Reading success and what not to do at church

Was thrilled this morning to see that Short Fuse Brighton have invited me to read my comic short story, Creative Accountancy for Beginners, at their upcoming fantasy fiction event at Komedia on 5 April. So something exciting to look forward to, hurrah. And best make sure I get those strange alien accents right - start practising early, eh ...

However the Gods of Rejection can't let me alone for too long - another short story, An Unholy Affair, has been refused (goodness me, how can such things be indeed?? Somebody pass me the smelling salts) - though it was nice at least that the editor said he'd enjoyed it and would like to see more. So I've sent that particular one back out to another market, and added a fresh short story and poetry submission to my tally. Never let it be said I don't make an effort.

This morning, Lord H and I have paid our respects to the great Almighty by popping into the 1662 communion service at Shackleford. On the way there, I was driving Lord H's car for the first time (Fords are always lovely but it's a bigger model than I'm used to - I know that's soooo girly but I just prefer cars where I can see roughly where the rear end is. Give me a Fiesta any day ...) and on one of the country routes, a rather keen motorist stuck his nose out of his driveway so I couldn't get by without crashing into the vehicles on the other side of the road. Forced therefore to let him out, I muttered my usual Christian blessing (something along the lines of "ignorant t***er!) before we all drove on. Yes, you've guessed it - we followed him all the way to church, and he and his good lady life sat in the pew behind. Groan. But what a wonderful example of instant retribution for my sins - so God is obviously fully alert and functioning on all cylinders (pun deliberate - honest ...) today. Be warned.

There was also a moment of hysteria on the way out of church as I stopped between the dividing curtain and the outside door to button my coat up, and Lord H at once began to pretend he was being strangled by wrapping his hands round his throat, sticking his head out of the curtain and making choking sounds. I don't think anyone noticed however - causing me to remark that perhaps next time we should go the whole hog and I can start making stabbing gestures and throwing tomato sauce onto the table next to the curtain. The shires are getting more Midsomer every day, you know.

Talking of things holy (or unholy), here's this morning's meditation poem. It's the start of Leviticus, so hold onto your hats - we're in for a bumpy ride.

Meditation 50

There’s a lot of blood.
That’s a given.

Funny
how it’s never bothered me

though the way
it spatters the altar

is disturbing.
Why have I not seen that before?

No, what clings
to my senses

like something unforgiven
is the long dark path

to the judges
and the silence

beyond.


Meanwhile, I've been working away on Hallsfoot's Battle and am now at 79,000 words. I'm starting to revisit what's going on between Simon and the mind-executioner so I'll need to throw in a barrel-load of tension somewhere. It's all a bit hazy at the moment, but hey I should be used to that by now.

And tonight we have a veritable plethora of good TV. Honestly, it seems as if all the good TV for the week had been put on today and the rest of the week is a sad viewing desert. Anyway, tonight it's Episode 2 of The History of Christianity, followed by the glorious Larkrise to Candleford and then we have the first part of a two-part detective programme, Hunter. It's got Hugh Bonneville in it so it's got to be good. He's wonderful. I'd best get my cocoa ready pretty soon then ...

This week's haiku is:

Headlamps strip the night,
rain holds back the dawn. The road
breathes slow through the trees.


Today's nice things:

1. An invitation to read my short story in Brighton
2. Church dramas
3. Poetry
4. Hallsfoot
5. Glorious TV
6. Haikus.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website - getting her comeuppance sooner than you think ...