to make a tiny dent in the financial hole that has gashed open beneath our feet. One of those life sucks and you move on moments, where, through no fault of your own, you’re suddenly at the bottom of a deep pit and need to start climbing.

No one’s ill, no one died. Though I may have to put my author dreams on hold for a while and get a proper job that pays more than a $10 royalty cheque every other month. For now, we pour a glass of wine, give each other a hug and say, “You and me against the world, hun.”

And file it away as a great story that may, or may not, have a happy ending. (I put a strapline on the back of my Baby Blues print version yesterday: “A happy ending is just a story that hasn’t ended yet…” Ho hum.)

________________________________________________________________________________

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 peered through the battered window and tried to enjoy the view, but her heart sat like a lead block wedged in her chest. Low cloud still swirled around the pointed peaks of the fjords, but at least the rain had stopped. The pilot assured her the flight would be without incident. Claire decided she wouldn’t count on anything until she was on the ground.

The rucksack at her feet took up the same space it had done the day before, but in her mind it was smaller: diminished by the loss of her Helly Hansen boots and the tablet that had kept her company through months of solitude. In the new simplified world of travelling, when everything else had been stripped away – her car, her apartment, her friends – the impersonal black rectangle had come to represent home. Her contact with the world, her reading material, her music, her photos, her memories: all stored in the small device.

With a harsh laugh, Claire remembered a fantasy novel she’d read as a teenager, where the solution to the survival of a community of people was hidden inside blank black cubes.

Who knew that fantasy would meet reality so soon?

With a shrug, she tried to convince herself it was just a possession; no different to having her phone stolen when she was mugged.

Except everything was backed up to the cloud, then.

Pushing the dark thoughts aside, Claire gazed out at the view that had cost her so much. She searched for a sense of excitement at the thought of going home. Some feeling of returning older, wiser, with a pocketful of experiences. Instead, the future yawned ahead like the long snaking tunnel whose closure had forced her to hock her favourite possessions.

Oh, pull yourself together, Claire, for heaven’s sake. Enough maudlin crap. This is life, get on with it.

Sitting straighter in her seat, Claire focussed on what needed to be done, in order of time and priority. Finding the bus to Christchurch, or booking on another one if the tour bus had left already. Checking in for her flight. Getting home, getting to Dorset, finding a new car.

Beneath the mire, a flicker of joy bubbled at the thought of seeing Conor in a few days. His quirky texts had kept her smiling through the last few weeks, and she hoped that would continue even when he was her boss.

The hulking elephant in the room of her mind was Kim. Just thinking about seeing her again made Claire’s mouth dry. Her head throbbed with the thought of how to mend their broken friendship. Her countless emails had received no response, not even from Jeff.

I screwed up, I have to fix it. But how? I can’t give her another baby. I can’t unsay the words.

A thought Claire hadn’t admitted to herself before reared up. She tried to ignore it but it tugged at her sleeve.

And is it really my fault? Michael shouted it out for everyone to hear, not me. Kim never told me to keep it a secret. I’m all for taking responsibility for my actions, but where do you stop?

Claire ran her hands through her hair. She was tired of feeling low; tired of the world smothering her in blackness. She wanted to laugh, to get through a day without analysing her every thought and action. To feel alive again.

Do I really need possessions to make me happy? I don’t remember ever being this miserable when I worked for Carl, despite him being a tosser and life having no meaning. Suddenly now I know I want more from life and I feel like crawling into a cave and never coming out. What’s that all about?

Tears trickled down Claire’s cheeks, but she ignored them. Maybe if she didn’t give the black thoughts any attention, they’d go away.

Beneath her, the monochrome landscape continued on unending.

***

When life throws you a curve ball ………… (alisoncrossjones.wordpress.com)
Life’s Curve-balls: 2013 365 Challenge #253 (writermummy.wordpress.com)
Is it just me or does life throw curve balls when you least expect it ? (nanasnaturalcare.wordpress.com)
Facing Reality. (eatprayandlift.com)

Dark Dreams: 2013 365 Challenge #267

Today’s Claire post is about the beautiful Milford Sound

I had a dark dream last night; a full story one, like Dragon Wraiths but much more creepy.

When I woke I wasn’t scared although I hate scary or violent movies: I told hubbie off the other night for putting Three Kings on without telling me what it was like. The scene I saw – of soldiers aggressively stripping captured people naked – had me fleeing the room in distress. The image stayed in my mind for days, like it was burned into my retina.

Last night’s dream was a bit like that, but without the horror. I don’t remember dreams with much lucidity but I recall I was in a huge building, hiding out (I think that bit came from a news report on the awful terrorist attack in Nairobi, where they said people might be hiding anywhere in the shopping centre). Only this was a Bond-esque evil empire complex with some terrible purpose behind the bustling activity and the steel and glass.

In the end I was captured, hiding out in a disabled toilet of all places. Then it gets really weird. Because I’m sure I was assaulted and tortured. I definitely remember that they changed my face to make me hideous and unrecognisable. But, unlike my usual dreams, I didn’t wake up terrified. And although it’s stuck with me all day, it has done so in a detached way that’s very unlike me.

I didn’t see much of the Sound when I was there!

I can’t help but feel my subconscious is trying to spill out another book. But I don’t write suspense thrillers. I don’t even read them anymore. When I had kids I grew soft and now I need happy endings (even to the point of redeeming the antagonist).

I thought Dragon Wraiths, which also came in a dream, was a long way out my comfort zone. Writing a story around this dream would be outside zones 1-6 and across into France.

I didn’t even intend to make notes on my dream, despite the vivid nature of the images in my mind. But they won’t go away, especially the image of my warped tortured face.

Maybe there’s another message there entirely (possibly linked to discussions I’ve had with hubbie recently about whether I need to lose the 2 stone baby weight I’m still carrying. It’s not bothering me too much, and dieting turns me into a psycho, but my Mum’s been dropping hints.) Or maybe it was the steak I had for dinner or the fact that I got more than three hours’ sleep. Who knows?

What’s the weirdest dream you’ve Ever had? Do you incorporate dreams into your writing?

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Claire’s memories of the south, she decided, would be memories of silence. The Catlins, Invercargill and now Milford Sound, seemed to give off an air of quiet confidence, as if there was no need to speak.

Despite the early start, Claire felt wide awake for the long journey to the fjords. The bus stopped again and again and each time the scenery became more impressive. Huge mountains towered above them, or glittered in reflection. Overhead, the skies shone blue and Claire thanked the weather gods for their parting gift. She decided she didn’t mind if it rained for the whole British summer when she got back home, in return for seeing the mountains all the way to the top.

And at least it didn’t look like they would get stuck the wrong side of the Homer tunnel because of snow. The tunnel had only just reopened after a rock fall, and she’d read it was possible to be snowed in for days, or weeks, if the weather turned, for those not fortunate enough to be able to fly back to Queenstown.

Please God don’t let that be my choice: I can’t afford to fly, but I can’t afford to miss my flight out of Christchurch either. It already cost a fortune to change it from Auckland.

Claire pushed her money worries aside and concentrated on absorbing the ethereal beauty outside the window. The bus slowed, and Claire saw a sign for the tunnel up ahead. Her stomach tightened at the thought of being stuck in the long snaking seven hundred and fifty metres of concrete. Soon it was their turn to go through. Claire rested her head against the seat and closed her eyes.

The darkness gave way to light and the tunnel disgorged them into the sun. Claire looked at the towering mountain walls as they drove away, and prayed she would be driving back through at sunset.

Claire sank back against the seat and craned her neck to see the top of the peaks surrounding her. By the time they reached Milford the sun had disappeared, leaving heavy clouds lurking above them. She guessed they wouldn’t see any seals or dolphins swimming alongside the boat today.

The view was still beautiful, as the peaks wore their fog shawls like a huddle of old women. It was disappointing not to see the Mitre Peak but Claire’s sadness lasted only until they reached the first waterfall and the guide explained that recent rainfall had made the water gush down.

Milford Sound

The boat pulled up close to the waterfall and they were able to reach out and fill glasses with the ice cold water. It tasted pure and refreshing. Claire tugged her waterproof around her face and let the spray of the waterfall cover her.

At the next waterfall, the boat drove right underneath the cascade. Claire thought about retreating inside, with the majority of the passengers. Something made her stay put, as the water poured over her and drenched her despite her raincoat.

Laughter bubbled up deep inside her as she stood with water dripping down her neck and running off her hair. Turning, Claire saw the bemused looks of the dry passengers and gave a little wave. A beaming child waved back, enjoying her mirth.

The boat pulled away from the waterfall, but the water continued to fall as the heavens opened. Claire watched the droplets hitting the flat sound, reducing the visibility even further until she could barely see the end of the boat. The world turned into a monochrome photograph: the slate grey water, the charcoal grey cliffs visible for only a short distance before everything else swirled into foggy white.

Shivering uncontrollably, Claire admitted defeat and went back inside the cabin, glad that she had her rucksack with her. There was something to be said for travelling light and not having a car to leave all her belongings in. Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the drawstring and eventually managed to retrieve some dry clothing.

An announcement came over the tannoy as Claire headed for the toilets to get changed.

“As you have probably noticed, it is starting to rain. The weather is as extreme as the landscape down here in the fjords, and the area can see up to 50cm of rain in just a few hours. The boat will return to Milford now, and you can continue your tour at the observatory. We apologise for any disappointment.”

With a shrug, Claire continued on her way to get dry. The rain hammered relentlessly on the cabin roof.

“What do you mean we’re stuck?” Claire glared at the driver and tried to ignore the fear gnawing at her innards. “I have to get to Queenstown: my flight leaves Christchurch in a couple of days.”

She felt the tears welling behind her eyes, and stopped to brush them away. Swallowing the painful lump in her throat, Claire turned away from the driver and listened as he talked quietly to the other passengers.

“Sorry, guys. The heavy rainfall has loosened some rocks near the tunnel. They won’t let us through in the dark. You will be given accommodation for tonight and we will assess the situation tomorrow.”

Claire heard a few groans, but mostly the passengers took the news calmly. If you were travelling for a whole year, what difference did an extra night make? It was all part of the adventure. Trying to find a similar fortitude, Claire followed the group to the bus and prayed for the rain to stop.

***

Friends are the Best Medicine: 2013 365 Challenge #263

Friends

It’s going to be a short post today, for various reasons, some good, some bad.

The bad is I have a stinking cold. I spent the afternoon trying to rest because I had dinner plans for my bi-annual catch up with my old work friends. The good is that I made it to dinner and spent a lovely two hours with good food and good company, catching up on the work gossip and not talking about the children (much).

It’s hard not talking about the kids but it is sort of an unspoken rule that we don’t, even though five out of six of us have children and the sixth has a puppy that is just as troublesome and gorgeous.

Even my friend who had her first baby seven weeks ago started the evening by saying “I don’t want to talk about babies.”

It’s actually rather lovely to forget you’re a parent for the night. I think parenting can be a divisive rather than inclusive subject for discussion. Everyone has different techniques and priorities, and there’s such a difference between age stages, from a baby to a pre-teen, as the age range is across our group. Plus the passing of the years are more noticeable when we talk about such and such starting school or big school. Without the kids to mark time, it only feels like yesterday that I left work rather than six years ago.

Work is always a safe topic. Even though two of us haven’t worked for the company in years, it’s still possible to follow along. Like an old school friend you haven’t seen in a decade, you can still talk about that shared experience. Incidentally the picture is one I drew of me and my two best friends at high school (a scary 20 years ago). The friend I gave it to emailed me a copy this evening, after finding it in a drawer. Happy days.

So, it’s off to bed for me, with the intention of writing my Claire instalment in the morning, after I’ve painted a shark. It’s been a lovely evening and I want to round it off curled up in bed with a lemsip, finishing Reckless Rebellion by Rinelle Grey (published on Amazon today!) Night night.

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Claire looked out the window at the changing scenery and wondered if she’d make a mistake. It felt lonely knowing that Bethan wasn’t on the bus.

I would have had to say goodbye in a few days anyway. Travelling is all about meeting people and then saying goodbye to them, carrying them with us in our hearts.

She smiled at how corny that sounded, although no less true for all that. Bethan had begged her to stay in Queenstown for the extra day, but Claire felt no pull to stay in the famous town. Despite the lure of luging and drinking and other activities, she wanted to get on and get home.

I guess I could have missed out the bottom bus completely, but I really want to see the sea lions.

The brochure said she could do a wildlife tour in Dunedin and that had been enough to persuade her. Bethan hadn’t understood that she’d rather do that than drink shots out of tea pots.

I’m surprised too. I must be getting old.

She turned her attention back to the view, as the bus pulled into a town. She guessed it must be Dunedin, although it was nothing like she had expected. Apart from Wellington, it was the first really hilly town she’d seen, and the buildings seemed to be made of stone rather than wood.

As they drove through the streets, Claire peered out the window and felt a quickening in her tummy. It seemed familiar, as if she’d visited before in a past life. She soaked in the grey stone, the university buildings, the formal gardens and smiled.

I could be in any northern British town.

It felt like home

The bus pulled up at the bottom of what looked like a residential street. Claire wondered if they had arrived at the hostel, although it didn’t look like the centre of town, where she thought the hostel was located.

“Right, peeps. We’re at Baldwin Street. World’s steepest street. Climb to the top and back and you get a certificate.”

The driver finished his terse announcement, got out of the bus and lit a roll-up. Claire followed all the other passengers, glad to stretch her legs.

Outside it was raining, a light mizzling rain that hadn’t been noticeable as they drove through town, although it probably explained the greyness of the buildings. Claire looked up the street and wondered if she had the energy to climb it. It didn’t look too bad from the bottom, but she knew looks could be deceptive.

Some eager passengers started up the hill at a run, but soon dropped to a jog and then a walk. As she climbed, Claire marvelled at the buildings, where the road started at the lower floor window and passed somewhere near the upper floor. She took some pictures and kept on climbing, ignoring the burn in her thighs and the lack of oxygen in her lungs.

At last she reached the top and turned to survey the view. It was worth the climb. The road dropped like a child’s slide beneath her, a straight ribbon of tarmac. In the distance, tree covered hills hugged the little bit of town she could see. The sun had broken through the clouds on the other side of the valley, and its rays lit the fields like a spotlight. More than any place she had visited in New Zealand, the place felt welcoming; as if she belonged there.

With a sigh, Claire put her camera away and headed back down to the bus.

***

Life in Layers: 2013 365 Challenge #261

Driving to Wanaka – 2006/7 Honeymoon

The problem with working on multiple writing projects is I end up living my life in layers. Part of my brain is on a beach with Helen and Marcio, searching for typos, while another part is flying with Leah, as I format Dragon Wraiths for print.

In the back of my mind I’m searching for a new life (and a new name) for Rebecca, as she deals with the death of her father. And I’m permanently in New Zealand with Claire, remembering the three separate times I visited; as an independent traveller, a tour bus sheep and a honeymooner.

By the way, did you spot the cameo in yesterday’s Claire instalment? To try and get my mind in the right place for writing amid the chaos I read some of my travel journal and came across this:

“I drove from Franz Josef Tuesday morning. The weather was beautiful but cold. I stopped at Lake Matheson near Fox Glacier, and walked round it: passed all the Magic Bus sheep which made me again really appreciate how great it is having my own car! I walked all the way round so I could go to the view of views: Mt Tasman & Mt Cook both reflected in the lake; but it was full of loud kiwis, so I left!”

As an aside, it’s funny how much you can dislike your former self – even more so when you realise you haven’t changed as much as you’d hoped. My journal from eleven years ago is full of me whinging about my fellow travellers and feeling like I’m a freak with no place in the world. I came across this nugget:

“The more I travel, the more I realise how little I have in common with people, how few people I like, and how few seem to really like me. No more turning into Dad [he hated the world and everyone in it much of the time] – I have arrived!”

Anyway, I digress. The problem with a life in layers is I am also living all the layers of emotion. As most of my novels are in some part based on my own life experiences, albeit transmuted and transformed, I truly live the events alongside my protagonists. I’ve been to the beach at the end of Baby Blues & Wedding Shoes, so I can imagine I’m there too. I’ve been to New Zealand several times in different roles. I keep flicking through photo albums to help me with my writing and ending up lost in the past.

Puzzling World on Magic Bus Tour 2003

It’s all good for my writing, but not so much for my day to day life. I end up dreaming epic fantasy adventures with dragons and fight scenes where I also forget to pick my child up from preschool. Or I’m trying to figure out the details of my son’s birthday cake (he wants a shark – in the end we settled for a football) while also wondering whether Claire should meet some more people before she comes home from New Zealand. I’m cooking stew and writing a guest post on postnatal depression in my head. And we know I walk the dog while mentally or physically writing hundreds of words.

Sometimes I wonder if this is what it feels like to go mad. Certainly I don’t feel entirely sane. I feel like all the words and scenes and chaos in my head are seeping out. I couldn’t plait my daughter’s hair this morning because I was overwrought and my hands wouldn’t work. Why? Because the vivid scenes from my dream, where I healed the good queen only to have her turn into a wicked monster who made me miss a school pick-up, were still swirling round my sleep-deprived brain.

I guess the upside is I don’t have to worry about no one liking me anymore, or not being able to make friends: I have a permanent posse of people with me at all times. Unfortunately they’re all a version of me, so we don’t always make the best companions. Thankfully their male counterparts and best friends are usually rather good company. Who needs a life when you can write one?

I wonder if you keep hold of all the characters when you’ve written ten books, or twenty or fifty? My head could become very cluttered place if some of them don’t go away! At least I’ll never be lonely.

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“Aren’t you coming into Puzzling World?”

Claire looked from Bethan’s eager expression to the building with the illusion tower outside that people were pretending to hold up, as if it were the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Except this wasn’t Italian architecture, it was a money trap for tourists.

“No thanks, this isn’t my idea of New Zealand, any more than tobogganing down a sand dune or racing round a track on an aerial bike. I’m exhausted by the endless ways we’re encouraged to part with our cash.”

“Oh, come on Claire, lighten up. You are a tourist, you know. You’re only here for a few weeks, why not experience as much as you can?”

“Because I’m skint, and I’m tired of being a sheep and it’s all a con.” Claire saw the smile slip from Bethan’s face and stopped her rant. “I’m sorry, ignore me. I’m tired. I was up late, thinking about stuff. You go on; I’m going to catch up on my email.”

Bethan shrugged and ran ahead to join the rest of the group. Claire felt a pang as she watched her leave. She’d meant every word, but she hadn’t intended to belittle Bethan’s enthusiasm.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. This is a trip of a lifetime and I’m being a complete grouch. What’s that kiwi song? Weather with you? We’ll I’ve certainly brought my black clouds with me.

Finding a bench in the weak wintry sun, Claire zipped up her jacket before loading her emails, expecting only blog comments and junk. When she saw Conor’s name her heart gave an odd lurch. He hadn’t texted for a while, and she only now realised the hole left by the absence of his happy messages. Her heart thudded uncomfortably as she loaded the email.

Hi Claire

I’ve spoken with my boss regarding my wish for you to join the company, knowing that you are reluctant to curtail your travels in order to take a full time position.

The Board have agreed to offer you a temporary contract that will also incorporate an element of hands on research. This will entail visiting hostels and tourist attractions in the surrounding counties to undertake a benchmark exercise on where Isle of Purbeck tourism sits at present.

At the end of three months you will be expected to prepare and deliver a presentation of your recommendations, including your vision for the future of Purbeck Tourism. The following three months will be spent drawing up implementation plans from your findings.

If this is of interest to you, please let me know as soon as possible. I understand that you are still travelling in New Zealand – perhaps there is something to be learned from their tourism and attractions also?

Extension of your contract will be dependent on your recommendations and implementation plans being accepted by the Board.

I look forward to hearing from you regarding this matter.

Conor

Claire read the message several times to ensure she had understood it correctly. Conor’s formal business language made it hard to grasp the full extent of the deal. At last she gathered that he was offering her everything she could want and more.

I get to continue travelling and get paid? The man’s a magician.

The idea that Conor was trying to impress her flitted through her mind, only to be dismissed. There was nothing in his demeanour or his communications to suggest anything other than a working relationship, albeit it a much more lighthearted and friendly one than she’d ever managed with her former boss. Claire tried to imagine Carl sending her jokes by text, and laughed at the absurdity of the thought.

Scanning the message one more time, Claire quickly tapped out a reply.

Hi Conor

How can I refuse such generous terms? I’ll be back home in a week. Jetlag aside, I should be able to start work immediately (I need the cash!)

Looking forward to hearing more about the contract. Off now to investigate one of NZ’s most popular tourist attractions.

Talk soon.

Claire

With a wide smile, Claire slipped her phone into her bag and strode towards the entrance.

***