Painting, Prayer and Anger

Life News:

Moved to existential rage by all the recent nonsenses perpetrated by the Church of England, I have started a blog called The Angry Anglican, so if you wish to find out my views on women bishops, gay marriage, the church and what's currently happening in it all, please do feel free to visit. You'll be more than welcome, whoever you are.

In the meantime, I have also been utterly horrified by the terrible death of that unfortunate nurse cruelly hoaxed by people who don't seem to have many brain cells between them. Honestly, if I were in charge, all public hoax calls would be illegal and the idiots who perform them would be forced to endure hard labour for some considerable time. I was therefore greatly heartened by Lord Glenarthur's strongly-worded yet polite response. Well said, sir. It does however annoy me that the radio presenters are said to be having counselling for their trauma. Trauma schmauma. I don't believe any of their family members have just died in very sad circumstances. It's not them who should be having the ruddy counselling, but the nurse's family (says she in a very unChristian manner, I know, but at least I'm being honest). I hope they're paying for the sessions but I suspect they don't possess the decency ... RIP Jacintha Saldanha.

Turning to other sad news, I'm sorry to see that Sir Patrick Moore has just died - I really liked him and he was one of a kind. RIP also Sir Patrick then.

It's not been all sad this week though. I've made an Apple and Cinnamon Cake, which turned out well, but doesn't look exciting enough for a photograph. Sorry. Maybe next week! I've also begun to receive the usual drift of Christmas cards from elderly relatives, quite a few of whom ask if "I'm still carrying on with my funny little hobby of writing." Deeeep sigh and bless, eh. As the question evidently portrays an overwhelming lack of interest in what means such a great deal to me, I wonder why they bother asking at all. I'm tempted to send said elderly relatives copies of my latest gay erotic work, but I don't really want to be responsible for a whole stream of RIP reports ...

It's also amused me that our local Citizens' Advice Bureau is apparently now over £40,000 in debt. Snort! Maybe they should make an appointment with themselves to try to sort it out? Hmm. Or maybe not.

Oh, and is it me or is it now compulsory to have a criminal sexual past if you want to be famous? The mind boggles ...

Book News:

Through the whole of this month, there's a 25% discount on all my gay erotic fiction at Amber Allure Press. So do feel free to stock up for Christmas - it'll be too cold to go out.

My new Christian novella The Prayer Seeker is now available very cheaply indeed at Amazon UK and Amazon US. Also ideal for Christmas! It was even briefly at No 58 in the Amazon UK Religious Fiction charts, so that was quite pleasing.

Gay literary short story Painting from Life has now been republished and is available at a far cheaper price than previously from Amazon UK and Amazon US. Interestingly, it has no sex in it, but a lot of hidden passion and paint. Happy reading.

I was also very pleased indeed by a lovely new 5-star review of fantasy novel The Gifting over at Amazon. Many thanks, Lynn - it's much appreciated. Meanwhile, I'm secretly rather thrilled that over at Musa Publishing, they're going to be taking on the work of the bestselling Roger Rabbit author, so I'll be sharing a publisher with someone famous, well gosh! They're lucky to be in the same publishing stable as me, of course ...

Finally, the cover art for the upcoming gay Office Affairs anthology from Amber Allure Press can now be revealed. My offering is comic story Who Moved My Holepunch? and is scheduled to be published in March.







Anne Brooke
The Angry Anglican
Gay Reads UK
Biblical Fiction UK
The Gathandrian Fantasy Trilogy
Lori Olding Children's Author

Books, Loss and Prayer

Life News:

I'm very sorry to say that my lovely former ground floor neighbour in Godalming died in his old people's home on Sunday night. It's been something of a shock, really, even though he was elderly (nearly 90 - how I wish he'd made it to that big day) and had become increasingly unwell over the last few months. I'm glad I was able to see him last Thursday for half an hour or so - I didn't know then it would be saying goodbye - and I'm glad we were able to chat, albeit briefly.

Funny how I've known Henry for 18 years as a neighbour sharing the same house as us, and funny how it became friendship almost from the start. He was very much part of the reason we stayed in the house all that time, and odd how when he left it for the home early last year, everything changed. I'll really miss him. He was always kind and courteous, and nothing was too much trouble - in many ways, and K agrees, the fact that he's gone seems like the end of an era for us. There's no-one left in our old home now who was there when we arrived, and that feels odd.

Things I'll remember about Henry:

* His daily chopping of wood for his fire every morning at 6.30am, come sunshine or rain, or even snow - it was somehow very soothing and an excellent alarm call.

* His fascinating and very moving stories of the war, and how the terrible things he'd experienced as a young man in Germany changed his life and led to his absolute and deep-seated belief in peace, his hatred of any kind of war and his commitment to Communism.

*The time when we went on holiday and forgot to leave contact details - and when we got back our water tank had burst, flooding his flat below for a week, and he'd misplaced our keys so he couldn't get in. While I was traumatised at what happened and couldn't apologise enough, he smiled and said (in that inimitable accent of his), "Ach, Anne, it was nothing compared to the Russian front in Winter ..." No doubt very true, and there's no answer to that.

* The time when I was trying to find him at the home, and was told he was in the living room having a sing-along with the other residents. I asked the staff not to disturb him as I was happy to wait, but he came along anyway as it was me (what a gent!). He happily told me he'd been learning some wonderful English war songs which he'd really enjoyed singing and, how much he'd loved learning Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag as, "with those sort of tunes, no wonder the English won the war." Marvellous. However, he did admit, with a twinkle in his eye, that he was probably wise not to offer to teach them the war songs of the German army ...

* The marvellous fact that he was possibly the only man in the country who has been decorated both by the Third Reich (for looking after his tank which had broken down in Russia and which he managed to hang on to) and the British Government (for saving the life of a tramp who was on the railway line when he was working here as a prisoner of war). And did Henry ever tell me that himself? No - I had to find out from his daughter.

Anyway, this morning it was good to meet up with his son and daughter again over a coffee and just catch up with what happened, although we would all have preferred different circumstances could have instigated it. He was a good man and I'll miss him. RIP Henry.


Book News:

The free giveaway of The Gifting at Goodreads continues for another 16 hours only so there's still time to enter. I'm amazed that 450 people have thrown their hats in the ring (I expected 10!) and I hope the 5 winners enjoy the read. Sadly, however, I've been blooded at the hunt (as they say) with my first 1-star review from someone who really hated every word of the beast. Ouch, indeed! Though I do wonder if it might be my mother getting her own back for the fact that I almost forgot her wedding anniversary, shame on me ... In which case, I deserve all of it and more!

However, some kind of balance was achieved in the literary universe by the fact that the Los Angeles Public Library has just bought an e-copy of The Gifting, so I'm hoping some good people might borrow it once that's available. Here are the next few sentences:

In any case, this battle has been a bloody one. Even though it has been fought largely in the realm of the mind, already it has claimed too many. And destroyed too much.

Other good and unexpected news is that my spiritual novella, The Prayer Seeker, has been accepted for publication by DWP Publishing - so that's a huge thrill and I've sent the signed contract back to them today.

Along the same lines, I've finally had the courage to press the "send" button for the second in the Gathandrian Trilogy, Hallsfoot's Battle, and so it has today winged its way to Bluewood Publishing for consideration. Here's hoping ...

On a rather naughtier note, you can enter the free giveaway at Jessewave reviews today for a copy of For One Night Only, so good luck with that one! You can also read a brief 4-star review of For One Night only, and Tommy's Blind Date also gets a 4-star review at Goodreads, so thank you to both reviewers for those.

Vulpes Libris has a review of Alice Hoffman's marvellous literary and very human novel, The Story Sisters, and I do thoroughly recommend that one. It's intense but definitely worth it.

Finally, to end, here are this week's meditations:




Meditation 550
Water on your skin
and the sharp dazzle
of sunlight
through the dark curtain

wash your sins
clean away
and prepare you
to serve God one day.




Meditation 551
Music and laughter
draw you to the window –
echoes of delight,

sunshine and dancing
in this bright morning sky –
and you catch sight

of such celebration
to welcome God’s arrival.
Something right

whispers behind you
where riches and old comfort
bind you to the night.




Meditation 552
The music is already here.
It’s existed for all time
and no time.

It’s folded into the air’s
cooling molecules
and contained afresh

by the arching sky.
It whispers over your skin,
waiting to be allowed within.


Anne Brooke

Videos, poetry and some sad news

Let's start with the sad news. Which is that, unfortunately, our middle neighbour in our block of 3 flats died of heart troubles earlier this week. He'd been waiting for a heart operation in hospital and we've visited a couple of times, but he never made it to have the actual op. I'll miss him - he could be an archetypal crusty old gent of the old school, but he was always, always fascinating. He could also be extraordinarily generous. When we moved in 17 years ago, he left a bottle of very good champagne and two rather posh glasses at our front door to help us celebrate - a gesture that always makes me smile, even today. He loved high-class wine, birds (of both varieties, in spite of his age!), poetry and Spain - and who can argue with that? It leaves a big gap in our little house, which feels much emptier today. You can find two of his marvellous books (and he wrote just as he spoke, so was always a writer who was very much in touch with his voice) on Spain and flamenco dancing here and here. Both come highly recommended.

Keeping on the subject of death and what we remember, and indeed poetry, here's this week's poem (about my father) from my poetry course:

September 1977

We live
only four minutes’ walk
from school

and my mother’s car waits
in the car park
so I know my father is dead.

Hair blows across my face
and in the distance
I hear laughter.

The sky is so blue
and my schoolbag weighs heavy
across my shoulders.

When I take it off,
the fabric drags along the ground.
Without looking, I can name the books

that spill from it:
a Latin grammar;
Voltaire’s Candide.

They smell new.
The way spines snap
when first opened

is a memory
that prickles my skin.
I am so close to the car now.

I reach out,
take hold of the handle.
Breathe.


Turning to book news, I'm happy to say that Thorn in the Flesh is now available at Amazon US and Amazon UK. And I have uploaded the book trailer at YouTube.

Similarly, Pink Champagne and Apple Juice is now available with free worldwide delivery at The Book Depository. It too comes with its own book trailer - which is proving extraordinarily popular with 82 views since I uploaded it only a couple of days ago. Which just goes to show that the viewing public love comedy, jolly music and a pretty blonde girl. Must remember that for next time I write something new then!

And, finally, the latest chapter of The Prayer Seeker is now available for reading - it's on anger, as Michael finds he has much to work through. As do we all, really.

But, to end (or almost ...) with very exciting bird news, Lord H and I spent the day in Arne in Dorset yesterday - we saw some stunning sika deer, really close to, plus seven (yes, seven!!!) spoonbills, a couple of blackcaps, a few red-breasted mergansers - all of which were firsts for this year. Plus - the crowning glory and a lifetime first - a firecrest. Hurrah!

So, there are two haikus this Sunday for you:

The first signs of spring:
men on yellow bicycles;
a pink Fiesta.


It's a conundrum:
how to persuade daffodils
to unfurl their blooms.


Heck, I bet Wordsworth never had those problems, on either count ...

Anne Brooke - in fairly thoughtful mood
The Prayer Seeker's Journal - where anger finds a voice

Surreal thoughts on death and other matters

Well, it's finally happened and Gladys died yesterday. An event waiting to happen for a long, long time, in my opinion. More shocking to note, possibly, is that all I can feel about it is a mild relief and the thought that I won't have to schedule in my weekly twenty minute silent visit to her any more. Which, I have to say, is more than anything a scathing revelation of my sadly lacking sense of humanity. I've been told already by well-meaning friends what a shame it was for "poor Gladys". Yes, well, it's a pitiful end to a life - I don't think dying in a nursing home in the grip of a terrible depression is anyone's idea of a good ending - but I have to say I'm glad it's over. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't.

What's focusing my mind most of all is (a) the nagging worry that in forty years' time (assuming I get that long), it's going to be me. Well, like Gladys, I'm child-free from choice and with very distant family - though in my case that's emotionally and not necessarily geographically. Frankly, I can't imagine anything worse than dying with my blood relatives around me. God forbid. I haven't been that greatly impressed with the sum of them during life, so what on earth would I want with them in the dying process? Oh, and (b) no matter how much I try to reassure myself from a Christian perspective, I have to admit I'm not at all enamoured of the thought of the afterlife. Really, I just don't want to go there. I don't like change and Heaven, should it exist, seems crowded with people - two of my worse-case scenarios indeed. I'd far rather - if I have to think about death at all - be somewhere nice and quiet with Lord H and not have to worry about anyone else. That would be Heaven indeed. Much like being at home then.

Anyway, things I remember best about Gladys and I think are important to note, both bad and good, are: (a) I have to admit I didn't like her that much, though in some respects I admired her and was also, at times, sorry for her; (b) she could be quite cutting about aspects of my appearance (never great at the best of times) when she wanted to be (hence the (a) note); (c) she and her late husband Charlie stole the frogspawn from their landlord's garden when they left the flat they were in to move to Godalming, and I thought that was hellishly stylish - it always made me smile; (d) she and Charlie used to go on a lot of serious walking holidays all over Europe when they were young and once had a sing-song with Benjamin Britten and Peter Pears on a cruise ship round the ship's piano. Totally magical indeed. Oh, and (e) she generally disliked children - which, naturally, I thought was wonderful.

Anne

On the trail of the mystic scaup ...

.... which, for those of you not in the know (yes, that did include me at the start of today), is much like a tufted duck but without the tuft and with a grey back. Hmm, that probably doesn't help you much either, does it? Sorry ...

To ease the pain, here's this morning's meditation:

Meditation 83

God speaks
from above the Covenant Box,
somewhere between
the angels.

You can’t see him,
but you feel his weight
on your shoulders
like the deep enduring sky.

Sadly we didn't find the scaup during our day's outing to Titchfield Haven, though we did manage to spot plenty of those dang tufted ducks, plus a million and one black-headed gulls, not to mention shovelers, teal, black-tailed godwit, the odd curlew and this year's new bird (hurrah!) the buzzard. Great stuff. We also remembered not to eat at the cafe (it's rubbish ...) and took our own lunch, which included chocolate chip cookies from Budgen's. To die for indeed.

And, talking of death, we were much amused to be following a company car on our journey down which bore the legend "Paranormal Investigations". Yes!! That is sooo absolutely and perfectly the company I want to work for. Sadly they didn't have a ghost-busters' logo on the side and in fact the whole thing was very subtle. Also sadly there was no website, but only a phone number which I can no longer remember. Sigh. But ah I long to be their receptionist. It would somehow bring to fruition all those Dennis Wheatley novels I read in my teenage years ... Not to mention that it's given me quite a sparky idea for a story or two, so I'll have to let that one bubble under for a while for sure.

Mind you, I'm obviously pretty confused at the moment, as I thought it was yesterday when I couldn't understand what TV was on, but in fact it's tonight. Yesterday was fine - QI followed by Not Going Out, and everyone's happy. It's tonight I can't get my head round. Where on earth do the days go? Ooh, and the daffodils are most definitely out down south - which is lovely to see. So much so that it's inspired me to buy a plant in Waitrose on the way home tonight. It's a pink begonia which I've christened Betty. I fear for her safety though as it's well known amongst the leisured classed that I am a serial killer of plants. If anyone has any begonia advice or tips, please do let me know before Betty breathes her last ...

Today's nice things:

1. Poetry
2. Birds
3. Paranormal investigators
4. Plants.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website - the scourge of all begonias, everywhere ...

The search for echinacea and the haircut from heaven

For some reason which neither of us can understand, Lord H's alarm went off at 6am today and both of us woke up not feeling remotely tired. In fact we even got up, with enthusiasm - how astonishing. Usually, on work days, I lounge around till 6.15am and Lord H doesn't surface till 7. At least. Today, however, we were up with the larks and had already solved world hunger by 6.30am and brought peace to the earth by 6.45. God, but we're good. Our job here is done, Carruthers - it only remains for the mother ship to return and carry us home. Hmm, must be delayed on the intergalactic highway ... Ah well.

I managed to be in Godalming at 9am ready to hit the shops. I've never seen the carpark so empty. I must try and aim for that time of day again sometime. And I actually managed to get everything I went out to buy, though I did have to go into every single pharmacist on the High Street - including the one I never go into because they're horrid and never have anything - in order to find my essential Echinaforce tablets (for colds, you know, though I do feel better today, thank the Lord). No, the horrid shop didn't have it. What a surprise. An additional surprise was that the alternative small pharmacist (yes, I'd already tried Boots and Superdrug by then - in vain) appears to have shut down. Perhaps they knew I was coming? Anyway, I finally found a huge bottle of the aforementioned medicine in Waitrose. Good old Mr Waitrose. Where would we be in Godalming without him?

Talking of Godalming, our death count is going up, m'dears. Hot on the heels of last week's murder, we now apparently had a dead homeless person in the middle of the High Street this week. Lordy, we are indeed becoming a hotbed of crime and tragedy and I am EVEN MORE determined to open the front door to nobody at all unless they have character references. At least. However, the slight good news about all this is I know it's not one of the two nice people who sell The Big Issue, as I checked: they were both there. Phew. Anyway, whatever next??

Back in the safety of home, I have added another 1000 words to Hallsfoot's Battle, and am now at over 52,000 words. I like the way the scene is turning out too - I'm bringing Simon into the Gathandrian Legends in a way neither he nor I anticipated, but hell it works, so I'm going with it. No doubt it will traumatise him even more, but I do need him to be angry. Because the heat will - I hope - rise in the latter half of the novel and I do need him to be angry for that, rather than terrified. Aha! We'll see anyway.

Lynda the hairdresser has also swept in with her usual charm and style, and now my hair looks pretty damn good, I have to tell you. I do like the way I'm growing it a little longer - I think it suits me and it's a softer, less serial-killer look. Hell, I'll be wearing skirts next and simpering. God forbid. Tonight, I need to do some heavy-duty cleaning and settle in for an evening's chilling. In the good sense - as my current chill levels are rather too high, and I've been wearing my scarf, fingerless gloves and Country Innovation padded waistcoat in the flat all day (on top of my usual clothes - please, people!...). Yes, the heating is on and yes it's still cold. That's the curse of living in the servants' quarters of a Victorian house, dammit. Roll on summer ...

Today's nice things:

1. Unusual energy
2. Finding the Echinaforce tablets, eventually
3. Continuing with Hallsfoot
4. Haircuts.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website - stylish and sassy, don't ya know ...