Finding the Words for Wonder: 2013 365 Challenge #131

Walking Kara across the fields

Walking the dog is my escape and at the moment it’s a glorious one. The fields are full of oil seed rape, which normally gives me horrific hay-fever but this year doesn’t seem to be affecting me (famous last words!).

The trees are laden with blossom, which the wind drives down across the ground like snow. The trees are newly decked in summer glory in a hundred shades of green. The sun throws shadows across the hard ground as the branches dance in the breeze. Across the sky flocks of clouds skip and frolic like new-born lambs.

It makes me want to be poetic, lyrical. To write beautiful prose extolling the virtues of the British summer countryside. I search my sleep-deprived brain for words more succinct than “Wow”. They’re hard to find, in the foggy space that has become my interior landscape.

Beautiful British Countryside

It reminds me of when I was a second-year university student and I pulled all-nighters (sometimes all-weekers) surviving on Diet Coke, Marlboro Lights and Frosties (a sugar-laden cereal for the non-British readers). I’d stumble into our communal kitchen in our dingy, dirty, run-down mid-terrace, and pump my more-awake housemates for better language:

“What’s another way to say ‘Stalin was pissed off?'” or “What’s that word, you know, the one that means the um, whatdoyacallit, Army, er took over the, um, took over from the people in charge.” (The answer is Coup, if you understood the question).

Why is it that language is the first thing that goes when you’re tired? My children always say, “Mummy you’re tired,” or “Mummy, you’re all full up,” when I get their names muddled up. The irony is my mind is often at its most creative when I’m exhausted. If only I could find the words to describe it all.

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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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“How’s Sky? I hoped she’d be here. I miss her like a lost limb.” Ruth’s quiet voice filled the room.

“She’ll be in shortly. I rang Mum when you woke up. She’s missed you, too.” Claire watched Ruth’s complexion turn from deathly white to just pale and felt her own pulse steady in relief.

“Sounds like you guys had too much fun for her to want her boring old Mummy. Every time I spoke to her you were off somewhere new.”

Claire didn’t miss the bitterness in her sister’s voice. “That’s because I had no idea what else to do with her. I’m not good with kids like you. And the endless chatter and questions, my goodness it could drive a person loopy!” Claire stopped, realising it sounded too much like she was criticising her niece. A quick glance at Ruth’s face reassured her,.

“I know, it can be a bit relentless, especially in the holidays. That’s the problem when there isn’t another parent to share the load. I don’t mind too much, though. She’s good company.”

Claire thought about Ruth bringing Sky up alone; the bond they must share. It also brought to mind Sky’s meeting with her father in Norfolk. When the hell am I going to break that news to Ruth? Something must have shown in her face because Ruth tried to sit up, a frown creasing her translucent skin.

“What is it?”

Claire hesitated, not feeling comfortable lying to her sister but unsure how to get past the question. Ruth held her gaze, her eyes sparkling bright against her ashen face. As the tension stretched between them, Claire became aware of the chemical smell in the room from Ruth’s chemo, overlaid by the scent of perfume. The overhead light buzzed at the edge of hearing, as irritating as a fly.

Ruth inhaled and Claire tensed, waiting for the repeated question. A sound tip-tapped at the edge of her hearing and she recognised the rhythm of running footsteps. She turned to the door just as the handle rattled. All tension drained from the room as Claire jumped like a teenager watching a Stephen King movie.

“Mummy, Mummy.” Sky called through the door, trying unsuccessfully to release the handle. Claire stood to open the door, but relaxed back on the bed as it swung inward and Sky came barrelling into the room. Claire’s mother stood in the doorway, dark circles visible beneath her eyes in the lurid hospital lighting.

Poor Mum, she must be exhausted. I’ve only had Sky for ten days and I’m beat. She’s been looking after Ruth and Sky for weeks.

“Come and sit down, Mum.” Claire patted the bed next to her. It was the only free space in the room.

“Thank you, but I’m going to head back home and make sure your father is okay. Has Robert arrived yet?”

“Yes, a few hours ago. I’m surprised you didn’t see him, he was out there talking to the doctors.” She jerked her chin at the corridor behind her mother.

Her mother shook her head and shrugged. “Robert will be off somewhere finding out all the details I’ve missed.” Her voice was a mixture of rancour and relief. Robert had that effect on people.

Claire looked over to where Ruth and Sky lay cuddled together on the bed. She wondered if she could risk leaving them for long enough to take a shower and find a fresh outfit in the car. Unusually her mother seemed to sense the dilemma. Catching Claire’s gaze, she smiled wearily.

“Go on. Get cleaned up. I’ll stay for a while and make sure Sky doesn’t wear Ruth out.”

A lump pushed up into Claire’s throat and she swallowed hard against it. Not trusting herself to speak she stood up and headed for the door, rubbing her mother’s arm as she walked past.

Striding down the long white hallway, looking for the exit, Claire felt like someone searching for the way out of a labyrinth.

***

“I’m Just…” 2013 365 Challenge #130

I’m Just Finishing my Lunch Mummy

One of the things I’ve discovered since spending many hours a week writing for a living (and since having children) is that I have lots of phrases and words that I say too often, without realising it.

I noticed it from the children first, when phrases like “that’s so random” started coming out of my daughter’s mouth.

I haven’t tallied it, that would be too depressing, but I imagine I say it a dozen times a day. That at least is quite cute coming from a four-year-old. There are other phrases, some repeatable, some not, that I’d rather my kids hadn’t learned.

Phrases crop up in my writing too. I’m considerably more aware of them since starting the daily blog, because I’m also editing every day. In the past editing happened in chunks, I would use ‘find/replace’ to remove evil, repetitive words, and they would disappear from my mind. Words like “Wow” and “Absolutely” spring to mind. I say them, I write them. Far too often.

I’m Just looking at these gnomes and flowers Mummy

If only speech was as easy to edit as a manuscript. If I could ‘find/replace’ in my head and remove all the annoying words from my speech. Because, then, I could stop my kids saying them.

The naughty words or bad phrases they pick up from me in my weaker moments are easily controlled because they come back rarely and then only to test me.

The harmless words, though, the ones that are simply annoying: they’re much harder to remove, from their mouths or mine.

At the moment the evil word is “Just”.

I suspect I say it a hundred times a day. Something like this:

Kids: “Mummy, sit with us!”

Mummy: “I’m just going to stack the dishwasher/make a cuppa/ put the dog out”

I’m sure “Just a minute” is a standard parenting phrase, however horrible. Only, now the tables are turned. It’s:

Mummy: “Time to go kids, put your shoes on.”

Kids: “I’m just finding my toy/ making my bed/ putting this irrelevant thing into this box.”

Knowing you started it makes it no less frustrating. More so in fact. Now every time I hear myself saying “Just”, I cringe and attempt to think of another word. I’m as self-conscious in my speech as I am becoming in my writing, through editing Claire every day. I just need to think of different words, then I just need to say them often enough that the kids just forget they ever heard the word just. Hmmm.

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Claire stood chewing a fingernail, watching the two men talking through the small pane of glass in the door. A knot behind her ribs throbbed in time with the ache in the back of her skull. I should probably drink something other than caffeine before my head caves in.

She could hear Ruth breathing softly behind her. The sound was no longer comforting. Her sister hadn’t woken once in the twelve hours and more since Claire had arrived at the hospital. She studied the faces of the doctor and her brother, trying to guess the gist of their conversation from their expressions.

Both looked serious but Claire knew that was Robert’s habitual expression, and tried not to let it twist the knot ever tighter in her tummy. The room closed in around her, hot and muggy. Claire had already tried the window but it didn’t open.

What do they think Ruth will do, try and shimmy down the drainpipe and run for freedom. Or maybe someone will climb up four stories and break in to steal the personal effects of a sick person. There must be easier methods of security.

A dry cough behind her caused Claire to spin round. Grasping the wall to steady herself as lack of sleep and too much caffeine made her head spin, Claire peered at the lump of sheets on the bed to see if Ruth was awake. There seemed no life and for a moment Claire felt her own heart stop. Don’t let her be dead, I couldn’t stand it. Not on my watch. Not ever.

With a push against the wall, Claire propelled herself towards the bed, slumping onto the pull down mattress before her knees betrayed her.

“Ruth? Can you hear me, sis?” And still the motionless silence dragged at the air, making it hard to breathe. Claire leaned closer, trying to see her sister’s face. It was turned into the pillow as if hiding from the brightness.

“Do you want me to turn out the light, Ruthie?” There was no response. Then Claire thought she could detect a flicker of movement, a flutter of eyelash. One eye flicked open, searched around, then closed again.

“Light’s fine.”

Claire exhaled loudly in relief.

“But, Claire…”

She waited, straining to hear the whisper of sound.

“If you’re going to lean so close after coffee, can you at least suck on a mint?””

Claire sat back in shock, heat flooding her face. Then she heard the dry coughing sound again and realised her sister was laughing. Feeling as high as helium, she began laughing too. She saw the doctor and Robert turn towards the sound, their matching frowns deepening. The sight only made Claire laugh harder.

***

Am I Sheep or Goat: 2013 365 Challenge #129

Feeding the Goats

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

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

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

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

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“How are Francesca and the boys?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How is Ruth?”

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

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

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

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

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

***

Boredom versus Bedlam: 2013 365 Challenge #128

My little darlings

Hubbie got back from his contract job this evening, shattered because he hadn’t had enough work to fill his day. Now I’ve been there, and there’s nothing more demoralising or exhausting than sitting at a desk trying to look busy, when you haven’t been in a company long enough to usefully fill your time. But still I can’t help but feel a teeny bit jealous. I know you always want what you can’t have, but I think I’d take boredom over bedlam. Well, maybe.

In comparison, today I’ve taken grumpy kids to the hairdresser and entertained one with the iPad while encouraging the other to sit still. I’ve visited play and stay and played cards and refereed between one child who wanted to stay and another who wanted to go. I’ve ferried kids to the park and divided my time between being ‘listening friend’ and ‘swing pusher, fight fixer, roundabout spinner and slide watcher.’ I’ve visited the dentist and tried to persuade two children to remove hands from mouth in exchange for a Nemo sticker. (One success, one fail). I’ve consoled a friend facing redundancy and another whose father went into a home on Sunday, both things that put my child-induced depression into perspective.

I’ve helped two kids make pizza pockets for tea and endured endless “That’s not how nursery do it” and “it’s too floppy” followed by distraught hysterics and a refusal to eat. I’ve stacked and unstacked the dishwasher, wiped up tomato sauce and fielded an hour of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang questions while also providing assistance with spelling apps on the iPad. I’ve swept sand and refilled watering cans fifty times and built castles to be stamped on.

Kids Creating bedlam

I’ve made tea for the play date visitor and blocked my ears to additional shouting and tears (and dealt with an hour of feeling like a terrible housewife because I choose to write novels rather than tidy and clean. You know, that loaded silence that tells you everything you need to know.)

I’ve kissed bruises, wiped faces and bums, smiled at soaked children and chided unofficial use of the hose. I’ve bought milk, walked and fed the dog, prepared dinner, sung bedtime songs and read stories, remembered to respond to a party invite and pick up a form from school. I’ve even done an online supermarket shop as we’ve run out of pretty much everything.

And even though I’m beat and ready for bed, and really want to lose myself in the book I’m reading, I’m about to sit for two hours and write about Claire. I’m not complaining – today was a good day, all in all. I’d take today over eight hours of sitting at a computer eeking out the meagre amount of work that has been provided. But even though I know it sucks and I hated it and would never go back, it’s hard not to be jealous at the idea of 8 hours of stationary, solitary, unencumbered boredom.

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Machines beeped and whirred in the darkness. Claire lay on the narrow bed and stared at the lights, unable to sleep or even close her eyes. The regular sound of Ruth’s breathing filled the tiny room. It felt comforting. As long as she’s breathing, she’s still alive.

It didn’t matter what the doctors said: that Ruth was responding well to treatment, and would no doubt continue to respond well once they had established the extent to which the cancer had spread. That was her big sister, lying there on the bed. In a week she had aged a decade, her hair all gone, her skin almost translucent. What I wouldn’t give to hear her whinging about money or telling me off for letting Sky flirt with Jeff. Anything.

She hadn’t spoken to her sister since her arrival. Her mother had given her a brief and unexpected hug in the car park, where they had agreed to meet so that Sky’s sleeping form could be transferred to her Nana’s car. Claire remembered the emptiness in her mother’s eyes that belied the upbeat words she managed to form with trembling lips. Unable to say all she felt, Claire had nodded in agreement at the request to spend the night, and had kissed Sky farewell. Since then she had lain on the uncomfortable mattress and watched the rise and fall of Ruth’s heartbeat on the monitor.

Something moved in the dark and Claire was immediately on alert, adrenalin coursing through her arteries readying her for action. Ruth sighed gently and shifted position on the bed. The graph on the screen fluctuated then settled back into its steady rhythm, like the beating heart of a giant oak. Claire looked at the arms lying above the white sheet, with IV lines running out of each hand. More like a sickly sapling than a towering oak.

Claire awoke with a start, unaware that she had nodded off. Darkness wrapped around her, but sounds from the corridor suggested it was nearer daytime than night. Her mouth was dry and her back ached from sleeping on the pull-down bed. Blinking open heavy eyelids, crusted with salt, Claire pulled out her phone and stared at the luminous numbers until they made sense.

6am. The nurses must be starting their rounds. As if the thought was a summoning spell, the door swung open and a woman peered round into the room.

“Is she still asleep?” The brusque normality of the nurse’s voice made Claire shiver.

“Yes,” she responded, her voice a whisper. “Do I need to wake her?”

“No, we’re doing the medication rounds but if she’s asleep she doesn’t need pain relief. Call if she wants anything when she wakes.” The nurse nodded towards the button behind Ruth’s bed, then pulled her head back behind the door like a timid turtle and the room once more fell silent.

Claire willed her eyelids to close but they remained fixed wide, and she felt as if her eyes might disappear into her head completely. I wonder what time the restaurant opens. If I can’t sleep I may as well get a coffee.

With the stealth of a ninja, Claire crept from the bed and tip-toed past Ruth. Her hand was on the door when it moved swiftly inwards, trapping her between the wall and the bed.

“Ow!” Her exclamation resonated in the small space and was followed by a deep voice full of apology. The familiar sound rippled across Claire’s skin and two thoughts clambered through her brain: Great, that’s all I need, followed by, Thank god.

Claire pushed the visitor back out the room with the door, freeing herself from her trapped position, then went out into the corridor, closing Ruth’s room behind her. Inhaling deeply she looked up at the newcomer and forced her cheeks to raise a slight smile.

“Hello, Robert, long flight? I was just going for coffee if you’d care to join me.”

***

The importance of taking a happiness break (howdidiwinduphere.wordpress.com)

Croquet and Colouring: 2013 365 Challenge #127

Mastering the art of croquet

It’s Bank Holiday Monday here today and we’ve spent a lovely time catching up with family over in Cambridge. The sun shone down from a sparkling blue sky and it was shorts all round for the first time this year.

I love going to my father-in-law’s when all the family gathers. There are eyes aplenty to watch the children, who love to play with their smashing big cousin, and I get to catch up and natter with some grown-ups for a change. Good food, fine wine, great company and plenty of time to sit and read my on my iPad: I feel like I’ve had a holiday.

I intended to write my post while the kids were happily entertained, because I knew I’d be too tired when we got home. Unfortunately I downloaded the second in The Divide Trilogy – Back to the Divide – this morning and was too easily distracted from working by following Felix and Betony’s adventures again. I fear the cost of buying the iPad might be only the beginning of the expense!

Colouring with Aunty

I came across an interesting dilemma today when one of the books I wanted was only a pound cheaper for the kindle than for a paper copy. My heart still belongs to the paper book, but there’s no doubt it is much easier to read on the iPad with the children around (I can cuddle two children and sit, iPad on my knee, with just a wriggle needed to swipe the page over. Genius. If only I’d had one for all those boring months of breastfeeding at 2am!)

Still, an ebook is horribly intangible and I love to have a pretty row of paperbacks on the shelves reminding me of all the great stories recently read. Maybe I’ll just bookmark that one for future reading: there are plenty on my list!

As an aside, Two-Hundred Steps Home reached the 100,000 word mark with today’s post. If it ever becomes a novel it will need editing by half, but it still feels like a nice achievement.

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The road stretched relentlessly ahead of Claire, solid with Sunday evening traffic. To either side, fields as flat as glass met a distant horizon, with flocks of clouds filling the space in between. She tried not to let the lines of red lights make her impatient. There was one road home and the only thing to be gained by chaffing at the traffic was anger that had nowhere to go.

Sky slumped in the passenger seat, sleeping after her long day on the sunny beach. A tiny smile illuminated her face, giving her the look of a cherub. You sleep my little angel. Enjoy your happy dreams while you can.

A sharp sound rang through the silence of the car. Claire looked at the phone on the dash and mused whether to answer it. With a quick glance in the mirrors to make sure there were no blue sirens or panda cars around, Claire reached for the phone and raised it to her ear.

“Hello, yes? I’m driving.”

“So you are coming back then? Your father said you’d be home by now.”

Claire bit back an angry retort. Challenging her mother at any time was an exercise in futility and for once she had reason enough to be curt, with her daughter in hospital.

“Sorry, Mum, I’m not the only person heading back from the coast. The traffic has been horrendous. We won’t be much longer. Sky’s asleep.” She hesitated, afraid to ask her next question. Gripping the wheel with her free hand, she inhaled, her nostrils filling with the scent of sand and sun cream. “How is Ruth?”

“Not good.” Her mother fell silent and Claire wondered if she wanted to know any more. She was about to hang up when her mother drew an audible breath and let it out in a long sigh. When she spoke again her voice was low, and gentler than Claire could ever remember hearing it.

“Oh, Claire, the doctors think the tumour must have spread before they caught it. They say the chemo will help, but they’re fighting the wrong battle. They need to understand how far it has spread and adjust her treatment.”

The words rang through Claire’s mind without making sense. Her mother sounded tired, beaten, but her words suggested hope. She wanted to ask more, but driving one handed in heavy traffic on the A47 was not the time.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine, Mum. Ruth’s a fighter and she’s in safe hands.”

There was silence, and Claire wondered if her Mother was drawing breath for a new sarcastic come back. When she did speak, her words were so unexpected Claire nearly drove into the tail-lights of the car in front.

“You’re the fighter, Claire. You’re the one who has gone out and taken on the world. Ruth, well, she’s not strong like you.”

Heat rushed to Claire’s face at the unexpected compliment. It rattled her more than her mother’s unaccustomed gentleness, more than Ruth’s illness. She felt wrong-footed by it, as if it was easier to know that her mother loathed her than to believe she really cared.

As if needing to restore the balance, Claire heard her mother cluck her tongue. “Goodness, look at the time. Are you going to be much longer? I need you to take over at the hospital so I can go home and feed your father. You know he’s incapable of boiling an egg for his supper.”

“What about Sky? I’m not taking her to see Ruth tonight. She’s exhausted and needs to be in bed.” She heard her mother chuckle and wondered what could possibly be funny.

“Listen to you. Thought you didn’t have a maternal bone in your body. I’ll take her back with me, we can tuck her up in her bed. I’ll bring her in with me in the morning.”

It took a moment for Claire to realise the implication of her words. So I’m spending the night at the hospital am I? I guess it makes a change from a hostel bed. Stifling a yawn, Claire focused on the sleeping face beside her, reminding her of what was important.

“Okay, Mum, see you soon.”

***

Pirates and Promotions: 2013 365 Challenge #126

Family Martin on the Barrel Train

I’d like to say I feel rested and refreshed, after having a day off from blogging (the last post was pre-scheduled to give me a breather) but having been out all day with the kids today I’m actually pooped! As a result today’s will be a short post.

It’s a bank holiday in the UK tomorrow, meaning I miss a nursery day (the day when I catch up with all things writing), so the next few posts might be a bit on the light side too.

We had a good day today at what the kids are calling New Farm (West Lodge Rural Centre), with Daddy this time. They held a Pirates and Princesses day for the bank holiday, so we walked the plank, had pirate faces painted and took part in a fancy dress competition (daughter did, anyway!). I thought she should have won a prize (of course!) and realised how glad I am that beauty pageants and all that aren’t big in this country. I’m such a competitive person, I’d be awful. My daughter was just fine that she didn’t win, but I felt hard done by because I thought she made a smashing pirate!

Pirate Daughter

My last free Dragon Wraiths promotion on kindle finished today. I did a 2-day promotion this time, rather than just one, and made it to #16 in the ‘coming of age’ ranking and #77 for Paranormal Romance. I don’t know if that will lead to sales, but it’s a nice feeling in any case.

We’re visiting family tomorrow, so hopefully I might get five minutes to finish reading my current book – Reckless Rescue by Rinelle Grey. I’m really enjoying it, although it wouldn’t be my normal read. As far as I can tell in an ebook (this is my first full-length novel read on the iPad rather than in paper form) I’m only a few pages from the end. But as it’s 8.15pm already and hubbie, dog and I haven’t eaten yet, I’ll just about have time to cook dinner and write my Claire installment before I collapse with exhaustion!

Today’s one of those days when I wish I hadn’t played the Takeaway Pizza card on Tuesday (we only have one a week!). Actually, they probably don’t deliver on Sunday anyway… Chicken stir-fry it is then. I wonder if I can convince hubbie to do it…

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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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The sky went dark. Claire looked up, surprised, wondering if the shock had affected her vision. A tiny cloud masked the sun, temporarily plunging the beach into shadow.

“Claire, are you okay, you look dreadful. Who was on the phone?”

“Dad. My sister… He said Ruth’s back in hospital and we have to go home.” She drew in a shuddering breath and ran her hands through her hair. “What am I going to tell Sky? Look at her, that’s the happiest I’ve ever seen her.”

Both girls watched as Sky tipped water into the moat round her sandcastle, flicking some up at Jeff and giggling as he threw seaweed at her.

“Tell her Ruth misses her and wants to give her a cuddle.”

Claire looked gratefully at her best friend, knowing she would have blundered in with the truth. That’s why Kim will make a brilliant parent and I wouldn’t. She picked up the phone to see if her Dad was still connected. He wasn’t and she called him back.

“Sorry, Dad, phone got cut off. Tell Mum we’ll be home in three hours depending on traffic.”

Her father assured her he would and wished her a safe journey. Even that many extra words surprised Claire and, for the first time, she wondered how her parents felt about Ruth’s illness. For all their distance they had still brought Ruth into the world. It must be terrible to consider that she might leave it before they did. No parent should ever have to bury their child. Another good reason not to have any.

“Sky, sweetie, can you come here for a moment?”

The little girl looked up, her cheeks flushed from sun and excitement. Claire’s stomach tightened. Life is too cruel.

Sky ran up the beach and threw her arms around Claire. “I love you, Auntie Claire. Don’t say it’s time to go, please. I’m having so much fun.” She pouted. Claire thought of all the times that pout had irritated her, and wished she could take them all back.

She’s just a child. We make them grow up so fast. She’s got nearly a century of life ahead of her to do as she’s told, feel the pressure of the world on her. Why couldn’t I let her have more fun now? Before this. She shook off the thought and pulled an approximation of a smile onto her face.

“Grandpa just called, poppet. Your Mummy really misses you and wondered if you would like to go home for a cuddle.”

Sky’s face froze as the words settled and she decided how to react to them. Claire could almost see the thoughts competing for primacy: Sky’s desire to stay and play with Jeff versus her need to give her Mummy a hug. Claire’s breath caught in her throat as she waited to see what Sky’s response would be.

“Why don’t we meet up with you guys next weekend, Sky? You could show me and Jeff around one of the places you like to go to.” Kim’s voice cut through Sky’s internal deliberations.

Like a gust of sea breeze blowing away a cloud, Sky’s face cleared and she clapped her hands. “The Farm, we could go to the Farm.” Then she smiled at Claire. “Yes please, I want to go home and see Mummy. You’ll stay for a while, won’t you Auntie Claire?”

Claire thought about her sister in hospital and Sky going home to an empty house. “Of course I will, darling. As long as you need.”

Sky settled into Claire’s lap and wrapped her arms around her neck. Claire nuzzled into the soft blonde hair and let it hide her tears.

***

The Importance of Being Mean: 2013 365 Challenge #125

Mean Mummy put me in a basket

I read a comment today on a blog post by the talented Matt Haig that made me realise something significant about my writing. The post itself was about Matt having thin skin and how that can be good for a writer but not for a published author. Understanding feelings and hurt and pain are what raise the okay storyteller to the breath-taking master of craft, but it comes at a cost.

I related to much of the post in terms of the thin skin, the depression, feeling awe at how amazing the world really is. But it was one of the comments below the post that really resonated.

Suzanne Korb

I think you just switched on a lightbulb in my head. I have a thin skin – but I pretend to be thick-skinned. That prevents me from putting more feeling into my writing. I think I protect the words I write, I defend my characters and keep them from feeling anguish and fear and pain. No wonder my writing isn’t always working

I’m terrible at writing conflict. If I love a character the last thing I want to do his hurt him or her. I don’t even like reading books where awful things happen to good people. But conflict, disaster, overcoming adversity, these are all essential elements in good story and believable character growth.

You did What to your characters??

When I edited Dragon Wraiths the first time I realised Leah escaped disaster time and again through a series of lucky coincidences or through her own skill. The car in the flood, the unexpected dragon sentry, they were easily evaded or survived with no harm done. I love Leah, and Luke, and I want them to be happy. As I want my kids to be happy. But just as you have to be Mean Mom occasionally you have to be a mean author too.

I have to confess I didn’t make Leah’s life too much harder. She’d had a tough childhood already and deserved a break. And life is also full of near misses and lucky escapes. But I do know my inability to make characters suffer is going to have to change for my writing to go to the next level (oh that’s a horrible phrase but you know what I mean). Maybe what I have to do is make my characters more annoying to me, like my kids can be, and then mean will just happen without effort.

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“Have you booked a date for the wedding? I’m guessing it will have to be soon, not that you’re showing.” Claire leaned back in the sand and looked over at her friend.

Kim laughed, patting her flat stomach. “I am: I just breathe in! I have to hope the baby doesn’t get too big before the show’s finished. Our Director will have a fit. We’ll be a laughing stock if the audience notices Puck is pregnant.”

“That doesn’t seem right: Aren’t there rules about discrimination these days? Surely he or she will be applauded for their political correctness.”

“There isn’t much political correctness in the acting world, my dear. I’ll be considered too old for many roles in a year or two. I’m lucky I’m petite and slim, it hides my age. Not that I’ll be slim for long.” She frowned and stared down the beach, where Jeff and Sky were engaged in a sandcastle competition. Sky was cheating, flattening Jeff’s castles every time he went to collect water or shells.

“You make it sound like we’re ancient.” Claire shielded her eyes from the afternoon sun. “Actually I feel pretty ancient, although at least Sky hasn’t had nightmares for a day or two. I think I actually got six hours sleep last night.”

“Is it really so bad?” Kim’s voice suggested she didn’t really want to know the answer. “Being a parent, I mean.”

“I’m the wrong person to ask. What do I know about parenting?” Claire gave a dry laugh, picturing some of Sky’s more spectacular tantrums.

“Well, you know more than me.”

“I thought you attended antenatal classes or something?” Sky tried to remember what pregnant women in the office had wittered on about in the past. She mostly tuned out their chatter, but some of it had obviously gone in.

“Oh yes, there are classes, but they seem to be about getting through labour and keeping the kid alive for the first few months. What about after that? There don’t seem to be any lessons on how to deal with it when they flirt with your friend’s boyfriend…”

Claire drew breath but Kim jumped in, “I’m joking! Seriously, though. Who teaches you about discipline and what games to play, how to deal with bullying or if your child is the bully.”

Claire could see Kim getting emotional but wasn’t sure what to say. “I guess you just figure it out. Or you ask your friends, or your Mum.” She thought about trying to have that conversation with her mother, and whether she would choose to raise children the way she was raised. “Maybe not the last one. I think we all want a different childhood to the one we had.”

“Not me, I had a great childhood. It was when I had to grow up it got hard.” The girls laughed.

“Well, let me ask you, how did you learn to be an actress?”

“I went to drama school.”

“So maybe kids learn all they need to know at school. And there are books and the internet. There are all sorts of parenting blogs following mine since I started writing about travelling with Sky. You’ll be fine. Concentrate on the wedding instead. Are you going to have a big white frock?”

“I might need it to hide the bump!”

They settled into the sand and swapped ideas about food and music. Claire felt herself relaxing, as the sun warmed her skin and Sky’s laughter floated on the sea breeze. The phone rang and she considered ignoring it. It’s probably Michael. Now’s not the time to talk to him, with my head full of babies and weddings. The ringing stopped then immediately began again. Damn it, just go away, I’m trying to relax.

People began looking around to see who wasn’t answering their phone. She reached in her bag and put the phone to her ear, unable to see the caller name in the bright sunshine.

“Hello.”

“Claire, it’s Dad.”

She sat up, her skin suddenly cold and her stomach churning. Her father never called.

“Your mother told me to ring. She’s at the hospital. You need to come home love, you and Sky. Ruth’s had a turn for the worse.” His voice shook and that, more than his words, cut through and left her shaking. Claire dropped the phone, her mouth dry and her mind blank.

***

I Love a Wedding: 2013 365 Challenge #124

Gemstone Bay, Coromandel, so nice I came twice

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

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

Life’s adventures need to come without a map.

Our unconventional wedding

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

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

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

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“How many weeks gone are you?”

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

“Sixteen.”

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

“Two weeks ago.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

7 Tips to Stay Grounded While Planning Your Wedding (coffeewithemma.wordpress.com)
Jim Mullen: Plan the marriage, not the wedding (readingeagle.com)

The Well Runs Dry: 2013 365 Challenge #123

My mind is dry and dusty, like a disused Gold Mine (NZ)

Post 123. If only it was as easy as 123. I realised today that my word-well has run dry. I am teetering near the 100,000 word mark for the Two-Hundred Steps Home manuscript, and yet poor old Claire is only at hostel #26 out of 200 (well, I think it will be less than that overall, as some of the hostels are for private hire, but you get the point). I am a third of the way through the year and I still have around 150 hostels to go.

Actually, looking at it like that, there should be plenty to write about. Except this isn’t a travel journal. It’s meant to be a novel, with character growth and conflict and all that good stuff.

I’m learning, however, that it’s hard to write conflict in little chunks, particularly when attempting to make each ‘little chunk’ stand alone as a piece of writing. I’m not saying you could read a daily installment and get much enjoyment from it, without knowing the story. But you could miss a few installments and catch up. I guess it’s a bit like a soap opera, with lots of repetition to keep everyone on track.

I hate soap operas. I dislike a TV programme insisting I watch every day, or a few days a week. I find following the minutiae of people’s lives depressing. I didn’t use to. I watched Sunset Beach every day as a student, AND watched the five-hour omnibus at the weekend. But I was a student – life wasn’t really happening to me all that much, stuck day after day in the lower depths of a dusty library. Now, life happens. I don’t need to read about it or watch it on TV. I certainly find it difficult to write about it, twice, every day.

Just Keep Swimming

The diary/chatty/whatever-it-is segment of my daily posts is hard to make entertaining unless something great has happened or I chance to read a good book or interesting blog post. I’m spending so much time writing the blog I’m running out of things to write about! And poor old Claire is not getting the best of my writing skills at all. Editing every day has made my writing stilted and self-conscious.

Anyway, I don’t want to quit. I’m not a quitter, not easily. I’m just trying to figure out a different way.

This exercise was always meant to be a challenge, but also one that brought visitors to my blog and helped improve my craft. I can’t say that either aim has been a complete success! Maybe I’m not the writer I thought I was, or maybe I’m just better at locking myself in a cupboard and churning out first drafts in thirty days. Ah well, until another idea comes up I’ll do what I always do and just keep swimming, just keep swimming.

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“Over here, Jeff! Your ball’s in the grass.” Sky giggled and span round, making her skirt flare in the wind. As Jeff walked over to retrieve his missing golf ball she smiled shyly up at him, then ran forwards and hugged his leg.

“Blimey. Is she normally that forward with strange men?” Kim’s voice sounded disapproving and Claire raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not really forward when you’re six. She’s not flirting.”

“She so is!”

Claire laughed. “Are you jealous of a six-year-old, Kim? You know Jeff only has eyes for you.”

“Exactly,” she pouted. “He’s never flirted with anyone else before.”

“Kim, she’s six.” Claire stood with her hands on her hips, her head tilted to one side. Then both girls collapsed into giggles and linked arms happily.

“It’s great to see that Sky’s relaxed with Jeff. I wasn’t sure how she would be with strangers.” Claire remembered their meeting with Sky’s dad the day before. “And her life is pretty messy right now.”

Certainly Sky and Jeff had been giggling together like old friends since they’d started their game of crazy golf. It meant that she was able to relax for the first time since taking charge of her niece, and hang back with Kim. Hopefully she’ll spill the beans, with the other two out of the way.

They followed on behind as Sky tried to scoop her ball into a hole. It’s not really crazy golf, Claire thought. Where are the windmills and silly tunnels to put the ball through? She looked around at the pirates hanging from the rigging and the barrels of rum. Not that Sky seems to care. She is flirting with Jeff, little madam. Maybe that’s what you do when you’re six. I can’t say I remember. If I’d opened my eyes all wide and winsome like that at my Dad’s colleagues I’d have been sent to my room.

The sun shone down on the bright green fairway. If you call it that in crazy golf. Claire had no idea; it was her first foray into the world of the sport, crazy or otherwise. It had been Jeff’s suggestion and Sky had readily agreed, before asking the classic kid’s question, “What is Crazy Golf, Auntie Claire?”

Claire felt the weight of Kim’s arm through hers, and the wide gulf of space that seemed to separate them, despite the closeness. Maybe I am going to have to pry. After Jeff’s untimely entrance last night I don’t think she’s going to open up again. She searched her mind for a way to open the conversation without jumping to conclusions.

“How are rehearsals coming on? Do you have Puck memorised now?”

Kim nodded. “Yes, I think so. It’s been fun, and it beats some of the other roles I’ve done. At least I haven’t had to murder my way through a terrible Hull accent.

Claire thought about Kim’s last role, playing a Northern woman who worked at a fish factory and sang Tony Christie songs, and her eyes sparkled. “I thought your accent was quite good.”

“You have to say that because you’re my best friend. That woman from the paper said I was worse than Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins. That is an insult!”

“Ah well, maybe you won’t have to do accents again.”

Kim lowered her head and sighed. “Maybe I won’t get a chance to do acting again.”

“What do you mean?” Claire tried to sound casual, but her heart thumped loudly in her ears.

There was silence, filled with the sound of laughter as Jeff’s ball skipped over the hole and disappeared from view. Claire tried to keep her breathing even and resist the urge to fill the void with words. Eventually the stillness was broken by a tiny sob and Claire turned to see tears streaming down her friend’s face.

“Oh honey, what is it?”

“Jeff and I… we’re going to get married.”

Claire reeled at the unexpected response. Struggling to keep up, she pulled Kim over to sit on some rocks and offered her a tissue.

“Is that a reason to cry? Why now? I thought you were going to wait until you could afford a lavish do?”

Kim nodded and gulped down more tears, scrubbing at the ones already staining her cheeks. “We were. But now…” She looked up and away, avoiding Claire’s penetrating stare. “Now everything has changed.” Kim glanced back at her friend, then sunk her head into her hands.

“I’m pregnant.”

The words were muffled by her hands, but Claire was expecting them. Even so, having it said out loud made it too real. The words that sprang into her throat were the obvious ones – How? What happened? How could you be so careless? The kind of things her mother would say, and not at all helpful. She drew in a deep breath and tried to imagine what she would want to hear, if the situation was reversed. It was hard to think, knowing the situation would never have arisen for her, and seeing in her mind also how overjoyed Michael would have been if it had.

“What does Jeff think?”

Kim looked up, eyes awash, and smiled. “He’s thrilled. Look at him,” she jerked her chin over to where Jeff was teaching Sky how to putt. “He loves kids. And it’s not going to wreck his career or his body.”

“Ah.” As if the girls had suddenly become telepathic, Claire could hear the hours of wrangling debate that had already taken place – either in Kim’s head or with Jeff. Knowing she didn’t really believe it, Claire said what had to be said. “It won’t ruin either thing: plenty of women have babies every day. Actresses, models, long-distance runners. They go back to what they love doing afterwards. Or…”

She hesitated, not wanting to suggest what might be unthinkable. The telepathic bond held strong and Kim shook her head, red hair whipping round with the movement.

“I’m not getting rid of it. No way. It would destroy Jeff, and my mother would never speak to me again.”

Silence fell, punctuated only with happy chatter and bird song. Claire reached for Kim’s hand and squeezed it tight. There were a hundred things she wanted to say, to ask. She sensed that Kim’s head was full of the same questions and that they haunted her. Remembering what it was like to live with an argument in your head for any length of time, Claire forced herself to be silent and let that be enough.

***

Ponies and Racing Pigs: 2013 365 Challenge #122

Racing Piglets

Today has been a great day.

Too often lately this post has focused on about how hard my day has been or how awful the kids have behaved, or how tired I am, so it’s only right to praise the good days. (Although I am so tired right now it hurts to blink, but it’s a good tired from six hours of happy sunshine and walking.)

Having failed to get the kids into nursery for an extra day (thus saving £82) I decided there was a bit of spare cash to go on a proper day trip. When it’s new for all of us there are far fewer arguments and differences of opinion. Plus I find the kids are much better behaved (and therefore nicer to be around) when they’re out in public.

Son on Max

It took a bit of research to find something local but eventually, while the kids played dollies and watched Mike the Knight, my trusty new iPad and I discovered a Farm, forty minutes away, that looked like fun. A picnic was packed, the satnav programmed and off we went on our adventure.

We must have pleased somebody because the sun shone down from a blue sky all day, to the point where I had to borrow some sun cream while the kids played in the giant sandpit (prompting the only tantrum of the day when little man REALLY didn’t want cream on his neck!)

The place was brilliant.

The jockeys for the Piglet Racing

Unsurprisingly it was very similar to Our Farm, as the kids are now calling it, but very different too. There’s a daycare on site so maybe they understand and cater for young kids a bit more. Whatever the reason, it was pitched just right: bright, colourful, compact and over all spot-on.

The highlight of the day was being able to fulfill a long-standing request from both kids to ride a pony, as the Farm offered short walks for over-twos (up until now, Aaron has been too young so I haven’t taken either of them.) There were also endless free rides on the little Barrel Train to see the sleeping dragon; guinea pigs to cuddle; sheep, goats and ducks aplenty to feed; and even a piglet race: Is there anything funnier than watching four piglets, with soft-toy jockeys strapped to their backs, racing round a bespoke track with a crowd of kids cheering them on. Brilliant!

Daughter’s first pony ride

My only dilemma was whether to upgrade to an annual pass, as the kids have decided it’s Their Farm now. (If I’d bought the pass while there I’d have had the day’s entry fee refunded).

The decision was taken away when I realised it was closing time and we had to leave. But we might be taking Daddy on Sunday as they’re having a Pirates and Princesses event, so it’s a possibility. Even with the forty minute drive I can see us going back. The zoo pass has expired so maybe we do this one for a year instead.

Glorious.

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Kim looked over at the curled up shape of Sky, asleep on the sofa, Claire’s jumper draped over her like a blanket. A crease formed between her eyebrows.

“How has it been, looking after her? It must be really frustrating having to go to bed at 9pm rather than going out to dinner or for a drink.”

Claire thought about the previous week and compared it to the first few weeks of her hostel adventure.

“It hasn’t made much difference to be honest. I wasn’t exactly partying hard anyway, and not at all after Josh left. I probably eat and go to bed a little earlier but then I’m that shattered I’m ready to sleep.” She sighed. “And of course Sky’s awake half the night with terrors or because she misses her Mum. Some mornings getting up is like trying to clamber out of a bath of treacle.”

The line on Kim’s face deepened and Claire’s earlier suspicions returned. They grew in strength as Kim shook her head and smiled a little ruefully. “You’re not really selling the whole parenting thing to me.”

Claire felt her heart jump into her throat. She wondered if she was brave enough to probe. Kim didn’t push me for answers about Michael; I should probably keep my mouth shut and let her tell me in her own time. There was a pause, both women watching the sleeping child. Kim sucked in air as if steeling herself for a difficult challenge.

“Claire, I –”

“Hello, ladies, are you hungry?”

Kim and Claire turned to face the door together, like rabbits starting at the sound of danger.

“Shhh, Jeff, you’ll wake Sky,” Kim hissed, her face flushed red. Jeff narrowed his eyes and looked directly at his girlfriend. A sense of what he had interrupted seemed to occur to him, and he raised a hand, smiling apologetically.

“Sorry.” Holding up a thin white carrier bag laden with boxes, he shrugged sheepishly. “Chinese?”

When they had eaten more than their fill, they stretched back on the sofas, cradling their swollen bellies. Claire instinctively looked towards her friend, trying to gauge whether her belly was more rounded than could be explained by too much Take-Away.

Kim was snuggled next to Jeff, curled into his shoulder in such a pose of belonging it made Claire’s heart contract like withered fruit. She remembered why she didn’t spend much time with Kim when her boyfriend was around. Not only was he too good looking for comfort, he was also completely absorbed in Kim to the exclusion of anything else.

When she had been with Michael it made the arguments all the more painful. Now, knowing that the only person sharing her life and bed was a six-year-old girl who would return to her mother in a week, Claire felt the pain like a cavernous empty space in her soul.

Out in the hills, with a destination to distract her and the feel of the sun and wind to keep her company, the loneliness didn’t bite. Sitting in the quiet lounge, with guest huddled together reading, playing scrabble, or just existing in each other’s orbit, Claire felt smothered by how much it hurt.

Unable to bear it, she rolled off the sofa, weariness dragging at her limbs. She stretched, then walked over and gathered the sleeping child into her arms, glad of the warmth. With a nod at Jeff and a smile to Kim, she cradled Sky close and carried her away to bed.

***