Goodness me, it seems as if my feet haven't touched the ground once today - or perhaps I really am sitting very strangely at the computer desk? It's hard to say ... Anyway, I had fun last night answering some very searching interview questions from First Edition Magazine which they hope to publish in May. And I also filled in an author publicity sheet for Bridge House Publishing in preparation for the arrival of the Real Bible Stories anthology later in the year. Hell, I almost sound like a real writer there. Obviously it can't last ... Actually I'm very excited by the anthology as Bridge House have all sorts of plans and ideas for it, including a blog, an authors' network and a possible launch event etc etc, depending on how near to each other all the contributors live. In the sheet, they also asked for suggestions of who might endorse the work, and I instantly thought of Victor Stock, the Dean of Guildford Cathedral, or perhaps the University Chaplain, Jonathan Frost. Something to ponder on, maybe ...
This morning, I'm afraid I've not done my usual Bible reading, so there's no meditation poem - my excuse is that I've had to skip breakfast in preparation for a cholesterol blood test at the doctor's so I haven't had the energy for spiritual exercise. Of any sort. At the surgery, they managed to get some blood out of my arm at the first attempt too (very rare), so well done them. However I shall be sure to limp and look suitably pathetic for when Lord H comes home. No change there then. I also had my usual diabetes test done at the same time - really, in this day and age you'd think they'd provide something more suitable than that minute test-tube to do one's business in, but sadly not. Apparently they'll ring me and let me know if (a) my cholesterol is rubbish; (b) I have diabetes; or (c) I'm dead. How kind. So no news is good news, as they say. Whilst there, I also picked up a renewal of my HRT pills, as they seem to be working okay at the moment. Long may that continue, eh.
For the rest of this morning, I've been having fun sourcing pictures, music and making a running plan for my proposed book trailer for Maloney's Law. For which I must heartily thank the lovely and talented Caroline Rance who spared me time in her no doubt action-packed pre-publication schedule to write me a short manual of how to do a book trailer. Thank you so much, Caroline - you are an utter star! I'm planning to have a go at the first version of it, with Lord H's help, this weekend, so wish me luck. However, at this stage in the game, I'm really thrilled with the pictures I've found, and the music is ace too. I can't wait to see how it turns out.
I've also managed to squeeze out another 1000 words to Hallsfoot's Battle, so I'm now into the 101,000 zone. And I think we're getting to some pretty explosive and magical goings-on right now. Though Ralph is rather the worse for wear, what with the agonies the mind-executioner has put him through. At the moment in that little scene, Simon is actually the only sane one there - which is a rather desperate situation, to say the least. Whatever next, I wonder.
In the midst of all that, I've also written a nonsense poem based on the words "bank", "barn" and "bottom". Yes, well. That probably is as good an indication of the state of my brain as any. It just started drumming away at my head at about 10.30 (maybe it's the lack of breakfast?), demanding I notice it, so I had to give in in the end. I enjoyed writing it too. Better out than in. As it were.
And much to my blessed relief, I've finally dragged myself, moaning and chortling (but not in a good way), to the end of the quite astonishingly dire Belshazzar's Daughter by Barbara Nadel. She's described on the front of the book as the "Donna Leon of Istanbul". I've never read a Leon. Is she really that bad?? Words fail me. Are publishers on drugs??? It's the only explanation. Anyway, it's very sloppily written, the point of view changes with the wind, even within paragraphs, and it's full of horrid, selfish people, all of whom I wished had died on Page 1. The only good thing is that Policeman Number Two, Suleyman, is nice, and Policeman Number One, Ikmen, is interesting. That's about it really. The plot is so cliched that I actually laughed out loud at several points, unable to believe what I was reading. I began to fear I would never get to the end of it and I would be stuck in the nightmare world of Nadel for ever, with no possibility of reprieve. Please God let her not write anything else. I couldn't bear the thought.
Tonight, Lord H and I are lightening the mood by going to the theatre to see Lloyd George Knew My Father. I'm hoping it's as funny as it says it is - after the recent reading horror, I need all the comedy I can get. Hell, I deserve it.
Today's nice things:
1. Responding to an interview request
2. Publicity sheets
3. Book trailers
4. Writing Hallsfoot
5. Nonsense poetry
Anne's website - I'm ready for my close-up, Mr DeMille ...