Organised Chaos: 2013 365 Challenge #260

What’s the time, Mister Wolf?

I’ve always been grateful that, as a family, we’ve been able to get by without me earning an income: but never more so than today. Even with hubbie available to do one of the child-care drop-offs this morning, it was still a crazy day.

As it was our wedding anniversary, we met in the coffee shop at 9.15 – me having dropped our son at preschool a few miles away, making sure he had packed lunch, coat and slippers, and he having dropped our daughter at school round the corner, running the tears gauntlet I have thus far avoided.

In the coffee shop we sat side by side in the sunshine in virtual silence, hubbie editing his book, me finishing my post and trying to figure out why suddenly everything was in italics, whilst we both listened (not through choice) to two ladies discussing why one had been deselected as bridesmaid. I’ve learned to block out most coffee shop chatter when necessary, but having been deselected as bridesmaid the one and only time I was ever asked, I had some sympathy.

Laundry Mountain

Once my post was written it was time to go home, chuck some laundry in the machine, and strike something off the writing to-do list for half an hour, before heading back into town, armed with a second packed lunch, to collect my daughter, who is still on half days at school for two more weeks. (Yes, I should have just stayed in town, but I didn’t think, and had to go home to collect her lunch).

Then, with no lunch for me because we ran out of bread, we headed to another nearby town to pick up my bookmarks and buy birthday gifts for my daughter’s friends. Finding the printers proved a challenge and the bookmarks barely worth the effort – poorly trimmed with tick marks still in evidence, though possibly my mistake when I sent the artwork.

Daughter insisted on doubling the party gift budget and would not be moved so in the end we left with giant gifts for the next two parties. Please don’t let her make too many friends at school or we’ll be bankrupt by Christmas.

Front of Bookmark

The rather busy back!

After a fruitless search for a shark cake or shark balloons for son’s party this Saturday we went to pick the boy up from preschool: 3pm and I was exhausted. Again thankfully hubbie helped a bit by taking son to the post office while daughter taught me my numbers and letters (!) and helped me prepare dinner.

Hubbie played What’s the time Mister Wolf? with the kids while I cooked tea, then I played with them while he crashed from exhaustion. After dinner he admitted to being poorly and disappeared off to bed leaving me to clean the kitchen, wash the lunch boxes and water bottles, and make sure daughter’s school bag is ready for the morning, before going out for another half hour of ball games.

Finally dragged hubbie out of bed twenty minutes before kids’ bedtime, so I could walk the dog. Collapsed on the sofa at 8.30pm with all my post yet to write! (I ended up writing the Claire part this morning, while hubbie did the school run, and little man sang “Bananas in Pyjamas” on loop.)

With extra help, and no job to go to, I just about managed to survive the day, having done a whopping 60 mins work (not including the 2-3 hours I’m about to spend writing this post!) Could I do all that and have a job? No way ho-say as my kids would say.

So, working mums, I salute you. Hubbie, I thank you (and who knew every cloud had a silver lining when you were laid off?). Dad, I miss you, but thanks for posthumously funding my Stay at Home Mum life. I hope you approve. As a stay at home dad and self employed mechanic, I’m sure you would have understood.

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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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As Claire gazed at the scene in front of her, the early start seemed worth every ounce of effort. Like a mystical mirror, the lake stretched out flat to the horizon. Either side, dark trees framed the scene, both above and below the water’s edge, creating an expanding line of perspective towards her. At the vanishing point, the mountains took over; climbing away to the sky. In the distance, Mount Cook and Mount Tasman fought for brilliant in hues of grey, blue and white.

Mt Cook and Mt Tasman

Claire breathed in the morning air, and watched the puff of cloud as she exhaled. She pulled her jacket closer around her as the icy air prized open her foggy brain. This far south, winter had the island in its grip and she was in no mood to linger, despite the beauty of the scene.

All around her, Claire heard the chatter of disinterested tourists. She could see one or two photographers desperate to grab the perfect picture of absolute stillness and reflected symmetry. She wondered how they could stand the influx of tourists, come to take their quick snaps and move on.

How many visitors accidentally snap the perfect shot, not realising others have waited hours and days for the privilege?

Claire looked at the picture on her phone. It probably wouldn’t pass a perfectionist’s eye, but it looked damned near perfect to her: a magical place.

Shame about the noise.

Unable to stand it any longer, Claire headed back to the bus and the travellers who hadn’t even bothered with the walk but were tucking into breakfast in the café. As she arrived at the car park, she saw a girl load her camera into her bag and climb into a rusty red hatchback.

The girl caught her eye and smiled, seeming to say, “Rather you than me on the bus.” She couldn’t disagree.

Autumn colours at Wanaka

Claire climbed down the bus steps, grateful that it was for the last time that day. She felt like she’d done nothing but get on and off the bus, to marvel at one tourist attraction after another until they all blurred together in her mind. She had no idea how she would identify which was which in her pictures when it came time to write the blog. For now she was just happy that she had at least twelve hours before she had to get on the bus again. It felt like escaping from jail.

Wanaka town was bigger than she’d expected; a sprawling collection of buildings spread out along the lakeside. The lake itself shone beneath the blue sky, framed by tall trees still bearing the orange hues of autumn. Claire imagined it must have been spectacular a few weeks before.

A feeling of snow pervaded the air, and it wasn’t hard to imagine the town as a winter resort. It seemed odd that a few weeks earlier she’d been in her shorts: the difference in climate from north to south was much more than she was used to.

Dumping her rucksack in her dorm room, Claire declined Bethan’s suggestion to go for a drink, and walked in long strides down to the shore. Her shoulders itched with a need to get away from people. Following a cycle path, Claire walked around the edge of the lake, beneath the autumn trees, kicking at the fallen leaves beneath her feet.

The further she got from the town the lighter she felt until, at last, the buildings were out of sight and she felt like skipping. It was too cold to sit and admire the view so she kept walking, intent on nothing but solitude.

This is crazy. It’s the beginning of summer at home. Why am I freezing my arse off on the wrong side of the world? Yes, it’s beautiful, but so is Scotland or Wales or the Lake District. Why did I travel the UK in winter only to do the same a few months later here in New Zealand? It’s official; I’ve lost the plot.

Lake Wanaka at sunset

Claire spotted a bench overlooking the lake. Perching on the edge she pulled out her phone and checked the itinerary she had downloaded for the bus trip.

Another ten days until we’re back in Auckland, although at least it will probably be warmer back in the north. She read through the schedule again. I wonder if I could fly home from Christchurch.

Suddenly getting home seemed more important than anything else. Even though she knew there was no one expecting her, no job or car or house to return home to, she needed to be back where she belonged.

Vowing to call the airline company in the morning, Claire jumped down from the bench and began striding back to town.

***

Parents give children same packed lunch every day (thetimes.co.uk)
Back to School (michellehowardwrites.wordpress.com)
The Packed Lunch Dilemma. (wauwaa.wordpress.com)

Being ‘That’ Parent: 2013 365 Challenge #258

‘Fixing the bikes’

I’m afraid I have no more words today than yesterday. Hubbie went to Newcastle this morning, leaving me home with the kids. Not normally a daunting prospect, but a night of broken sleep and, shall we say, a hormonal time of the month, has left me a little fragile.

Today I was that parent. We spent two hours watching Heffalump at breakfast while I set up my free promo for Dragon Wraiths (I’m only doing it in a vain hope it might result in a couple of Baby Blues sales).

After dropping Daddy at the train station we paid a visit to the golden arches, where I surfed the free WiFi and ignored the kids while they ate unhealthy food and fought noisily over their free plastic toys.

More TV, a bit of shouting, a bike trip to the park and some healthy pasta and I survived to hubbie home time. Actually we were playing a happy game of ball in the garden when he arrived, which is always nice for the returning parent, even if tears came soon after.

Now I’m walking the dog while wracking my brain for something to cook us for dinner, and searching my mind for some conflict for tonight’s Claire scene. Oh and praying for bed. So, like yesterday, I’m going to include another of my poems from the Postcards set. I may share them all this week, because they were written about my father and I don’t think about him often enough. He is missed.

Not sure about the saw!

Postcards from an English Summer – June

The narrow winding lane is dapple-dark,

and ends abruptly in a sun-lit scene.

Upon the village green, a cricket pitch

where men in white stand round the batting crease.

Checked picnic blankets in the leafy shade

are weighed down with their sumptuous summer fare.

A breeze of quiet talk weaves round the trees,

pierced by the cries from children climbing there.

An eddy in the languid lazy calm –

An eager bowler marking out his run:

then crack, bails fall, a ripple of applause.

The umpire takes a walk from stumps to leg.

The bowler paces, pauses, thunders in,

throws out his arm: releases the red sphere

at waiting willow. Thwack! Your favourite sound.

The ball sails high into the chestnut leaves.

My senses become dulled in sultry sun,

and as I mourn the space here at my side,

I’m glad that England brought their Ashes home

six months before yours scattered on the wind.

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“Come on, Claire, wake up. You’re coming on an adventure.”

Claire rolled over and peered at the source of the voice through sticky eyes.

“Go away, Bethan.”

“Nope. You don’t want to miss this. Sell your fancy boots if you have to, this is a once in a lifetime trip. The sun has even put in an appearance. Come on.”

Claire pulled the covers over her head, then shivered and swore as Bethan dragged them off. Her skin goosebumped as freezing air rushed across her body.

“You are not a good friend, Bethan.” Claire frowned, but swung her legs round and stood up. “How long have I got?”

“Ten minutes. Don’t bother with a shower: you’ll be too wrapped up for anyone to notice, and our tickets get us a free dip in the hot springs tonight. Besides, if you go up with wet hair you’ll freeze.”

“Am I at least allowed breakfast?”

“You can grab something in town. Come on!” Bethan hopped on the spot, finally making Claire laugh.

“What’s got you so excited?”

“What do you mean? This is the trip of New Zealand. Forget swimming with dolphins and chucking yourself off a bridge: this is it. It’s going to be amazing.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Claire pulled on her warmest clothes and tried not to find her friend’s enthusiasm irritating.

As the helicopter thrummed into life, Claire regretted letting Bethan bully her into taking part in the trip. They were squeezed into a tiny box and were about to launch into the air: claustrophobia and fear of heights all packaged up in one neat parcel of misery.

Claire turned to face Bethan and wasn’t surprised to see her grinning. With a shake of the head, Claire focussed on keeping her breathing even and urging the greasy pastry and burnt coffee she’d consumed for breakfast to stay put in her stomach.

Glancing out the window, Claire’s tummy flipped as she realised they were already a long way off the ground. She hadn’t felt the helicopter take off at all. The cab was all windows, and she could see the ground over the pilot’s shoulder as the landscape quickly went from flat glacial plain to climbing mountains and then the dirty grey ice of the glacier itself.

They climbed higher and higher, until everything was white. The ground came in to meet them as the helicopter settled down on the ice with barely a bump. As they jumped down from the helicopter and ran across the snow, Claire felt like a spy in a movie, and the excitement began to build inside her.

With a blast of air, the helicopter rose and flew away, leaving them abandoned with nothing in view but white. Then Claire spotted another helicopter depositing hikers in the distance: tiny black specks against the vista. Until then she hadn’t appreciated how vast the glacier was.

“Okay, Bethan, you were right. This is a bit cool.”

Bethan grinned, then bent to help the guide attach crampons to her boots. Claire did the same, cursing at her numb and clumsy fingers. She hoped the hiking wasn’t too strenuous.

When everyone had the proper kit, the group followed the guide across the ice. Claire had little idea what to expect. She knew the caves were a must-see, but didn’t really know why.

When the guide stopped outside a narrow fissure, she almost laughed. Then she watched as the group wriggled inside, one at a time.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. I’ve done my small-space terror-inducing experiences already, thanks. Caving, weaselling, I don’t need this.”

“Don’t be a scaredy-cat, Claire,” Bethan called, as she took her place in the queue. “You can’t see the blue ice properly from the outside. Come on!”

Feeling like a small child being continually chided by their parent, Claire did as she was told. The familiar blackness of fear swept over her as the walls closed in. Pushing herself through, glad of the thick jacket and warm clothing, Claire concentrated on forcing oxygen in and out of her lungs.

The cave opened up and all around shone blue. Fear evaporated as Claire drank in the scene, before fumbling for her camera.

“Wow.” Her voice sounded subdued, not echoing as it would in a rocky cave. A shaft of sunlight pierced through the blue, lighting up a dozen different shades. It was like being immersed in an abstract painting.

Claire realised with a start that the rest of the group had walked on and she shuffled after them, nearly dropping her camera in her haste. This was not a place to be left behind.

Back outside, the view of the glacier surprised her. She’d imagined it would be smooth, like a long sheet of ice. Instead it rose in pinnacles, reminiscent of a spiky plant or coral or something seen under a microscope. Fissures and caves could be seen revealing the blue of the oxygen starved ice inside. She wondered how safe it was for them to be hiking around up in the ice and how many people they lost.

Eventually the thrum of the helicopter returning rolled around the mountain. Claire felt a mixture of sadness and relief. It had been an amazing experience but the alien feel of the landscape left her on edge and longing for a steaming mug of hot chocolate.

Bethan chattered away about the awesomeness of it all and her gratitude that Claire had shared it with her. Claire only half heard the words: they triggered thoughts for her that she didn’t want to hear. Just experiencing such beauty didn’t seem enough. The important part was being able to share it: to tell someone and recreate the experience for them; to re-live it through their enthusiasm and eager questioning.

Oh, she had the blog and that was fun, although half the time it felt like her words were dropping into the ether, heard by no one. But this – this amazing once-in-a-lifetime not-to-be-missed adventure – didn’t feel real, any more than if she’d read it herself on someone else’s blog. Yes, her nose tingled from the cold, and her mind fizzed with the imagery. But already it was fading.

By the time they landed she felt as if the experience had evaporated completely, leaving only emptiness behind.

***

Walking on ice: Glacier trekking at Franz Josef (emilymeetsworld.com)
Heli Hiking on Franz Josef (backpackerbanter.com)

Tranquility: 2013 365 Challenge #257

Tranquility

While walking the dog this evening, in the pouring rain, I tried to nail my scatty thoughts to a topic for today’s blog. I was unsuccessful. My head is full of words but they’re like confetti chucked in the river.

I tried to think what people read blogs for: advice, company, shared experience, entertainment. I didn’t feel capable of any of those things (if I ever am!) All I craved, as I walked, was silence (I had the lyrics “Be happy, be healthy and get well soon” stuck in my head from one of the kids’ bedtime shows).

You can’t recreate silence on a blog. I tried to think of the nearest thing and I thought about some of the poems I recite in my head when I need to drive other words out (especially kids’ songs and TV themes: those pesky things are persistent!)

The poem that comes to mind when I’m dog walking is always Gerard Manley Hopkins’ The Windhover, as there are usually red kites flying overhead. But, as I always worry about copyright on this blog, I didn’t want to include it here. The other thing I often recite is the Desiderata (same applies about the copyright). The opening words particularly are often true, but generally every line is something I can learn and live by.

In the end, with copyright in mind, I thought I’d include a couple of my more tranquil paintings and one of the poems from my creative writing degree course.

Purple Ghost

Postcards from an English Summer – May

Wild lavender obscures the once-neat path –

My passing hands stir childhood memories.

Bare feet luxuriate in verdant grass,

I pause beneath your graceful Acer trees.

A symphony of song pervades the air,

with soaring solo blackbird melody.

Above, the fire-red leaves blaze bright against

a cobalt sky. Like hands they wave goodbye.

The silver birch, with peeling papery bark,

is worshipped by the bluebells, as they bend

and whisper to the wind of what they’ve lost.

Their sorrow echoes my unending grief.

Wisteria flowers in indigo and cream,

deep fragrance swirls around me like cologne.

They seem robust but fallen blossom tells

of frailty. Already they are dying.

Silk-tassel draped with hoary lifeless blooms,

like slender wind chimes silent from respect.

In hues of brown and blue my thoughts are drawn,

sensation without reason. You are missed.

Thank you for your patience. I hope you enjoyed your little patch of serenity and hopefully normal service will resume tomorrow.

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“Wake up, Claire.”

“Wuh?” Claire turned at the sound of the voice intruding on her dreams. She could feel drool running down the side of her mouth and prayed she hadn’t been snoring.

“Hey, sleepy head, we’re at Franz Josef. Time to get off the bus.”

“We’re here? What did I miss?”

Bethan chuckled. “Most of the day.”

Claire stretched and peered out the window. “Doesn’t look like much of a town.” She pulled her bag up from the foot well and climbed to her feet.

“We’re not here for the town.” Bethan’s smile suggested hidden secrets. Claire didn’t have to wonder what the joke was for long.

As she exited the bus, she stopped and stared. “Holy moly. Where did they come from?”

Up ahead, mountains rose to the heavens. A tree-covered conical mount dominated the foreground, symmetrical and green, as if someone had let moss grow over a mole hill. Then, in the distance, snow covered peaks, with a valley carved between them like a giant had split them with a machete.

“That’s where the glacier is, over there. I’m doing the heli-hike tomorrow, if you fancy it?”

Claire shook her head, partly in wonder, partly in denial. She’d seen the cost of the helicopter ride and couldn’t justify the expense. Yes it was a once in a lifetime opportunity, but there were too many of them on the trip. She thought she might do a half-day hike, if the men with hammers moved out of her head sometime soon.

As if sensing her pain, Bethan linked arms with her and asked gently, “How is the head? Do you feel better for the sleep?”

“I’d probably feel better if I drank a gallon of water.” Claire forced the words out of her parched throat. “Please tell me there are no more parties planned for this evening? I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“What do you mean we don’t actually walk on the ice? I thought it was possible to climb up and see the ice caves?”

The man behind the desk shook his head. “Not any more, love. Terminal face collapsed last year. Access by ’copter only.”

“I can’t afford the heli-hike.”

“There’s always Fox.”

“I can’t get to Fox, I’m on the bus. It’s here or no-where.”

The man in the tourist info shrugged, as if to say he was out of options. Bethan came to stand next to Claire.

“Come on the heli-hike, it’ll be worth it, if the weather is okay. Once in a lifetime experience, Claire. Worry about the money when you get home.”

“That’s easy enough to say,” Claire responded, “but if I don’t reign in my spending, I won’t even make it home.”

“Why don’t you get a job? A few weeks in Wanaka pulling pints will restore your funds.”

Claire laughed without humour. “I’d have to pull more than pints to fill the hole in my bank balance. Any rich sugar daddies in Wanaka?”

Bethan’s expression grew sombre. Then she gave a shake of her long black hair and the smile returned as if nothing had happened.

“Why not decide in the morning? See what the weather’s doing. It’s not like it’s peak season, you might get on.”

With a sigh, Claire agreed, and let Bethan guide her back to the hostel.

***

Live at Last: 2013 365 Challenge #251

Playing with the all-important balloons!

Today I broke a whole bunch of self publishing rules and published Baby Blues and Wedding Shoes on Amazon, even though I’m still doing a final read through and spotting the odd typo. I know I’m heading for the third ring of indie-publishing hell but I have my reasons.

Partly I need to keep moving forward. I reformatted the Smashwords version for kindle this morning, between writing my post and taking over childcare at 9am. I did then spot some odd pink paragraphs which I’ve subsequently (hopefully) fixed – in between making playdough snakes, facilitating home made pizzas, assembling giant pipecleaner craft, playing hide and seek and a taking a trip to McDs because Dobbies ran out of balloons (and, honestly, Mummy didn’t feel like cooking dinner!)

Pink paragraphs aside, the kindle version looks surprisingly okay for a first pass. I usually get to version five on Smashwords before I’ve ironed out all the kinks. If I’ve learned one thing this year, it’s how to use word styles to speed up ebook formatting. (Now I just have to work out how to make pretty chapter headers, like Rinelle Grey’s books have!)

Finally on Amazon

My main reason for rushing ahead with publishing Baby Blues on kindle, rather than waiting for the paper version to be ready and loading both to Amazon together, is that Dragon Wraiths comes out of the KDP Select programme at the end of September. I can’t believe how quickly this three-month block has gone. I’m going to stay out this time and stop being so impatient: I don’t have the time or strength for decent marketing, so I’ve decided to focus on writing more and better books, knowing that Baby Blues and Dragon Wraiths will always be there as back catalogue.

I will run one last free promo on Dragon Wraiths (later this week, if you haven’t already read it) and that will be it, at least until Class Act is ready next year. The reason for one last promo, even though I don’t get as much return from them anymore, is that I hope it will possibly lead people to Baby Blues without me having to offer that for free to increase its rankings.

(Note to self: put free chapter of BBWS at end of Dragon Wraiths!)

I will, at some point, run a competition to celebrate finally finishing Baby Blues – with a prize hamper including a print copy and probably some chocolate – but it’s going to have to wait a little bit, as I don’t have a print copy available yet. I’ll probably figure out the final details of the comp and post about it some time this week though: I guess I can always have it run for a few weeks, until I get a paper copy of my book. The competition will definitely feature parenting stories or other tales of humiliation, in honour of some of Helen’s experiences in the book. If you know any parenting blogs who might like to feature the competition let me know.

As I put on my Facebook page this morning, publishing Baby Blues is feeling more like a sneak than a launch. But, hey ho, life vs writing and all that. At least it’s finally out there.

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Claire sat, awkwardly holding Josh’s hand, staring at nothing out the window. She hoped he had fallen asleep, but she didn’t want to check in case she caught him staring at her again. If she had to endure the soppy, tear-filled gaze one more time she thought she might vomit.

I don’t understand women who go for the new man, in touch with his emotions. Give me some British stiff upper lip any day. It’s not like I was going to drown in three feet of water with the tour guide right there.

In fact, their guide had laughed at Josh’s panic, forcing Claire to play down her own fear. She suspected more than one nightmare in the future might revolve around drowning and being trapped underwater: not experiences she wanted to repeat. But even she could see, in retrospect, that she wasn’t in any real danger.

Someone should tell Josh that I’m not a sick child he needs to save. The only people he ought to be concerned about are his wife and kids.

And yet she still had his sweaty hand clasped in hers. It had seemed cruel to spurn him: like kicking a cat. But she didn’t need Bethan’s sniggers and eye rolling to tell her she’d made trouble for herself.

“Hey, Claire.”

As if hearing her thoughts, Bethan called to her across the coach aisle.

“You won’t be sharing a dorm with us at Westport, then?” She grinned, as Claire flushed beetroot.

“Pack it in. I take it he is asleep?” Josh hadn’t moved at Bethan’s words, and she hoped he wasn’t feigning slumber.

Bethan nodded, and leaned nearer. “He is rather scrummy. Why don’t you just sleep with him and be done with it? The wife need never know.”

“I’d know.” Claire was surprised at the fierceness in her voice. As Bethan recoiled, she immediately said, “Sorry, that came out sharper than intended. You forget, I’ve met his wife and their children. She isn’t some faceless entity with no feelings. She even looks like me, although that’s where the comparisons end. She’s a doctor, and a brilliant parent. I wouldn’t hurt her for the world.”

“And yet he would. Some fella you got there.”

Claire had to agree, although she felt driven to defend Josh. “He wasn’t like that when I knew him in England. He had some kind of breakdown, I think, and it’s still affecting him.”

“You mean he isn’t just a selfish twat that never grew up, who has run away because life got a teensy bit hard?”

It was Claire’s turn to be shocked at the sarcastic sneer in Bethan’s voice. It reminded Claire that she knew little about her new friend’s history.

Biting her tongue on a retort, Claire was forced to smile. “Show me a man who has actually grown up and I’ll show you a boring bastard who takes life far too seriously.” She thought about Michael and his pompous preaching.

“So, what are you going to do? He did save your life.”

Claire opened her mouth to deny the suggestion, then saw the twinkle in Bethan’s dark eyes. “You cow! It’s so hilarious, sat over there. You try sitting in this seat.”

“Don’t mind if I do!”

“Well, why don’t you seduce him then? Get him off my hands.”

“And break the poor little wifey’s heart? I can’t do that. Why don’t you call this woman and tell her you stumbled across her husband at the lost and found. If she really wants him, she’ll come and collect him.”

“Poor Fiona. She did that once already: flying halfway round the world with three kids in tow.”

Bethan pulled a face. “She sounds like an angel. Too good for him.”

Claire privately agreed. It was clear that Josh had fixated on her as the way out of his humdrum life, but Claire knew it was no more than it had been the first time they met: She resembled the wife he used to know, before children had eaten into their lives.

Not that I can blame him for wanting to evade the responsibility of raising children: it’s not something I’m in a hurry to do. But it seems Fiona does all the work.

She couldn’t deny he came across as selfish and pathetic however which way she viewed it. The sooner she sent him back to his wife the better.

Prising her hand free from his, Claire turned her back on the sleeping figure and tried to ignore the weight of his head resting against her shoulder.

If I let a man into my life again, it will be one who can stand on his own two feet.

***

To KDP Select or Not to KDP Select?? (brefaucheux.wordpress.com)
The Meat Grinder: (danigravesvoice.wordpress.com)
Smashwords Authors Lead Top Paid Books at iBookstore (mediabistro.com)
Why there was no post yesterday (and upcoming sale) (amykeeley.wordpress.com)

Random Thoughts: 2013 365 Challenge #249

Random image for random thoughts

I don’t really have a post topic for today, for the first time in a long time. Ideas have been floating around in my brain, but none have consolidated into a post. This is partly because we walked the dog as a family this evening, rather than just me and my mobile phone (which is when most blog posts are written). Despite little man’s frequent crying fits – a combination of little sleep last night and a long day – it was a lovely walk. We picked and ate blackberries; well worth the sacrifice of a blog post.

So, instead, I thought I’d list the random thoughts, some of which may become blog posts as and when time, sleep and muse are aligned.

1. My son went to Forest school for the first time today. Basically a preschool session held in a local woodland, surrounded by stinging nettles and with no facilities, it’s a great opportunity for kids to get outdoors. He didn’t cry and I was very proud. I wish all schools had a classroom in the forest (we actually wanted our kids to go to the school the classroom belongs to, but decided against it because all our daughter’s friends were going to a different one.) In my view children don’t spend enough time outdoors learning how to avoid stinging nettles and discovering which berries they can eat.

2. My daughter had her first proper play-date friend over this afternoon, as one of my baby group mums is suffering – as we are – from the slow start to the school year for our particular school. The children played together brilliantly; much better than they do when all the parents are present. Why do kids feel the need to act up when their parents are watching and behave like angels when they’re not?

3. Related to the above point, I do much of my parenting through the kitchen window these days. It means I can ensure the children’s safety without having to tell them off every five minutes for things that are technically against the rules but harming no one. My kids and the play date friend emptied the sandpit into the paddling pool today – most definitely against the rules. But it’s the end of summer, it was a hot day and they were in the shade, and – best of all – they were co-operating and having fun. Sometimes you have to turn a blind eye to the rule breaking. I think of it like plausible deniability.

4. I went to the doctors today in my on-going saga to understand if I have depression or am merely suffering from exhaustion. The GP I saw was the same one my hubbie saw last week about his anxiety. She was not helpful. The only thing she wanted to do anything about was my hubbie’s snoring: that was something real she could fix. I hate speaking to doctors who don’t understand or refuse to admit that mental illness is as real as diabetes or high blood pressure, even though just as invisible on the outside (although, I admit, harder to measure). She basically told me that I have to get several good nights of sleep “For the sake of my family.” I came away with the impression that I was willfully choosing to get up to the kids in the night and sleep in the same bed as my snoring husband even though it made me a bad wife and mother in the day time. Grrrr. Time to see a different GP.

Oh look, my random thoughts have reached the magical 500 words. Thank you for listening and good night! I’m doing as I am told and going to bed before 11pm 🙂

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Claire read the text message and beamed at the empty dorm room, wanting to share the jest. Trust Conor to have something stupid to say to lighten the heaviness she’d been carrying since Wellington. She looked at the message again, marvelling that Conor’s humour was so like her own.

Thank the lovesick puppy for me; sounds like I’ve got more chance of getting you to work for me now. Nothing will send you home quicker than needing to leg it from a clingy bloke with baggage.

It seemed strange to think she would be back in the UK in a couple of weeks, or that it had only been three weeks since her interview for the Dorset job. Her time away felt crammed with a lifetime of experiences.

I suppose something good came of losing my best friend: I would never have run away to New Zealand if Kim hadn’t accused me of killing her baby.

The thought set her heart hammering, and she realised it wasn’t something she could joke about, even in her own mind. What if she had caused the miscarriage, by letting slip Kim’s news to Michael? Suddenly all the lightness slipped away and her mind returned to the dark.

And now I have needy Josh, my new shadow, as penance. I guess I deserve it. Thou shalt not covet another woman’s husband and all that. Just as I was horrified that Kim was throwing her career away for a baby. Why do my stupid thoughts have to come back to bite me.

“Claire?”

Looking up at the door, Claire exhaled at the sight of Bethan. She didn’t want Josh cornering her in an empty room.

“There you are. It’s time to go kayaking, if you’re still coming? Some of the guys are catching the taxi boat, but I want to have a go out on the water.”

Claire stuffed her phone in her bag and nodded. “I’m coming.” She shouldered the rucksack and followed Bethan from the room.

“What were you doing by yourself in there, anyway? Texting loverboy? He’s waiting for you downstairs.” Bethan grinned.

Claire merely rolled her eyes.

Claire twisted her fingers while the tour guide allocated them into pairs for the double kayaks they would paddle down the coast. She shuffled nearer to Bethan, conscious of Josh sidling up on her other side. Claire tried to exude her best ‘I’m invisible do not speak to me’ vibe, that she used to use on the Metro. It didn’t work.

The guide, a tanned woman in her twenties, looked directly at them. “You, Bethan? You can come with me. Claire, is it? You’re with Josh. Simon and Lee, you two are together, and, Sally was it? You’re with Matt.”

Claire swore under her breath, conscious of Josh grinning behind her. Bethan threw her an apologetic look and went to stand by the tour guide.

“Why are you avoiding me, Claire?” Josh spoke quietly into her ear, making her shiver. “I’m not about to force myself on you. If you’re not interested, that’s fine, although I must have got my wires crossed.”

The hurt in his voice made her heart clench and she turned to say something, but he was already striding towards their kayak. Her mind churned with conflicting emotions. This Josh confused her, but she couldn’t deny she was still attracted to him. Maybe Bethan was right, perhaps she should let down her guard and see what happened. Or at least try and talk to him, tell him to go back to Fiona. What did she really want? And what was right?

With a sigh, she crossed the sand towards the craft waiting by the water. Blind to the beauty of the sparkling sea, the endless white sand, she took a deep breath and pushed her shoulders back.

It feels like my job in life is to reunite this man with his family.

***

Being a Grown-Up: 2013 365 Challenge #248

Breakfast out with Mummy

Today was one of those days when I forgot that I’m the grown up.

I had my daughter home alone all day for the first time since my son was six months old (I think, maybe apart from illness).

Even though we had a day full of activities – shopping for school stuff, doing craft, going to the park – it was not a great day. I’m so used to having both children together that I’d forgotten how much more time consuming it is just having one. You can’t send them out to play or sit them in front of the TV. I haven’t had to do nine hours of continuous childcare since the youngest was a year old and able to keep up with his sister.

Staying up late to finish my blog last night didn’t prepare me well for the day. I lay awake with W8-BEN forms and proofreading queries floating through my head and didn’t drop off until 3am.

Followed by cake

My son woke around 5.30am, crying and calling, “Mummy, why did the man take the flowers?” I went in and answered (as only a mother can, I guess), “Because he wanted them for Aunt Polly” (it was from a TV show we watched earlier in the day.) So that was my chance of four continuous hours of sleep gone.

I did try to be a good parent. I barely opened my ipad, except to take photographs and have a cheeky check on my email. I only did twenty minutes of’ proofreading, and shut my laptop when my daughter asked for a cuddle because she missed her brother.

I took another twenty minutes to Vax the playroom, where the dog was sick overnight, and even that had her whining. I tried so hard, but she missed her brother and she was just plain horrid for much of the day. And, on three hours’ sleep, I’m ashamed to say I took it personally. By the time we picked my son up at 5.30pm I was ready to drop them both home and keep driving.

Then, of course, they squabbled non-stop from the moment we all got in: mostly about who would get to sit in the corner of the sofa (their latest battle ground. Give me strength.)

Craft picture ‘for her teachers’

When you’ve missed someone all day it’s natural to pick a fight with them: I do it with my hubbie all the time. But I didn’t have any patience left for the noise. Hubbie was off talking to some person about cars, I hadn’t had three minutes to even empty the dishwasher.

I confess, I yelled. I went and hid in the playhouse. I would have driven away, if I’d had the energy to open the gates to get the car out. I’m not proud, but there you go.

Then, as I put our son to bed (after they’d squabbled over who was going to take them to bed: even though I ALWAYS take our son) I heard my daughter sobbing hysterically downstairs. I admit it only irritated me. I’d given her everything I had and it wasn’t enough. Instead she spent the day being bossy and rude and ungrateful. I’d tried to ask my Mum and my hubbie for help and both had ignored my plea. I’d had enough.

A pipe cleaner swing and person

When I got downstairs, hubbie explained that our daughter is scared about starting school. The wait is making her crazy (she doesn’t even start until next Monday, and then it’ll be three weeks before she’s full time). Being home alone today had driven it home that things were changing, and she wanted to just get on with it and get the wait over with.

I felt awful.

The signs had been there during the day – talking about making gifts for her preschool teachers, her new teachers, wanting her school bag and everything ready. She’d been worried and I hadn’t noticed. I was so wrapped up in my own sleep-deprived misery.

So, with hubbie mediation, we talked. I showed her the list of questions I’ve been compiling for her teacher’s home visit on Friday. I said that she wouldn’t be the only one who didn’t know everything and not to worry.

I tried to be the grown up. It was a bit late, I think. I should have been that person all day. I remember times, as a child, when Mum would hide in the tree house with a drink. I never understood it. Today I understood. Sometimes you don’t want to be the grown-up, especially when you have to be. Mum was a single parent at that time: what excuse do I have?

Tomorrow, I will try to be a grown-up. Today, I’m going to have a glass of wine, think of something for Claire to do, and go to bed.

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After hours spent worrying that Josh would somehow arrange for them to share a double room, Claire’s relief at being placed in a dorm was short-lived.

I might as well have shared with Josh; he can practically hug me from his bed anyway.

The room was tiny. With eight people and their luggage crammed in, it felt like a train carriage rather than a bedroom. Considering how expensive it was for the dorm, not to mention the deposit for the cutlery, Claire wasn’t impressed.

I thought it’d be cheaper to travel here than at home, given the high volume of traffic coming through some of these places. And who ever heard of paying a deposit to use a fork? Barmy.

Not wanting to spoil her trip by worrying about money, Claire dropped her rucksack on the bed and followed Bethan, Josh and the other people from the bus, out of the room.

Claire could see the beach as they left the hostel. Fine golden sand and clear blue water stretched away from her. She could imagine running straight into the sea in summer. Now, with an autumnal nip in the air, she was content to dig her toes in the sand and soak in the beauty.

She sensed Josh shadowing her steps, as she walked beside Bethan and chatted about the accommodation and where to go for dinner. Bethan kept glancing behind her, a frown on her flawless face.

“So, what is it with you and the moody doctor?”

Bethan lowered her voice but Claire still blushed, worried Josh could hear.

Speeding up to open the gap between them and Josh, Claire leant in close to Bethan and said, as nonchalantly as she could, “He’s just someone I met while travelling in the UK. We shared a ride for a couple of weeks. He lives in Oz and popped over to say hi.”

“Claire, no one flies from Australia to New Zealand to say hi. That’s what phones are for. They certainly don’t hop on the bus with you or follow you round like a lost puppy.”

Bethan’s words caused bile to rise in Claire’s throat.

“It’s complicated.”

The girl snorted in response. “That’s not an answer, that’s a Facebook relationship status. Are you shagging him, or what? And if not, can I?” Her deep, throaty, laugh rolled around the half-empty beach.

“Bethan! Hush, he’ll hear you.” Claire prayed for the sand to open before her and swallow her up.

“So what? He’s delish. Come on, spill the beans.”

“He’s married.” Claire’s voice dropped like water on a fire. If she expected her words to dampen Bethan’s enthusiasm, she hadn’t counted on the girl’s tenacity.

“And? If he was happily married he wouldn’t be here. Has he ditched the wife? Are you the replacement? You must have made a hell of an impression on him in a short time.”

Claire looked round to make sure Josh wasn’t hanging on every word. She could see him further up the beach, in a circle with some lads from the bus. As if sensing her scrutiny, he turned and waved when he saw her watching. She quickly turned away.

“Honestly? I have no idea what’s going on. I won’t deny that I fancied him when we travelled together, but I didn’t know he was married then. Now I’ve met his wife, and his three kids, and being a home breaker isn’t my style.”

“So, what are you going to do? He’s clearly crazy about you and, I have to say, you talk a good talk but I’m not buying it.”

Claire looked across at her friend, trying to read the meaning in her dark eyes.

What is it about travelling that makes you confide in complete strangers? Is it that there’s no one else, or that you’re all in it together. Maybe just the fact that you’re unlikely to ever see them again. Not that that’s worked for me. I’ve bumped into Maggie, Josh and even Bethan more than once.

Claire kicked her feet in the surf and sighed. “What a mess.”

“Why not just bed him and move on? If he’s serious about leaving the wife, there’s nothing you can do about it. If he isn’t, then sleeping with you will bring him to his senses.”

The blunt practicality of the girl’s tone made Claire shrivel. Despite her near miss with the Scotsman, she wasn’t in the habit of bed hopping. And, underneath his current puppy dog behaviour, Josh was still a good friend. She didn’t want to risk that by giving in to his lures. And yet, deep in her gut, she yearned to surrender.

With another gusty sigh she shook her head. “We’ll see,”

For some reason it made Bethan giggle all the way back to the hostel.

***

September to Remember: 2013 365 Challenge #244

In the crow’s nest

My goodness, is it September already? I only realised because my KDP books sales reports have gone from ‘not very many’ to ‘ugly brown bar that will make you miserable until you sell a book’. Hopefully I’ll manage to get Baby Blues finished sometime soon to boost sales all round.

This September will be one to remember. This is the month when my son – my baby – turns three. My daughter – my other baby – starts school. My second book, Baby Blues, goes out in the world, hopefully in print and ebook format. My hubbie (hopefully) finds a job, and I get to wear jeans again at last as we move into autumn. I love autumn!

It’s been a helluva year and September always feels like that month when things begin to wind down. Crazy, as there are still four months left of the year, but it still does.

Building dens

I’m hoping this September will also be the month of reading: I just won a bundle of books in a Ebook Escapes Author Tour rafflecopter giveaway! I never win anything, so I’m very excited. What a great way to start the month.

Actually I started the month lying in bed for an hour next to a comatose husband, while the kids took themselves downstairs to play. God bless them. Hubbie has been away playing cars for two days, so he is exhausted. I took the children out to one of the farms we visit yesterday, with some friends, and we tried very hard to wear the children out.

Four hours at the farm, riding ponies, making dens, digging in the sandpit, and we went back to their house for more playing, trampolining, den building, and craft, finishing with a loud, noisy, splashy bath which thankfully their daddy was in charge of.

My smart boy

My children were finally home and in bed at 8.30pm and I crawled up an hour later, thinking I could write my post in the morning while they slept in. Only they were up at 6.30am. How do kids do that?

And instead of writing my post I started filling out my Smashwords author questionnaire, before realising I was writing all about Dragon Wraiths when it’s locked into KDP Select until the end of the month! Oops.

So apologies for the random ramble of a post this morning: I’m trying to get my brain into gear to write the first Claire installment of September. Always the hardest of the month, as it’s hopefully the grab for people to download and read the ebook. By the way, if you know anyone who fancies a gentle read in nice, easy to manage, 20-25k chunks, do send them to Smashwords, Apple or Barnes & Noble to download the Claire installments. Or send them here, of course! 🙂

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Claire stepped back, her face burning. Afraid to meet Josh’s gaze, she stared at the floor, until she heard him chuckle.

“Well, that was some welcome. I didn’t need to worry whether you’d be pleased to see me then?”

Claire’s cheeks burned hotter and she turned to collect her rucksack; feeling a strong urge to keep walking to the door.

Really cool, Claire, really clever. Flinging yourself at a married man like he’s your long lost lover. What were you thinking?

Retrieving her bag, Claire concentrated on long, slow, breaths, to calm her hammering heart and cool her red-hot skin. After everything that had happened in the months since she’d last seen him, it had been more than she could do to keep herself under control.

He’s still married. Just because he’s come to New Zealand to find me, he still has a wife and three kids.

She forced herself to smile brightly, and walked back to Josh. “It’s always nice to see a friendly face when you’re a long way from home.”

Josh raised an eyebrow and Claire prayed he wouldn’t push it. For a moment they were still and something seem to pass between them, although Claire couldn’t decide exactly what. He seemed vulnerable, as if he also needed a hug, a friend. She remembered his email had said precisely that.

Then a mask dropped over his features, and he was the old Josh. “So, how are you liking being on the right side of the world? Plucked up the courage to bungee jump yet?” He linked arms with her and guided her to a seat.

Grateful for his light words, Claire sought to do the same. “I love New Zealand. No I haven’t thrown myself off a bridge with an elastic band round my ankles, but I have been white water rafting and sand boarding. You’d have been proud.” She flushed, as memories of him coaxing her to jump off a waterfall came to mind. He felt like her teacher in the life of the verb and that led onto other dangerous thoughts.

If Josh noticed he didn’t say anything. “Yes, I’ve seen some of it on the blog. You’ve come a long way, I’m impressed. And how do you like the tour bus experience?”

“Ah, not so much. You know I missed the bus? At Cape Reinga? It’s not the same as having your own car. But at least I don’t have to think.”

Beneath the veneer of their words, Claire could feel the tension, the shared memories of travelling around England in her Skoda, of hiking and getting drunk together. He bore little resemblance to the scruffy man who had taken her to an observatory in the snow three months before.

Looking at him now, she wondered if she would have recognised him if she hadn’t known it was him in the lift. There was no hint of the unwashed hobo. His hair was short and neat, his skin tanned. His clothes had no patches or home repairs, no stains or holes. He looked every inch the doctor on vacation, in his polo shirt and jeans.

She felt herself under a similar scrutiny and wondered what Josh saw. Could he tell that her clothes hadn’t been washed in a fortnight? Did she look like someone whose world had collapsed in the intervening weeks since their last meeting?

At least I had a shower this morning. Thank god he didn’t see me when I got off the ferry yesterday.

“You look … well. A tan suits you.” Josh said eventually, his words breaking the silence. “You’re thinner, though. Are you eating properly?”

His low voice burrowed into her tummy, leaving a warm glow. Claire became aware of every inch of her skin, every sound around her. The receptionist greeting travellers with a cheery hello. The barista in the bar whistling over the sound of the coffee machine. Chinking cutlery as someone laid the tables for lunch. She could smell Josh’s aftershave, although he no longer carried the scent of wood smoke. She wondered if Fiona disapproved of him smoking.

As if remembering her name brought Josh’s wife into the room, Claire jerked, feeling as if she’d been doused in cold water. With a shake of her head she tried to recall his question.

“Yes, I’m fine. Being stuck on a tour bus is a great way to diet. And I was on the ferry that got turned back from Picton yesterday.”

Josh’s expression changed to a more professional concern. “Holy crap, are you okay? No bumps or bruises? I heard that was pretty bad. Ten hours on a boat, poor chook. Have you had breakfast?”

She nodded, unable to speak. It had been so long since someone had worried about her – since she’d felt herself to be anything other than a nuisance – that the tears threatened to spill down her cheeks again.

Josh seemed to sense her distress. He sat up straight and smiled, although his eyes remained troubled.

“Let’s get out of here. Do you want me to drop your rucksack in my room? Then we can go exploring. Did you see much of Wellington? Have you been up to Mount Victoria? It’s worth the walk.”

Grateful for his understanding, Claire nodded. “That sounds good. I didn’t see much, the weather was awful.”

“That’s a plan then.” Josh leapt to his feet and picked up her bag. “Let’s go exploring.”

Knowing she would regret it, but helpless to resist, Claire followed meekly in his wake.

***

The Indie & The Masses (thislittlelight516.wordpress.com)
My First Book (alexisrian.wordpress.com)
Mom of 3 Makes $4,885.30 in book sales in 5 days on Amazon KDP! (positivething.net)
The Doing Nothing Update (mtmathieson.wordpress.com)

The Unexpected Good Day: 2013 365 Challenge #240

Bungyjumping toys

Today I had one of those marvellous things known as the unexpected good day.

Normally by day five with no break from the kids I’m ready to quit and the shouting has started before breakfast (especially after a long bout of insomnia such as I seem to be having at present).

But, thanks to my gorgeous hubbie taking the kids until 8am and bringing me breakfast in bed, leaving me to read my new Rinelle Grey book, that didn’t happen.

The day got better.

One of my very good friends was free to come over with her two littluns, thus motivating me to clean my house for the first time in a fortnight. I even did the upstairs, even though we close the stair-gate when she comes, as she has a baby. I did have to jump in the shower as she arrived, but husband got back to fill the breach in manners.

Butter wouldn’t melt!

The kids were amazing.

Normally my daughter ignores her friend and plays with the baby, leaving my son to be the gentleman. But the baby was going through a Mummy-or-bust phase and, instead of being upset, my gorgeous daughter went and played with the others. They were quiet. For a whole hour. We kept checking on them but they were squirreled away in the top of the playhouse.

We fed them, they still didn’t come down. We offered frozen yoghurt. They came and ate them, then went back out.

I haven’t had such a good gossip in ages. Even the baby sat in the high chair and ate fruit. I think they were bewitched. I offered to tidy up their toys in gratitude for my morning chat, and discovered two sleds, two scooters and three helmets in the playhouse loft. I’m quite glad I found out after!

In the afternoon we made cakes as a thank you for their excellent behaviour, then they played some more while I did ironing. I hate ironing! But I enjoyed the sense of getting ahead of myself while watching them play circus games through the window.

Monkey tricks

Tea in front of the TV – another thank you gesture from me – and they went off to play music with Daddy while I responded to the great ‘free book’ debate sparked by yesterday’s post.

Now I’m walking the dog, dodging tractors, and later I’m sending hubbie to pick up Chinese as I’ve forgotten to buy food this week. A perfect end to a perfect day. I’m enjoying the moment, seeing as it doesn’t happen very often!

Wishing you all a happy, productive, perfect day soon x

P.S. In case you were wondering what bad karma would hit me for speaking of my great day, it came in the form of the Chinese. Our favourie and second favourite takeaways were both closed after the bank holiday and the only other one in the town isn’t the best! Still, a hot meal I didn’t cook and that didn’t generate washing up is alright by me. Prawn cracker anyone?

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Claire gripped the arm rests and closed her eyes. The feeling grew stronger and her eyelids flew open again. The nausea was easier to control if she kept her eyes fixed on the seat in front. Next to her Bethan chuckled.

“You’ve gone green. I don’t think I’ve actually seen anyone go green before. Do you need a bag?”

Claire didn’t dare speak through her gritted teeth so she shook her head; the tiny movement made her head swim. She was only grateful that Bethan wasn’t taunting her for declining her offer of seasickness tablets when they left Wellington. It was too late now. Even if there was time for them to start working, Claire was certain she couldn’t open her mouth long enough to swallow anything: the only thing preventing her from vomiting over the seat in front was the clenched grip of her jaw muscles.

“It’s a shame the weather’s so bad,” Bethan said, as if they were waiting at a bus stop in the rain, “because the crossing is really beautiful. Normally you can stand on deck and envy all the bastards living in the tiny cottages dotted about the sound. Some of them have meandering paths down to the water, with a boat moored up for that essential trip to town.”

It was fortunate that her new friend seemed happy to chatter without getting a response, because Claire only heard half the words. The guide book had waxed lyrical about the beauty of the Queen Charlotte Sound. Frankly Claire was only interested in reaching dry land and never getting on a boat again.

Another wave crashed into the row of windows ten metres in front of them. The wave soaked the glass from top to bottom as if someone had chucked a bucket of soapy water at it. Around her, Claire heard children whooping and laughing.

This isn’t a fairground ride. Honestly, how can people let their kids run riot. Never mind how annoying it is, they might get hurt.

As if to prove her point, the ferry pitched forwards as it dropped into another hole in the ocean. One of the younger children fell sideways and bumped her head, letting out an eardrum-bursting shriek. Part of Claire, the part not consumed by the urge to put her fingers in her ears and sob, felt sorry for the child’s parents. The thought of taking such a journey with Sky brought to mind a whole new level of hideousness.

The bucking bronco boat ride seemed to be nearing its end. Out the window Claire could just make out the rising cliffs of the sound. Hope surged in her breast and she began to gather her things.

“Don’t be fooled. We won’t be there for ages yet. Even on a calm day it takes time to negotiate the sound. Although the water will be calmer, the journey will be affected by the weather. You don’t want us to crash into the cliff, do you?”

Bethan laughed and Claire found herself going off her new friend. Maybe it was being the right side of twenty-five, or maybe it was spending her life travelling, but Bethan was far less fazed by things than she was. She glanced at her watch and was surprised to see they had already been travelling for several hours.

Today is not a day I would choose to be longer at sea than necessary. Maybe I should have checked the forecast before agreeing to go south with Bethan. So much for her intention to stay in the capital: she has more changes of plans in a day than I have cups of coffee, and that’s saying something.

Claire looked over at her travelling companion. Bethan had headphones in and her eyes closed. A smile flickered on her lips as she bobbed her head in time to silent music. In a strange way Claire felt comforted by her peacefulness.

Trying to follow Bethan’s lead, Claire risked ducking her head to find her phone deep in the recesses of her bag. After the third attempt she located it and selected the most soothing music she could find. With a cello concerto filling her ears, drowning out the raucous cries of the pack of wild children, Claire felt the flutter of agitation start to settle. She rested her head against the seat and was just drifting off when the boat lurched suddenly and listed to one side.

Claire’s eyes flew open. “What the hell happened?”

Bethan took her earphones out and looked around. With a shrug that only served to increase Claire’s panic, she said, “I think we hit something.”

***

Rainy Day Play Again: 2013 365 Challenge #237

Getting soaked in her best dress

It’s a rainy bank holiday weekend here in the UK. Bank holidays don’t mean much when you’re self/unemployed. The only impact it has on us is that the children won’t go to nursery on Monday and I will get a little bit further behind on my writing.

I remember looking forward to bank holiday weekends in the days when I did work for a living. Who doesn’t love a free day off, even if it means battling home in crazy traffic on a Friday night?

I love the August bank holiday the best because it’s when the summer fêtes are held.

As a child we went to the same summer fête every year – to a place called Wisborough Green in Sussex – even though it was an hour’s drive in the camper-van (a long way to go to a ‘local’ event!).

Loving the wet slide

My father often went to the village on holiday as a child and it held an almost magical appeal to him to the day he died.

These days we go to our local village fête. We’ve even entered things in the craft competition before (certainly not in the produce section: plants come to our house to die).

My husband won his category for his ‘man knitting’ – one of his many mini obsessions. His knitting was six foot wide and about eight foot long, in a dozen different colours and textures. It had to be displayed on a curtain pole.

This year we had hoped to enter something of the children’s but time keeps slipping away from me. We’ve got 24 hours to figure something out!

I’m a bit wet, Mummy

I feel sad for office workers when it rains on a bank holiday weekend – particularly when the preceding weather has been great, as it has been this month. So frustrating to be stuck inside with restless children or, worse still, travelling any distance in the car when it’s raining. We went to see my father-in-law for lunch today and I’ve never seen so many flashing blue lights during a thirty-mile journey.

When we got home I slept on the sofa for two hours with my son, making up for some of the sleep lost through last night’s thunder-storm. Our poor dog came upstairs at 2 a.m. – an unprecedented event which showed just how upset she was – and I went to sleep on the sofa to keep her company and feed her cheese every time the thunder rolled.

After my nap, I managed a few games of Guess Who? and Snakes and Ladders before we all started getting cabin fever. Unfortunately my youngest is still incapable of sitting still for the time it takes to play a board game and my daughter hates to lose. Not a great recipe for harmonious game playing!

My daredevil boy!

Come five o’clock, bedtime seemed too far away, so I decided if you can’t beat the weather you have to join it. I let the kids outside without waterproofs, as it’s still very warm, and they had immense fun getting as soaked as they possibly could. Sometimes you have to go with the flow!

Anyway, sorry for the rambling post. The dog didn’t get walked today (the heavens opened just as the kids came in for tea and I don’t have any wellies, although that’s a story for another day!) and I find blog ideas only come to me when I’m walking.

I hope you like the pictures instead!

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Claire awoke as the coach stopped moving. Rolling countryside had been replaced by sprawling suburbia and she realised, with a sinking heart, that she’d slept through the entire drive from river valley.

I’m never likely to come to this country again and I couldn’t even keep my eyes open for a few hours to admire the scenery. I’m not much of a travel writer.

Blinking away the sleepy fog clouding her sight, Claire tried to take in her surroundings. It had started to rain at some point in their journey and all she could see through the windows were hulking grey shapes distorted by the streams of water running down.

She survived the check-in routine on auto-pilot. When she reached her room, Claire looked at her bed and felt an almost irresistible urge to climb under the covers and close her eyes again. But, even though she planned to spend an extra night in the capital, it was a waste of opportunity and dollars to sleep when she could be out exploring.

It was my choice to travel in winter, she thought, as she pulled out her raincoat and waterproof shoes. The weather’s only going to get worse, the further south I go, so I might as well get used to it.

Her wandering feet took her down towards the water; wild and white-topped in the squally weather. Claire huddled into her anorak and tried to appreciate her location. Up ahead she could see a stone sign on the harbour wall. Intrigued, she headed over to read what it said.

The rain made it necessary to peer close at the black letters, but when she read the words, Claire’s face lit in a smile. Taking a picture for her blog, she thought about the words:

It’s true you can’t live here by chance, you have to do and be, not simply watch or even describe. This is the city of action, the world headquarters of the verb –

She bent down to read the inscription at the bottom: Lauris Edmond. The words played on repeat in her mind. New Zealand was certainly the country of the verb. To do, to jump, to ride, to move, to live, to love.

Her thoughts took her on a meandering path that led through uncomfortable recollections and images. People left behind, people still in touch. Another text had arrived from Conor that morning, asking her when she was likely to return to the UK. No mention of the job, although she imagined he was under some pressure to fill the role. She was grateful for his forbearance.

The text from Josh – already memorised – churned round and round as she tried to plan further than the next few days. Visiting him felt like indulging a guilty pleasure or potentially opening Pandora’s box. Again. Claire shivered and bent her head into the wind.

Oh, what a mess. Six months ago I had all the answers. They were answering the wrong questions, but I didn’t know that. Now what? Where the hell do I go from here?

As the rain pattered relentlessly on her hood and crept in through the crevices of her coat, until she felt damp inside and out, Claire trudged through the headquarters of the verb and wondered what her future perfect should be.

***

Rainy Day (mindthatneuron.wordpress.com)
Rainy Day (hjsphoto.wordpress.com)
Bank holiday showers as 14 million plan getaway (telegraph.co.uk)
Let’s have a baby. (madmumof7.com)

Not an Aspiring Writer: 2013 365 Challenge #234

Staycation chez Martin

One of the challenges I’ve discovered with being a self-published author, or I suppose a writer of any kind, is expecting others to see it as a real job. After all it doesn’t pay well (or at all), you have no one imposing deadlines but yourself, and you spend all day dividing your time between gazing out the window, researching random things (skydiving in New Zealand anyone?), designing the odd front cover or giveaway bookmark, and playing on social media.

It’s all work, it’s done with purpose, but compared to a teacher, doctor, project manager or business director, it’s all a bit nebulous.

A friend recently asked my husband, while they were at a kids party together, if I get paid for doing the blog. Tee hee wouldn’t that be nice? I think it was because I couldn’t join my baby group one day in the café as I was racing to get my post live by my 10am deadline (which I’m going to miss today, unfortunately, due to a bout of insomnia). I probably should have missed my post that day and joined them for coffee. But, to me, the self-imposed deadlines, the deliverables, the targets, are all very important. I need to feel like I have a job, a career, or the sacrifices I ask my family to make would not be worth it.

No, I’m not getting paid, but my friend did seven years of university training to be a doctor without getting paid. This is my post-grad creative writing degree taken at the university of life. I’ve never been more serious about a career before or enjoyed one as much.

My creative daughter

I often read posts on Kristen Lamb’s blog about the importance of not calling yourself an aspiring writer, (her latest is Are You a “Real” Writer? Is This Even the Correct Question?) . I am a writer; a published author. My sales are no fewer than the vast majority of even traditionally published books, which apparently rarely exceed 100, and I don’t think I’ve sold any to friends and family, so they are all genuine sales. (In 2004 c.80% of books sold fewer than 100 copies: The Ugly Truth about Getting Your Book Published. These figures might be out of date but I have read a similar figure recently, just couldn’t find the source!)

In a week or two my second novel will officially go live, in print and e-book format. Then I’ll start on revising my third novel, Class Act. Maybe I will rough draft the sequel to Dragon Wraiths during November’s NaNoWriMo if there’s a scrap of spare capacity. I’ll churn out my 1500 words of blog post and Claire instalment every day, with a couple of pictures, and I’ll answer every comment. I’ll squeeze in some social media and read a dozen posts from my online community sometime during the week. It’s a 40-hour week that drains me and leaves me exhausted.

Despite all of this, I’m never asked about my ‘job’ as a writer by people I know. It’s not taken seriously as a career. Thankfully my husband believes in me, as do my online friends. That’s why I love my blog. The daily challenge is one of the most satisfying things I’ve ever done. Every ‘like’, every ‘been there’ comment tells me I’m not crazy, tells me I belong somewhere, tells me I’m on the right path. I believe I’ll make an income one day, when I’ve written enough words, published enough books. I just have to keep working. I am a writer.

________________________________________________________________________________

Claire climbed down from the bus and wandered a short way into the bush. After five minutes the pain was too great and she looked around for somewhere to hide with her book for a while. Every part of her body ached, as if she had spent the day before stretched on a rack rather than hiking through volcano country. When the bus driver had told them the morning schedule was for a two-hour walk to see the waterfalls, she’d nearly turned round and gone back to bed.

And as for river-rafting this afternoon, I think I might just opt for the horse riding or discover a love of golf.

It was a satisfying ache; the pain of a body pushed to its limits. But without a hot bath to sooth the muscles, she felt like a wooden puppet every time she tried to walk. At the hostel, some of the other travellers had gone to a natural spring in the river, and raved about the novelty of sitting outside in the autumn while soaking in hot water. It had almost tempted her to go herself, but the thought of the walk put her off.

I miss my car.

Pushing the thought aside, Claire searched for her place in the paperback she’d picked up at the last hostel, and allowed herself to be transported to a different world.

The trill of her phone wrenched her back to reality. Assuming it was either a nasty message from Carl, or a random text from Conor, Claire was tempted to ignore it. Only the vague hope that it might be from Kim made her put down her book and find her phone. The message wasn’t from a number she knew, and she frowned as she opened it.

Hi Claire, long time no speak. I caught up on the blog recently and saw that you’re in my neck of the woods. Are you planning a trip over to Oz while you’re here? It would be great to catch up. Josh.

Claire read the message several times, until the words no longer made sense. Of course she’d thought about him, but she had put all thought of seeing him to one side. Fiona wouldn’t like it, and some scars were best left to heal before they were put under any stress. Would he think it rude, though, if she fobbed him off?

Claire rested her head against the tree and closed her eyes, trying to analyse her emotions. It seemed that every time men became involved in her life it became uncomfortable and complicated. Easier to push on with her travels and concentrate on the blog. And yet …Yet what?

It’s not like I have so many friends I can afford to lose one. What harm a quick visit?

In the end she settled for a non-committal answer, carefully worded to leave her an escape route.

Hi Josh, lovely to hear from you. Yes, I’m touring NZ at the moment: it was meant to be for a job, but that fell through. Now I’m here, though, I thought it worth gathering things for the blog. I’m on a Kiwi bus for the next few weeks. Budget willing, I can fly home via Oz. Will let you know. Cx

She hit send and tried to pick up the thread of her book, but the words kept dancing on the page. With a sigh, Claire packed it away and walked back to the bus.

***