Hit Lists, holidays and haikus

Book News:

A big thank you to Andy Frankham for his lovely 5-star review of The Hit List - it's much appreciated, especially as I think The Hit List is a book and indeed a main character that you either love or hate, so nice to know Jamie's story might not be as bad as once feared, ho ho. I'm also pleased to say that The Delaneys and Me was briefly up at No 44 in the Amazon Kindle Gay Fiction charts, and that Martin and The Wolf is now a bestseller at All Romance Ebooks, along with The Bones of Summer, so they can keep each other company, hurrah!

In other writing news, The Boilerman and The Bride is now available at All Romance Ebooks where it looks as if people might actually be buying it, so that's nice, thank you! I've sent the final galleys for Tuluscan Six and The Time Circle back to Amber Allure Press ready for publication on 18 July. But before that, I'm happy to announce that my comic fantasy story, Creative Accountancy for Beginners, will be published by Untreed Reads on 14 July - that's this Wednesday, so it's going to be an action-packed week indeed.

Some of my ebooks are also now available at a new ebook seller, EntourageeDGe, in EPub and PDF versions, so that's definitely worth a browse ... And, finally, in the news section, five of my meditation poems now appear in the first edition of Thirty First Bird Review, which is available in paperback and ebook versions, and you can find out more about this new magazine here. And, of course, the final part of Chapter Thirteen is now uploaded at The Prayer Seeker's Journal.

Meditation poems this week are:

Meditation 385
Fighting over the ownership
of a baby
isn’t my idea
of a fun day out

and, unlike Solomon,
I might have been tempted
to finish the bloody job
and leave the mothers with nowt.


Meditation 386
In the list
of meaningless cities
and men
owned by the king

an ancient poetry
rises like unseen dust
stretching all the way
from then

to now
and holding me
in its strange
and glittering spell.


Meditation 387
A thousand songs
whisper their magic
through the cedars
of Lebanon,

drifting like gold shadows
through wheat,
waiting for a wise man
to catch them.


And there are two haikus this week, as I've been rather inspired by this hot spell:

The scent of roses
carves dark glory into air,
enriches my skin.


Scented we walk through
a chorus of lavender.
Like the bees, we hum.


Life News:

I have been deeply pleased by the fact that the ridiculous attempt at a compromise over women bishops in the UK (bring 'em on, and soon!) has been rejected, an item of news which you can find out about here. I mean, really, just let women, and indeed gay men, be bishops where they ought to be, and ruddy well get on with it, I say. If the C of E splits because of it, well, so what, says she radically - frankly I don't give a damn and perhaps we even ought to let it happen - it's increasingly obvious that we as a church simply don't fit in any more with the people inside or outside us and we need to create something else more fitting. Now there's a thought ...

On a less radical note, Lord H and I had an absolutely wonderful day out at Polesdon Lacey yesterday, admiring the lovely rose garden and really appreciating the new approach of opening more rooms and letting people try things out, hurrah! I loved seeing the bathrooms and toilets (how I love bathrooms & toilets!) which we haven't been able to see before - and how Lord H and I especially loved the fact we could sit on the comfy chairs in the Billiard Room and read the old 1930s newspapers. I was amused to see that the English football team in 1936 were having a spot of bother, and the manager had decided that to cheer them all up he would take them out to the theatre. What a good idea! Perhaps we need to bring those old ways back again? Surely a night out at Les Miserables might put the oomph back into the England team today? You never know. Lord H was equally impressed to see in the 1938 Daily Chronicle that the good Neville Chamberlain has promised us peace in our time. I replied that it would never last, to which Lord H's response was that surely I wasn't saying we couldn't trust the German leadership?? What frightfully bad show to think that a man's word wasn't his bond ... Ah well, hindsight's a wonderful thing.

I must end however, with an appreciative nod to the wonderful article in yesterday's Daily Telegraph magazine about the worst and best holidays taken by children. It's fantastic and so honest, and hell I don't even like children. But who couldn't warm to 4-year old Birdie who says "the best moment of my holiday was me, in the swimming-pool looking very beautiful." Ah, Birdie, your character is already set in stone and you're a woman after my own heart, you know. Apart from the swimming thing. And I also thought there was a hell of a lot of fascinating stuff going on in the mind of 11-year old Valdis, who would most like to go to Greece, because he really wanted to see the origins of all those brilliant myths, and who, bizarrely, most wanted to go on holiday with John the Baptist. Ah, a writer in the making, I see ... though whether Valdis wanted John the Baptist with or without his head remains uncertain ...  Time will tell.

Anne Brooke
The Prayer Seeker's Journal

A day when things just don’t work …

… dammit. Managed to break one of our nice glasses in the kitchen today – why can’t I ever break one of the horrid ones?? I then spent some minutes looking for the dustpan and brush to clear up the glass, but then realised that Lord H had left it in the loft whilst working on the watertank over the weekend. As I don’t do the loft – too spidery – I then had to get Lord H out of the bath and into the loft to retrieve it. My, the excitement we have in the mornings here in the shires. And we came here for the peace and quiet, don’t you know.

Anyway, as I was running a little late, I waved Lord H goodbye and then started drying my hair. When I left the flat five minutes or so later, he was still outside attempting to start the car. It’s obviously a day for things to go wrong. I offered him my car for the day, but he was determined to get his own started via the tender ministrations of the RAC, so I drove on with a merry wave. As you do. I’ll have to find out whether he actually made it to work later on. What a good wife I am. Not. UPDATE: he did make it to work, but only at lunchtime. The RAC man had no idea what was wrong with the car either. Time for a new one, I feel …

For the rest of today, I’ve been typing up minutes at work and attempting to rationalise my huge shopping list. I ended up shopping at lunchtime (it’s easier to get a parking space in the middle of the day now it’s vacation time) and after work. I’m a glutton for punishment really. And I’m also vaguely thinking about possible conversations between Simon and Annyeke in Hallsfoot’s Battle – but only vaguely, so don’t get too excited. Ho ho.

Tonight, I shall be at home, hurrah! And watching “Springwatch” so I can catch up on all the fledglings I missed over the weekend (honestly, every time I turned away from the webcam for a second, another one had gone, dammit. I sulked for hours. Thus proving what a mature and rounded human being I am …). I’ll also be luxuriating (no doubt) in Rupert Everett’s programme on “The Victorian Sex Explorer”. Bliss.

Though, sadly, my hopes of a pleasant evening were rather dampened by the fact that Waterstones have cancelled my long-outstanding order for Thorn in the Flesh on the spurious grounds that it's not available at all online. A simple email to Gardner's would solve that problem, but they're obviously way too much up their own arses to bother with something so logical. Still, at least (unlike Amazon) they've actually put a "Not Available Online" button on their Thorn entry, together with a link to AbeBooks (no, they've never heard of the book either). So. I have resigned myself to having yet another commercial failure on my hands, this time partly helped by the fact that none of the main online retailers are prepared to stock anything by Goldenford.

Also I think it's time to admit that I'm better off simply writing stuff I want to write to the best of my ability and continuing (hopefully) to sell it to the forty or fifty friends (both online and off) who are prepared to buy it. It saves the agony of thinking: maybe this one will make it? Or this one? Because, to be honest, the whole process is beginning to defeat me, and I don't think I'm prepared to fight to be heard (or even read) any more. This decision also seems to echo the fact that I've been withdrawing from the publishing/pitching ring more and more over the weeks, and it seems to be the right way to go. So, no more painful submissions, I think - I'll leave it to the agent to take the rejections and when they come, I'll try the Goldenford route if there's space or, if not, then I can always print up a few of whatever it is myself. As you can see, I'm worn out and I simply don't want to play the game any more: why should I when the rules are so rarely in my favour?

Anyway, all that said, I've enjoyed reading Chris Preddle's poetry collection, "Bonobos". Some quite refreshing works and less pretension than is usually found in today's poetry. Thank the Lord. Preddle is best in the small moments of human interaction, I think, and in the area of family relationships. Well worth reading for that alone.

Today’s nice things:

1. Thinking about novel scenes
2. TV
3. Being at home this evening.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website
Goldenford Publishers

Haircuts and Monkey Kettles

Managed to get a respectable amount done to The Bones of Summer today - and ye gods, I might even have a plot appearing. Miracles will never cease ... I haven't overdone it either, so feel fairly chilled and somewhat less fragile (thank God for De-Stress pills and some very wise words from those in my virtual world - thank you) today. Anyway, the current novel is now standing at 15,000 words, and I think I'll have Paul & Craig staying overnight in Devon. They'll be hard-pressed to hightail it back to London now for sure.

Today's nice news is that one of my poems has appeared in the latest edition of "Monkey Kettle" magazine, so that's a good feeling. I quite like the look of the mag too - very quirky and "in your face". Love it. Today's ironic news is that the title of the poem I have in there is ... um ... "Anger." Yes, well, couldn't come at a more appropriate time, doncha know, bearing in mind yesterday's tirade. And at least the piece itself is rather more tongue-in-cheek than I was.

This morning, I've popped into Godalming to restock on the local paper and my dwindling supply of Vitamin B pills. Honestly, shake me and I swear I'll rattle. I also paid a flying visit to Gladys, but only stayed half an hour as she was still really tired after her birthday celebrations earlier this week. Well, at 91 years, you're entitled to feel spent after a picnic round the village pond. I get tired if I walk to the post box, and that's only five doors down ...

Lynda came to cut my hair early afternoon, so I have now thankfully lost my woolly Old English sheepdog look. Lord, but it's nice to see out from beneath the hair, you know. And as it was her birthday as well, I made her wear the Birthday Tiara (which comes complete with sparkly pink bits and a rousing press-button rendition of the Birthday Song played on what might well be a Glockenspiel) and take it away afterwards too. Well, I like to think I can provide appropriate sartorial support to today's professional woman.

Tonight, I really must do some cleaning, and then we've got pizza, herbal bread, ice cream, and a nice bottle of rose (sorry, don't know how to do an accent on that one ...) chilling in the fridge. Bliss.

Nothing worth watching on TV though - crap!

Today's nice things:

1. The "Monkey Kettle" poem
2. Getting a haircut
3. Friday night food & wine - bliss!

Anne Brooke
Anne's website
Pink Champagne and Apple Juice
Goldenford Publishers

A nearly contract and a failed bookstall

The sounds of semi-rejoicing are heard in the Godalming fields - John Jarrold has just sent a final "yes" to PD Publishing in the US about Maloney's Law. Well, shiver me timbers but I might soon have an actual, real contract to sign. Ye gods, but that will be a miracle indeed. Shocked Godalming Writer has to take a long lie-down and some strong smelling salts - the perfect headline in fact. However, I'm not cracking open the champagne until the contract is in my hot little hand. I know too well what this game is like, m'dears ...

I spent the first part of this morning polishing up my women & gay fiction article and sending it out to those noble women who have contributed to my meanderings - ie Erastes, M L Rhodes and Sharon Maria Bidwell - so they can check they like the content. After I've okayed it with them, I think I'll try Mslexia magazine first, before heading to the usual suspects. As it were. I think it's got a feminist interest angle, which is what they always seem to go for.

The rest of the day has been spent with Irene at the Shepperton bookstall on behalf of Goldenford. Gordon Bennett, but it was pissing it down. Big time. We got soaked packing the car with the books, and then I parked in what was basically a lake in the Shepperton Village Hall carpark. This involved us wading through water which was well over our ankles just in order to unload the car. We were utterly wet through, and I spent the whole afternoon barefoot - and still my socks and shoes didn't dry!! Dammit. And with all that, we only sold one book - one of Irene's, hurrah! So, all in all, not a great success. I doubt we'll be doing that one again. Still, we did get a lot of brainstorming done - we think that next time we do a Goldenford stall, we need props - such as pink champagne, free apple juice, red wine, Indian accessories and Medieval food and ceramics. All of which relate to our books. At least it will get the punters talking - let's hope it get them buying too!

Back home, I've attempted to ring Mother - but discover she's already been sent home. Double huzzahs all round. Ye gods, but keyhole surgery is amazing. She still has further tests to undergo to find out if she needs chemotherapy, but I'm hoping not, and that all will be well. But it's great news that she's back home, especially for her wedding anniversary next week. My stepfather is apparently even bringing her tea - which is a miracle in itself.

Oh, and today, Writewords has finally offered A Dangerous Man and A Stranger's Table for review. Not much interest or many takers so far, dammit, but I'm hoping someone on site might be persuaded soon. Lord, but it will be sooooo embarrassing if nobody wants them - after all, I've been a regular there for about three years now. Help!

Today's nice things:

1. My nearly contract - here's hoping ...
2. Getting my article finished
3. Mother being at home.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website
Pink Champagne and Apple Juice
Goldenford Publishers

Backs, ballet and books

Bought cakes on my way to work today, as it’s my birthday tomorrow but I don’t work on Thursdays. So I will be Mrs Popular for a day, hurrah! The office signed a card for me, which was very sweet, and also sang “Happy Birthday” when I’d sat down at my desk, which was also very sweet – if rather disturbing. I don’t think we’ll be entering the next series of “Britain’s Got Talent” in the choir category … Though of course, if you’re reading this at all, Carol, you’re a solo star in the making!...

The car’s gone in for a service & MOT today, so Lord H and I have swapped cars for the day. Must try and remember that his Renault Laguna is built like a tank, compared to my little Fiesta (goodness, how typical boy/girl couple we sound, all of a sudden, at least in our car choices …) so I can’t swerve into the parking spaces as I can with my own. Hope poor little Rupert (yes, I do name my car – don’t you?) is okay, and safe back tonight. I do worry about him.

And I’ve been thinking lately about scaling down the attempts to break into the world of the mainstream published. I’m just starting my seventh book now, and in my seventh year of writing fiction, and there have been no bites from any of the “big boys” so perhaps it’s time to accept that it simply isn’t going to happen. The constant attempts to chip away at the very thick glass ceiling that seems to exist around me have also, particularly over the last two years, been very debilitating and have really taken away a lot of the enjoyment I get from actually writing. I absolutely loved writing my first novel, The Hit List, and though I think it’s my worst one in terms of quality (which is probably better than it being my best – I like to think I’m improving after all), I’d love to get back that enthusiasm and sense of freshness that powered me through it. And yes it’s lovely to have been recently published by Flame Books (http://www.flamebooks.com) but I think they’re finding it hard to sell decent quantities of A Dangerous Man which must therefore be tricky for them too. After my attempts to be smiley and nice to people with ridiculous and surely unjustified amounts of emotional power at the forthcoming Annual Writers’ Conference (http://www.writersconference.co.uk), we’ll have to see.

The same goes for my poetry, which I’ve been writing for about twenty years now. I get accepted so rarely in magazines these days (though I was doing better – perhaps writing better? – a couple of years ago), that I think it’s time to revisit my once a month submissions schedule. I might scale down to trying once every couple of months. Rejections are soul-destroying enough, after all. Why put myself through it more than I absolutely have to? And I certainly won’t be sending collections out anywhere again. In my experience, people have enthused and promised to come back to me, but then after a year or so they just seem to disappear. I’ll stick to the self-publishing route. It just makes me feel a lot happier. Apart from the lack of sales of course. That’s always a bummer.

All this writerly thought and potential decision-making does make me feel sad, I have to admit. It’s hard to win awards for my work and yet get shunned by 99% of the publisher world – with the honourable exception of Flame! And also not forgetting Goldenford though there of course I do have a directorial say. But, for my own peace of mind, I do have to begin to think practically. And number my sales in the tens and fifties, rather than the hundreds or thousands.

Went to my back exercise class at lunchtime – the last of the academic year, at least for me as I can’t do next week’s. I’m hoping to get away with a light regime this session as I’d like to be able to move without aching tomorrow. I’m such an old crock, you know … Though now they tell me that they might put an extra week on, so is there, even in Health, no mercy?! Darn it, eh!

And I’ve just given up on Linda Fairstein’s Death Dance. I lost interest by page 103, to be honest. I think it was all too fast-paced and exhausting, and I didn’t care enough. I also preferred the sub-plot and had no interest in the main plot about the ballet dancer. Sigh.

Talking of which, tonight, Lord H is taking me out to the ballet at Woking – we’re going to have dinner at the theatre and see “Sleeping Beauty”, so that should be great. I love the ballet. I could have been a ballet star, you know, except that I have no sense of grace or balance. Or indeed any kind of skill or talent in that area. Ah well, another vocation cruelly snatched away, ho ho …

Today’s nice things:

1. Cakes at the office
2. The back class
3. Sleeping Beauty.

Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.pinkchampagneandapplejuice.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk

Golf & some small successes

Some good news this morning - the Bird and Moon 55 word website (http://www.birdandmoon.com/55words/) has nominated my 55-word fiction, "When the phone rang", for their Readers' Choice category awards, and you can find the story here:

http://www.birdandmoon.com/55words/readerschoice.html

under the February category. If you like it, please vote by 20 April! Many thanks! It's nice being shortlisted for a Readers' Choice in anything - a first for me indeed.

And I see also that the Momtazi website (http://www.momtazi.com) has now published my poem, "One small song", in their writers' gallery section, and you can find it here: http://www.momtazi.com/Gallery/index.php?do=poem&action=cat&cat=3. Heck, that feels nice too!

This morning has also been marked by a lazy lie-in and our complete non-attendance at the Palm Sunday service. Hell, I don't feel guilty at all. Which, I suppose, must be progress of a sort. I'm still intending to grace the church doors with my presence next week at Easter though - so I hope nobody keels over with the shock.

The majority of the day has been spent playing a wonderful round of golf with Marian & Siegi - though Siegi can't play very much at the moment due to recovering from a recent shoulder operation, though he did manage a few shots on the walk round with us. But we were not too bad at all, especially off the tee. Though I seem to have perfected my trick putting shot of going round the hole a couple of times before actually dropping in. Now if only I could work out how I'm actually achieving that, I could probably make a fortune. Hey ho. Lunch at Marian's was also very pleasant - and I've also been very brave (pause for astonished gasps and the odd cheer) as when the subject of church came up (which it sometimes does in their company though they're not church-goers), I admitted that I'm having something of a break from it. Lord, but I felt brave - it's quite rare for me to tell the truth when a social lie would be so much easier. Maybe I'm discovering a personal morality at last? Goodness, but my mother will be pleased. Anyway, we had a short discussion about it, and they were surprised but sweet, so I've lived to tell the tale. Phew.

Tonight, I'll have to finish packing for my three day conference in Nottingham next week (Monday to Wednesday) and then I have a slump in front of "Persuasion" on TV planned. It's my favourite Austen novel, I think, so they'd better do it well. It's got some hot boy chick (whose name I have forgotten - Rupert Somebody or Other? - but I can't be arsed to get off my ... um ... arse and check it out, sorry) in the role of her long-lost lover, so if I don't like the production at least I can admire the totty. Hurrah.

If I get a moment, I might well also start scribbling a poem about one of the paintings I saw at the Royal Academy exhibition on Friday, as I can feel the ideas quivering under my skin (yes, it's weird, I know but it's the closest description I can find to how I feel ...), but I doubt I'll finish it tonight. Which will be irritating as I usually like to finish a poem on the day I start it, or I get twitchy. Gosh, that's me well and truly out of my poetry writing closet, isn't it? Usually, when the poets I go to listen to start talking about how many weeks they've spent on their verses, I nod wisely and look sympathetic - but to be honest I haven't a fecking clue what they're talking about. If I haven't finished a first draft in an hour and polished it enough for public comment and advice after another hour, then I lose the will to live. I may well change stuff around later, of course, depending on comments received and my own instincts, but it's really only fiddling. Get 'em out, get 'em written, get 'em filed is what I say. As you can see, I have many hidden poetic shallows ...

Talking of which, here's this week's haiku (which I suspect is more of a thought I'll expand on into a larger poem later, so just call it a marker poem):

The Death of Marat:
One pale arm hangs down,
eyes contemplate peace while
the bloodied bath grows still.

Oh, and as I'll be away from Monday to Wednesday, I won't be blogging till Wednesday night, but I hope the start of all your weeks is as good as possible!

Today's nice things:

1. Being in the running for a Readers' Choice
2. Online publication of a poem
3. Golf.

Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk

Poetry, chocolate and grumpy women.

Not necessarily in that order though. It's very rare to meet a grumpy woman after a chocolate session. Before, of course, is another story ... Anyway, I forgot to say that Lord H came home last night, saying that the 14th Feb had been an interesting day at work, in that he'd been surrounded by 2 happy women and 20 grumpy ones. Being a boy, he hadn't liked to ask why. Probably a wise decision really. Still, at least he could safely wear his Smug Husband expression, knowing that he'd passed the marital test for that day. Ah, say I, but there are so many other days in the year ... the riotous rollercoaster that is married life continues apace, aha!

Also yesterday, but I forgot to say, my lovely colleague Ruth suddenly screeched and began to scrabble in her drawers (careful, people ... office drawers, you know. Please ...), eventually bringing out a chocolate Satan (yes, I have spelled that right) which she'd been saving up for me but had forgotten about when I was ill. And I can tell you that there really is nothing like a chocolate Satan to cheer up the general wellbeing quota. Just the sort of thing a non-church going, church going girl needs. I ate it in seconds. Maybe less. Thanks, Ruth! Though it is strange that I do know a woman who doesn't like chocolate. What is the world coming to?

And, talking of Ruth, she has once again been on her mysterious Number 19 bus, which turned up just when she wanted it to and took her to where she needed to be in the nick of time. This would ordinarily be dull news indeed - but the local timetables don't actually have a Number 19 bus and nobody else local has ever heard of it. Apparently, when she gets on, she never actually sees the driver's face and he doesn't ask for standard fares. And the bus is always virtually empty apart from her. Hmm. I'd suggest making sure she's not giving her hard-earned cash into a skeletal hand or hearing strange, maniacal laughter before she makes herself comfy next time. Still, as long as it works ... and after all stranger things have happened in Surrey, so they say. Just not to me.

Today, I've done more marketing and almost feel like a real author - if only because the sum total of my actual writing has been to (a) change one word in a poem - from "them" to "you", if you're asking - and (b) type a lot of new bumph down for "The Gifting", and then delete a whole load of old scenes, so that my total wordcount came out as significantly less than I had yesterday. God, how I hate it when that happens!! And why on earth do I write ahead when I know I'll probably change or scrap it anyway when I get to that point? It is indeed a mystery ... though if I'm honest I do enjoy dotting around like a goat on a rock when I'm stuck on a scene - it pushes me out of my "stuck" position. Sometimes. But I did get quite excited about the actual words I typed and left in today though - I think I got to the point when I was writing one thing and meaning something else about storytelling and how characters take us (um, for us, read "me" ...) over and don't let go. And, hell, I should know what that feels like (yes, yes, Michael, I can hear you, but not every novel is always about you, eh?...). Weird stuff. But fun.

Other news of today - "A Dangerous Man" is now on the scrolling advertising section of the YouWriteOn (http://www.youwriteon.com) site, so thank you very much to Edward for putting that up for me. And my brother-in-law (http://www.peterandsusan.co.uk/blogs/petersblog.asp - and now to be forever known as Lord B-I-L) has found my blog. Scary biscuits indeed! Soon, news of my oddities will spread through the whole of Lord H's family and I will be found garrotted one dark and lonely night with my hair pinned to the nearest chapel. You heard it here first ...

And I've been a good secretary and done the Goldenford (http://www.goldenford.co.uk) minutes - better late than never! Sorry, gals ... I got in a muddle over a finance minute ('twas ever thus ...) but thankfully Jackie (http://www.myspace.com/jackieluben) has corrected me. Thank goodness someone has their finger on the pulse, eh?

Oh, and "Borderlines" (the Anglo-Welsh Poetry Society's mag) has turned up. This Winter 2006 edition has one of my poems in ("Silken") - which also appears in "A Stranger's Table". It's one of my intermittent lesbian offerings (and if that doesn't scare Lord B-I-L, nothing will!! But don't worry, people - Lord H is entirely used to me by now ... cue: A lesbian moment? Super! How nice.)

Today's nice things:

1. Seeing "Silken" in Borderlines
2. Getting excited by writing - and wanting to do more: hurrah!
3. Seeing the ADM advert on the YouWriteOn site.

Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com

A Stranger's Table and Goldenford

Hey, had a good day at work today - ye gods, miracles can still happen. I worked like a trooper, got my minutes done, ploughed through my emails, took a walk round the lake at lunchtime and stared at the ducks, and even trogged on with my amendments to the mentoring handbook. Hell, I must eat cornflakes again for breakfast some time. Must be the E numbers.

And I think two more people might have ordered "A Dangerous Man" from Flame Books (http://www.flamebooks.com) so I might even have sold five. You never know ... But much to my delight I discover that a lady called Maxine has commented on the Crimeficreader blog (http://itsacrime.typepad.com) entry with ADM in it, saying that, of the three novels mentioned, mine looks the most interesting - http://itsacrime.typepad.com/its_a_crime_or_a_mystery/2007/02/some_more_new_c.html#more - I felt really chuffed on hearing that - thank you, Maxine! - and have replied saying how happy Michael is to hear it too. Well he is, but can only convey this by means of me; he's more a man of the drawing pencil than the pen.

At home, I discover that the lovely Martin Holroyd at Poetry Monthly Press (http://www.poetrymonthly.com) has sent me the copies of my latest poetry collection, "A Stranger's Table". My cup runneth over indeed! Perhaps this week is my lucky publishing week in the great mind of the universe and, after this, nothing will happen again for years? Still, it's a nice feeling, though - I'm not complaining! And it's a snip at only £5.50 for a collection full of sex, furniture and boats. Oh, and not forgetting the magic cat. What more could a poetry reader want? Once Martin has it on his website, it can be purchased from there, but otherwise, if anyone out there wants a copy, let me know and I can do the necessary. Post-free indeed. Surely no further good news can come my way this week?...

Tonight, it's Goldenford (http://www.goldenford.co.uk) , so I'm looking forward to catching up with them and working our way towards the publication of Jay Margrave's "The Gawain Quest" - which is an utterly amazing novel (hell, all our Goldenford novels are amazing and I should know - I edit them, apart from mine of course ...) which should be snapped up by all and sundry the moment it appears in June. I can never resist a novel which starts with such a sharp and witty sex scene, but then that's me for you.

Today's nice things:

1. Getting my copies of "A Stranger's Table"
2. The nice comment about Michael on the blog
3. Goldenford stuff.

Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com

Days off and DVDs

A day off work today - hurrah! Well, I have to use up holiday before the end of March, as I can only take 5 days over to next year, so this is the first of my spare days. Lord only knows why I don't take my full holiday allowance each year, but I never really have. Probably the protestant work ethic or some such bollocks.

Anyway, I spent the whole morning doing more marketing/PR type stuff for "A Dangerous Man". This isn't something I enjoy - bloody hell, who am I kidding? I hate it, I hate it! It gives me a headache - but at least I can do it all by internet and not worry about actual contact with the scary outside world. The modern age is a great boon to sociopaths such as myself ... But, hey, Chevonne from Flame (http://www.flamebooks.com) tells me she's sold one book - hurrah! So something must be getting through. And grateful thanks to whoever that was. Hell, I hope you like it ... Now, all I have to do is sit back and wait for the royalties to roll in, tee hee ...

This afternoon, I couldn't face any scribbling, so I watched "The Taming of the Shrew" from my Shakespeare Retold DVD instead. Hell, even I deserve a break sometimes! Anyway, it was marvellous. I love it - it's such a good production, and is the only thing I've ever liked Rufus Sewell in, I have to say. His irritating curly hair seemed to be under control, which made a difference - God, I am really so shallow that it's probably safe to say my reflection does a better job of being me ... Anyway, I thought he was made for that part. And the woman playing Kate was excellent too - wonderful expressions.

Ooh, and some advance publicity for "ADM" from the wonderful Rhian at Crimeficreader which can be found here: http://itsacrime.typepad.com/its_a_crime_or_a_mystery/2007/02/some_more_new_c.html#more - you need to scroll down a little to see it, as it's the third & final one on the new crime fiction list. Many thanks, Rhian - I'm very grateful.

At the same time, and as promised, Charles at the Ink, Sweat and Tears blog has posted my haibun, "A Journey with my father", which you can find here: http://www.ink-sweat-and-tears.com/ - it's the top one on that main page today, and you'll need to click "More" to read all of it. Again, thanks, Charles.

Tonight, Lord H and I are planning a slump in front of the TV, once he's brought the shopping home - "New Tricks" is on, and I do so love it. Oh, and I must say how wonderful it was last night to have "Foyle's War" on once again. It's a real class act and just what you need for a Sunday night. Actually, they filmed one of the episodes in Hascombe & Dunsfold not that long ago, but I think poor old Michael Kitchen (who is wonderful of course) found us all rather loud, scary and excitable. Perhaps he thought Surrey at least would be refined enough to give him some peace? Ah, those days are truly gone, I fear ... We're all star spotters now, m'dear.

And I've written a poem about retirement which I include below:

Changing lives

You’ve no use for him now,
all the years he gave you
in paper, ink and sandwiches
you’ve boxed up and returned
in the guise of one small clock.
Smiles and speeches too
but none of them can comfort him.

Because it’s over, and the last day
fades so soon; dusk comes early
in winter. Then handshakes, more smiles,
kind words, one last glance
at pale desks and coffee stains
and he’s gone; out of the door
and into his unimaginable life.

So he drives home, the familiar road
an alien landscape, each second
taking him a thousand miles
from that he knew and clung to.
The car stutters to a halt, the garage door
creaks and, in the space left behind,
all the evening birds come singing in.

At last he makes his way through azaleas
to the kitchen door, his world
so soon to be bordered by its yellow welcome.
Inside, his wife smiles, her eyes a subtle mix
of empathy and love; she hugs him,
makes him sit, stirs sugar into tea;
allows him the thought of a new way to be.

So, today's nice things:

1. Finishing the initial marketing push
2. Selling a copy of ADM
3. Watching my DVD.

Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk

A Dangerous Man - published!

Ye gods, it's here at last. After all these years of waiting (um, 5 to be precise, but it's a long, sad tale and you really don't want to hear it - trust me on that one ...), and well done to Flame (http://www.flamebooks.com) for making A Dangerous Man available in advance of the 16 February publication date. Anyway, you can find out all about Michael, the man trapped in my head here:

http://www.flamebooks.com/product.asp?prodId=32

At only £8, he's cheap at the price. Believe me. And, at the very least, you'll love the cover art - courtesy of writing friend and artist, Nell Grey (under her artist's name of Penelope Cline - http://www.nellgrey.co.uk). Thanks hugely, Nell.

The blurb is:

"Michael Jones, a young gay artist and part-time prostitute will do anything to stage his first exhibition. When he falls in love with rich financier, Jack Hutchinson, he seems set to achieve his goal. But as Mikey becomes caught between the unforgiving territory of smoky-bar Hackney and the green-garden luxury of upper class London, we witness the intense mindscape of a man obsessed with his dreams as he attempts to free himself of his past. When a net of antagonistic relationships and inner battles encroaches upon him, the consequences of Mikey’s uncompromising pursuit emerge in thrilling tragedy, leaving him having to fight for all he holds dear, and in the only way he knows how.

Within a plot thick with the flesh of individual struggle, a backbone of page-turning tension carries Mikey’s plight through the charcoal grey London which rubs itself so close to his skin, entrapping him in a dark kaleidoscope of sex and crime. Pushing him to the full expression of his haunting richness, Brooke alerts us to the psychological discourse and emotional minefield of a troubled man struggling to establish a sense of self and place in urban England."

Hmm, a slight touch of publisher's purple prose syndrome, I think. And here was I imagining it was just an everyday tale of urban folk ... But what the hell, eh? I'm still thrilled!! And I rather like being "Brooke". Makes me sound almost like a real person. Perhaps all my names are gradually disappearing though, and one day I won't be there at all? The writer formerly known as ... Anyway, it's good to have Michael out of my mental closet at last, I have to say - though part of me feels sorry he's not just mine any more. Assuming anyone actually reads him, that is. Apart from my mother and Lord H, gawd bless 'em. And, speaking of my mother, I did wonder aloud earlier on how she would take it, and Lord H's comment was that, knowing her, she'd probably want me to have written more sex scenes. Argghh!! Will the woman never be satisfied??! It just goes to show that, really, one can never please one's mother.

So, last night and this morning, I've spent a lot of time attempting to do some more marketing, and drafting potential press releases for the Surrey Advertiser and Writers' News. Once Flame send me the actual cover, I can get that done, along with those flyers I was promising myself. It's a good job that, having been self-published three times, I'm used to doing my own small thoroughly localised (and only 20% successful, sadly ...) version of PR. I gather mainstream authors are up in arms about having to sell their own stuff - well, get real, guys, the rest of us have been attempting it for years. Welcome to the real world, eh ... But I have to admit that it's still much easier via the internet though - as then I don't have to actually speak to anyone, which is a thought too terrifying to bear. For both parties.

Other good news today is that the Ink, Sweat and Tears website (http://www.ink-sweat-and-tears.com) are going to publish my haibun (mixture of short prose and haikus), "A journey with my father" - many thanks for that, Charles. And what's really astonishing about it is that I had the acceptance only 20 minutes after I'd submitted it. Now that's the kind of reaction a lonely writer really warms to. Why can't more publishers be like that? Even if it's a "no", it's better to hear something than absolutely nothing. Hell, no wonder we're all in therapy. It's astonishing we're standing upright at all.

What else has happened in the midst of my self-obsessed, egotistical roll? Well, Lord H has taken to doing secret origami in the living room with his new kit while I'm reading; he'll suddenly hold up strange shapes and wait for me to guess them before we can both move on with our lives. I've done well so far with penguin, piano and coffin, but came a cropper with fox, which I thought was a dragon. So my Wife Points are on the cusp of fading away, I fear ... Marriage is so full of these charming little competitions just to prove that the other person is still awake and functioning - it's a rollercoaster of tension and excitement, don't y'know. Thank goodness for that essential lunchtime sherry to ease our delicate nerves.

And I've just finished Jessica Harman's poetry pamphlet, "My Journey as an Unharmonious Being". Um, well, I liked some of the lines, but they really didn't hang together for me. And I do get irritated by books which include drawings; I don't really understand that at all. Why not simply let the words speak as they're supposed to? I kept getting into a flow of sorts and then coming up slap-bang against some supposedly arty black and white lined thing, which then took me away from the poems. Sigh. It all became too much of an effort, to be honest.

This week's haiku (in honour of Lord H) is:

On your birthday
strange fireworks light up the sky:
unexpected gifts.

Today's nice things:

1. A Dangerous Man is published
2. A Dangerous Man is published
3. Yes! You've guessed it - A Dangerous Man is published. God, I'm obsessively dull ...

Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk

Fruitcake and Ver-ses

Following on from yesterday's National Insurance sad person's issues, I must say that when Lord H came home last night after work, I told him the story of my conversation with the Tax Office, and he at once came out with the correct version of not only his own National Insurance number, but mine also. Yes, folks, we are indeed the perfect example of sad Mr Accountant and His Wife. We really ought to get out more ...

And as usual the Church Times arrived with yesterday's post. The top story on Page Two was of a man who has spent three years building a four foot high replica of St Paul's Cathedral. In a fruitcake. With icing. After Lord H and I had finished shrieking with laughter and rolling about on the floor clutching our stomachs, we had to agree the following: (a) it's nice to know that some people are even sadder than ourselves; (b) it may indeed be a cunning plan actually to replace St Paul's with a fruitcake replica, life-size, at some stage, and this is only the working model. This, to my mind, could only be a good thing - as every time in my life I've visited St Paul's I've always been told either to stop talking or to leave. They are not the friendly face of the Church. A fruitcake version may be more socially useful; (c) there is at last proof that the Church does provide an important function towards society, as it's obviously where they put the mad folk. At least the streets of the UK are safe on Sunday mornings.

Oh, and I forgot to say that I finally got round to visiting poor Gladys yesterday. Post the storm, she was very shaky indeed. We spent some time having the same conversation about Christmas that we had before - but, as Lord H says, at least she does know Christmas has happened, which can only be a good thing. And she seemed more deaf than usual, so I was in full shouting mode to ensure she heard me. Unfortunately, the thing with shouting is you grow quickly used to it, so when Gladys' fully hearing neighbour came round to tell us something domestic about the garage, I found I was shouting at her too, and couldn't seem to switch into normal voice levels at all. Still, I suspect the neighbour must be used to this, but she did step back a few paces with the shock to start with; I don't have a quiet voice in the best of circumstances. Ah well.

This morning, I've been reading through my Coping with Change course notes, and embedding some of that very useful stuff in. Or trying to. I've also jotted down a useful reading list for future reference, although already Lord H has nipped out in full marital support mode and bought one of them for me - Susan Jeffers' "Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway". What a sweetie he is. And, much to my delight, it seems that one of my poems, "Sundays", has been accepted by the Ver Poets short poetry anthology, which should be out during February, so that's something to look forward to. I've also entered for a couple more poetry competitions today in my usual monthly routine. Which makes me feel that I've achieved something useful in the writing world, even though I haven't actually done any writing.

Had an utterly delicious nap this afternoon - well, submitting stuff to competitions is sooooo exhausting, m'dears ... And tonight Lord H is taking me out for an airing - we've having a meal at one of our local pubs, The Seahorse in Bramley. This is truly exciting as we'll be able to find out if they are likely to have fishcakes (one of Lord H's favourites) on the menu this year - each time we go, they're always "off". Perhaps 2007 will be their year? You never know ...

Today's nice things:

1. Getting a poem in the Ver Poets anthology
2. Thinking through my course notes
3. Dinner out with Lord H.

Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk

Back in the saddle ...

… groaning. Decided I was probably well enough to stagger into work today and act the martyr. Heck it’s good to have a hobby. And I do it so well. Still I managed to survive the day, catch up with the paperwork and sort out various potential meeting disasters, so I think I’ve earned my keep. But it was noticeable this afternoon that when I commenced my mammoth five minute nose-blowing exercise (no, best not to think about it too deeply, trust me), office doors were closing all round as my colleagues fled to the hills. Can’t say I blame them, to be honest.

Still, I enjoyed my first reflexology appointment of 2007 – come to think of it, this was probably what shifted my … um … blockages in the first place, so I only have alternative therapy to blame. And the Student Advice & Information people were kind enough to invite us to a belated New Year shortbread and sherry party, which went down well. Mind you, I decided to go easy on the sherry, bearing in mind I have to drive home, and my eating is up the spout anyway, what with feeling ill. Today’s food intake so far: half a bowl of cereals, three dried apricots, one chocolate and three shortbreads. Oh, and half a lake-full of Lucozade and one small sherry. Great input for the dieticians amongst us then. But no wonder I’m really hyper at the moment.

Tonight, I have to pop into Tesco to worship at the feet of the great god of materialism once more – but as Lord H has already done some shopping at lunchtime anyway, my burden is less. Hurrah! For the rest of the evening, I’ve decided not to go out to the Guildford Writers’ meeting (http://www.guildfordwriters.net) on the grounds of being unwell, so instead I’m going to be doing as little as possible and ignoring the ironing pile. Anyway, isn’t the crumpled look going to be in this year?

Oh, and some news on the publishing front – at last! I had not one, not two, but three emails from Chevonne at Flame Books (http://www.flamebooks.com) yesterday evening – all saying the same thing, mind, but, being a secretary, I do feel happier getting things in triplicate. Apparently “A Dangerous Man” is, we suspect, being printed somewhere out there (possibly) and poor Chevonne is in charge of arranging an online launch, sending out review copies and attempting (brave soul) to market it. It all sounds very modern, but heck I’m not complaining – it’s good to get any kind of communication at all. And at least with an online launch, you won’t get a hangover – though no doubt modern technology can deliver those too if need be. I of course will be as drunk as a lord, come what may, so don’t expect any sense between now and the next millennium. No change there then … No date has been suggested for this virtual event yet however, so I’ll have to wait and see once more. By the time Michael gets his small but (I hope) perfectly formed moment in the sun, I shall have an NVQ in “playing it by ear”.

And the nice Matthew Taylor at Monkey Kettle magazine has accepted one of my poems, “Anger”, for his April edition, so heck that feels good too. So it looks like if I want to get my poetry published, I have to go for extreme emotion, and ignore all the balanced stuff. Which suits my psyche then!

I've just finished the latest Robert Goddard - "Never Go Back". The usual wonderfully readable stuff - tightly plotted and with two top-class leads. But the start is confusing - too many people who all have nicknames. Why do authors do that to us?? Don't they know names are difficult enough without giving everyone two? I ask you! Still, the people get bumped off fairly regularly so the stage is thinned out at speed, thank goodness. Definitely worth a read, I'd say.

Today’s nice things:

1. Reflexology
2. Hearing from Flame Books
3. Getting a poem accepted.

Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk

Some advice for authors ...

It's struck me that over the last couple of days, a few no doubt kindly and well-meaning authors have sent me their words of wisdom about their long journeys of writerly suffering followed by (oh! what a surprise!) the joy of commercial discovery by the publisher of their dreams. I imagine these classic and rather cliched tales of rags to riches are offered in the spirit of encouragement. Shame then that they only come over as condescending and banal.

I mean: do these good people imagine that I have not heard these tales before? (Oh Lord, countless, countless times, and no they don't help. Not one jot). It may come as a complete shock to an author's delicate constitution, but I do actually attend writers' conferences, speak to fellow writers, belong to an extremely high-quality but as yet commercially unpublished writers' group (http://www.guildfordwriters.net) and am a regular contributor to an equally high quality writers' site (http://www.writewords.org.uk). Ye gods and wash my mouth out with Carbolic - but I almost sound like a professional myself there. (For which apologies: I would never want that dubious label attached to my t-shirt ...)

So forgive me if I don't fall down in gratitude and throw my pen at your authorial feet. In fact, my advice to authors is this: if you do have a typical writer rags-to-riches tale that you are desperate for the world outside to hear, take the nearest sewing kit and use it accordingly to button the proverbial lip. We've all heard it before and we're deeply, deeply not interested. It might have been interesting and useful the first ten times (though I have my doubts even about that ...), but now I'm afraid your market has moved on. I suggest you might be wise to move with it. Find another angle. As they say.

In fact, dear author, I have news of my own, which may come as a complete surprise to you, so I hope you're sitting down and within easy reach of the nearest whisky bottle: hush my mouth, but it may even be that your own commercially published status does not come from the fact that your book has any intrinsic merits or quality of its own, but purely because it is deemed marketable in the current climate. Oh, my dear, pass the smelling salts, do ...! After all, the fact remains that our bookshops are stuffed with crap (some of which even wins awards - take the utterly unreadable Booker Prize shortlist of the last two years, for instance - though I do admit that the shortlist with Morrall on was one hot cookie) - and, oh dear me, your own book may well fall into that category. The fact is that commercial publication is nothing to do with quality and everything to do with luck.

In fact, if poor old "A Dangerous Man" ever struggles its way out of the Flame Pit of Despair (thanks again for the phrase, Jonathan ...) into the cold light of day, it will itself be my first, extremely small (and probably only) commercially published novel. It will be in that position (if it ever is) entirely due to luck. And if I ever once start to bore people with the completely uninteresting tale of how it got there, blah, blah, blah, I fully expect to be beaten to death with a copy of the Oxford English Dictionary. In fact, I shall probably do it myself, to save you all the effort. Hey, but what a way to go ...

Which brings me to a proposed punishment for any more authors who try to force their tales of woe and joy upon us benighted writers: every time their deeply dull and unhelpful story is told, they have to lose a finger. With no appeals. Hah! Bet that stops 'em. Three cheers for Writer Power!

Advice over. Phew.

The rest of my day has been spent battling with the Cold From Hell (which comes with special stomach side effects - what joy!). The plus point of this meant I could skip church without too much residual guilt, so Lord H had to go on his own and do Server duties. Apparently the Serving team managed to fool the visiting low-church vicar into doing lots of fun high-church stuff, including incense, without him realising that we don't always do it like that. Never say that the High Church regulars don't have some fun at the expense of their Lower (and of course much-loved ...) brethren. Even though the UK press always reports it the other way round. Sigh ... Apparently today's vestry gossip has been the upcoming installation of the new vicar at the end of January, which will be a bells 'n' smells party & lunch, to which all the local church Dames (and we suspect some of their Principal Boys - cue such phrases as: what a charming young man? Is he a relation? No, we didn't think so either ...) will be invited.

And, thank God, Lord H cooked today's lamb joint. Which meant it was edible for the first time in what seems ages. He had to leave the kitchen afterwards though, as I spent my usual ten minutes tearing off the rest of the meat from the bone, sucking up the marrow and laughing maniacally. Just like the home life of our own dear Queen ... Anyway, it's good for colds.

Tonight, I still have to ring mother (argh!) and try to sound normal, if ill. But that will cheer her up - she does so love a sick child. It takes her back to the good old days when she had some modicum of control over me. Aha! Then, I'm going to slump like a couch potato and wait for the Great White Hunter. My, but Sundays are fun.

Oh, and I've just finished reading Paul Auster's "The New York Trilogy". Bloody genius in my opinion. He takes the detective format and rips it apart to make something wild and literary and incredibly strange and human. It's like opening a box of Black Magic and finding it full of the utterly orgasmic Lindor milk chocolates instead. Read it. You won't regret it. He is soooo on my list of good authors now. Hey, there's a novelty!

This week's haiku (in honour of Lord H) is:

Home is for coffee.
Abroad, you taste the wild sky
and, smiling, choose tea.

Today's nice things:

1. Not going to church
2. Reading the bloody brilliant Auster
3. Eating lamb marrow.

Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk

Wing mirrors and strange conversations

Got up at a totally ungodly hour today to get to the garage early so I could get my wing mirror fixed. And they actually managed to do it - hurrah! I whiled away the time flicking through the new copy of "Retreat" magazine - there's a new focus on "bio-spiritual" weekends, which sounds interesting to me, as I don't want all that airy-fairy up-in-the-air stuff, so once I got home in my now two-winged car, I emailed them for more info. We'll see. I'm already going on one retreat anyway next year, so I don't want to be too damn holy. You've got to leave some kind of space for sin.

I spent the rest of the morning typing out a conversation with Michael (aka man in my head). Weird, but I kind of enjoyed it. It's not long - just a page-and-a-half - but it'll be something to spark off from at next week's counselling session. Ye gods, but the bloke has some strongly-held views. Wonder if they're mine too? Hmm ... Either way, how I love talking to him - which is of course even weirder.

Played a really quite classy game of golf with Marian at lunchtime (I had my normal head on by then - just) - even managed to get a par on the last hole. Pause for shock. But we were both much happier as there was hardly anyone else out playing but us - due to the weather/water-logged course I imagine - and it's nicer when there's no macho boy golfers breathing down our necks and indulging in psychic tutting. Dashed into Godalming afterwards to get extra Christmas presents and generic girly stuff. As you do. Then dashed back home as Lord H decided to take the afternoon off - an event rather spoiled by the fact that he had a puncture on the way home and was forced to call out the RAC man again to sort the tyre out. We are indeed cursed when it comes to cars this year - let's hope 2007 is incident-free. Please?

Oh, and one of my poems - "Keith in the Bath" - was published in Roundyhouse magazine today, Gawd bless 'em. Which is interesting on two counts - (1) being that they ignored all my deep angst-ridden stuff I thought was bound to get in and took the comic "filler" poem I sent them, and (2) you finally get to know Lord H's real name. Ha!

Today's nice things:

1. A new wing mirror
2. Getting a poem published
3. Talking to Michael.

Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk

Freshers' Week Day Two

Ah, the hell of the Library registration. I did two sessions today of covering our small Student Care Services stall - one in the morning and one in the afternoon - and I really don't like doing it. I'm not a people person. So I put on my plastic smile (which is rather worn out really) and tried not to make too much eye contact. Doing this sort of stuff only confirms that I'm a back-room girl, through and through. Damn shame I have another session of this tomorrow. Curses. Still, the one good thing is that I've found out how to make the wretched DVD and a PowerPoint presentation work on the plasma screen. I am now technologically empowered. Hurrah.

Thank the Lord for my lunchtime reflexology session. Bliss as usual and I drifted off to sleep a couple of times. Afterwards I felt quite balanced. For a while ...

And the DVD story continues ... this morning, we had one session where the bloody thing wouldn't work in a room and one session where the students forgot to turn up. Apparently they might turn up on Friday, but who knows?

The one good thing about today was coming home to Lord H - such a relief. It's the best part of my day. Ooh, and my publishers (http://www.flamebooks.com) have contacted me again - so hope springs up once more. It was only to do with holidays and publicity though, damn it - when what I really want to know about is publication dates and finishing the editing. Maybe one day they'll let me know - in the meantime, we plod on ...

Today's nice things:

1. Getting the working day over with
2. Coming home to Lord H
3. Flame contacting me.

Anne Brooke
http://www.annebrooke.com
http://www.goldenford.co.uk